Greatheart - Ethel May Dell (the lemonade war series TXT) 📗

beloved empress till her panic died away.
On one of these occasions Scott was present, and he presently left the sick-room with a look in his eyes that gave him a curiously hard expression. He went deliberately in search of Billy whom he found playing a not very spirited game with the two little daughters of the establishment. The weather had broken, and several people had left in consequence.
Billy was bored as well as anxious, and his attitude said as much as he unceremoniously left his small playfellows to join Scott.
"Just amusin' the kids," he observed explanatorily. "How is she now?"
Scott linked his hand in the boy's arm. "She's pretty bad, Billy," he said. "Both lungs are affected. The doctor thinks badly of her, though he still hopes he may pull her through."
"You may you mean," returned Billy. "Can't say the de Vignes have put themselves out at all over her. There's Rose flirts all day long with your brother, and Lady Grace grumbling continually about the folly of undertaking other people's responsibilities. She swears she must get back at the end of next week for their precious house-party. And the Colonel fumes and says the same. I told him I shouldn't go unless she was out of danger, though goodness knows, sir, I don't want to sponge on you."
Scott's hand pressed his arm reassuringly. "Don't imagine such a thing possible!" he said. "Of course you must stay if she isn't very much better by that time. But now, Billy, tell me--if it isn't an unwelcome question--why doesn't your sister want your mother to come to her?"
Billy gave him one of his shrewd glances. "She's told you that, has she? Well, you know the mater is rather a queer fish, and I doubt very much if she'd come if you asked her."
"My good fellow!" Scott said. "Not if she were dying?"
"I doubt it," said Billy, unmoved. "You see, the mater hasn't much use for Dinah, except as a maid-of-all work. Never has had. It's not altogether her fault. It's just the way she's made."
"Good heavens!" said Scott, and added, as if to himself, "That little fairy thing!"
"She can't help it," said Billy. "She can't get on with the female species. It's like cats, you know,--a sort of jealousy."
"And your father?" questioned Scott, the hard look growing in his eyes.
"Oh, Dad!" said Billy, smiling tolerantly. "He's all right--quite a decent sort. But you wouldn't get him to leave home in the middle of the hunting season. He's one of the Whips."
Scott's hand had tightened unconsciously to a grip. Billy looked at him in surprised interrogation, and was amazed to see a heavy frown drawing the colourless brows. There was a fiery look in the pale eyes also that he had never seen before.
He waited in silence for developments, being of a wary disposition, and in a moment Scott spoke in a voice of such concentrated fury that Billy felt as if a total stranger were confronting him.
"An infernal and blackguardly shame!" he said. "It would serve them right if the little girl never went back to them again. I never heard of such damnable callousness in all my life before."
Billy opened his eyes wide, and after a second or two permitted himself a soft whistle.
Scott's hold upon his arm relaxed. "Yes, I know," he said. "I've no right to say it to you. But when the blood boils, you've got to let off the steam somehow. I suppose you've written to tell them all about her?"
"Oh yes, I wrote, and so did the Colonel. I had a letter from Dad this morning. He said he hoped she was better and that she was being well looked after. That's like Dad, you know. He never realizes a thing unless he's on the spot. I daresay I shouldn't myself," said Billy broadmindedly. "It's want of imagination in the main."
"Or want of heart," said Scott curtly.
Billy did not attempt to refute the amendment. "It's just the way you chance to be made," he said philosophically. "Of course I'm fond of Dinah. We're pals. But Dad's an easy-going sort of chap. He isn't specially fond of anybody. The mater,--well, she's keen on me, I suppose," he blushed a little; "but, as I said before, she hasn't much use for Dinah. Even when she was a small kid, she used to whip her no end. Dinah is frightened to death at her. I don't wonder she doesn't want her sent for."
Scott's face was set in stern lines. "She certainly shall not be sent for," he said with decision. "The poor child shall be left in peace."
"She is going to get better, isn't she?" said Billy quickly.
"I hope so, old chap. I hope so." Scott patted his shoulder kindly and prepared to depart.
But Billy detained him a moment. "I say, can't I come and see her?"
"Not now, lad." Scott paused, and all the natural kindliness came back into his eyes. "My sister was just getting her calm again when I came away. We won't disturb her now."
"How is your sister, sir?" asked Billy. "Isn't she feeling the strain rather?"
"No, she is standing it wonderfully. In fact," Scott hesitated momentarily, "I believe that in helping Dinah, she has found herself again."
"Do you really?" said Billy. "Then I do hope for her sake that Dinah will buck up and get well."
"Thanks, old chap." Scott held out a friendly hand. "I'm sorry you're having such a rotten time. Come along to me any time when you're feeling bored! I shall be only too pleased when I'm at liberty."
"You're a brick, sir," said Billy. "And I say, you'll send for me, won't you, if--if--" He broke off. "You know, as I said before, Dinah and I are pals," he ended wistfully.
"Of course I will, lad. Of course I will." Scott wrung his hand hard. "But we'll pull her through, please God! We must pull her through."
"If anyone can, you will," said Billy with conviction.
Like Dinah, he had caught a glimpse in that brief conversation of the soul that inhabited that weak and puny form.


CHAPTER XXIII
THE WAY BACK

It was three days later that Dinah began at last the long and weary pilgrimage back again. Almost against her will she turned her faltering steps up the steep ascent; for she was too tired for any sustained effort. Only that something seemed to be perpetually drawing her she would not have been moved to make the effort at all. For she was so piteously weak that the bare exertion of opening her eyes was almost more than she could accomplish. But ever the unknown influence urged her, very gently but very persistently, never passive, never dormant, but always drawing her as by an invisible cord back to the world of sunshine and tears that seemed so very far away from the land of shadows in which she wandered.
All active suffering had left her, and she would fain have been at peace; but the hand that clasped hers would not be denied. The motherly voice that had calmed the wildest fantasies of her fevered brain spoke now to her with tenderest encouragement; the love that surrounded her drew her, uplifted her, sustained her. And gradually, as she crept back from the shadows, she came to lean upon this love as upon a sure support, to count upon it as her own exclusive possession--a wonderful new gift that had come to her out of the darkness.
She still welcomed her friend Scott at her bedside, but very curiously she had grown a little shy in his presence. She could not forget that dream of hers, and for a long time she was haunted by the dread that he had in some way come to know of it. Though the steady eyes never held anything but the utmost kindness and sympathy, she was half afraid to meet them lest they should look into her heart and see the vision she had seen. She never called him Mr. Greatheart now.
With Isabel, beloved nurse and companion, she was completely at her ease. A great change had come over Isabel--such a change as turns the bare earth into a garden of spring when the bitter winter is past at last. All the ice-bound bitterness had been swept utterly away, and in its place there blossomed such a wealth of mother-love as transformed her completely.
She spent herself with the most lavish devotion in Dinah's service. There was not a wish that she expressed that was not swiftly and abundantly satisfied. Night and day she was near her, ignoring all Biddy's injunctions to rest, till the old woman, seeing the light that had dawned in the shadowed eyes, left her to take her own way in peace. She hovered in the background, always ready in case her mistress's new-found strength should fail. But Isabel did not need her care. All her being was concentrated upon the task of bringing Dinah back to life, and she thought of nothing else, meeting the strain with that strength which comes in great emergencies to all.
And as she gradually succeeded in her task, a great peace descended upon her, such as she had never known before. Biddy sometimes gazed in amazement at the smooth brow and placid countenance at Dinah's bedside.
"Sure, the young lady's been a blessing straight from the Almighty," she said to Scott.
"I think so too, Biddy," he made quiet answer.
He was much less in the sick-room now that Dinah's need of him had passed. He sometimes wondered if she even knew how many hours he had formerly spent there. He visited her every day, and it was to him that the task fell of telling her that the de Vignes had arranged to leave her in their charge.
"We have your father's permission," he said, when her brows drew together with a troubled expression. "You see, it is quite impossible to move you at present, and they must be getting home. Billy is to go with them if you think you can be happy alone with us."
She put out her little wasted hand. "I could be happy with you anywhere," she said simply. "But it doesn't seem right."
"Of course it is right," he made quiet reply. "In fact, if you ask me, I think it is our business rather than anyone else's to get you well again."
She flushed in quick embarrassment. "Oh, please, you mustn't put it like that. And I have been such a trouble to everyone ever since."
He smiled at her very kindly. "Biddy says you are a blessing from the Almighty, and I quite agree with her. It is settled then? You are content to stay with us until we take you home?"
Her hand was clasped in his, but she did not meet his look. "Oh, much more than content," she said, her voice very low. "Only--"
"Only?" he said gently.
She made an effort to lift her eyes, but dropped them again instantly. "It will make it much harder to go home," she said.
She thought he sounded somewhat grim as he said, "There is no need to meet troubles half-way, you know. You won't be strong enough for the journey for some time to come."
"I wish I could stay just as I am now," she told him tremulously, "for ever and ever and ever."
"Ah!" he said, with a faint sigh. "It is not given to any of us to bask in the sun for long."
And so, two days after, the de Vignes paid a state visit of farewell to Dinah, now pronounced out of danger but still pitiably weak,--so weak that she cried when the Colonel bade her be a good girl and get