Greatheart Part 67

"Did you call me, my beloved? I am waiting! I am waiting!" said the voice.

It went forth into the sighing darkness of the night, and Dinah held her breath to listen, almost as if she expected to hear an answer.

There fell a long, long silence, and then there came a sound that struck straight to her warm heart. It seemed to her that Isabel was weeping.

She left her window with the impetuosity of one actuated by an impulse irresistible; she crossed her own room, and slipped out into the dark pa.s.sage just as she was. A moment or two she fumbled feeling her way; and then her hand found Isabel's door. Softly she turned the handle, opened, and peeped in.

Isabel was on her knees by the low window-sill. Her head with its crown of silver hair was bowed upon her arm and they rested upon the bundle of letters which Dinah had seen on the very first night that she had seen Isabel. Old Biddy hovered shadow-like in the background. She made a sign to Dinah as she entered, but Dinah was too intent upon her friend to notice.

Fleet-footed she drew near, and as she approached a long bitter sigh broke from Isabel and, following it, low-toned entreaties that pierced her anew with the utter abandonment of their supplication.

"Oh G.o.d," she prayed brokenly. "I am so tired--so tired--of waiting. Open the door for me! Let me out of my prison! Let me find my beloved in the dawning--in the dawning!"

Her voice sank, went into piteous sobbing. She crouched lower in the depth of her woe.

Dinah stooped over her with a little crooning murmur of pity, and gathered her close in her arms.

Isabel gave a great start. "Child!" she said, and then she clasped Dinah to her, leaning her face against her bosom.

Dinah was crying softly, but she saw that Isabel had no tears. That sobbing came from her broken heart, but it brought no relief. The dark eyes burned with a misery that found no vent, save possibly in the pa.s.sionate holding of her arms.

"My darling," she whispered presently, "did I wake you?"

"No, dearest, no!" Dinah was tenderly caressing the snowy hair; she spoke with an almost motherly fondness. "I happened to be awake, and I heard you at the window."

"Why were you awake, darling? Aren't you happy?"

Quick anxiety was in the words. Dinah flushed with a sense of guilt.

"Of course I am happy," she made answer. "What more could I have to wish for? But, Isabel, you--you!"

"Ah, never mind me!" Isabel said. She rose with the movement of one who would s.h.i.+eld another from harm. "You ought to be in bed, sweetheart.

Shall I come and tuck you up?"

"Come and finish the night with me!" whispered Dinah. "We shall both be happy then."

She scarcely expected that Isabel would accede to her desire, but it seemed that Isabel could refuse her nothing. She turned, holding Dinah closely to her.

"My good angel!" she murmured tenderly. "What should I do without you? It is always you who come to lift me out of my inferno."

She left the letters forgotten on the window-sill. By the simple outpouring of her love, Dinah had drawn her out of her place of torment; and she led her now, leaning heavily upon her, through the pa.s.sage to her own room.

Biddy crept after them like a wise old cat alert for danger. "She'll sleep now, Miss Dinah darlint," she murmured. "Ye won't be anxious at all, at all? It's meself that'll be within call."

"No, no! Go to your own room and sleep, Biddy!" Isabel said. "We are both going to do the same."

She sank into the great double bed that Dinah had found almost alarmingly capacious, with a sigh of exhaustion, and Dinah slipped in beside her.

They clasped each other, each with a separate sense of comfort.

Biddy tucked up first one side, then the other, with a whispered blessing for each.

"Ah, the poor lambs!" she murmured, as she went away.

But Isabel's voice had rea.s.sured her; she did not linger even outside the door.

Mumbling still below her breath her inarticulate benisons, Biddy pa.s.sed through her mistress's room into her own. She was very tired, for she had been watching without intermission for nearly five hours. She almost dropped on to her bed and lay as she fell, deeply sleeping.

The letters on the window-sill were forgotten for the rest of that night.

CHAPTER XI

THE NET

When Dinah met her lover in the morning she found him in a surprisingly indulgent mood. The day was showery, and he announced his intention of accompanying them in the car up to town.

"An excellent opportunity for selecting the wedding-ring," he told her lightly. "You will like that better than a picnic."

And Dinah in her relief admitted that this was the case.

Up to the last moment she hoped that Scott would accompany them also, but when she came down dressed for the expedition she found that he had gone to the library to write letters. She pursued him thither, but he would not be persuaded to leave his work.

"Besides, I should only be in the way," he said. And when she vehemently negatived this, he smiled and fell back upon the plea that he was busy.

Just at the last she tried to murmur a word of thanks to him for intervening on her behalf to induce Eustace to abandon the picnic, but he gently checked her.

"Oh, please don't thank me!" he said. "I am not a very good meddler, I a.s.sure you. I hope you are going to have a good day. Take care of Isabel!"

Dinah would have lingered to tell him of the night's happening, but Sir Eustace called her and with a smile of farewell she hastened away.

She enjoyed that day with a zest that banished all misgivings. Sir Eustace insisted upon the purchase of the ring at the outset, and then she and Isabel went their way alone, and shopped in a fas.h.i.+on that raised Dinah's spirits to giddy heights. She had never seen or imagined such exquisite things as Isabel ordered on her behalf. The hours slipped away in one long dream of delight. Sir Eustace had desired them to join him at luncheon, but Isabel had gravely refused. There would not be time, she said. They would meet for tea. And somewhat to Dinah's surprise he had yielded the point.

They met for tea in a Bond Street restaurant and here Sir Eustace took away his _fiancee's_ breath by presenting her with a pearl necklace to wear at her wedding.

She was almost too overwhelmed by the gift to thank him. "Oh, it's too good--it's too good!" she said, awestruck by its splendour.

"Nothing is too good for my wife," he said in his imperial fas.h.i.+on.

Isabel smiled the smile that never reached her shadowed eyes. "A chain of pearls to bind a bride!" she said.

And the thought flashed upon Dinah that there was truth in her words.

Whether with intention or not, by every gift he gave her he bound her the more closely to him. An odd little sensation of dismay accompanied it, but she put it resolutely from her. Bound or not, what did it matter--since she had no desire to escape?

She thanked him again very earnestly that night in the conservatory, and he pressed her to him and kissed the neck on which his pearls rested with the hot lips of a thirsty man. But he had himself under control, and when she sought to draw herself away he let her go. She wondered at his forbearance and was mutely grateful for it.

At Isabel's suggestion she went up to her room early. She was certainly weary, but she was radiantly happy. It had been a wonderful day. The beauty of the pearls dazzled her. She kissed them ere she laid them out of sight. He was good to her. He was much too good.