Part 34 (2/2)

”It is nothing to me. A little sooner--a little later! If you had suffered what I have suffered you would say as I do, 'Dear G.o.d, let it be soon!' There! Put your head on my shoulder, dear child! See if you can get a little sleep! You have cared for me long enough. Now I am going to care for you.”

With loving words she soothed her, calming her as though she had been a child in nightmare terror, and gradually a certain peace began to still the horror in Dinah's soul. An unmistakable drowsiness was stealing over her, a merciful lethargy lulling the sensibilities that had been so acutely tried. Her weakness was merging into a sense of almost blissful repose. She was no longer conscious of the anguish of the cold. Neither did the darkness trouble her. And the comfort of Isabel's arms was rest to her spirit.

As one who wanders in a golden maze she began to dream strange dreams that yet were not woven by the hand of sleep. Dimly she saw as down a long perspective a knight in golden armour climbing, ever climbing, the peaks of Paradise, from which, as from an eagle's nest, she watched his difficult but untiring progress. She thought he halted somewhat in the ascent--which was unlike Apollo, who walked as walk the G.o.ds with a gait both arrogant and a.s.sured. But still he came on, persistently, resolutely, carrying his golden s.h.i.+eld before him.

His visor was down, and she wished that he would raise it. She yearned for the sight of that splendid face with its knightly features and blue, fiery eyes. She pictured it to herself as he came, but somehow it did not seem to fit that patient climbing figure.

And then as he gradually drew nearer, the thought came to her to go and meet him, and she started to run down the slope. She reached him. She gave him both her hands. She was ready--she was eager--to be drawn into his arms.

But he did not so draw her. To her amazement he only bowed himself before her and stretched forth the s.h.i.+eld he bore that it might cover them both.

”It is Mr. Greatheart!” she said to herself in wonder. ”Of course--it is Mr. Greatheart!”

And then, while she still gazed upon the glittering, princely form, he put up a hand and lifted the visor. And she saw the kindly, steadfast eyes all kindled and alight with a glory before which instinctively she hid her own. Never--no, never--had she dreamed before that any man could look at her so! It was not pa.s.sion that those eyes held for her;--it was wors.h.i.+p.

She stood with bated breath and throbbing heart, waiting, waiting, as one in the presence of a vision, who longs--yet fears--to look. And while she waited she knew that the sun was s.h.i.+ning upon them both with a glowing warmth that filled her soul abrim with such a rapture as she had never known before.

”How wonderful!” she murmured to herself. ”How wonderful!”

And then at last she summoned courage to look up, and all in a moment her vision was shattered. The darkness was all about her again; Greatheart was gone.

CHAPTER XXI

THE RETURN

What happened after the pa.s.sing of her vision Dinah never fully knew, so slack had become her grip upon material things. Her spirit seemed to be wandering aimlessly about the mountain-side while her body lay in icy chains within that miserable shelter. Of Isabel's presence she was no longer even dimly aware, and she knew neither fear nor pain, only a wide desolation of emptiness that encompa.s.sed her as atmosphere encompa.s.ses the world.

Sometimes she fancied that the sound of voices came m.u.f.fled through the fog that hung impenetrably upon the great slope. And when this fancy caught her, her spirit drifted back very swiftly to the near neighbourhood of that inert and frozen body that lay so helpless in the dark. For that strange freedom of the spirit seemed to her to be highly dangerous and in a fas.h.i.+on wrong. It would be a terrible thing if they found and buried the body, and the spirit were left alone to wander for ever homeless on that desolate mountain-side. She could not imagine a fate more awful.

At the same time, being free from the body, she knew no physical pain, and she shrank from returning before she need, knowing well the anguish of suffering that awaited her. The desolation and loneliness made her unhappy in a vague and not very comprehensible fas.h.i.+on, but she did not suffer actively. That would come later when return became imperative.

Till then she flitted to and fro, intangible as gossamer, elusive as the snow. She wondered what Apollo would say if he could see her thus. Even he would fail to catch her now. She pictured the strong arms closing upon her, and clasping--emptiness. That thought made her a little cold, and sent her floating back to make sure that the lifeless body was still there.

And as she went, drifting through the silence, there came to her the thought that Scott would be unutterably shocked if they brought her back to him dead. It was strange how the memory of him haunted her that night.

It almost seemed as if his spirit were out there in the great waste, seeking hers.

She reached the shelter and entered, borne upon snowflakes. Yes, the body was still there. She hovered over it like a bird over its nest. For Scott's sake, should she not return?

And then very suddenly there came a great sound close to her--the loud barking of a dog;--and in a second--in less--she had returned.

A long, long s.h.i.+ver went through the poor frozen thing that was herself, and she knew that she moaned as one awaking....

Vaguely, through dulled senses, she heard the great barking yet again, and something immense that was furry and soft brushed against her. She heard the panting of a large animal close to her in the hut, and very feebly she put out a hand.

She did not like that loud baying. It went through and through her brain.

She was not frightened, only dreadfully tired. And now that she was back again in the body, she longed unspeakably to sleep.

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