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

but what she said he could not hear. Then there were movements, and Dinah spoke in broken supplication that went into hysterical sobbing. Finally he heard his wife come out of the room and close the door behind her.
She came back again with the brandy flask. "She's had a lesson," she observed, "that I rather fancy she'll never forget as long as she lives."
"Then I hope you're satisfied," said Bathurst, and turned upon his side.
Yes, Dinah had had a lesson. She had passed through a sevenfold furnace that had melted the frozen fountain of her tears till it seemed that their flow would never be stayed again. She wept for hours, wept till she was sick and blind with weeping, and still she wept on. And bitter shame and humiliation watched beside her all through that dreadful night, giving her no rest.
For she had gone through this fiery torture, this cruel chastisement of mind and body, all for what? For love of a man who felt nought but kindness for her,--for the dear memory of a golden vision that would never be hers again.


CHAPTER XX
THE COMING OF GREATHEART

It was soon after nine on the following morning that Scott presented himself on horseback at the gate of Dinah's home. It had been his intention to tie up his animal and enter, but he was met in the entrance by Billy coming out on a bicycle, and the boy at once frustrated his intention.
"Good morning, sir! Pleased to see you, but it's no good your coming in. The pater's still in bed, and the mater's doing the house-work."
"And Dinah?" said Scott. The question leapt from him almost involuntarily. He had not meant to display any eagerness, and he sought to cover it by his next words which were uttered with his usual careful deliberation. "It's Dinah I have come to see. I have a message for her from my sister."
Billy's freckled face crumpled into troubled lines. "Dinah has cleared out," he said briefly. "I'm just off to the station to try and get news of her."
"What?" Scott said, startled.
The boy looked at him, his green eyes shrewdly confiding. "There's been the devil of a row," he said. "The mater is furious with her. She gave her a fearful licking last night to judge by the sounds. Dinah was squealing like a rat. Of course girls always do squeal when they're hurt, but I fancy the mater must have hit a bit harder than usual. And she's burnt the whole of the trousseau too. Dinah was so mighty proud of all her fine things. She'd feel that, you know, pretty badly."
"Damnation!" Scott said, and for the second time he spoke without his own volition. He looked at Billy with that intense hot light in his eyes that had in it the whiteness of molten metal. "Do you mean that?" he said. "Do you actually mean that your mother flogged her--flogged Dinah?"
Billy nodded. "It's just her way," he explained half-apologetically. "The mater is like that. She's rough and ready. She's always done it to Dinah, had a sort of down on her for some reason. I guessed she meant business last night when I saw the dog-whip had gone out of the hall. I wished afterwards I'd thought to hide it, for it's rather a beastly implement. But the mater's a difficult woman to baulk. And when she's in that mood, it's almost better to let her have her own way. She's sure to get it sooner or later, and a thing of that sort doesn't improve with keeping."
So spoke Billy with the philosophy of middle-aged youth, while the man beside him sat with clenched hands and faced the hateful vision of Dinah, the fairy-footed and gay of heart, writhing under that horrible and humiliating punishment.
He spoke at length, and some electricity within him made the animal under him fidget and prance, for he stirred neither hand nor foot. "And you tell me Dinah has run away?"
"Yes, cleared out," said Billy tersely. "It was an idiotic thing to do, for the mater is downright savage this morning, and she'll only give her another hiding for her pains. She stayed away all day once before, years ago when she was a little kid, and, my eye, didn't she catch it when she came back! She never did it again--till now."
"And you are going to the station to look for her?" Scott's voice was dead level. He calmed the restive horse with a firm hand.
"Yes; just to find out if she's gone by train. I don't believe she has, you know. She's nowhere to go to. I expect she's hiding up in the woods somewhere. I shall scour the country afterwards; for the longer she stays away the worse it'll be for her. I'm sure of that," said Billy uneasily. "When the mater lays hands on her again, she'll simply flay her."
"She will not do anything of the sort," said Scott, and turned his horse's head with resolution. "Come along and find her first! I will deal with your mother afterwards."
Billy mounted his bicycle and accompanied him. Though he did not see how Scott was to prevent any further vengeance on his mother's part, it was a considerable relief to feel that he had enlisted a champion on his sister's behalf. For he was genuinely troubled about her, although the cruel discipline to which she had been subjected all her life had so accustomed him to seeing her in trouble that it affected him less than if it had been a matter of less frequent occurrence.
Scott's reception of his information had somewhat awed him. Like Dinah, he had long ceased to look upon this man as insignificant. He rode beside him in respectful silence.
The country lane they followed crossed the railway by a bridge ere it ran into the station road. There was a steep embankment on each side of the line surmounted by woods, and as they reached the bridge Billy dismounted to gaze searchingly into the trees.
"She might be anywhere" he said. "This is a favourite place of hers because the wind-flowers grow here. Somehow I've got a sort of feeling--" He stopped short. "Why, there she is!" he exclaimed.
Scott looked sharply in the same direction. Had he been alone, he would not have perceived her, for she was crouched low against a thicket of brambles and stunted trees midway down the embankment. She was clad in an old brown mackintosh that so toned with her surroundings as to render her almost invisible. Her chin was resting on her knees, and her face was turned from them. She seemed to be gazing up the line.
As they watched her, a signal near the bridge went down with a thud, and it seemed to Scott that the little huddled figure started and stiffened like a frightened doe. But she did not change her position, and she continued to gaze up the long stretch of line as though waiting for something.
"What on earth is she doing?" whispered Billy. "There are no wind-flowers there."
Scott slipped quietly to the ground. "You wait here!" he said. "Hold my animal, will you?"
He left the bridge, retracing his steps, and climbed a railing that fenced the wood. In a moment he disappeared among the trees, and Billy was left to watch and listen in unaccountable suspense.
The morning was dull, and a desolate wind moaned among the bare tree-tops. He shivered a little. There was something uncanny in the atmosphere, something that was evil. He kept his eyes upon Dinah, but she was a considerable distance away, and he could not see that she stirred so much as a finger. He wondered how long it would take Scott to reach her, and began to wish ardently that he had been allowed to go instead. The man was lame and he was sure that he could have covered the distance in half the time.
And then while he waited and watched, suddenly there came a distant drumming that told of an approaching train.
"The Northern express!" he said aloud.
Many a time had he stood on the bridge to see it flash and thunder below him. The sound of its approach had always filled him with a kind of ecstasy before, but now--to-day--it sent another feeling through him,--a sudden, wild dart of unutterable dread.
"What rot!" he told himself, with an angry shake. "Oh, what rot!"
But the dread remained coiled like a snake about his heart.
The animal he held became restless, and he backed it off the bridge, but he could not bring himself to go out of sight of that small, tragic figure in the old mackintosh that sat so still, so still, there upon the grassy slope. He watched it with a terrible fascination. Would Scott never make his appearance?
A white tuft of smoke showed against the grey of the sky. The throbbing of the engine grew louder, grew insistent. A couple of seconds more and it was within sight, still far away but rapidly drawing near. Where on earth was Scott? Did he realize the danger? Ought he to shout? But something seemed to grip his throat, holding him silent. He was powerless to do anything but watch.
Nearer came the train and nearer. Billy's eyes were starting out of his head. He had never been so scared in all his life before. There was something fateful in the pose of that waiting figure.
The rush of the oncoming express dinned in his ears. It was close now, and suddenly--suddenly as a darting bird--Dinah was on her feet. Billy found his voice in a hoarse, croaking cry, but almost ere it left his lips he saw Scott leap into view and run down the bank.
By what force of will he made his presence known Billy never afterwards could conjecture. No sound could have been audible above the clamour of the train. Yet by some means--some electric battery of the mind--he made the girl below aware of him. On the very verge of the precipice she stopped, stood poised for a moment, then turned herself back and saw him....
The train thundered by, shaking the ground beneath their feet, and rushed under the bridge. The whole embankment was blotted out in white smoke, and Billy reeled back against the horse he held.
"By Jove!" he whispered shakily. "By--Jove! What a ghastly fright!"
He wiped his forehead with a trembling hand, and led the animal away from the bridge. Somehow he was feeling very sick--too sick to look any longer, albeit the danger was past.
The smoke cleared from the embankment, and two figures were left facing one another on the grassy slope. Neither of them spoke a word. It was as if they were waiting for some sign. Scott was panting, but Dinah did not seem to be breathing at all. She stood there tense and silent, terribly white, her eyes burning like stars.
The last sound of the train died away in the distance, and then, such was their utter stillness, from the thorn-bush close to them a thrush suddenly thrilled into song. The soft notes fell balmlike into that awful silence and turned it into sweetest music.
Scott moved at last, and at once the bird ceased. It was as if an angel had flown across the heaven with a silver flute of purest melody and passed again into the unknown.
He came to Dinah. "My dear," he said, and his voice was slightly shaky, "you shouldn't be here."
She stood before him, pillar-like, her two hands clenched against her sides. Her lips were quite livid. They moved soundlessly for several seconds before she spoke. "I--was waiting--for the express."
Her voice was flat and emotionless. It sounded almost as if she were talking