Greatheart

by Ethel M. Dell

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE BROKEN HEART

  The return home was to Dinah like a sudden plunge into icy depths after abrief sojourn in the tropics. The change of atmosphere was such that sheseemed actually to feel it in her bones, and her whole being, physicaland mental contracted in consequence. Her mother treated her with all hercustomary harshness, and Dinah, grown sensitive by reason of muchpetting, shrank almost with horror whenever she came in contact with theiron will that had subjugated her from babyhood.

  Before the first week was over, she was counting the days to herdeliverance; but of this fact she hinted nothing in her letters to herlover. These were carefully worded, demure little epistles that gave himnot the smallest inkling of her state of mind. She was far too muchafraid of him to betray that.

  Had she been writing to Scott she could scarcely have repressed it. Inone letter to Isabel indeed something of her yearning for the vanishedsunshine leaked out; but very strangely Isabel did not respond to thepathetic little confidence, and Dinah did not venture to repeat it.Perhaps Isabel was shocked.

  The last week came, and with it the arrival of wedding-presents from herfather and friends that lifted Dinah out of her depression and evensoftened her mother into occasional good-humour. Preparations for thewedding began in earnest. Billy, released somewhat before the holidaysfor the occasion, returned home, and everything took a more cheerfulaspect.

  Dinah could not feel that her mother's attitude towards herself hadmaterially altered. It was sullen and threatening at times, almost as ifshe resented her daughter's good fortune, and she lived in continualdread of an outbreak of the cruel temper that had so embittered her homelife. But Billy's presence made a difference even to that. His influencewas entirely wholesome, and he feared no one.

  "Why don't you stand up to her?" he said to his sister on one occasionwhen he found her weeping after an overwhelming brow-beating over somefailure in the kitchen. "She'd think something of you then."

  Dinah had no answer. She could not convince him that her spirit had beenbroken for such encounters long ago. Billy had never been tied up to abed-post and whipped till limp with exhaustion, but such treatment hadbeen her portion more times than she could number.

  But every hour brought her deliverance nearer, and so far she had managedto avoid physical violence though the dread of it always menaced her.

  "Why does she hate me so?" Over and over again she asked herself thequestion, but she never found any answer thereto; and she was fain tobelieve her father's easy-going verdict: "There's no accounting for yourmother's tantrums; they've got to be visited on somebody."

  She wondered what would happen when she was no longer at hand to act asscapegoat, and yet it seemed to her that her mother longed to be rid ofher.

  "I'll get things into good order when you're out of the way," she saidto her on the last evening but one before the wedding-day, the eveningon which the Studleys were to arrive at the Court. "You're just a bornmuddler, and you'll never be anything else, Lady Studley or no LadyStudley. Get along upstairs and dress yourself for your preciousdinner-party, or your father will be ready first! Oh, it'll be a goodthing when it's all over and done with, but if you think you'll ever gettreated as a grand lady here, you're very much mistaken. Home broth isall you'll ever get from me, so you needn't expect anything different.If you don't like it, you can stop away."

  Dinah escaped from the rating tongue as swiftly as she dared. She knewthat her mother had been asked to dine at the Court also--for the firsttime in her life--and had tersely refused. She wasn't going to becondescended to by anybody, she had told her husband in Dinah's hearing,and he had merely shrugged his shoulders and advised her to pleaseherself.

  Billy had not been asked, somewhat to his disgust; but he looked forwardto seeing Scott again in the morning and ordered Dinah to ask him tolunch with them.

  So finally Dinah and her father set forth alone in one of the motors fromthe Court to attend the gathering of County magnates that the de Vigneshad summoned in honour of Sir Eustace Studley and his chosen bride.

  She wore one of her trousseau gowns for the occasion, a pale greengossamer-like garment that made her look more nymph-like than ever. Hermother had surveyed it with narrowed eyes and a bitter sneer.

  "Ok yes, you'll pass for one of the quality," she had said. "No one wouldtake you for a child of mine any way."

  "That's no fault of the child's, Lydia," her father had rejoinedgood-humouredly, and in the car he had taken her little cold hand intohis and asked her kindly enough if she were happy.

  She answered him tremulously in the affirmative, the dread of her motherstill so strong upon her that she could think of nothing but the reliefof escape. And then before she had time to prepare herself in any way forthe sudden transition she found herself back in that tropical, brilliantatmosphere in which thenceforth she was to move and have her being.

  She could not feel that she would ever shine there. There were so manybright lights, and though her father was instantly and completely at homeshe felt dazzled and strange, till all-unexpectedly someone came to herthrough the great lamp-lit hall, haltingly yet with purpose, and held herhand and asked her how she was.

  The quiet grasp steadied her, and in a moment she was radiantly happy,all her troubles and anxieties swept from her path. "Oh, Scott!" shesaid, and her eyes beamed upon him the greeting her lips somehow refusedto utter.

  He was laughing a little; his look was quizzical. "I have been on thelook-out for you," he told her. "It's the best man's privilege, isn't it?Won't you introduce me to your father?"

  She did so, and then Rose glided forward, exquisite in maize satin andpearls, and smilingly detached her from the two men and led her upstairs.

  "We are to have a little informal dance presently," she said. "Did I tellyou in my note? No? Oh, well, no doubt it will be a pleasant littlesurprise for you. How very charming you are looking, my dear! I didn'tknow you had it in you. Did you choose that pretty frock yourself?"

  Dinah, with something of her mother's bluntness of speech, explained thatthe creation in question had been Isabel's choice, and Rose smiled as onewho fully understood the situation.

  "She has been very good to you, poor soul, has she not?" she said. "Sheis not coming down to-night. The journey has fatigued her terribly. Thatfunny, old-fashioned nurse of hers has asked very particularly that shemay not be disturbed, except to see you for a few minutes later."

  "Is she worse?" asked Dinah, startled.

  Whereat Rose shook her dainty head. "Has she ever been better? No, poorthing, I am afraid her days are numbered, nor could one in kindness wishit otherwise. Still, I mustn't sadden you, dear. You have got to lookyour very best to-night, or Sir Eustace will be disappointed. There arequite a lot of pretty girls coming, and you know what he is." Roseuttered a little self-conscious laugh. "Put on a tinge of colour, dear!"she said, as Dinah stood before the mirror in her room. "You look such alittle brown thing; just a faint glow on your cheeks would be such animprovement."

  "No, thank you," said Dinah, and flushed suddenly and hotly at thethought of what she had once endured at her mother's hands for daring topencil the shadows under her eyes. It had been no more than a girlishtrick--an experiment to pass an idle moment. But it had been treated asan offence of immeasurable enormity, and she winced still at the memoryof all that that moment's vanity had entailed.

  Rose looked at her appraisingly. "No, perhaps you don't need it afterall, not anyhow when you blush like that. You have quite a pretty blush,Dinah, and you are wise to make the most of it. Are you ready, dear? Thenwe will go down."

  She rustled forth with Dinah beside her, shedding a soft fragrance ofsome Indian scent as she moved that somehow filled Dinah withindignation, like a resentful butterfly in search of more wholesomedelights.

  Eustace was in the hall when they descended. He came forward to meet his_fiancee_, and her heart throbbed fast and hard at the sight of him. Buthis manner was so strictly casual and impersonal th
at her agitationspeedily passed, and by the time they were seated side by side atdinner--for the last time in their lives, as the Colonel jocoselyremarked--she could not feel that she had ever been anything nearer tohim than a passing acquaintance.

  She was shy and very quiet. The hubbub of voices, the brilliance of itall, overwhelmed her. If Scott had been on her other side, she would havebeen much happier, but he was far away making courteous conversation forthe benefit of a deaf old lady whom no one else made the smallest effortto entertain.

  Suddenly Sir Eustace disengaged himself from the general talk and turnedto her. "Dinah!" he said.

  Her heart leapt again. She glanced at him and caught the gleam of thehunter in those rapier-bright eyes of his.

  He leaned slightly towards her, his smile like a shining cloak, hidinghis soul. "Daphne," he said, and his voice came to her subtle, caressing,commanding, through the gay tumult all about them, "there is going to bedancing presently. Did you hear?"

  "Yes," she whispered with lowered eyes.

  "You will dance with only one to-night," he said. "That is understood, isit?"

  "Yes," she whispered again.

  "Good!" he said. And then imperiously, "Why don't you drink some wine?"

  She made a slight, startled movement. "I never do, I don't like it."

  "You need it," he said, and made a curt sign to one of the servants.

  Wine was poured into her glass, and she drank submissively. Thediscipline of the past two weeks had made her wholly docile. And the winewarmed and cheered her in a fashion that made her think that perhaps hewas right and she had needed it.

  When the dinner came to an end she was feeling far less scared andstrange. Guests were beginning to assemble for the dance, and as theypassed out people whom she knew by sight but to whom she had never spokencame up and talked with her as though they were old friends. Several menasked her to dance, but she steadily refused them all. Her turn wouldcome later.

  "I am going up to see Mrs. Everard," was her excuse. "She is expectingme."

  And then Scott came, and she turned to him with eager welcome. "Oh,please, will you take me to see Isabel?"

  He gave her a straight, intent look, and led her out of the throng.

  His hand rested upon her arm as they mounted the stairs and she thoughthe moved with deliberate slowness. At the top he spoke.

  "Dinah, before you see her I ought to prepare you for a change. She hasbeen losing ground lately. She is not--what she was."

  Dinah stopped short. "Oh, Scott!" She said in breathless dismay.

  His hand pressed upon her, but it seemed to be imparting strength ratherthan seeking it. "I think I told you that day at the Dower House that shewas nearing the end of her journey. I don't want to sadden you. Youmustn't be sad. But you couldn't see her without knowing. It won't bequite yet; but it will be--soon."

  He spoke with the utmost quietness; his face never varied. His eyes withtheir steady comradeship looked straight into hers, stilling herdistress.

  "She is so tired," he said gently. "I don't think it ought to grieve usthat her rest is drawing near at last. She has so longed for it, poorgirl."

  "Oh, Scott!" Dinah said again, but she said it this time withoutconsternation. His steadfast strength had given her confidence.

  "Shall we go to her?" he said. "At least, I think it would be better ifyou went alone. She is quite determined that nothing shall interfere withyour coming happiness, so you mustn't let her think you shocked orgrieved. I thought it best to prepare you, that's all."

  He led her gravely along the passage, and presently stopped outside aclosed door. He knocked three times as of old, and Dinah stood waiting asone on the threshold of a holy place.

  The door, was opened by Biddy, and he pressed her forward. "Don't staylong!" he said. "She is very tired to-night, and Eustace will be wantingyou."

  She squeezed his hand in answer and passed within.

  Biddy's wrinkled brown face smiled a brief welcome under its snowy cap.She motioned her to approach. "Ye'll not stay long, Miss Dinah dear," shewhispered. "The poor lamb's very tired to-night."

  Dinah went forward.

  The window was wide open, and the rush of the west wind filled the room.Isabel was lying in bed with her face to the night, wide-eyed, intent,still as death.

  Noiselessly Dinah drew near. There was something in the atmosphere--aghostly, hovering presence--that awed her. In the sound of that racingwind she seemed to hear the beat of mighty wings.

  She uttered no word, she was almost afraid to speak. But when she reachedthe bed, when she bent and looked into Isabel's face, she caught herbreath in a gasping cry. For she was shocked--shocked unutterably--bywhat she saw. Shrivelled as the face of one who had come through fierytortures, ashen-grey, with eyes in which the anguish of the burnt-outflame still lingered, eyes that were dead to hope, eyes that were openonly to the darkness, such was the face upon which she looked.

  Biddy was by her side in a moment, speaking in a rapid whisper. "Arrahthin, Miss Dinah darlint, don't ye be scared at all! She'll speak to yein a minute, sure. It's only that she's tired to-night. She'll be moreherself like in the morning."

  Dinah hung over the still figure. Biddy's whispering was as the buzzingof a fly. She heard it with the outer sense alone.

  "Isabel!" she said; and again with a passionate earnestness,"Isabel--darling--my darling--what has happened to you?"

  At the sound of that pleading voice Isabel moved, seeming as it were toreturn slowly from afar.

  "Why, Dinah dear!" she said.

  Her dark eyes smiled up at her in welcome, but it was a smile that cuther to the heart with its aloofness, its total lack of gladness.

  Dinah stooped to kiss her. "Are you so tired, dearest? Perhaps I hadbetter go away."

  But Isabel put up a trembling, skeleton hand and detained her. "No, dear,no! I am not so tired as that. I can't talk much; but I can listen. Sitdown and tell me about yourself!"

  Dinah sat down, but she could think of nothing but the piteous, linedface upon the pillow and the hopeless suffering of the eyes that lookedforth from it.

  She held Isabel's hand very tightly, though its terrible emaciationshocked her anew, and so for a time they were silent while Isabel seemedto drift back again into the limitless spaces out of which Dinah's cominghad for a moment called her.

  It was Biddy who broke the silence at last, laying a gnarled andquivering hand upon Dinah as she sat.

  "Ye'd better come again in the morning, mavourneen," she said. "She's toofar off to-night to heed ye."

  Dinah started. Her eyes were full of tears as she bent and kissed thepoor, wasted fingers she held, realizing with poignant certainty as shedid it the truth of the old woman's statement. Isabel was too far off toheed.

  Then, as she rose to go, a strange thing happened. The tender strains ofa waltz, _Simple Aveu_, floated softly in broken snatches in on the westwind, and again--as one who hears a voice that calls--Isabel came back.She raised herself suddenly. Her face was alight, transfigured--the faceof a woman on the threshold of Love's sanctuary.

  "Oh, my dearest!" she said, and her voice thrilled as never Dinah hadheard it thrill before. "How I have waited for this! How I have waited!"

  She stretched out her arms in one second of rapture unutterable; and thenalmost in the same moment they fell. The youth went out of her, shecrumpled like a withered flower.

  "Biddy!" she said. "Oh, Biddy, tell them to stop! I can't bear it! Ican't bear it!"

  Dinah went to the window and closed it, shutting out the hauntingstrains. That waltz meant something to her also, something with which forthe moment she felt she could not cope.

  Turning, she saw that Isabel was clinging convulsively to the old nurse,and she was crying, crying, crying, as one who has lost all hope.

  "But it's too late to do her any good," mourned Biddy over the bowedhead. "It's the tears of a broken heart."