She hardly noticed anything further of the country through which they passed. Her agitation possessed her overwhelmingly. She felt exhausted, unnerved, very curiously ashamed. It was good to have so princely a lover, but his tempestuous wooing was altogether too much for her. She wondered how Rose, the sedate and composed beauty, would have met those wild gusts of passion. They would not have disconcerted her; nothing ever did. She would probably have endured all with a smile. No form of adoration could come amiss with her. She did not fancy that Rose's heart was capable of beating at more than the usual speed. Her very blushes savoured of a delicate complacency that enhanced her beauty without disturbing her serenity. A great wave of envy went through Dinah. "Ah, why had she not been blessed with such a temperament as that?"

His voice broke in upon her disjointed meditations. "Well, Daphne? Feeling better?"

She glanced at him with the confused consciousness that she dared not meet his eyes. She was glad that he was laughing, but the turbulent feeling of uncertainty that his nearness always brought to her was with her still. She was as one who had passed by a raging fire, and the scorching heat of the flame yet remained with her. Breathlessly she spoke. "I can't think—or do anything—in this wind. Are we nearly there?"

"We are there," he made answer.

And she discovered that which in her distress of mind she had failed to notice. They were running smoothly along a private avenue of fir-trees towards an old stone mansion that stood on a slope overlooking the long river valley.

She drew a hard breath. "But this is better—ever so much—than the Court!" she said.

"Your future home, my queen!" said Sir Eustace royally.

She breathed again deeply, wonderingly. "Is it real?" she said.

He laughed. "I almost think so. You see that other house right away in the distance, across that further slope? That is the Dower House where Isabel and Scott are to live when we are married."

"Oh!" There was a quick note of disappointment in Dinah's voice. "I thought they would live with us."

"I don't know why," said Sir Eustace with a touch of sharpness, and then softening almost immediately, "It's practically the same thing, my sprite of the woods. But I wish you to be mistress in your own home—when we do settle down, which won't be at present. For we're not coming back from our honeymoon till you have learnt that I am the only person in the world that matters."

Again a slight shiver caught Dinah, but she repressed it instantly. "I expect it won't take me very long to learn that, Apollo," she said, with her shy, fleeting smile.

And then they glided up to the wide steps of his home and the door opened to receive them, showing Scott—Scott her friend—standing in the opening, awaiting her.



CHAPTER V

THE WATCHER

She sprang to meet him with a cry of delight, both hands extended.

"Oh, it is good to see you again! It is good! It is good!" she panted. "Why didn't you come to Perrythorpe? I did want you there!"

He grasped her hands very tightly. His pale eyes smiled their welcome, but—it came to her afterwards—he scarcely said a word in greeting. In a second or two he set her free.

"Come and see Isabel!" he said.

She went with him eagerly, forgetful of Sir Eustace striding in her wake. As Scott opened the door of Isabel's room, she pressed forward, and the next moment she was kneeling by Isabel's side, gathered close, close to her breast in a silence that was deeper than any speech.

Dinah's arms clung fast about the elder woman's neck. She was conscious of a curious impulse to tears, but she conquered it, forcing herself somewhat brokenly to laugh.

"Isn't it lovely to be together again?" she whispered. "You can't think what it means to me. I lay in bed last night and counted the hours and then the minutes. I was so dreadfully afraid something might happen to prevent my coming. And, oh, Isabel, I had no idea your home was so beautiful."

Isabel's hold slackened. "Sit on the sofa beside me, my darling!" she said. "I am so glad you like Willowmount. Was Eustace in time for your train?"

Dinah laughed again with more assurance. "Oh no! I got there first. He came swooping down as if he had dropped from the clouds. We had a very quick run back, and I'm blown all to pieces." She put up impetuous hands to thrust back the disordered clusters of dark hair.

"Take off your hat!" said Scott.

She obeyed, with shining eyes upon him. "Now, why didn't you come over to Perrythorpe? You haven't told me yet."

"I was busy," he answered. "I had to get home."

His eyes were shining also. She did not need to be told that he was glad to see her. He rang for tea and sat down somewhere near in his usual unobtrusive fashion. Eustace occupied the place of honour in an easy-chair drawn close to the end of the sofa on which Dinah sat. He was watching her, she knew but she could not meet his look as she met Scott's. His very nearness made her feel again the scorching of the flame.

She slipped her hand into Isabel's as though seeking refuge and as she did so she heard Eustace address his brother, his tone brief and peremptory,—the voice of the employer.

"You have finished that correspondence?"

"I shall finish it in time for the post," Scott made answer.

Eustace made a sound expressive of dissatisfaction. "You'll miss it sure as a gun!"

Scott said nothing further, but his silence was not without a certain mastery that sent an odd little thrill of triumph through Dinah.

Eustace frowned heavily and turned from him.

The entrance of Biddy with the tea made a diversion, for her greeting of Dinah was full of warmth.

"But sure, ye're not looking like I'd like to see ye, Miss Dinah," was her verdict. "It's meself that'll have to feed ye up."

"But I'm always thin!" protested Dinah. "It's just the way I'm made."

Biddy pursed her lips and shook her head. "It's not the sign of a contented mind," she commented.

"I never was contented before I went to Switzerland," said Dinah; she turned to Isabel. "Wasn't it all lovely? It's just like a dream to me now—all glitter and romance. I'd give anything to have it over again."

"I'll show you better things than winter in the Alps," said Eustace in his free, imperial fashion.

Her bright eyes glanced up to his for a moment. "Do you know I don't believe you could," she said.

He laughed. "You won't say that six months hence. The Alps will be no more than an episode to you then."

"Rather an important episode," remarked Scott.

Her look came to him, settled upon him like a shy bird at rest. "Very, very important," she said softly. "Do you remember that first day—that first night—how you helped me dress for the ball? Eustace would never have thought of dancing with me if it hadn't been for you."

"I seem to have a good deal to answer for," said Scott, with his rather tired smile.

"I owe you—everything," said Dinah.

"Stumpy has many debtors," said Isabel.

Eustace uttered a brief laugh. "Stumpy scores without running," he observed. "He always has. Saves trouble, eh, Stumpy?"

"Quite so," said Scott with precision. "It's easy to be kind when it costs you nothing."

"And it pays," said Eustace.

Dinah's green eyes went back to him with something of a flash. "Scott would never have thought of that," she said.

"I am sure he wouldn't," said Eustace dryly.

Her look darted about him like an angry bird seeking some vulnerable point whereat to strike. But before she could speak, Scott leaned forward and intervened.

"My thoughts are my own private property, if no one objects," he said whimsically. "Judge me—if you must—by my actions! But I should prefer not to be judged at all. Have you told Dinah about the invitation to the de Vignes's, Eustace?"

"No! They haven't asked you for the wedding surely!" Dinah's thoughts were instantly diverted. "Have they really? I never thought they would. Oh, that will be fun! I expect Rose is trying to pretend she isn't—" She broke off, colouring vividly. "What a pig I am!" she said apologetically to Scott. "Please forget I said that!"

"But you didn't say it," said Scott.

"A near thing!" commented Eustace. "I had no idea Miss de Vigne was so smitten. Stumpy, you'll be best man. You'll have to console her."

"I believe the best man has to console everybody," said Scott.

"You are peculiarly well fitted for the task," said his brother, setting down his cup and pulling out a cigarette-case. "Be quick and quench your thirst, Dinah. I want to trot you round the place before dark."

Dinah looked at Isabel. "You'll come too?"

Isabel shook her head. "No, dear, I can't walk much. Besides, Eustace will want you to himself."

But a queer little spirit of perversity had entered into Dinah. She shook her head also. "We will go round in the morning," she said, with a resolute look at her fiance. "I am going to stay with Isabel to-night. You have had quite as much of me as is good for you; now haven't you?"

There was an instant of silence that felt ominous before somewhat curtly Sir Eustace yielded the point. "I won't grudge you to Isabel if she wants you. You can both of you come up to the picture-gallery when you have done. There's a fine view of the river from there."

He got up with the words and Scott rose also. They went away together, and Dinah at once nestled to Isabel's side.

"Now we can be cosy!" she said.

Isabel put an arm about her. "You mustn't make me monopolize you, sweetheart," she said. "I think Eustace was a little disappointed."

"I'll be ever so nice to him presently to make up," said Dinah. "But I do want you now, Isabel!"

"What is it, dearest?"

Dinah's cheek rubbed softly against her shoulder. "Isabel—darling, I never thought that you and Scott were going to leave this place because Eustace was marrying me."

Isabel's arm pressed her closer. "We are not going far away, darling. It will be better for you to be alone."

"I don't think so," said Dinah. "We shall be alone quite long enough on our honeymoon." She trembled a little in Isabel's hold. "I do wish you were coming too," she whispered.

"My dear, Eustace will take care of you," Isabel said.

"Oh yes, I know. But he's so big. He wants such a lot," murmured Dinah in distress. "I don't know quite how to manage him. He's never satisfied. If—if only you were coming with us, he'd have something else to think about."

"Oh no, he wouldn't, dear. When you are present, he thinks of no one else. You see," Isabel spoke with something of an effort, "he's in love with you."

"Yes—yes, of course. I'm very silly." Dinah dabbed her eyes and began to smile. "But he makes me feel all the while as if—as if he wants to eat me. I know it's all my silliness; but I wish you weren't going to the Dower House all the same. Shall you be quite comfortable there?"

"It is being done up, dear. You must come round with us and see it. We shall move in directly the wedding is over, and then this place is to be done up too, made ready for you. I believe you are to choose wall-papers and hangings while you are here. You will enjoy that."

"If you will help me," said Dinah.

"Of course I will help you, dear child. I will always help you with anything so long as it is in my power."

Very tenderly Isabel reassured her till presently the scared feeling subsided.

They went up later to the picture-gallery and joined Eustace whom they found smoking there. His mood also had changed by that time, and he introduced his ancestors to Dinah with complete good humour.

Isabel remained with them, but she talked very little in her brother's presence; and when after a time Dinah turned to her she was startled by the deadly weariness of her face.

"Oh, I am tiring you!" she exclaimed, with swift compunction.

But Isabel assured her with a smile that this was not so. She was a little tired, but that was nothing new.

"But you generally rest before dinner!" said Dinah, full of self-reproach, "Eustace, ought she not to rest?"

Eustace glanced at his sister half-reluctantly, and a shade of concern crossed his face also. "Are you feeling faint?" he asked her. "Do you want anything?"

"No, no! Of course not!" She averted her face sharply from his look. "Go on talking to Dinah! I am all right."

She moved to a deep window-embrasure, and sat down on the cushioned seat. The spring dusk was falling. She gazed forth into it with that look of perpetual searching that Dinah had grown to know in the earliest days of their acquaintance. She was watching, she was waiting,—for what? She longed to draw near and comfort her, but the presence of Eustace made that impossible. She did not know how to dismiss him.

And then to her relief the door opened, and Scott came quietly in upon them. He seemed to take in the situation at a glance, for after a few words with them he passed on to Isabel, sitting aloof and silent in the twilight.

She greeted him with a smile, and Dinah's anxiety lifted somewhat. She turned to Eustace.

"Show me your den now!" she said. "I can see the rest of the house to-morrow."

And with a feeling that she was doing Isabel a service she went away with him, alone.



CHAPTER VI

THE WRONG ROAD

When Dinah descended to breakfast the next morning, she encountered Scott in the hall. He had evidently just come in from an early ride, and he was looking younger and more animated than his wont.

"Ah, there you are!" he said, coming to meet her. "I've got some shocking news for you this morning. Eustace has had to go to town to see his solicitor. An urgent telephone message came through this morning. He has just gone up by the early train in the hope of getting back in good time. He charged me with all sorts of messages for you, and I have promised to take care of you in his absence, if you will allow me."

"Oh, that will be great fun!" exclaimed Dinah ingenuously, "I hope you are not very busy. I'd like you to show me everything."

He laughed. "No, I can't do that. We must keep that for Eustace. But I will take you to the Dower House, and show you that."

"I shall love that," said Dinah.

He took her into a room that overlooked terrace and river-valley and the sunny southern slope that lay between.

Breakfast was laid for two, and a cheery fire was burning. "How cosy it looks!" said Dinah.

"It does, doesn't it?" said Scott. "We always breakfast here in the winter for that reason. Not that it is winter to-day. It is glorious spring. You seem to have brought it with you. Take the coffee-pot end, won't you? What will you have to eat?"

He spoke with a lightness that Dinah found peculiarly exhilarating. He was evidently determined that she should not be dull. Her spirits rose. She suddenly felt like a child who has been granted an unexpected holiday.

She smiled up at him as he brought her a plate. "Isn't it a perfect morning? I'm so glad to be here. Don't let us waste a single minute; will we?"

"Not one," said Scott.

He went to his own place. He was plainly in a holiday mood also. She saw it in his whole bearing, and her heart rejoiced. It was so good to see him looking happy.

"Have you seen Isabel this morning?" he asked her presently.

"No. I went to her door, but Biddy said she was asleep, so I didn't go in."

"She often doesn't sleep much before morning," Scott said. "I expect she will be down to luncheon if you can put up with me only till then."

He evidently did not want to discuss Isabel's health just then, and Dinah was quite willing also to let the subject pass for the time. It was a morning for happy thoughts only. She and Scott would pretend that they had not a care in the world.

They breakfasted together as if it were a picnic. She had never seen him so cheery and inconsequent. It was as if he also were engaged in some species of make-believe. Or was it the enchantment of spring that had fallen upon them both? Dinah could not have said. She only knew that she had never felt so happy in all her life before.

The walk to the Dower House was full of delight. It was all so exquisite, the long, grassy slopes, the dark woods, the bare trees stark against the blue. The path led through a birch copse, and here in sheltered corners were primroses. She gathered them eagerly, and Scott helped her, even forgetting to smoke.

She did not remember later what they talked about, or even if they talked at all. But the amazing gladness of her heart on that spring morning was to be a vivid memory to her for as long as she lived.

They reached the Dower House. Like Willowmount, it overlooked the river, but from a different angle. Dinah was charmed with the old place. It was full of unexpected corners and old-fashioned contrivances. Blue patches of violets bloomed in the garden. Again with Scott's help, she gathered a great dewy bunch.

There were workmen in one or two of the rooms, and she stood by or wandered at will while Scott talked to the foreman.

They found themselves presently in the room that was to be Isabel's,—a large and sunlit apartment that had a turret window that looked to the far hills beyond the river. Dinah stood entranced with her eyes upon the blue distance. Finally, with a sigh, she spoke.

"How I wish I were going to live here too!"

"What! You like it better than Willowmount?" said Scott.

She made a little gesture of the hands, as if she pleaded for understanding. "I feel so small in big places. This is spacious, but it's cosy too. I—I should feel lost alone at Willowmount."

"But you won't be alone," he pointed out, with his kindly smile. "You will be very much the reverse, I can assure you."

She gave that sharp, uncontrollable little shiver of hers. "You mean Eustace—" she said haltingly.

"Yes, Eustace, and all the people round who will want to know his bride," said Scott. "I don't think you will have much time to be lonely. If you have, you can always come along to us, you know. We shall be only too delighted to see you."

Dinah turned to him impulsively. "You are good!" she said. "I wonder you don't look upon me as a horrid little interloper, turning you out of your home where you have always lived! I do hate the thought of it! Really it isn't my fault."

She spoke with tears in her eyes; but Scott still smiled. "My dear child," he said, "such an idea never entered my head. Isabel and I have often thought we should like to make this our home. We have always intended to as soon as Eustace married."

"Did you never think of marrying?" Dinah asked him suddenly.

There was an instant's pause, and then, as he was about to speak, she broke in quickly.

"Oh, please don't tell me! I was a pig to ask! I didn't mean to. It just slipped out. Do forgive me!"

"But why shouldn't you ask?" said Scott gently. "We are friends. I don't mind answering you. I've had my dream like the rest of the world. But it was very soon over. I never seriously deluded myself into the belief that anyone could care to marry a shrimp like me."

"Oh, Scott!" Almost fiercely Dinah cut him short. "How can you—you of all people—say a thing like that?"

Scott looked at her quizzically for a moment. "I should have thought I was the one person who could say it," he observed.

Dinah turned from him sharply. Her hands were clenched. "Oh no! Oh no!" she said incoherently. "It's not right! It's not fair! You—you—Mr. Greatheart!" Quite suddenly, as if the utterance of the name were too much for her, she broke down, covered her face, and wept.

"Dinah!" said Scott.

He came to her and took her very gently by the arm. Dinah's shoulders were shaking. She could not lift her face.

"Why—why shouldn't your dream come true too?" she sobbed. "You—who help everybody—to get what they want!"

"My dear," Scott said, "my dream is over. Don't you grieve on my account! God knows I'm not grieving for myself." His voice was low, but very steadfast.

"You wouldn't!" said Dinah.

"No; because it's futile, unnecessary, a waste of time. I've other things to do—plenty of other things." Scott braced himself with the words, as one who manfully lifts a burden. "Cheer up, Dinah! I didn't mean to make you sad."

"But—but—are you sure—quite sure—she didn't care?" faltered Dinah, rubbing her eyes woefully.

"Quite sure," said Scott, with decision.

Dinah threw him a sudden, flashing glance of indignation. "Then she was a donkey, Scott, a fool—an idiot!" she declared, with trembling vehemence. "I'd like—oh, how I'd like—to tell her so."

Scott was smiling, his own, whimsical smile. "Yes, wouldn't you?" he said. "And it's awfully nice of you to say so. But do you know, you're quite wrong. She wasn't any of those things. On the other hand, I was all three. But where's the use of talking? It's over, and a good thing too!"

Dinah slipped a quivering hand over his. "We'll always be friends, won't we, Scott?" she said tremulously.

"Always," said Scott.

She squeezed his hand hard, and in response his fingers pressed her arm. His steady eyes looked straight into hers.

And in the silence, there came to Dinah a queer stirring of uncertainty,—the uncertainty of one who just begins to suspect that he is on the wrong road.

The moment passed, and they talked again of lighter things, but the mood of irresponsible light-heartedness had gone. When they finally left the Dower House, Dinah felt that she trod the earth once more.

"I shall come and see you very often when we come back," she said rather wistfully. "I hope Eustace won't want to be away a very long time."

"Aren't you looking forward to your honeymoon?" asked Scott.

"I don't know," said Dinah, and paused. "I really don't know. But," brightening, "I'm sure the wedding will be great fun."

"I hope it will," said Scott kindly.

It was not till they were nearing Willowmount that Dinah asked him at length hesitatingly about Isabel.

"Do you mind telling me? Is she worse?"

Scott also hesitated a little before he answered. Then: "In one sense she is much better," he said. "But physically," he paused, "physically she is losing ground."

"Oh, Scott!" Dinah looked at him with swift dismay. "But why—why? Can nothing be done?"

His eyes met hers unwaveringly. "No, nothing," he said, and he spoke with that decision which she had come to know as in some fashion a part of himself. His words carried conviction, and yet by some means they quieted her dismay as well. He went on after a moment with that gentle philosophy of his that seemed to soften all he said. "She is as one nearing the end of a long journey, and she is very tired, poor girl. We can't grudge her her rest—when it comes. Eustace wants to rouse her, but I think the time for that is past. It is kinder—it is wiser—to let her alone."

Dinah drew a little nearer to him. "Do you mean—that you think she won't live very long?" she whispered.

"If you like to put it that way," Scott answered quietly.

"Oh, but what of you?" she said.

She uttered the words almost involuntarily, and the next moment she would have recalled them, for she saw his face change. For a second—only a second—she read suffering in his eyes. But he answered her without hesitation.

"I shall just keep on, Dinah," he said. "It's the only way. But, as I think I've mentioned before, it's no good meeting troubles half-way. The day's work is all that really matters."

They walked on for a space in silence; then as they drew near the house he changed the subject. But that brief shadow of a coming desolation dwelt in Dinah's memory with a persistence that defied all lesser things. He was brave enough, cheery enough, in the shouldering of his burden; but her heart ached when she realized how heavy that burden must be.

A message awaited her at the house that she would go to Isabel in her sitting-room, and she went, half-eager, half-diffident. But as soon as she was with her friend her doubts were all gone. For Isabel looked and spoke so much as usual that it seemed impossible to believe that she was indeed nearing the end of the journey.

She wanted to know all that Dinah had been doing, and they sat and discussed the decorations of the Dower House till the luncheon-hour.

When luncheon was over they repaired to a sheltered corner of the terrace, looking down over the garden to the river, while Scott went away to write letters; and here they talked over the serious matter of the trousseau with regard to which neither Dinah nor her mother had made any very definite arrangements.

Perhaps Mrs. Bathurst had foreseen the possibility of Isabel desiring to undertake this responsibility. Perhaps Isabel had already dropped a hint of her intention. In any case it seemed the most natural thing in the world that Isabel should be the one to assist and advise, and when Dinah demurred a little on the score of cost she found herself gently but quite effectually silenced. Sir Eustace's bride must have a suitable outfit, Isabel told her. The question of ways and means was not one which need trouble her.

So Dinah obediently put the matter from her, and entered into the delightful discussion with keen zest. Isabel's ideas were so entrancing. She knew exactly what she would need. Her taste also was so simple, and so unerring. Dinah had never before pictured herself as possessing such things as Isabel calmly proclaimed that she must have.

"We must go up to town to-morrow," Isabel said, "and get things started. It will mean the whole day, I am afraid. Can you bear to be parted from Eustace for so long?"

Dinah laughed merrily at the question. "Of course—of course! What fun it will be! I always knew I should like to be married, but I never dreamt it could be so exciting as this."

Isabel smiled at her with a touch of pity in her eyes. "Marriage isn't only new clothes and wedding presents, Dinah," she said.

"No, no! I know!" Dinah spoke with swift compunction. "It is far more than that. But I've never had such lovely things before. I can't help feeling a little giddy about it. You do understand, don't you? I'm not like that all through—really."

"My darling!" Isabel answered fondly. "Of course I know it. I sometimes think that it would be better for you if you were."

"Isabel, why—why?" Dinah pressed close to her, half-curious, half-frightened.

But Isabel did not answer her. She only kissed the vivid, upturned face with all a mother's tenderness, and turned back in silence, to the fashion-book on her knee.



CHAPTER VII

DOUBTING CASTLE

When Sir Eustace returned, he found his bride-elect awaiting him with a radiant face. She sprang to greet him with an eagerness that outwent all shyness.

"Oh, Eustace, I have had such a lovely time!" she told him. "It has been a perfect day."

She offered him her lips with a child's simplicity, but blushed deeply when she felt the hot pressure of his, turning her face aside the moment he released her.

He laughed a little, keeping his arm about her shoulders. "You haven't missed me then?" he said.

"Oh, not a bit," said Dinah truthfully; and then quickly, "but what a horrid thing to say! Why did you put it like that?"

"I wanted to know," said Sir Eustace.

She turned back to him. "I should have missed you if I hadn't been so busy. Isabel is going to help me with my trousseau. And oh, Eustace, I am to have such a crowd of lovely things."

He pinched her cheek. "What should a brown elf need beyond a shift of thistle-down? Where is Isabel?"

"She is resting now. She got so tired. Biddy said she must lie down, and we mustn't disturb her for tea. I do hope it wasn't too much for her, Eustace."

"Too much for her! Nonsense! It does her good to think of someone else besides herself," said Eustace. "If Biddy didn't coddle her so in the day time, she would sleep better at night. Well, where is tea? In the drawing-room? Come along and have it!"

Dinah clung to his arm. "It—it's in a place called my lady's boudoir," she told him shyly.

He looked at her. "Where? Oh, I know. That inner sanctuary with the west window. You've taken a fancy to it, have you? Then we will call it Daphne's Bower."

Dinah's laugh was not without a hint of restraint. "I haven't been in any other room. Scott said you would show me everything. But I just wandered in there, and he found me and showed me the dear little boudoir. He said you were going to have it done up."

"So I am," said Eustace. "Everything that belongs to you must be new. Have you decided what colour will suit you best?"

They were passing through the long drawing-room towards the curtained doorway that led into the little boudoir. The drawing-room was a palatial apartment with stately French furniture that Dinah surveyed with awe. She could not picture herself as hostess in so magnificent a setting. She could only think of Rose de Vigne. It would have suited her flawless beauty perfectly, and she knew that Rose's self-contained heart would have revelled in such an atmosphere.

But it made her feel a stranger, and she hastened through it to the cosier nest beyond.

This was a far more homely spot. The furniture here was French also, and exquisitely delicate; but it was designed for comfort, and the gilded state of the outer room was wholly absent.

A tea-table stood near a deeply-cushioned settee, and the kettle sang merrily over a spirit-lamp.

Eustace dropped on to the settee and drew her suddenly and wholly unexpectedly down upon his knee.

"Oh, Eustace!" she gasped, turning crimson.

He wound his arms about her, holding her two hands imprisoned. "Oh, Daphne!" he mocked softly. "I've caught you—I've caught you! Here in your own bower with no one to look on! No, you can't even flutter your wings now. You've got to stay still and be worshipped."

He spoke with his face against her neck. She felt the burning of his breath, and something;—an urgent, inner prompting—warned her to submit. She sat there in his grasp in quivering silence.

His arms drew her nearer, nearer. It was as if he were gradually merging her whole being into his. In a moment, with a little gasp, she gave him her trembling lips.

He uttered a low laugh of mastery and gave his passion the rein, overwhelming her with those devouring kisses that from the very outset had always filled her with an indefinable sense of shame. She was quite powerless to frustrate him. The delicate barrier of her reserve was rudely torn away. The burning blush on face and neck served but to feed the flame. He kissed the panting throat as if he would draw the very life out of it. There was fierce possession in the holding of his arms. She thought she would never be free again.

The first fiery wave spent itself at last, but even then he did not let her go. He held her pressed to him, and she lay against his breast trembling but wholly passive, overcome by an inexplicable longing to hide, to hide.

After a few seconds he spoke to her, his voice oddly unsteady, very deep. "You're driving me mad, Daphne. Do you know that?"

"I—I'm sorry," she faltered, trying to shelter her tingling face in his coat.

His arms were tense about her. "I want you more and more every day," he said. "I don't know how to wait for you. How long is it to our wedding?"

"Three weeks and four days," she told him faintly.

He gave his low, quivering laugh, "What! You are counting the days too! Daphne! My Daphne! Need we wait—all that time?"

Dinah's thumping heart gave a great start and seemed to stop. "Oh yes," she gasped desperately. "Yes, I couldn't possibly—be ready sooner."

He put his face down to hers, as one who breathes the essence of a flower. "You are ready now," he said. "You will never be lovelier than you are to-night."

She tried to laugh, but his lips were too near. Her voice quavered piteously.

"Why do I wait for you?" he said, and in his words there beat a fierce unrest. "Why am I such a fool? I lie awake night after night consumed with the want of you. When I sleep, I am always chasing you, you will-o'-the-wisp; and you always manage to keep just out of reach." His arms tightened. His voice suddenly sank to a deep whisper. "Daphne! Shall I tell you what I am going to do?"

"What?" panted Dinah.

"I am going to take you right away over the hills to-morrow to a place I know of where it is as lonely as the Sahara, and we will have a picnic there all to ourselves—all to ourselves, and make up for to-day."

His lips pressed hers again, but she withdrew herself with a sharp effort. There was nameless terror in her heart.

"Oh, I can't, Eustace! I can't indeed!" she said, and now she was striving, striving impotently, for freedom. "I'm going up to town with Isabel."

"Isabel can wait," he said.

"No! No! I must go. You don't understand. There are no end of things to be done." Dinah was as one encircled by fire, searching wildly round for a means of escape. "I must go!" she said again. "I must go!"

"You can go the next day," he said with arrogance. "I want you to-morrow and I mean to have you. Look at me, Dinah!"

She glanced at him, compelled by the command of his tone, met the fiery intensity of his look, and sank helpless, conquered.

He kissed her again. "There! That's settled. You silly little thing! Why do you always beat your wings against the inevitable? Do you think you are going to get away from me now?"

She hid her face against his shoulder. She was almost in tears. "You—you hurt me! You frighten me!" she whispered.

"Do I?" he said, and still in his voice she heard that deep note that made her whole being quiver. "It's your own fault, my Daphne. You shouldn't run away."

"I—I can't help it," she said tremulously. "I sometimes think—I'm not big enough for you."

"You'll grow," he said.

"I don't know," she answered in distress. "I may not. And if I do, I feel—I feel as if I shan't be myself any longer, but just—but just—a bit of you!"

He laughed. "Daphne,—you oddity! Don't you want to be a bit of me?"

"I'd rather be myself," she murmured shyly.

His hold was not so close, and she longed, but did not dare, to get off his knee and breathe. But in that moment there came the sound of a halting step in the drawing-room beyond, and swiftly she raised her head.

"Oh, Eustace, let me go! Here is Scott!"

He did not release her instantly. Scott was already in the doorway before, like a frightened fawn, she leapt from his grasp. She heard Eustace laugh again, and somehow his laugh had a note of insolence.

"Come in, my good brother!" he said. "My lady is just about to make tea. I presume that is what you have come for."

"The presumption is correct," said Scott.

He came forward in his quiet, unhurried fashion, and paused at the table to open the tea-caddy for Dinah.

She thanked him with trembling lips, her eyes cast down, her face on fire.

Eustace lounged back on the settee and watched her. He frowned momentarily when Scott sat down beside him, leaving her a low chair by the tea-tray.

Dinah's hands fluttered among the cups. She was painfully ill at ease. But in a second or two Scott's placid voice came into the silence, and at once her distress began to subside.

"Have you decided about the decoration of this room yet?" he asked. "I always thought this dead-white rather cold."

"Dinah is to have her own choice," said Sir Eustace.

"I would like shell-pink," said Dinah, without looking up. "Don't you think that would be nice with those pretty water-colour sketches?"

She spoke diffidently. No one had ever deferred to her taste before.

Sir Eustace laughed in his slightly supercilious way. "Do you know who is responsible for those pretty sketches, my red, red rose?"

She glanced up nervously. "Not—not—are they yours, Scott?"

"They are," said Scott, with a smile.

She met his eyes for an instant, and was surprised by their gravity. "Oh, I do like them," she said. "I wonder I didn't guess. They are so beautifully finished, so—complete."

"I am glad you like them," said Scott. "I thought you might want to turn them out as lumber."

"As if I should!" she said. "I love them—every one of them. I shall love them better still now I know they are yours."

"Thank you," said Scott.

Eustace turned his attention to him. "No one ever paid you such a compliment as that before, my good Stumpy," he observed. "If everyone saw you in that light, you'd be a great artist by now."

"I wonder," said Scott.

Dinah sent him another swift glance. She seemed on the verge of speech, but checked herself, and there fell a brief silence.

It was broken by the entrance of a servant. "If you please, Sir Eustace, Mr. Grey is in the library and would be glad if you could spare him a few minutes."

Sir Eustace uttered an impatient exclamation. "You go and see what he wants, Stumpy!" he said.

But Scott remained seated. "I know what he wants, my dear chap, and it's something that only you can give. He has come about Bob Jelf who was caught poaching last week. He wants you to give the fellow as light a sentence as possible on account of his wife."

Sir Eustace frowned. "I never give a light sentence for poaching. He's always at it, I'd give him the cat if I could."

Scott raised his shoulders slightly. "Well, don't ask me to say that to Mr. Grey! He's taking the whole business badly to heart, as he was beginning to look on Jelf as a reformed character."

"I'll reform him!" said Sir Eustace. He turned to the servant. "Ask Mr. Grey to join us here!"

"You had better see him alone first," said Scott.

"Why?" His brother turned upon him almost savagely.

Scott took up his tea-cup. "You can't refuse to give him a hearing," he observed. "He has come up on purpose."

Sir Eustace murmured something under his breath and rose. His look fell upon Dinah. "It's the village padre," he said. "I shall have to bring him in here. I hope you don't mind?"

She gave him a quick, half-startled smile. "Of course not."

He turned to the door which the waiting servant was holding open, and strode out with annoyed majesty.

Dinah watched him till the door closed; then very suddenly and urgently she turned to Scott.

"Oh, please, will you help me?" she said.

He gave her a straight, keen look that seemed to penetrate to her soul. "If it lies in my power," he said slowly.

She caught her breath, pierced by a sharp uncertainty. "You can. I'm sure you can," she said.

He set down his cup. "Dinah," he said gently, "don't ask me to interfere in your affairs if you can by any means manage without!"

"But that's just it!" she said in distress. "I can't."

He leaned forward. "My dear, don't be agitated!" he said. "Tell me what is the matter!"

Dinah leaned forward also, her hands tightly clasped, and spoke in a rapid whisper.

"Scott, Eustace wants me to go for an all-day picnic alone with him to-morrow. I—don't want to go."

He was still looking at her with that straight, almost stern regard. An odd little quiver went through her as she met it. She felt as if she were in a fashion on her trial.

"Why don't you want to go?" he asked.

She hesitated. "I was to have gone up to town with Isabel to shop," she said.

"No, that isn't the reason," he said. "Tell me the reason!"

She made a quick gesture of appeal. "I—wish you wouldn't ask," she faltered, and suddenly she could meet his eyes no longer. She lowered her own, and sat before him in burning confusion.

"Have you asked yourself?" he said, his voice very low.

She was silent; the quiet question seemed to probe her through and through. There was no evading it.

Scott was still watching her very closely, very intently. He spoke at length, just as she was beginning to feel his scrutiny to be more than she could bear.

"If you are just shy with him—as I think you are—I think you ought to try and get over it, as much for his sake as for your own. You don't want to hurt him, do you? You wouldn't like him to be disappointed?"

Dinah shook her head. "If you could come too!" she suggested, in a very small voice.

"No, I can't," said Scott firmly.

She sent him a darting glance. "Are you angry with me?" she said.

"I!" said Scott in amazement.

"You—spoke as if you were," she said. "And you looked—quite grim."

He laughed a little. "If you are afraid of me, you must indeed be easily frightened. No, of course I am not angry. Dinah! Dinah! Don't be silly!"

Her lips were quivering, but in response to his admonishing tone she forced them to smile. "I know I am silly," she said, with an effort. "I—I'm not nearly good enough for Eustace. And I'm a dreadful little coward, I know. But he does frighten me. When he kisses me—I always want to run away."

"But you wouldn't like it if he didn't," said Scott, in the voice of the philosopher.

"Shouldn't I?" said Dinah. "I wonder. It—wouldn't be him, would it?"

"And what are you going to do when you are married?" said Scott, point blank. "You'll see much more of him then."

"Oh, I expect I shall feel different then," said Dinah. "Married people are different, aren't they? They are not always going off by themselves and kissing in corners."

"Not as a rule," admitted Scott. "But I've been told that there is usually a good deal of that sort of thing done during the honeymoon."

"That's different too," Dinah's voice was slightly dubious notwithstanding. "But we are not on our honeymoon yet. Scott, couldn't you—just for once—help me to—to find an excuse not to go? It would be—so dear of you."

She spoke with earnest entreaty, her eyes frankly raised to his.

Scott looked into them with steady searching before he finally responded. "I will speak to him if you like. I don't know that I shall be successful. But—if you wish it—I will try."

"Oh, thank you," she said. "Thank you." And then quickly, "You're sure you don't mind? Sure you're not afraid?"

"Oh, quite sure of that," said Scott.

Her eyes expressed open admiration. "I can't think how you manage not to be," she said.

He smiled with a touch of sadness. "Perhaps I am not so weak as I look," he said.

"You—weak!" said Dinah. "Why, you are the strongest man I ever met."

Scott smothered a sudden sigh. "Which only proves how very little you know about me," he said.

But Dinah shook her head, wholly unconvinced. Here at least she was absolutely sure of her ground.

"'Mr. Greatheart was a strong man,'" she quoted, "'and he was not afraid of a Lion.'"

"There are sometimes worse things than lions in the path," said Scott gravely.



CHAPTER VIII

THE VICTORY

The return of Sir Eustace, marshalling the Vicar before him, put an end to further confidences.

Dinah rose nervously to receive the new-comer—a tall, thin man, elderly, with a grave, intellectual face and courteous manner, who looked at her with a gleam of surprise as he took her shyly proffered hand.

"It is a great privilege to meet you," he said then, and Dinah perceived at once that he had prepared that remark for someone much more imposing than herself, and had not time to readjust it.

She thanked him, and he sat down at Scott's invitation and fell into a troubled silence.

Sir Eustace was looking decidedly formidable, and it was not difficult to see that he had just given an unqualified refusal to his visitor's earnest request.

It was Scott as usual who came to the rescue, breaking through the Vicar's abstraction to ask for details concerning certain additions that were being made to the Cottage Hospital. He drew Dinah also into the conversation, taking it for granted that she would be interested; and presently Mr. Grey brightened somewhat, launching into what was evidently a favourite topic.

"We are hoping," he said, "that the new wing will be completed by the end of June, and it is expected that the Parish Council will request Lady Studley to be good enough to declare it open."

He looked at Dinah with the words, and she realized their significance with a sharp shock. "Oh, do you mean me?" she said. "I don't think I could."

"It wouldn't be a very difficult business," said Scott reassuringly.

"Oh, I couldn't!" she said. "Why—why, there would be crowds of people, wouldn't there?"

"I hope to get a few of the County," said Mr. Grey, "to support you."

"That makes it worse," said Dinah.

Scott laughed. "Eustace and I will come too and take care of you. You see, the Lady of the Manor has to do these tiresome things."

"Oh! I'll come if you want me," said Dinah. "But I've never done anything like that before and I can't think what the County will say. You see, I don't belong."

"Snap your fingers in its face, and it won't bite you!" said Eustace. "You will belong by that time."

Mr. Grey smiled a very kindly smile that had in it a touch of compassion. He said nothing, but in a few minutes he rose to take his leave, and then, with Dinah's hand held for a moment in his, he said in a low voice, "I wish I might enlist your sympathy on behalf of one of my parishioners. His wife is dying of cancer, and he is to be sent to gaol for poaching."

"Oh!" Dinah exclaimed in distress.

She looked quickly across at her fiance, and saw that his brow was dark.

He said nothing whatever, and she went to him impulsively. "Eustace, must you send him to prison?"

He looked at her for a second, then turned, without responding, to the Vicar. "That was a very unnecessary move on your part, sir," he said icily. "I have told you my decision in the matter, and there it must rest. Justice is justice."

Dinah was looking at him very pleadingly; he laid his hand upon her arm, and she felt his fingers close with a strong, restraining pressure.

Mr. Grey turned to go. "I make no excuse, Sir Eustace," he said. "I am begging for mercy, not justice. My cause is urgent. If one weapon fails, I must employ another."

He went out with Scott, and Dinah was left alone with Sir Eustace.

He spoke at once, sternly and briefly, before she had time to open her lips. "Dinah, this is no matter for your interference. I forbid you to pursue it any further."

His tone was crushingly absolute; she saw that he was white with anger.

She felt the colour die out of her own cheeks as she faced him. But the Vicar's few words had made a deep impression upon her; she forced back her fear.

"But, Eustace, is it true?" she said. "Is the man's wife really dying? If so—if so—surely you will let him off!"

His grasp upon her arm tightened. "Are you going to disobey me?" he said warningly.

His look was terrible, but she braved it. "Yes—yes, I am," she said, with desperate courage. "Eustace, I've never asked you to do anything before. Couldn't you—can't you—do this one thing?"

She met the blazing wrath of his eyes though her heart felt stiff with fear. It had come so suddenly, this ordeal, but she braced herself to meet it. Horrible though it was to withstand him, the thought came to her that if she did not make the effort just once she would never have the strength again.

"You think me very impertinent," she said, speaking quickly through quivering lips. "But—but—I have a right to speak. If I am to be—your wife, you must not treat me as—a servant."

She saw his look change. The anger went out of it, but something that was more terrible to her took its place, something that she could not meet.

She flinched involuntarily, and in the same moment he drew her close to him. "Ah, Daphne, the adorable!" he said. "I've never seen you at bay before! You claim your privileges, do you? You think I can refuse you nothing?"

She shrank at his tone—the mastery of it, the confidence, the caress.

"You needn't be afraid," he said, and bent his face to hers. "Whatever you wish is law. But don't forget one thing! If I refuse you nothing, I must have everything in exchange. 'Love the gift is Love the debt,' my Daphne. You must give me freely all that you have in return."

She trembled in his embrace. Those passionate words of his frightened her anew. Was it possible—would it ever be possible—to give him—freely—all that she had?

The doubt shot through her like the stab of a dagger even while she gave him the kiss he demanded for her audacity. Her victory over him amazed her, so appalling had seemed the odds. But in a fashion it dismayed her too. He was too mighty a giant to kneel at her feet for long. He would exact payment in full, she was sure, she was sure, for all that he gave her now.

She was thankful when a ceremonious knock at the door compelled him to release her. Biddy presented herself very upright, primly correct.

"If ye please, Miss Dinah, Mrs. Everard is awake and will be pleased to see ye whenever it suits ye to go to her at all."

"Oh, I'll go now," said Dinah with relief. She glanced at Eustace. "You don't mind? You don't want me?"

"No, I have some business to discuss with Stumpy," he said. "Perhaps I will join you presently."

He took out a cigarette and lighted it, and Dinah turned; and went away with the old woman.

"And it's to be hoped he'll do nothing of the kind," remarked Biddy, as they walked through the long drawing-room. "For the very thought of him is enough to drive poor Miss Isabel scranny, specially in the evening."

"Is—is Miss Isabel so afraid of him?" asked Dinah under her breath.

Biddy nodded darkly. "She is that, Miss Dinah, and small blame to her."

Dinah pressed suddenly close. "Biddy, why?"

Biddy pursed her lips. "Faith, and it's meself that's afraid, ye'll find the answer to that only too soon, Miss Dinah dear!" she said solemnly. "I can't tell ye the straight truth. Ye wouldn't believe me if I did. Ye must watch for yourself, me jewel. Ye've got a woman's intelligence. Don't ye be afraid to use it!"

It was the soundest piece of advice that she had ever heard from Biddy's lips, and Dinah accepted it in silence. She had known for some time that Biddy had small love for Sir Eustace, but it was evident that the precise reason for this was not to be conveyed in words. She wished she could have persuaded her to be more explicit, but something held her back from attempting to gain the information that Biddy withheld. It was better—surely it was sometimes better—not to know too much.

They met Scott as they turned out of the drawing-room, and Biddy's grim old face softened at the sight of him.

He paused: "Hullo! Going to Isabel? Has she had a good rest, Biddy?"

"Glory to goodness, Master Scott, she has!" said Biddy fervently.

"That's all right." Scott prepared to pass on. "Eustace hasn't gone, I suppose?"

"No, he is in there, waiting for you." Dinah detained him for a moment. "Scott, he—I think he is going to—to let that man off with a light sentence."

"What?" said Scott. "Dinah, you witch! How on earth did you do it?"

He looked so pleased that her heart gave a throb of triumph. It had been well worth while just to win that look from him.

She smiled back at him. "I don't know. I really don't know. But,—Scott"—she became a little breathless—"if—if he really wants me to-morrow, I think—p'raps—I'd better go."

Scott gave her his straight, level look. There was a moment's pause before he said, "Wait till to-morrow comes anyway!" and with that he was gone, limping through the great room with that steady but unobtrusive purpose that ever, to Dinah's mind, redeemed him from insignificance.

"Ah! He's the gentleman is Master Scott," said Biddy's voice at her side. "Ye'll never meet his like in all the world. It's a sad life he leads, poor young gentleman, but he keeps a brave heart though never a single joy comes his way. May the Almighty reward him and give him his desire before it's too late."

"What desire?" asked Dinah.

Biddy shot her a lightning glance from her beady eyes ere again mysteriously she shook her head.

"And it's the innocent lamb that ye are entirely, Miss Dinah dear," she said.

With which enigmatical answer Dinah was forced to be content.



CHAPTER IX

THE BURDEN

Sir Eustace was standing by the window of the little boudoir when his brother entered, and Scott joined him there. He also lighted a cigarette, and they smoked together in silence for several seconds.

Finally Eustace turned with his faint, supercilious smile. "What's the matter, Stumpy? Something on your mind?"

Scott met his look. "Something I've got to say to you anyway, old chap, that rather sticks in my gullet."

Sir Eustace laughed. "You carry conscience enough for the two of us. What is it? Fire away!"

Scott puffed at his cigarette. "You won't like it," he observed. "But it's got to be said. Look here, Eustace! It's all very well to be in love. But you're carrying it too far. The child's downright afraid of you."

"Has she told you so?" demanded Eustace. A hot gleam suddenly shone in his blue eyes. He looked down at Scott with a frown.

Scott shook his head. "If she had, I shouldn't tell you so. But the fact remains. You're a bit of an ogre, you know, always have been. Slack off a bit, there's a good fellow! You'll find it's worth it."

He spoke with the utmost gentleness, but there was determination in his quiet eyes. Having spoken, he turned them upon the garden again and resumed his cigarette.

There fell a brief silence between them. Sir Eustace was no longer smoking. His frown had deepened. Suddenly he laid his hand upon Scott's shoulder.

"It's my turn now," he said. "I've something to say to you."

"Well?" said Scott. He stiffened a little at the hold upon him, but he did not attempt to frustrate it.

"Only this." Eustace pressed upon him as one who would convey a warning. "You've interfered with me more than once lately, and I've borne with it—more or less patiently. But I'm not going to bear with it much longer. You may be useful to me, but—you're not indispensable. Remember that!"

Scott started at the words, as a well-bred horse starts at the flicker of the whip. He controlled himself instantly, but his eyelids quivered a little as he answered, "I will remember it."

Sir Eustace's hand fell. "I think that is all that need be said," he observed. "We will get to business."

He turned from the window, but in the same moment Scott wheeled also and took him by the arm. "One moment!" he said. "Eustace, we are not going to quarrel over this. You don't imagine, do you, that I interfere with you in this way for my own pleasure?"

He spoke urgently, an odd wistfulness in voice and gesture.

Sir Eustace paused. The sternness still lingered in his eyes though his face softened somewhat as he said, "I haven't gone into the question of motives, Stumpy. I have no doubt they are—like yourself—very worthy, though it might not soothe me greatly to know what they are."

Scott still held his arm. "Oh, man," he said very earnestly, "don't miss the best thing in life for want of a little patience! She's such a child. She doesn't understand. For your own sake give her time!"

There was that in his tone that somehow made further offence impossible. A faint, half-grudging smile took the place of the grimness on his brother's face.

"You take things so mighty seriously," he said. "What's the matter? What has she been saying?"

Scott hesitated. "I can't tell you that. I imagine it is more what she doesn't say that makes me realize the state of her mind. I can tell you one thing. She would rather go shopping with Isabel to-morrow than picnicking in the wilderness with you, and if you're wise, you'll give in and let her go. You'll run a very grave risk of losing her altogether if you ask too much."

"What do you mean?" Eustace's voice was short and stern; the question was like a sword thrust.

Again Scott hesitated. Then very steadily he made reply. "I mean that—with or without reason, you know best—she is beginning not to trust you. It is more than mere shyness with her. She is genuinely frightened."

His words went into silence, and in the silence he took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. It had been a more difficult interview for him than Eustace would ever realize. His powers of endurance were considerable, but he had an almost desperate desire now to escape.

But some instinct kept him where he was. To fail at the last moment for lack of perseverance would have been utterly uncharacteristic of him. It was his custom to stand his ground to the last, whatever the cost.

And so he forced himself to wait while his brother contemplated the unpleasant truth that he had imparted. He knew that it was not in his nature to spend long over the process, but he was still by no means sure of the final result.

Eustace spoke at length very suddenly. "See here, Stumpy!" he said. "There may be something in what you say, and there may not. But in any case, you and Dinah are getting altogether too intimate and confidential to please me. It's up to you to put the brake on a bit. Understand?"

He smiled as he said it, but there was a gleam as of cold steel behind his smile.

Scott straightened himself. It was as if something within him leapt to meet the steel. Spent though he was, this was a matter no man could shirk.

"I shall do nothing of the kind," he said. "Do you think I'd destroy her trust in me too? I'd sell my soul sooner."

The words were passionate, and the man as he uttered them seemed suddenly galvanized with a new force, a force irresistible, elemental, even sublime. The elder brother's brows went up in amazement. He did not know Stumpy in that mood. He found himself confronted with a power colossal manifested in the meagre frame, and before that power instinctively, wholly involuntarily, he gave ground.

"I see you mean to please yourself," he said, and turned to go with a sub-conscious feeling that if he lingered he would have the worst of it. "But I warn you if you get in my way, you'll be kicked. So look out!"

It was not a conciliatory speech, but it was the outcome of undoubted discomfiture. He was so accustomed to submission from Scott that he had come to look upon it as inevitable. His sudden self-assertion was oddly disconcerting.

So also was the laugh that followed his threat, a careless laugh wholly devoid of bitterness which yet in some fashion inexplicable pierced his armour, making him feel ashamed.

"You know exactly what I think of that sort of thing, don't you?" Scott said. "That's the best of having no special physical attractions. One doesn't need to think of appearances."

Sir Eustace made no rejoinder. He could think of nothing to say; for he knew that Scott's attitude was absolutely sincere. For physical suffering he cared not one jot. The indomitable spirit of the man lifted him above it. He was fashioned upon the same lines as the men who faced the lions of Rome. No bodily pain could ever daunt him.

He went from the room haughtily but in his heart he carried an odd misgiving that burned and spread like a slow fire, consuming his pride. Scott had withstood him, Scott the weakling, and in so doing had made him aware of a strength that exceeded his own.

As for Scott, the moment he was alone he drew a great breath of relief, and almost immediately after opened the French window and passed quietly out into the garden.

The dusk was falling, and the air smote chill; yet he moved slowly forth, closing the window behind him and so down into the desolate shrubberies where he paced for a long, long time....

When he went to Isabel's room more than an hour later, his eyes were heavy with weariness, and he moved like a man who bears a burden.

She was alone, and looked up at his entrance with a smile of welcome. "Come and sit down, Stumpy! I've seen nothing of you. Dinah has only just left me. She tells me Eustace is talking of a picnic for to-morrow, but really she ought to give her mind to her trousseau if she is ever to be ready in time. Do you think Eustace can be induced to see reason?"

"I don't know," Scott said. He seated himself by Isabel's side and leaned back against the cushions, closing his eyes.

"You are tired," she said gently.

"Oh, only a little, Isabel!" He spoke without moving, making no effort to veil his weariness from her.

"What is it, dear?" she said.

"I am very anxious about Dinah." He spoke the words deliberately; his face remained absolutely still and expressionless.

"Anxious, Stumpy!" Isabel echoed the word quickly, almost as though it gave her relief to speak. "Oh, so am I—terribly anxious. She is so young, so utterly unprepared for marriage. I believe she is frightened to death when she lets herself stop to think."

"I blame myself," Scott said heavily.

"My dear, why?" Isabel's hand sought and held his. "How could you be to blame?"

"I forced it on," he said. "I—in a way—compelled Eustace to propose. He wasn't serious till then. I made him serious."

"Oh, Stumpy, you!" Incredulity and reproach mingled in Isabel's tone.

She would have withdrawn her hand, but his fingers closed upon it. "I made a mistake," he said, with dreary conviction, "a great mistake, though God knows I meant well; and now it is out of my power to set it right. I thought her heart was involved. I know now it was not. It's hard on him too in a way, because he is very much in earnest now, whatever he was before. I was a fool—I was a fool—not to let things take their course. She would have suffered, but it would have been soon over. Whereas now—" He stopped himself abruptly. "It's no good talking. There's nothing to be done. He may—after marriage—break her in to loving him, but if he does—if he does—" his hand clenched with sudden force upon Isabel's—"it won't be Dinah any more," he said. "It'll be—another woman; one who is satisfied with—a very little."

His hand relaxed as suddenly as it had closed. He lay still with a face like marble.

Isabel sat motionless by his side for several seconds. She was gazing straight before her with eyes that seemed to read the future.

"How did you compel him to propose?" she asked presently.

He shrugged his narrow shoulders slightly. "I can do these things, Isabel, if I try. But I wish I'd killed myself now before I interfered. As I tell you, I was a fool—a fool."

He ceased to speak and sat in the silence of a great despair.

Isabel said nought to comfort him. Her tragic eyes still seemed to be gazing into the future.

After many minutes Scott turned his head and looked at her. "Isabel, I wish you would try to keep her with you as much as possible. Tell Eustace what you have just told me! There is certainly no time to lose if she is really to be married in three weeks from now!"

"I suppose he would never consent to put it off," Isabel said slowly.

"He certainly would not." Scott rose with a restless movement that said more than words. "He is on fire for her. Can't you see it? There is nothing to be done unless she herself wishes to be released. And I don't think that is very likely to happen."

"He would never give her up," Isabel said with conviction.

"If she desired it, he would," Scott's reply held an even more absolute finality.

Isabel looked at him for a moment; then: "Yes, but the poor little thing would never dare," she said. "Besides—besides—there is the glamour of it all."

"Yes, there is the glamour." Scott spoke with a kind of grim compassion. "The glamour may carry her through. If so, then—possibly—it may soften life for her afterwards. It may even turn into romance. Who knows? But—in any case—there will probably be—compensations."

"Ah!" Isabel said. A wonderful light shone for a moment in her eyes and died; she turned her face aside. "Compensations don't come to everyone, Stumpy," she said. "What if the glamour fades and they don't come to take its place?"

Scott was standing before the fire, his eyes fixed upon its red depths. His shoulders were still bent, as though they bore a burden well-nigh overwhelming. An odd little spasm went over his face at her words.

"Then—God help my Dinah!" he said almost under his breath.

In the silence that followed the words, Isabel rose impulsively, came to him, and slipped her hand through his arm.

She neither looked at him nor spoke, and in silence the matter passed.



CHAPTER X

THE HOURS OF DARKNESS

Dinah could not sleep that night. For the first time in all her healthy young life she lay awake with grim care for a bed-fellow. When in trouble she had always wept herself to sleep before, but to-night she did not weep. She lay wide-eyed, feeling hot and cold by turns as the memory of her lover's devouring passion and Biddy's sinister words alternated in her brain. What was the warning that Biddy had meant to convey? And how—oh, how—would she ever face the morrow and its fierce, prolonged courtship, from the bare thought of which every fibre of her being shrank in shamed dismay?

"There won't be any of me left by night," she told herself, as she sought to cool her burning face against the pillow. "Oh, I wish he didn't love me quite so terribly."

It was no good attempting to bridle wish or fears. They were far too insistent. She was immured in the very dungeons of Doubting Castle, and no star shone in her darkness.

Towards morning her restlessness became unendurable. She arose and tremblingly paced the room, sick with a nameless apprehension that seemed to deprive her alike of the strength to walk or to be still.

Her whole body was in a fever as though it had been scourged with thongs; in fact, she still seemed to feel the scourge, goading her on.

To and fro, to and fro, she wandered, scarcely knowing what she wanted, only urged by that unbearable restlessness that gave her no respite. Of the future ahead of her she did not definitely think. Her marriage still seemed too intangible a matter for serious contemplation. She still in her child's heart believed that marriage would make a difference. He would not make such ardent love to her when they were married. They would both have so many other things to think about. It was the present that so weighed upon her, her lover's almost appalling intensity of worship and her own utter inadequacy and futility.

Again, as often before, the question arose within her, How would Rose have met the situation? Would she have been dismayed? Would she have shrunk from those fiery kisses? Or could she—could she possibly—have remained calm and complacent and dignified in the midst of those surging tempests of love? But yet again she failed completely to picture Rose so mastered, so possessed, by any man; Rose the queen whom all men worshipped with reverence from afar. She wondered again how Sir Eustace had managed to elude the subtle charm she cast upon all about her. He had actually declared that her perfection bored him. It was evident that she left him cold. Dinah marvelled at the fact, so certain was she that had he humbled himself to ask for Rose's favour it would have been instantly and graciously accorded to him.

It would have saved a lot of trouble if he had fallen in love with Rose, she reflected; and then the old thrill of triumph went through her, temporarily buoying her up. She had been preferred to Rose. She had beaten Rose on her own ground, she the little, insignificant adjunct of the de Vigne party! She was glad—oh, she was very glad!—that Rose was to have so close a view of her final conquest.

She began to take comfort in the thought of her approaching wedding and all its attendant glories, picturing every detail with girlish zest. To be the queen of such a brilliant ceremony as that! To be received into the County as one entering a new world! To belong to that Society from which her mother had been excluded! To be in short—her ladyship.

A new excitement began to urge Dinah. She picked up a towel and draped it about her head and shoulders like a bridal veil. Her mother would have rated her for such vanity, but for the moment vanity was her only comfort, and the thought of her mother did not trouble her. This was how she would look on her wedding-day. There would be a wreath of orange-blossoms of course; Isabel would see to that. And—yes, Isabel had said that her bouquet should be composed of lilies-of-the-valley. She even began to wish it were her wedding morning.

The glamour spread like a rosy dawning; she forgot the clouds that loomed immediately ahead. Standing there in her night attire, poised like a brown wood-nymph on the edge of a pool, she asked herself for the first time if it were possible that she could have any pretensions to beauty. It was not in the least likely, of course. Her mother had always railed at her for the plainness of her looks. Did Eustace—did Scott—think her plain? She wondered. She wondered.

A slight sound, the opening of a window, in the room next to hers, made her start. That was Isabel's room. What was happening? It was three o'clock in the morning. Could Isabel be ill?

Very softly she opened her own window and leaned forth. It was one of those warm spring nights that come in the midst of March gales. There was a scent of violets on the air. She thought again for a fleeting second of Scott and their walk through fairyland that morning. And then she heard a voice, pitched very low but throbbing with an eagerness unutterable, and at once her thoughts were centred upon Isabel.

"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 passage 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 God," 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 passionate 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 shield 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 passage 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 reassured her; she did not linger even outside the door.

Mumbling still below her breath her inarticulate benisons, Biddy passed 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 assure 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 fashion 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 fashion.

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.

There came a knock at the door just as she was getting into bed, and Biddy came softly in, her brown face full of mystery and, Dinah saw at a glance, of anxiety also.

She put up a warning finger as she advanced. "Whisht, Miss Dinah darlint! For the love of heaven, don't ye make a noise! I just came in to ask ye a question, for it's worried to death I am."

"Why what's the matter, Biddy?" Dinah questioned in surprise.

"And ye may well ask, Miss Dinah dear!" Tragedy made itself heard in Biddy's rejoinder. "Sure it's them letters of Miss Isabel's that's disappeared entirely, and left no trace. And what'll I do at all when she comes to ask for them? It's not meself that'll dare to tell her as they've gone, and she setting such store by them. She'll go clean out of her mind, Miss Dinah, for sure, they've been her only comfort, poor lamb, these seven years."

"But, Biddy!" Impulsively Dinah broke in upon her, her eyes round with surprise and consternation. "They can't be—gone! They must be somewhere! Have you hunted for them? She left them on the window-sill, didn't she? They must have got put away."

"That they have not!" declared Biddy solemnly. "It's my belief that the old gentleman himself must have spirited them away. The window was left open, ye know, Miss Dinah, and it was a dark night."

"Oh, Biddy, nonsense, nonsense! One of the servants must have moved them when she was doing the room. Have you asked everyone?"

"That couldn't have happened, Miss Dinah dear." Unshakable conviction was in Biddy's voice. "I got up late, and I had to get Miss Isabel up in a hurry to go off in the motor. But I missed the letters directly after she was gone, and I hadn't left the room—except to call her. No one had been in—not unless they slipped in in those few minutes while me back was turned. And for what should anyone take such a thing as them letters, Miss Dinah? There are no thieves in the house. And them love-letters were worth nothing to nobody saving to Miss Isabel, and they were the very breath of life to her when the black mood was on her. Whatever she'll say—whatever she'll do—I don't dare to think."

Poor Biddy flourished her apron as though she would throw it over her head. Her parchment face was working painfully.

Dinah sat on the edge of her bed and watched her, not knowing what to say.

"Where is Miss Isabel?" she asked at last.

"She's still downstairs with Master Scott, and I'm expecting her up every minute. It's herself that ought to be in bed by now, for she's tired out after her long day; but he'll be bringing her up directly and then she'll ask for her love-letters. There's never a night goes by but what she kisses them before she lies down. When ye were ill, Miss Dinah dear, she'd forget sometimes, but ever since she's been alone again she's never missed, not once."

"Have you told Master Scott?" asked Dinah.

Biddy shook her head. "Would I add to his burdens, poor young gentleman? He'll know soon enough."

"And are you sure you've looked everywhere—everywhere?" insisted Dinah. "If no one has taken them—"

"Miss Dinah, I've turned the whole room upside down and shaken it," declared Biddy. "I'll take my dying oath that them letters have gone."

"Could they—could they possibly have fallen out of the window?" hazarded Dinah.

"Miss Dinah dear, no!" A hint of impatience born of her distress was perceptible in the old woman's tone; she turned to the door. "Well, well, it's no good talking. Don't ye fret yourself! What must be, will be."

"But I think Scott ought to know," said Dinah.

"No, no, Miss Dinah! We'll not tell him before we need. He's got his own troubles. But I wonder—I wonder—" Biddy paused with the door-handle in her bony old fingers—"how would it be now," she said slowly, "if ye was to get Miss Isabel to sleep with ye again? She forgot last night. It's likely she may forget again—unless he calls her."

"Biddy!" exclaimed Dinah, startled.

Biddy's beady eyes gleamed mysteriously. "Arrah, but it's the truth I'm telling ye, Miss Dinah. He does call her. I've known him call her when she's been lying in a deep sleep, and she'll rise up with her arms stretched out and that look in her eyes!" Biddy's face crumpled momentarily, but was swiftly straightened again. "Will ye do it then, Miss Dinah? Ye needn't be afraid. I'll be within call. But when she's got you, she don't seem to be craving for anyone else. What was it she called ye only last night? Her good angel! And so ye be, me jewel; so ye be!"

Dinah stood debating the matter. Biddy's expedient was of too temporary an order to recommend itself to her. She wondered why Scott should not be consulted, and it was with some vague intention of laying the matter before him if an opportunity should occur that she finally gave her somewhat hesitating consent.

"I will do it of course, Biddy. I love her to sleep with me. But, you know, it is bound to come out some time, unless you manage to find the letters again. They must be somewhere."

Biddy shook her head. "We must just leave that to the Almighty, Miss Dinah dear," she said piously. "There's nothing else we can do at all. I'll get back to her room now, and when she comes up, I'll tell her ye're feeling lonely, and will she please to sleep with ye again. She won't think of anything else then ye may be sure. Why, she worships the very ground under your feet, mavourneen, like—like someone else I know."

She was gone with the words, leaving upon Dinah a dim impression that her last words were intended to convey something which she would have translated into simpler language had she been at liberty to do so.

She did not pay much attention to them. She was too troubled over her former revelation to think seriously of anything else. Into her mind, all unbidden, had flashed a sudden memory, and it held her like a nightmare-vision. She saw Sir Eustace with that imperious frown on his face holding out Isabel's treasure with a curt, "Take this thing away!" She saw herself leap up and seize it from his intolerant grasp. She saw Isabel's outstretched, pleading hands, and the piteous hunger in her eyes....

When Isabel came to her that night, her face was all softened with mother-love. She drew Dinah to her breast, kissing her very tenderly.

"Did you want me to come and take care of you, my darling?"

Dinah's heart smote her for the deception, but she answered bravely enough, "Oh, Isabel, yes, yes! You are so good to me, I want you always."

"Dear heart!" Isabel said, with a sigh, and folded her closer as though she would guard her against all the world.

She was the first to fall asleep notwithstanding, while Dinah lay motionless and troubled far into the night. She wished that Biddy would give her permission to tell Scott, for without that permission such a step seemed like a betrayal of confidence. But for some reason Biddy evidently thought that Scott had enough on his shoulders just then. And so it seemed, she could only wait—only wait.

She did not want to burden Scott unduly either, and there was something about him just now, something of a repressing nature, that held her back from confiding in him too freely. He seemed to have raised a barrier between them since their return to England which no intimacy ever quite succeeded in scaling. Full of brotherly kindness though he was, the old frank fellowship was gone. It was as though he had realized her dependence upon him, and were trying with the utmost gentleness to make her stand alone.

Dinah slept at last from sheer weariness, and forgot her troubles. She must not tell Scott, she could not tell Eustace, and so there was no other course but silence. But the anxiety of it weighed upon her even through her slumber. Life was far more interesting than of yore. But never, never before had it been so full of doubts and fears. The complexity of it all was like an endless net, enmeshing her however warily she stepped.

And always, and always, at the back of her mind there lurked the dread conviction that one day the net would be drawn close, and she would find herself a helpless prisoner in the grip of a giant.



CHAPTER XII

THE DIVINE SPARK

With the morning Dinah found her anxieties less oppressive. Isabel was becoming so much more like herself that she was able to put the matter from her and in a measure forget it. Like Biddy, she began to hope that by postponing the evil hour they might possibly evade it altogether. For there was nothing abnormal about Isabel during that day or those that succeeded it. The time passed quickly. There was much to be done, much to be discussed and decided, and their thoughts were fully occupied. Dinah felt as one whirled in a torrent. She could not think of the great undercurrent. She could deal only with the things on the surface.

How that week sped away she never afterwards fully recalled. It passed like a fevered dream. Two more journeys to town with Isabel, the ordeal of a dinner at the house of a neighbouring magnate, a much less formidable tea at the Vicarage, on which occasion Mr. Grey drew her aside and thanked her for using her influence over Sir Eustace in the right direction and earnestly exhorted her to maintain and develop it as far as possible when she was married, a few riding-lessons with Scott who always seemed so much more imposing in the saddle than out of it and knew so exactly how to instruct her, a few wild races in Sir Eustace's car from which she always returned in a state of almost delirious exultation, and then night after night the sleep of utter weariness, with Isabel lying by her side.

The last night came upon her almost with a sense of shock. It had become a custom for her to sit in the conservatory with Sir Eustace after dinner, and here with the lights turned low he was wont to pour out to her all the fiery worship which throughout the day he curbed. No one ever disturbed them, but they were close to Isabel's sitting-room where Scott was wont to sit and read while his sister lay on her couch resting and listening. The murmur of his voice was audible to Dinah, and the knowledge of his close proximity gave her a courage which surely had not been hers otherwise. She was learning how to receive her lover's demonstrations without starting away in affright. If he ever startled her, the sound of Scott's voice in the adjoining room would always reassure her. She knew that Scott was at hand and would never fail her.