Greatheart - Ethel May Dell (best ereader for students txt) 📗

yet they opened again with tense wakefulness the moment he took his hand from the burning brow.

The night was far advanced when Biddy, creeping softly came to her mistress's side in the belief that she slept at last. She had not dared to come before, had not dared to interfere though she had listened with a wrung heart to the long and futile battle; for Sir Eustace's wrath was very terrible, too terrible a thing to incur with impunity.

But the moment she looked upon Isabel's face, her courage came upon a flood of indignation that carried all before it.

"Faith, I believe you've killed her!" she uttered in a sibilant whisper across the bed. "Is it yourself that has no heart at all?"

He looked back to her, dominant still, though the prolonged struggle had left its mark upon him also. His face was pale and set.

"This is only a phase," he said quietly. "She will fall asleep presently.
You can get her a cup of tea if you can do it without making a fuss."

Biddy turned from the bed. That glimpse of Isabel's face had been enough. She had no further thought of consequences. She moved across the room to set about her task, and in doing so she paused momentarily and pressed the bell that communicated with Scott's room.

Sir Eustace did not note the action. Perhaps the long strain had weakened his vigilance somewhat. He sat in massive obduracy, relentlessly watching his sister's worn white face.

Two minutes later the door opened, and a shadowy figure slipped into the room.

He looked up then, looked up sharply. "You!" he said, with curt displeasure.

Scott came straight to him, and leaned over his sister for a moment with a hand on his shoulder. She did not stir, or seem aware of his presence. Her eyes gazed straight upwards with a painful, immovable stare.

Scott stood up again. His hand was still upon Eustace. He looked him in the eyes. "You go to bed, my dear chap!" he said. "I've had my rest."

Eustace jerked back his head with a movement of exasperation. "You promised to stay in your room unless you were rung for," he said.

Scott's brows went up for a second; then, "For the night, yes!" he said. "But the night is over. It is nearly six. I shan't sleep again. You go and get what sleep you can."

Eustace's jaw looked stubborn. "If you will give me your word of honour not to drug her, I'll go," he said. "Not otherwise."

Scott's hand pressed his shoulder. "You must leave her in my care now," he said. "I am not going to promise anything more."

"Then I remain," said Eustace grimly.

A muffled sob came from Biddy. She was weeping over her tea-kettle.

Scott took his brother by the shoulders as he sat. "Go like a good fellow," he urged. "You will do harm if you stay."

But Eustace resisted him. "I am here for a definite purpose," he said, "and I have no intention of relinquishing it. She has come through so far without it, I am not going to give in at this stage."

"And you think your treatment has done her good?" said Scott, with a glance at the drawn, motionless face on the pillow.

"Ultimate good is what I am aiming at," his brother returned stubbornly.

Scott's hold became a grip. He leaned suddenly down and spoke in a whisper. "If I had known you were up to this, I'm damned if I'd have stayed away!" he said tensely.

"Stumpy!" Eustace opened his eyes in amazement. Strong language from
Scott was so unusual as to be almost outside his experience.

"I mean it!" Scott's words vibrated. "You've done a hellish thing! Clear out now, and leave me to help her in my own way! Before God, I believe she'll die if you don't! Do you want her to die?"

The question fell with a force that was passionate. There was violence in the grip of his hands. His light eyes were ablaze. His whole meagre body quivered as though galvanized by some vital, electric current more potent than it could bear.

And very curiously Sir Eustace was moved by the unknown force. It struck him unawares. Stumpy in this mood was a complete stranger to him, a being possessed by gods or devils, he knew not which; but in any case a being that compelled respect.

He got up and stood looking down at him speculatively, too astonished to be angry.

Scott faced him with clenched hands. He was white as death. "Go!" he reiterated. "Go! There's no room for you in here. Get out!"

His lips twisted over the words, and for an instant his teeth showed with a savage gleam. He was trembling from head to foot.

It was no moment for controversy. Sir Eustace recognized the fact just as surely as he realized that his brother had completely parted with his self-control. He had the look of a furious animal prepared to spring at his throat.

Greek had met Greek indeed, but upon ground that was wholly unsuitable for a tug of war. With a shrug he yielded.

"I don't know you, Stumpy," he said briefly. "You've got beyond yourself. I advise you to pull up before we meet again. I also advise you to bear in mind that to administer that draught is to undo all that I have spent the whole night to accomplish."

Scott stood back for him to pass, but the quivering fury of the man seemed to emanate from him like the scorching draught from a blast furnace. As Eustace said, he had got beyond himself,—so far beyond that he was scarcely recognizable.

"Your advice be damned!" he flung back under his breath with a concentrated bitterness that was terrible. "I shall follow my own judgment."

Sir Eustace's mouth curled superciliously. He was angry too, though by no means so angry as Scott. "Better look where you go all the same," he observed, and passed him by, not without dignity and a secret sense of relief.

The long and fruitless vigil of the night had taught him one thing at least. Rome was not built in a day. He would not attempt the feat a second time, though neither would he rest till he had gained his end.

As for Scott, he would have a reckoning with him presently—a strictly private reckoning which should demonstrate once and for all who was master.

CHAPTER XVIII THE ESCAPE OF THE PRISONER

Dinah spent her Sunday afternoon seated in a far corner of the verandah, inditing a very laboured epistle to her mother—a very different affair from the gay little missives she scribbled to her father every other day.

The letter to her mother was a duty which must of necessity be accomplished, and perhaps in consequence she found it peculiarly distasteful. She never knew what to say, being uncomfortably aware that a detailed account of her doings would only give rise to drastic comment. The glories of the mountains were wholly beyond her powers of description when she knew that any extravagance of language would be at once termed high-flown and ridiculous. The sleigh-drive of the day before was disposed of in one sentence, and the dance of the evening could not be mentioned at all. The memory of it was like a flame in her inner consciousness. Her cheeks still burned at the thought, and her heart leapt with a wild longing. When would he kiss her again, she wondered? Ah, when, when?

There was another thought at the back of her wonder which she felt to be presumptuous, but which nevertheless could not be kept completely in abeyance. He had said that there would be no consequences; but—had he really meant it? Was it possible ever to awake wholly from so perfect a dream? Was it not rather the great reality of things to which she had suddenly come, and all her past life a mere background of shadows? How could she ever go back into that dimness now that she felt the glorious rays of this new radiance upon her? And he also—was it possible that he could ever forget? Surely it had ceased to be just a game to either of them! Surely, surely, the wonder and the rapture had caught him also into the magic web—the golden maze of Romance!

She leaned her head on her hand and gave herself up to the great enchantment, feeling again his kisses upon lips and eyes and brow, and the thrilling irresistibility of his hold. Ah, this was life indeed! Ah, this was life!

A soft footfall near her made her look up sharply, and she saw Rose de Vigne approaching. Rose was looking even more beautiful than usual, yet for the first time Dinah contemplated her without any under-current of envy. She moved slightly to make room for her.

"I haven't come to stay," Rose announced with her quiet, well-satisfied smile, as she drew near. "I have promised to sing at to-night's concert and the padre wants to look through my songs. Well, Dinah, my dear, how are you getting on? Is that a letter to your mother?"

Dinah suppressed a sigh. "Yes. I've only just begun it. I don't know in the least what to say."

Rose lifted her pretty brows. "What about your new friend Sir Eustace Studley's sister? Wouldn't she be interested to hear of her? Poor soul, it's lamentably sad to think that she should be mentally deranged. Some unfortunate strain in the family, I should say, to judge by the younger brother's appearance also."

Dinah's green eyes gleamed a little. "I don't see anything very unusual about him," she remarked. "There are plenty of little men in the world."

"And crippled?" smiled Rose.

"I shouldn't call him a cripple," rejoined Dinah quickly. "He is quite active."

"Many cripples are, dear," Rose pointed out. "He has learnt to get the better of his infirmity, but nothing can alter the fact that the infirmity exists. I call him a most peculiar little person to look at. Of course I don't deny that he may be very nice in other ways."

Dinah bit her lip and was silent. To hear Scott described as nice was to her mind less endurable than to hear him called peculiar. But somehow she could not bring herself to discuss him, so she choked down her indignation and said nothing.

Rose seated herself beside her. "I call Sir Eustace a very interesting man," she observed. "He fully makes up for the deficiencies of his brother and sister. He seems to be very kind-hearted too. Didn't I see him helping you with your skating the other night?"

Dinah's eyes shone again with a quick and ominous light. "He helped you with your ski-ing too, didn't he?" she said.

"He did, dear. I had a most enjoyable afternoon." Rose smiled again as over some private reminiscence. "He told me he thought you were coming on, in fact he seems to think that you have the makings of quite a good skater. It's a pity your opportunities are so limited, dear." Rose paused to utter a soft laugh.

"I don't see anything funny in that," remarked Dinah.

"No, no! Of course not. I was only smiling at the way in which he referred to you. 'That little brown cousin of yours' he said, 'makes me think of a water-vole, there one minute and gone the next.' He seemed to think you a rather amusing child, as of course you are." Rose put up a delicate hand and playfully caressed the glowing cheek nearest to her. "I told him you were not any relation, but just a dear little friend of mine who had never seen anything of the world before. And he laughed and said, 'That is why she looks like a chocolate baby out of an Easter egg.'"

"Anything else?" said Dinah, repressing an urgent desire to shiver at the kindly touch.

"No, I don't think so. We had more important matters to think of and talk about. He is a man who has travelled a good deal, and we found that we had quite a lot in common, having visited the same places and regarded many things from practically the same point of view. He took the trouble to be very entertaining," said Rose, with a pretty blush. "And his trouble was not misspent. I am convinced that he enjoyed the afternoon even more than I did. We also enjoyed the evening," she added. "He is an excellent dancer. We suited each other perfectly."

"Did you find him