Greatheart, Ethel May Dell [good books to read for young adults .txt] 📗

the post."
He bore his brother off with him, and Dinah went rather wistfully to help Biddy pack. She had done right, she knew; but it was difficult to stifle the regret in her heart. She had so longed for that one last dance, and it seemed to her that she had treated Sir Eustace somewhat shabbily also. She was sure that he was displeased, and the thought of it troubled her. For she had almost promised him that last dance.
"Arrah thin, Miss Dinah dear, don't ye look so sad at all!" counselled Biddy. "Good times pass, but there's always good times to come while ye're young. And it's the bonny face ye've got on ye. Sure, there'll be a fine wedding one of these days. There's a prince looking for ye, or me name's not Biddy Maloney."
Dinah tried to smile, but her heart was heavy. She could not share Biddy's cheery belief in the good times to come, and she was quite sure that no prince would ever come her way.
Sir Eustace--that king among men--might think of her sometimes, but not seriously, oh no, not seriously. He had so many other interests. It was only her dancing that drew him, and he would never have another opportunity of enjoying that.
She rested in the afternoon at Isabel's desire, but she did not sleep. Some teasing sprite had set a waltz refrain running in her brain, and it haunted her perpetually. She went down to the vestibule with Isabel for tea, and here Scott joined them; but Sir Eustace did not put in an appearance. In their company she sought to be cheerful, and in a measure succeeded; but the thought of the morrow pressed upon her. In another brief twenty-four hours this place where she had first known the wonder and the glory of life would know her no more. In two days she would be back in the old bondage, chained once more to the oar, with the dread of her mother ever present in her heart, however fair the world might be.
She could keep her depression more or less at bay in the presence of her friends, but when later she went to her room to prepare for dinner something like desperation seized her. How was she going to bear it? One last wild fling would have helped her, but this inaction made things infinitely worse, made things intolerable.
While she dressed, she waged a fierce struggle against her tears. She knew that Isabel would be greatly distressed should she detect them, and to hurt Isabel seemed to her the acme of selfish cruelty. She would not give way! She would not!
And then--suddenly she heard a step in the corridor, and her heart leapt. Well she knew that careless, confident tread! But what was he doing there? Why had he come to her door?
With bated breath she stood and listened. Yes, he had paused. In a moment she heard a rustle on the floor. A screw of paper appeared under the door as though blown in by a wandering wind. Then the careless feet retreated again, and she thought she heard him whistling below his breath.
Eagerly she swooped forward and snatched up the note. Her hands shook so that she could scarcely open it. Trembling, she stood under the light to read it.
It was headed in a bold hand: "To Daphne." And below in much smaller writing she read: "Come to the top of the stairs when the band plays _Simple Aveu_, and leave the rest to me.
"APOLLO."
A wild thrill went through her. But could she? Dared she? Had she not practically promised Isabel that she would go to bed?
Yet how could she go, and leave this direct invitation, which was almost a command, unanswered? And it was only one dance--only one dance! Would it be so very wrong to snatch just that one?
The thought of Scott came to her and the look of sincerity in his eyes when he had told her that she would always be the pleasantest memory he had. But she thrust it from her almost fiercely. Ah no, no, no! She could not let him deprive her thus of this one last gaiety. Apollo had called her. It only remained for her to obey.
She dressed in a fever of excitement, and hid the note--that precious note--in her bosom. She would meet him at dinner, and he would look for an answer. How should she convey it? And oh, what answer should she give?
Looking back afterwards, it seemed to her that Fate had pressed her hard that night,--so hard that resistance was impossible. When she was dressed in the almost childishly simple muslin she looked herself in the eyes and fancied that there was something in her face that she had never seen there before. It was something that pleased her immensely giving her a strangely new self-confidence. She did not wot that it was the charm of her coming womanhood that had burst into sudden flower.
At the last moment she cast all her scruples away from her, and snatched up a slip of paper.
"I will be there. Daphne," were the words she wrote, and though her conscience smote her as she did it, she stifled it fiercely. Had she not promised him that one dance long ago?
She met him at dinner with a face of smiling unconcern. The new force within had imbued her with a wondrous strength. She exulted in the thought of her power over him, transient though she knew it to be. Deep down in her heart she was afraid, yet was she wildly daring. It was her last night, and she was utterly reckless.
She left her note in his hand with the utmost coolness when she bade him good night in the vestibule. She bade good night to Scott also, but she met his eyes for no more than a second; and then she had to stifle afresh the sharp pang at her heart.
She went away up the stairs with Isabel, leaving them smoking over their coffee, leaving also the dreamy strains of the band, the gay laughter and movement of the happy crowd that drifted towards the ballroom.
Isabel accompanied her to her room. "You are a dear, good child," she said tenderly, as she held her for a last kiss. "I shall never forget how sweetly you gave up the thing you wanted so much."
Dinah clung to her fast for a moment or two, and her hold was passionate. "Oh, don't praise me for that!" she whispered into Isabel's neck. "I am not good at all. I am very bad."
She almost tore herself free a second later, and Isabel, divining that any further demonstration from her would cause a breakdown, bade her a loving good night and went away.
Dinah stood awhile struggling for self-control. She had been perilously near to baring her soul to Isabel in those moments of tenderness. Even now the impulse urged her to run after her and tell her of the temptation to which she was yielding. She forced it down with clenched hands, telling herself over and over that it was her last chance, her last chance, and she must not lose it. And so at length it passed; and with it passed also the pricks of conscience that had so troubled her. She emerged from the brief struggle with a sense of mad triumph. The spirit of adventure had entered into her, and she no longer paused to count the cost.
"I expect I shall be sorry in the morning," she said to herself. "But to-night--oh, to-night--nothing matters except Apollo!"
She whisked to the door and set it ajar. The dance-music drew her, drew her, like the voice of a siren. For that one night she would live again. She would feel his arm about her and the magic in her brain. Already her feet yearned to the alluring rhythm. She leaned against the door-post, and gave herself up to her dream. Yet once more the wine of the gods was held to her lips. She would drink deeply, deeply.


CHAPTER XXVII
THE GOLDEN MAZE

Softly the strains of _Simple Aveu_ floated along the corridor. It came like fairy music, now near, now far, haunting as a dream, woven through and through with the gold of Romance.
Someone was coming along the passage with the easy swing of the born dancer, and pressed against her door-post in the shadows, another born dancer awaited him with a wildly throbbing heart.
The die was cast, and there was no going back. She heard the deep voice humming the magic melody as he came. In a moment the superb figure came into sight, moving with that royal ease of carriage so characteristic and so wonderful.
He drew near. He spied the small white figure lurking in the dimness. With a low laugh he opened his arms to her.
And then there came to Dinah, not for the first time, a strange, wholly indefinable misgiving. It was a warning so insistent that she suddenly and swiftly drew back, as if she would flee into the room behind her.
But he was too quick for her. He caught her on the threshold. "Oh no, no!" he laughed. "That's not playing the game." He drew her to him, holding her two wrists. "Daphne! Daphne!" he said. "Still running away? Do you call that fair?"
She did not resist him, for the moment she felt his touch she knew herself a captive. The magic force of his personality had caught her; but she did not give herself wholly to him. She stood and palpitated in his hold, her head bent low.
"I--I'm not running away," she told him breathlessly. "I was just--just coming. But--but--shan't we be seen? Your brother--"
"What?" He was stooping over her; she felt his breath upon her neck. "Oh, Scott! Surely you're not afraid of Scott, are you? You needn't be. I've sent him off to write some letters. He'll be occupied for an hour at least. Come! Come! You promised. And we're wasting time."
There was a subtle caressing note in his voice. It thrilled her as she stood, and ever the soft music drifted on around them, pulsing with a sweetness almost too intense to be borne.
He held her with the hold of a conqueror. She was quivering from head to foot, but all desire to free herself was gone. Still she would not raise her face.
Panting, she spoke. "Yes, we--we are wasting time. Let us go!"
He laughed above her head--a low laugh of absolute assurance. "Are you too shy to look at me,--Daphne?"
She laughed also very tremulously. "I think I am--just at present. Let us dance first anyway! Must we go down to the salon? Couldn't we dance in the corridor?"
His arm was round her. He led her down the passage. "No, no! We will go down. And afterwards--"
"Afterwards," she broke in breathlessly, "we will just peep at the moonlight on the mountains, and then I must come back."
"I will show you something better than the moonlight on the mountains," said Sir Eustace.
She did not ask him what he meant, though her whole being was strung to a tense expectancy. He had brought her once more to the heights of Olympus, and each moment was full of a vivid life that had to be lived to the utmost. She lacked the strength to look forward; the present was too overwhelming. It was almost more than she could bear.
They reached the head of the stairs. His arm tightened about her. She descended as though upon wings. Passing through the vestibule, her feet did not seem to touch the ground. And then like a golden maze the ballroom received them.
Before she knew it, they were among the