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

id="id03919">"Dinah," he said, "stop crying! You're making a big mistake."

His tone was arresting, imperative. She looked up at him almost in spite of herself. His eyes gazed straight into hers, and it seemed to her that there was something magnetic, something that was even unearthly, in their close regard.

"You are making a mistake," he repeated. "God always cares. He cared enough to send a friend to look after you. Do you want any stronger proof than that?"

"I—don't—know," Dinah said, awe-struck.

"Think about it!" Scott insisted. "Do you seriously imagine that it was just chance that brought me along at that particular moment? Do you think it was chance that made you draw back yesterday from giving yourself to a man you don't love? Was it chance that sent you to Switzerland in the first place? Don't you know in your heart that God has been guiding you all through?"

"I don't know," Dinah said again, but there was less of hopelessness in her voice. The shining certainty in Scott's eyes was warring with her doubt. "But then, why has He let me suffer so?"

"Why did He suffer so Himself?" Scott said. "Except that He might learn obedience? It's a bitter lesson to all of us, Dinah; but it's got to be learnt."

"You have learnt it!" she said, with a touch of her own impulsiveness.

He smiled a little—smiled and sighed. "I wonder. I've learnt anyhow to believe in the goodness of God, and to know that though we can't see Him in all things, it's not because He isn't there. Even those who know Him best can't realize Him always."

"But still you are sure He is there?" Dinah questioned.

"I am quite sure," he said, with a conviction so absolute that it placed further questioning beyond the bounds of possibility. "Life is full of problems which it is out of any man's power to solve. But to anyone who will take the trouble to see them the signs are unmistakable. There is not a single soul that is left unaccounted for in the reckoning of God. He cares for all."

There was no contradicting him; Dinah was too weary for discussion in any case. But he had successfully checked her tears at last; he had even in a measure managed to comfort her torn soul. She lay for a space pondering the matter.

"I am afraid I am one of those who don't take the trouble," she said at length. "But I shall try to now. Thank you for all your goodness to me, Mr. Greatheart." She smiled at him wanly. "I don't deserve it—not a quarter of it. But I'm grateful all the same. Please won't you have your smoke now, and forget me and my troubles?"

That smile cheered Scott more than any words. He recognized moreover that the delicate touch of reserve that characterized her speech was the first evidence of returning self-control that she had manifested.

He took out his cigarette-case again. "I hope you haven't found me over-presumptuous," he said.

Dinah reached up a trembling hand. "Presumptuous for helping me in the
Valley of Humiliation?" she said.

He took the hand and held it firmly. "I am so used to it myself," he said, in a low voice. "I ought to know a little about it."

"Perhaps," said Dinah thoughtfully, "that is what makes you great."

He raised his shoulders slightly. "You have always seen me through a magnifying-glass," he said whimsically. "Some day the fates will reverse that glass and then you will be unutterably shocked."

Dinah smiled again and shook her head. "I know you," she said.

He lighted his cigarette, and then brought out a pocket-book. "I want to write a note to Isabel," he said. "You don't mind?"

"About me?" questioned Dinah.

"About the arrangements I am making. She is motoring to Great Mallowes in any case to catch the afternoon express."

"Oh!" said Dinah, and coloured vividly, painfully.

Scott did not see. "I can get someone at the farm to take the message," he said. "And when once you are with Isabel I shall feel easy about you."

"And—and—my—mother?" faltered Dinah.

"I shall write to her this afternoon while we are waiting for Isabel," said Scott quietly.

"What—shall you say?" whispered Dinah.

"Do you mind leaving that entirely to me?" he said.

"She will be—furious," she murmured. "She might—out of revenge come after us. What then?"

"She will certainly not do that," said Scott, "as she will not know your address. Besides, people do not remain furious, you know. They cool down, and then they are generally ashamed of themselves. Don't let us talk about your mother!"

"The de Vignes then," said Dinah, turning from the subject with relief.
"Tell me what happened! Was the Colonel very angry?"

Scott's mouth twitched slightly. "Not in the least," he said.

"Not really!" Dinah looked incredulous for a moment; then: "Perhaps he thinks there is a fresh chance for Rose," she said.

"Perhaps he does," agreed Scott dryly. "In any case, he is more disposed to smile than frown, and as Eustace wasn't there to see it, it didn't greatly matter."

"Oh, poor Eustace!" she whispered. "It—was dreadful to hurt him so."

"I think he will get over it," Scott said.

"He was much—kinder—than—than I deserved," she murmured.

Scott's faint smile reappeared. "Perhaps he found it difficult to be anything else," he said.

She shook her head. "I wonder—how I came to make—such a dreadful mistake."

"It wasn't your fault," said Scott.

She looked at him quickly. "What makes you say that?"

He met her look gravely. "Because I know just how it happened," he said.
"You were neither of you in earnest in the first place. I am afraid I had
a hand in making Eustace propose to you. I was afraid—and so was
Isabel—you would be hurt by his trifling."

"And you interfered?" breathed Dinah.

He nodded. "Yes, I told him it must be one thing or the other. I wanted you to be happy. But instead of helping you, I landed you in this mess."

Something in his tone touched her. She laid a small shy hand upon his knee. "It was—dear of you, Scott," she said very earnestly. "Thank you—ever so much—for what you did."

He put his hand on hers. "My dear, I would have given all I had to have undone it afterwards. It is very generous of you to take it like that. I have often wanted to kick myself since."

"Then you must never want to again," she said. "Do you know I'm so glad you've told me? It was so—fine of you—to do that for me. I'm sure you couldn't have wanted me for a sister-in-law even then."

"I wanted you to be happy," Scott reiterated.

She uttered a quick sigh. "Happiness isn't everything, is it?"

"Not everything, no," he said.

She grasped his hand hard. "I'm going to try to be good instead," she said. "Will you help me?"

He smiled at her somewhat sadly. "If you think my help worth having," he said.

"But of course it is," she made warm answer. "You are the strong man who helps everyone. You are—Greatheart."

He looked at her still smiling and slowly shook his head. "Now, if you don't mind," he said, "I will write my note to Isabel."

CHAPTER XXII SPOKEN IN JEST

The afternoon was well advanced when Scott returned to Perrythorpe Court. No sounds of revelry greeted him as he entered. A blazing fire was burning in the hall, but no one was there to enjoy the warmth. The gay crowd that had clustered before the great hearth only yesterday had all dispersed. The place was empty.

"Can I get you anything, sir?" enquired the man who admitted him.

His voice was sepulchral. Scott smiled a little. "Yes, please. A whisky and soda. Where is everybody?"

"The Colonel and Miss Rose went out riding, sir, after the guests had all gone, and they have not yet returned. Her ladyship is resting in her room."

"Everyone gone but me?" questioned Scott, with a whimsical lift of the eyebrows.

The man bent his head decorously. "I believe so, sir. There was a general feeling that it would be more fitting as the marriage was not to take place as arranged. I understand, sir, that the family will shortly migrate to town."

"Really?" said Scott.

He bent over the fire, for the evening was chilly, and he was tired to the soul. The man coughed and withdrew. Again the silence fell.

A face he knew began to look up at Scott out of the leaping flames—a face that was laughing and provocative one moment, wistful and tear-stained the next.

He heaved a sigh as he followed the fleeting vision. "Will she ever be happy again?" he asked himself.

The last sight he had had of her had cut him to the heart. She had conquered her tears at last, but her smile was the saddest thing he had ever seen. It was as though her vanished childhood had suddenly looked forth at him and bidden him farewell. He felt that he would never see the child Dinah again.

The return of the servant with his drink brought him back to his immediate surroundings. He sat down in an easy-chair before the fire to mix it.

The man turned to go, but he had not reached the end of the hall when the front-door bell rang again. He went soft-footed to answer it.

Scott glanced over his shoulder as the door opened, and heard his own name.

"Is Mr. Studley here?" a man's voice asked.

"Yes, sir. Just here, sir," came the answer, and Scott rose with a weary gesture.

"Oh, here you are!" Airily Guy Bathurst advanced to meet him. "Don't let me interrupt your drink! I only want a few words with you."

"I'll fetch another glass, sir" murmured the discreet man-servant, and vanished.

Scott stood, stiff and uncompromising, by his chair. There was a hint of hostility in his bearing. "What can I do for you?" he asked.

Bathurst ignored his attitude with that ease of manner of which he was a past-master. "Well I thought perhaps you could give me news of Dinah" he said. "Billy tells me he left you with her this morning."

"I see" said Scott. He looked at the other man with level, unblinking eyes. "You are beginning to feel a little anxious about her?" he questioned.

"Well, I think it's about time she came home," said Bathurst. He took out a cigarette and lighted it. "Her mother is wondering what has become of her," he added, between the puffs.

"I posted a letter to Mrs. Bathurst about an hour ago," said Scott. "She will get it in the morning."

"Indeed!" Bathurst glanced at him. "And is her whereabouts to remain a mystery until then?"

"That letter will reassure you as to her safety," Scott returned quietly. "But it will not enlighten you as to her whereabouts. She is in good hands, and it is not her intention to return home—at least for the present. Under the circumstances you could scarcely compel her to do so."

"I never compel her to do anything," said Bathurst comfortably. "Her mother keeps her in order, I have nothing to do with it."

"Evidently not." A sudden sharp quiver of scorn ran through Scott's words. "Her mother may make her life a positive hell, but it's no business of yours!"

A flicker of temper shone for a second in Bathurst's eyes. The scorn had penetrated even his thick skin. "None whatever," he said deliberately. "Nor of yours either, so far as I can see."

"There you are wrong." Hotly Scott took him up. "It is the duty of every man to prevent cruelty. Dinah has been treated like a bond-slave all her life. What were you about to allow it?"

He flung the question fiercely. The man's careless repudiation of all responsibility aroused in him a perfect storm of indignation. He was probably more angry at that moment than he had ever been before.

Guy Bathurst stared at him for a second or two, his own resentment quenched in amazement. Finally he laughed.

"If you were married to my wife, you'd know," he said. "Personally I like a quiet life. Besides, discipline is good for youngsters. I think Lydia is disposed to carry it rather far, I admit. But after all, a woman can't do much damage to her own daughter. And anyhow it isn't a man's business to interfere."

He broke off as the servant reappeared,