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

with those devouring kisses that from the very outset had always filled her with an indefinable sense of shame. She was quite powerless to frustrate him. The delicate barrier of her reserve was rudely torn away. The burning blush on face and neck served but to feed the flame. He kissed the panting throat as if he would draw the very life out of it. There was fierce possession in the holding of his arms. She thought she would never be free again.

The first fiery wave spent itself at last, but even then he did not let her go. He held her pressed to him, and she lay against his breast trembling but wholly passive, overcome by an inexplicable longing to hide, to hide.

After a few seconds he spoke to her, his voice oddly unsteady, very deep.
"You're driving me mad, Daphne. Do you know that?"

"I—I'm sorry," she faltered, trying to shelter her tingling face in his coat.

His arms were tense about her. "I want you more and more every day," he said. "I don't know how to wait for you. How long is it to our wedding?"

"Three weeks and four days," she told him faintly.

He gave his low, quivering laugh, "What! You are counting the days too!
Daphne! My Daphne! Need we wait—all that time?"

Dinah's thumping heart gave a great start and seemed to stop. "Oh yes," she gasped desperately. "Yes, I couldn't possibly—be ready sooner."

He put his face down to hers, as one who breathes the essence of a flower. "You are ready now," he said. "You will never be lovelier than you are to-night."

She tried to laugh, but his lips were too near. Her voice quavered piteously.

"Why do I wait for you?" he said, and in his words there beat a fierce unrest. "Why am I such a fool? I lie awake night after night consumed with the want of you. When I sleep, I am always chasing you, you will-o'-the-wisp; and you always manage to keep just out of reach." His arms tightened. His voice suddenly sank to a deep whisper. "Daphne! Shall I tell you what I am going to do?"

"What?" panted Dinah.

"I am going to take you right away over the hills to-morrow to a place I know of where it is as lonely as the Sahara, and we will have a picnic there all to ourselves—all to ourselves, and make up for to-day."

His lips pressed hers again, but she withdrew herself with a sharp effort. There was nameless terror in her heart.

"Oh, I can't, Eustace! I can't indeed!" she said, and now she was striving, striving impotently, for freedom. "I'm going up to town with Isabel."

"Isabel can wait," he said.

"No! No! I must go. You don't understand. There are no end of things to be done." Dinah was as one encircled by fire, searching wildly round for a means of escape. "I must go!" she said again. "I must go!"

"You can go the next day," he said with arrogance. "I want you to-morrow and I mean to have you. Look at me, Dinah!"

She glanced at him, compelled by the command of his tone, met the fiery intensity of his look, and sank helpless, conquered.

He kissed her again. "There! That's settled. You silly little thing! Why do you always beat your wings against the inevitable? Do you think you are going to get away from me now?"

She hid her face against his shoulder. She was almost in tears. "You—you hurt me! You frighten me!" she whispered.

"Do I?" he said, and still in his voice she heard that deep note that made her whole being quiver. "It's your own fault, my Daphne. You shouldn't run away."

"I—I can't help it," she said tremulously. "I sometimes think—I'm not big enough for you."

"You'll grow," he said.

"I don't know," she answered in distress. "I may not. And if I do, I feel—I feel as if I shan't be myself any longer, but just—but just—a bit of you!"

He laughed. "Daphne,—you oddity! Don't you want to be a bit of me?"

"I'd rather be myself," she murmured shyly.

His hold was not so close, and she longed, but did not dare, to get off his knee and breathe. But in that moment there came the sound of a halting step in the drawing-room beyond, and swiftly she raised her head.

"Oh, Eustace, let me go! Here is Scott!"

He did not release her instantly. Scott was already in the doorway before, like a frightened fawn, she leapt from his grasp. She heard Eustace laugh again, and somehow his laugh had a note of insolence.

"Come in, my good brother!" he said. "My lady is just about to make tea.
I presume that is what you have come for."

"The presumption is correct," said Scott.

He came forward in his quiet, unhurried fashion, and paused at the table to open the tea-caddy for Dinah.

She thanked him with trembling lips, her eyes cast down, her face on fire.

Eustace lounged back on the settee and watched her. He frowned momentarily when Scott sat down beside him, leaving her a low chair by the tea-tray.

Dinah's hands fluttered among the cups. She was painfully ill at ease. But in a second or two Scott's placid voice came into the silence, and at once her distress began to subside.

"Have you decided about the decoration of this room yet?" he asked. "I always thought this dead-white rather cold."

"Dinah is to have her own choice," said Sir Eustace.

"I would like shell-pink," said Dinah, without looking up. "Don't you think that would be nice with those pretty water-colour sketches?"

She spoke diffidently. No one had ever deferred to her taste before.

Sir Eustace laughed in his slightly supercilious way. "Do you know who is responsible for those pretty sketches, my red, red rose?"

She glanced up nervously. "Not—not—are they yours, Scott?"

"They are," said Scott, with a smile.

She met his eyes for an instant, and was surprised by their gravity. "Oh, I do like them," she said. "I wonder I didn't guess. They are so beautifully finished, so—complete."

"I am glad you like them," said Scott. "I thought you might want to turn them out as lumber."

"As if I should!" she said. "I love them—every one of them. I shall love them better still now I know they are yours."

"Thank you," said Scott.

Eustace turned his attention to him. "No one ever paid you such a compliment as that before, my good Stumpy," he observed. "If everyone saw you in that light, you'd be a great artist by now."

"I wonder," said Scott.

Dinah sent him another swift glance. She seemed on the verge of speech, but checked herself, and there fell a brief silence.

It was broken by the entrance of a servant. "If you please, Sir Eustace, Mr. Grey is in the library and would be glad if you could spare him a few minutes."

Sir Eustace uttered an impatient exclamation. "You go and see what he wants, Stumpy!" he said.

But Scott remained seated. "I know what he wants, my dear chap, and it's something that only you can give. He has come about Bob Jelf who was caught poaching last week. He wants you to give the fellow as light a sentence as possible on account of his wife."

Sir Eustace frowned. "I never give a light sentence for poaching. He's always at it, I'd give him the cat if I could."

Scott raised his shoulders slightly. "Well, don't ask me to say that to Mr. Grey! He's taking the whole business badly to heart, as he was beginning to look on Jelf as a reformed character."

"I'll reform him!" said Sir Eustace. He turned to the servant. "Ask Mr.
Grey to join us here!"

"You had better see him alone first," said Scott.

"Why?" His brother turned upon him almost savagely.

Scott took up his tea-cup. "You can't refuse to give him a hearing," he observed. "He has come up on purpose."

Sir Eustace murmured something under his breath and rose. His look fell upon Dinah. "It's the village padre," he said. "I shall have to bring him in here. I hope you don't mind?"

She gave him a quick, half-startled smile. "Of course not."

He turned to the door which the waiting servant was holding open, and strode out with annoyed majesty.

Dinah watched him till the door closed; then very suddenly and urgently she turned to Scott.

"Oh, please, will you help me?" she said.

He gave her a straight, keen look that seemed to penetrate to her soul.
"If it lies in my power," he said slowly.

She caught her breath, pierced by a sharp uncertainty. "You can. I'm sure you can," she said.

He set down his cup. "Dinah," he said gently, "don't ask me to interfere in your affairs if you can by any means manage without!"

"But that's just it!" she said in distress. "I can't."

He leaned forward. "My dear, don't be agitated!" he said. "Tell me what is the matter!"

Dinah leaned forward also, her hands tightly clasped, and spoke in a rapid whisper.

"Scott, Eustace wants me to go for an all-day picnic alone with him to-morrow. I—don't want to go."

He was still looking at her with that straight, almost stern regard. An odd little quiver went through her as she met it. She felt as if she were in a fashion on her trial.

"Why don't you want to go?" he asked.

She hesitated. "I was to have gone up to town with Isabel to shop," she said.

"No, that isn't the reason," he said. "Tell me the reason!"

She made a quick gesture of appeal. "I—wish you wouldn't ask," she faltered, and suddenly she could meet his eyes no longer. She lowered her own, and sat before him in burning confusion.

"Have you asked yourself?" he said, his voice very low.

She was silent; the quiet question seemed to probe her through and through. There was no evading it.

Scott was still watching her very closely, very intently. He spoke at length, just as she was beginning to feel his scrutiny to be more than she could bear.

"If you are just shy with him—as I think you are—I think you ought to try and get over it, as much for his sake as for your own. You don't want to hurt him, do you? You wouldn't like him to be disappointed?"

Dinah shook her head. "If you could come too!" she suggested, in a very small voice.

"No, I can't," said Scott firmly.

She sent him a darting glance. "Are you angry with me?" she said.

"I!" said Scott in amazement.

"You—spoke as if you were," she said. "And you looked—quite grim."

He laughed a little. "If you are afraid of me, you must indeed be easily frightened. No, of course I am not angry. Dinah! Dinah! Don't be silly!"

Her lips were quivering, but in response to his admonishing tone she forced them to smile. "I know I am silly," she said, with an effort. "I—I'm not nearly good enough for Eustace. And I'm a dreadful little coward, I know. But he does frighten me. When he kisses me—I always want to run away."

"But you wouldn't like it if he didn't," said Scott, in the voice of the philosopher.

"Shouldn't I?" said Dinah. "I wonder. It—wouldn't be him, would it?"

"And what are you going to do when you are married?" said Scott, point blank. "You'll see much more of him then."

"Oh, I expect I shall feel different then," said Dinah. "Married people are different, aren't they? They are not always going off by themselves and kissing in corners."

"Not as a rule," admitted Scott. "But I've been told that there is usually a good deal of that sort of thing done during the honeymoon."

"That's different too," Dinah's voice was slightly dubious notwithstanding. "But we are not on our honeymoon yet. Scott, couldn't you—just for once—help me to—to find an excuse not to go? It would be—so dear of you."

She spoke with earnest entreaty, her eyes frankly raised to his.

Scott looked into them with steady searching before he finally responded. "I will speak to him if you like. I don't know that I shall be successful. But—if you wish it—I will try."

"Oh, thank you," she said. "Thank you." And then quickly, "You're sure you don't mind? Sure you're not