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

in her sleep. And strangely it was that that shocked Scott even more than her appearance. Dinah's voice had always held countless inflections, little notes gay or sad like the trill of a robin. This was the voice of a woman in whom the very last spark of hope was quenched.
It pierced him with an intolerable pain. "Dinah--Dinah!" he said. "For God's sake, child, you don't mean--that!"
Her white, pinched face twisted in a dreadful smile. "Why not?" she said. "There was no other way." And then a sudden quiver as of returning life went through her. "Why did you stop me?" she said. "If you hadn't, it would have been--all over by now."
He put out a quick hand. "Don't say it,--in heaven's name! You are not yourself. Come--come into the wood, and we will talk!"
She did not take his hand. "Can't we talk here?" she said.
He composed himself with an effort. "No, certainly not. Come into the wood!"
He spoke with quiet insistence. She gave him an inscrutable look.
"You think you are going to help me,--Mr. Greatheart," she said, "but I am past help. Nothing you can do will make any difference to me now."
"Come with me nevertheless!" he said.
He laid a gentle hand upon her shoulder, and she winced with a sharpness that tore his heart. But in a moment she turned beside him and began the ascent, slowly, labouringly, as if every step gave her pain. He moved beside her, supporting her elbow when she faltered, steadily helping her on.
They entered the wood, and the desolate sighing of the wind encompassed them. Dinah looked at her companion with the first sign of feeling she had shown.
"I must sit down," she said.
"There is a fallen tree over there," he said, and guided her towards it.
She leaned upon him, very near to collapse. He spread his coat upon the tree and helped her down.
"Now how long is it since you had anything to eat?" he said.
She shook her head slightly. "I don't remember. But it doesn't matter. I'm not hungry."
He took one of her icy hands and began to rub it. "Poor child!" he said. "You ought to be given some hot bread and milk and tucked up in bed with hot bottles."
Her face began to work. "That," she said, "is the last thing that will happen to me."
"Haven't you been to bed at all?" he questioned.
Her throat was moving spasmodically; she bowed her head to hide her face from him. "Yes," she said in a whisper. "My mother--my mother put me there." And then as if the words burst from her against her will, "She thrashed me first with a dog-whip; but dogs have got hair to protect them, and I--had nothing. She only stopped because--I fainted. She hasn't finished with me now. When I go back--when I go back--" She broke off. "But I'm not going," she said, and her voice was flat and hard again. "Even you can't make me do that. There'll be another express this afternoon."
Scott knelt down beside her, and took her bowed head on to his shoulder. "Listen to me, Dinah!" he said. "I am going to help you, and you mustn't try to prevent me. If you had only allowed me, I would have gone home again with you yesterday, and this might have been avoided. My dear, don't draw yourself away from me! Don't you know I am a friend you can trust?"
The pitiful tenderness of his voice reached her, overwhelming her first instinctive effort to draw back. She leaned against him with painful, long-drawn sobs.
He held her closely to him with all a woman's understanding. "Oh, don't cry any more, child!" he said. "You're worn out with crying."
"I feel--so bad--so bad!" sobbed Dinah.
"Yes, yes. I know. Of course you do. But it's over, it's over. No one shall hurt you any more."
"You don't--understand," breathed Dinah. "It never will be over--while I live. I'm hurt inside--inside."
"I know," he said again. "But it will get better presently. Isabel and I are going to take you away from it all."
"Oh no!" she said quickly. "No--no--no!" She lifted her head from his shoulder and turned her poor, stained face upwards. "I couldn't do that!" she said. "I couldn't! I couldn't!"
"Wait!" he said gently. "Let me do what I can to help you now--before we talk of that! Will you sit here quietly for a little, while I go and get you some milk from that farm down the road?"
"I don't want it," she said.
"But I want you to have it," he made grave reply. "You will stay here? Promise me!"
"Very well," she assented miserably.
He got up. "I shan't be gone long. Sit quite still till I come back!"
He touched her dark head comfortingly and turned away.
When he had gone a little distance he looked back, and saw that she was crouched upon the ground again and crying with bitter, straining sobs that convulsed her as though they would rend her from head to foot. With tightened lips he hastened on his way.
She had suffered a cruel punishment it was evident, and she was utterly worn out in body and spirit. But was it only the ordeal of yesterday and the physical penalty that she had been made to pay that had broken her thus?
He could not tell, but his heart bled for her misery and desolation.
"Who is the other fellow?" he asked himself. "I wonder if Billy knows."
He found Billy awaiting him in the road, anxious and somewhat reproachful. "You've been such a deuce of a time," he said. "Is she all right?"
"She is very upset," he made answer. "And she is faint too for want of food."
"That's not surprising," commented Billy. "She can't have had anything since lunch yesterday. What shall I do? Run home and get something? The mater can't want her to starve."
"No." Scott's voice rang on a hard note. "She probably doesn't. But you needn't go home for it. Run back to that farm we passed just now, and see if you can get some hot milk! Be quick like a good chap! Here's the money! I'll wait here."
Billy seized his bicycle and departed on his errand.
Scott began to walk his horse up and down, for inactivity was unbearable. Every moment he spent away from poor, broken Dinah was torturing. Those dreadful, hopeless tears of hers filled him with foreboding. He yearned to return.
Billy's absence lasted for nearly a quarter of an hour, and he was beginning to get desperate over the delay when at last the boy returned carrying a can of milk and a mug.
"I had rather a bother to get it," he explained. "People are so mighty difficult to stir, and I didn't want to tell 'em too much. I've promised to take these things back again. I say, can't I come along with you now?"
"I'd rather you didn't," Scott said. "I can manage best alone. Besides, I'm going to ask you to do something more."
"Anything!" said Billy readily.
"Thanks. Well, will you ride this animal into Great Mallowes, hire a closed car, and send it to the bridge here to pick me up? Then take him back to the Court, and if anyone asks any questions, say I've met a friend and I'm coming back on foot, but I may not be in to luncheon. Yes, that'll do, I think. I'll see about returning these things. Much obliged, Billy. Good-bye!"
Billy looked somewhat disappointed at this dismissal, but the prospect of a ride was dear to his boyish heart, and in a moment he nodded cheerily. "All right, I'll do that. I'll hide my bicycle in the wood and fetch it afterwards. But where are you going to take her to?"
Scott smiled also faintly and enigmatically. "Leave that to me, my good fellow! I shan't run away with her."
"But I shall see her again some time?" urged Billy, as he dumped his long-suffering machine over the railing and propped it out of sight behind the hedge.
"No doubt you will." Scott's tone was kindly and reassuring. "But I think I can help her better just now than you can, so I'll be getting back to her. Good-bye, boy! And thanks again!"
"So long!" said Billy, vaulting back and thrusting his foot into the stirrup. "You might let me hear how you get on."
"I will," promised Scott.


CHAPTER XXI
THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION

When Scott reached the fallen tree again, Dinah's fit of weeping was over. She was lying exhausted and barely conscious against his coat.
She opened her eyes as he knelt down beside her. "You are--good," she whispered faintly.
He poured out some milk and held it to her. "Try to drink some!" he said gently.
She put out a trembling hand.
"No; let me!" he said.
She submitted in silence, and he lifted the glass to her lips and held it very steadily while slowly she drank.
Her eyes were swollen and burning with the shedding of many scalding tears. Now and then a sharp sob rose in her throat so that she could not swallow.
"Take your time!" he said. "Don't hurry it!"
But ere she finished, the tears were running down her face again. He set down the glass, and with his own handkerchief he wiped them away. Then he sat upon the low tree-trunk, and drew her to lean against him.
"When you're feeling better, we'll have a talk," he said.
She hid her face with a piteous gesture against his knee. "I don't see--the good of talking," she said, in muffled accents. "It can't make things--any better."
"I'm not so sure of that," he said. "Anyhow we can't leave things as they are. You will admit that."
Dinah was silent.
He went on with the utmost gentleness. "I want to get you away from here. Isabel is going down to Heath-on-Sea and she wants you to come too. It's a tiny place. We have a cottage there with the most wonderful garden for flowers you ever saw. It isn't more than thirty yards square, and there is a cliff path down to the beach. Isabel loves the place. The yacht is there too, and we go for cruises on calm days. I am hoping Isabel may pick up a little there, and she is always more herself when you are with her. You won't disappoint her, will you?"
A great-shiver went through Dinah. "I can't come," she said, almost under her breath. "It just--isn't possible."
"What is there to prevent?" he asked.
She moved a little, and lifted her head from its resting-place. "Ever so many things," she said.
"You are thinking of Eustace?" he questioned. "He has gone already--gone to town. He will probably go abroad; but in any case he will not get in your way."
"I wasn't thinking of him," Dinah said.
"Then of what?" he questioned. "Your mother? I will see her, and make that all right."
She started and lifted her face. "Oh no! Oh no! You must never dream of doing that!" she declared, with sudden fevered urgency. "I couldn't bear you to see her. You mustn't think of it, indeed--indeed! Why I would even--even sooner go back myself."
"Then I must write to her," he said, gently ceding the point. "It is not essential that I should see her. Possibly even, a letter would be preferable."
Dinah's face had flushed fiery red. She did not meet his eyes. "I don't see why you should have anything to do with her," she said. "You would never get her to consent."
"Then I propose that we act first," said Scott. "Isabel is leaving to-day. You can join her at Great Mallowes and go