Greatheart, Ethel May Dell [children's books read aloud TXT] 📗

kind."

"I think the kindness is on your side," he answered gravely. "Most people of my acquaintance would think me a bore—if nothing worse."

"Most people have never really met you, Stumpy," said Isabel unexpectedly. "Dinah is one of the privileged few, and I am glad she appreciates it."

"Good heavens!" said Scott, flushing a deep red. "Spare me, Isabel!"

Dinah broke into her gay, infectious laugh. "Please—please don't be upset about it! I'm glad I'm one of the few. I've felt you were a prince in disguise all along."

"Very much in disguise!" protested Scott. "Remove that, and there would be nothing left."

"Except a man," said Isabel, "You can't get away, Stumpy. You're caught."

A fleeting smile crossed her face like a gleam of light and was gone. She turned her look upon Dinah, and became silent again.

Scott, much disconcerted, hunted in every pocket for his cigarette-case.
"You don't mind my smoking, I hope?" he murmured.

"I like it," said Dinah. "Let me help you light up!"

She made a screen with her hands, and guarded the flame from the draught.

He thanked her courteously, recovering his composure with a smile that was not without self-ridicule, and in a moment they were talking again upon impersonal matters. But the episode, slight though it was, dwelt in Dinah's mind thereafter with an odd persistence. She felt as if Isabel had given her a flashlight glimpse of something which otherwise she would scarcely have realized. In that single fleeting moment of revelation she had seen that which no vision of knight in shining armour could have surpassed.

They reached the châlet at the top of the pass, and descended for tea. The windows looked right down the snow-clad valley up which they had come. The sun had begun to sink, and the greater part of it lay in shadow.

Far away, rising out of the shadows, all golden amid floating mists, was a mighty mountain crest, higher than all around. The sun-rays lighted up its wondrous peaks. The glory of it was unearthly, almost more than the eye could bear.

Dinah stood on the little wooden verandah of the châlet and gazed and gazed till the splendour nearly blinded her.

"Still watching the Delectable Mountains?" said Scott's voice at her shoulder.

She made a little gesture in response. She could not take her eyes off the wonder.

He came and stood beside her in mute sympathy while he finished his cigarette. There was a certain depression in his attitude of which presently she became aware. She summoned her resolution and turned herself from the great vision that so drew her.

He was leaning against a post of the verandah, and she read again in his attitude the weariness that she had marked earlier in the afternoon.

"Are you—troubled about your sister?" she asked him diffidently.

He threw away the end of his cigarette and straightened himself. "Yes, I am troubled," he said, in a low voice. "I am afraid it was a mistake to bring her here."

"I thought her looking better this morning," Dinah ventured.

His grey eyes met hers. "Did you? I thought it a good sign that she should make the effort to speak to strangers. But I am not certain now that it has done her any good. We brought her here to wake her from her lethargy. Eustace thought the air would work wonders, but—I am not sure. It is certainly waking her up. But—to what?"

His eyelids drooped heavily, and he passed his hand across his forehead with a gesture that went to her heart.

"It's rather soon to judge, isn't it?" she said.

"Yes," he admitted. "But there is a change in her; there is an undoubted change. She gets hardly any rest, and the usual draught at night scarcely takes effect. Of course the place is noisy. That may have something to do with it. My brother is very anxious to put a stop to the sleeping-draught altogether. But I can't agree to that. She has never slept naturally since her loss—never slept and never wept. Biddy—the old nurse—declares if she could only cry, all would come right. But I don't know—I don't know."

He uttered a deep sigh, and leaned once more upon the balustrade.

Dinah came close to him, her sweet face full of concern. "Mr. Studley," she murmured, "you—you don't think I do her any harm, do you?"

"You!" He gave a start and looked at her with that in his eyes that reassured her in a moment. "My dear child, no! You are a perfect godsend to her—and to me also, if you don't mind my saying so. No—no! The mischief that I fear will probably develop after you have gone. As long as you are here, I am not afraid for her. Yours is just the sort of influence that she needs."

"Oh, thank you!" Dinah said gratefully. "I was afraid just for a moment, because I know I have been silly and flighty. I try to be sober when I am with her, but—"

"Don't try to be anything but yourself, Miss Bathurst!" he said. "I have confided in you just because you are yourself; and I wouldn't have you any different for the world. You help her just by being yourself."

Dinah laughed while she shook her head. "I wish I were as nice as you seem to think I am."

He laughed also. "Perhaps you have never realized how nice you really are," he returned with a simplicity equal to her own. "Ah! Here comes Isabel! I expect she is ready. We had better go in."

They met her as they turned inwards. The reflection of the sunset glory was in her face recalling some of its faded beauty. She took Dinah's arm, looking at her with a strangely wistful smile.

"I want you now, sweetheart," she said. "Scott can have his turn—afterwards."

"I want you too," said Dinah instantly, squeezing her hand very closely. "Come and look at the mountains! They are so glorious now that the sun is setting."

They turned back for a few moments and Isabel's eyes went to that far and wonderful mountain crest. The gold was turning to rose. The glory deepened even as they watched.

"The peaks of Paradise," breathed Dinah softly.

Isabel was silent for a space, her eyes fixed and yearning. Then at length in a low voice that thrilled with an emotion beyond words she spoke.

"I know now where to look. That is where he is waiting for me. That is where I shall find him."

And then swiftly she turned, aware of her brother close behind her.

He looked at her with eyes of deep compassion. "Some day, Isabel!" he said gently.

She made a swift gesture as of one who brushes aside every hindrance.
"Soon!" she said. "Very soon!"

Scott's eyes met Dinah's for a single instant, and she thought they held suffering as well as weariness. But they fell immediately. He stood back in silence for them to pass.

CHAPTER XVI THE SECOND DRAUGHT

They returned to the hotel by a circuitous route that brought them by a mountain-road into the village just below the hotel. The moon was rising as they ascended the final slope. The chill of mist was in the air.

Sir Eustace was waiting for them in the porch. He helped his sister to alight, but she went by him at once with a rapt look as though she had not seen him. She had sat in almost unbroken silence throughout the homeward drive.

Dinah would have followed her in, but Sir Eustace held her back a moment. "There is to be a dance to-night," he murmured in her ear. "May I count on you?"

She looked at him, the ecstasy of the mountains still shining in her starry eyes. "Yes—yes! If I am allowed!" And then, with a sudden memory of her promise to the Colonel, "But I don't suppose I shall be. And I haven't anything to wear except my fancy dress."

"What of that?" he said lightly. "Call the fairies in to help!"

She laughed, and ran in.

Not for a moment did she suppose that she would be allowed to dance that night; but it seemed that luck was with her, for the first person she met was the Colonel, and he was looking so particularly well pleased with himself and affairs in general that she stopped to tell him of her drive.

"It's been so perfect," she said. "I have enjoyed it! Thank you ever so many times for letting me go!"

Her flushed and happy face was very fair to see, and the Colonel smiled upon her with fatherly kindness. He could not help liking the child. She was such a taking imp!

"Glad you've had a good time," he said. "I hope you thanked your friends for taking you."

"I should think I did!" laughed Dinah; and then seeing that his expression was so benignant she slipped an ingratiating hand through his arm. "Colonel, please—please—may I dance to-night?"

"What?" He looked at her searchingly, with a somewhat laboured attempt to be severe. "Now—now—who do you want to dance with?"

"Anyone or no one," said Dinah boldly. "I feel happy enough to dance by myself."

"That means you're in a mischievous mood," said the Colonel.

"It's only a Cinderella affair," pleaded Dinah. "To-morrow's Sunday, you know. There'll be no dancing to-morrow."

"And a good thing too," he commented. "A pity Sunday doesn't come oftener! What will Lady Grace say I wonder?"

"But Rose is sure to dance," urged Dinah.

"I'm not so sure of that, Sir Eustace Studley has been teaching her to ski all the afternoon, and if she isn't tired, she ought to be."

"Oh, lucky Rose!" Dinah knew an instant's envy. "But I expect she'll dance all the same. And—and—I may dance with him—just once, mayn't I? There couldn't be any harm in just one dance. No one would notice that, would they?"

She pressed close to the Colonel with her petition, and he found it hard to refuse. She made it with so childlike an earnestness, and—all his pomposity notwithstanding—he had a soft heart for children.

"There, be off with you!" he said. "Yes, you may give him one dance if he asks for it. But only one, mind! That's a bargain, is it?"

Dinah beamed radiant acquiescence. "I'll save all the rest for you.
You're a dear to let me, and I'll be ever so good. Good-bye!"

She went, flitting like a butterfly up the stairs, and the Colonel smiled in spite of himself as he watched her go. "Little witch!" he muttered. "I wonder what your mother would say to you if she knew."

Dinah raced breathless to her room, and began a fevered toilet. It was true that she possessed nothing suitable for ballroom wear; but then the dance was to be quite informal, and she was too happy to fret herself over that fact. She put on the white muslin frock which she had worn for dinner ever since she had been with the de Vignes. It gave her a fairylike daintiness that had a charm of its own of which she was utterly unconscious. Perhaps fortunately, she had no time to think of her appearance. When she descended again, her eyes were still shining with a happiness so obvious that Billy, meeting her, exclaimed, "What have you got to be so cheerful about?"

She proceeded to tell him of the glorious afternoon she had spent, and was still in the midst of her description when Sir Eustace came up and joined them.

"I thought you would manage it," he said, with smiling assurance. "And now how many may I have? All the waltzes?"

Dinah's laugh rang so gaily that several heads were turned in her direction, and she smothered it in alarm.

"I can only give you one," she said, with a great effort at sobriety.

"What? Oh, nonsense!" he protested, his blue eyes dominating hers. "You couldn't be so shabby as that!"

Dinah's chin pointed merrily upwards. The situation had its humour. It was certainly rather amusing to elude him. She knew he had caught her far too easily the night before.

"It's all I have to offer," she declared.

"Meaning you're not going to dance more than one dance?" he asked.

She opened her laughing eyes wide. "Why should it mean that? You're not the only man in the room, are you?"

Sir Eustace's jaw set itself suddenly after a fashion that made him look formidable, albeit he laughed back at her with his