Part 49 (2/2)

”But I will never--no, never--call him Stumpy!” she said to herself, as she pa.s.sed into the hotel.

She went up the stairs rapidly, and hastened to Isabel's room. That look she had caught in Scott's face--that stricken look--had doubtless been brought there by his sudden anxiety for his sister. That would fully account for it, she was sure.

On the threshold of Isabel's room an overwhelming nervousness a.s.sailed her. How was she going to tell her of the wonderful event that had taken place in the last half-hour? On the other hand, how could she possibly suppress so tremendous a matter? And again, the disquieting question arose; could she be ill--really ill? Scott had looked so troubled--so unutterably sad.

With an effort she summoned her courage, and softly knocked.

Instantly a low voice answered her, bidding her enter. She opened the door and went in, feeling as though she were treading sacred ground.

But Isabel's voice spoke again instantly, greeting her; and in a moment all her doubts, all her forebodings, were gone.

”Come in, little sweetheart!” Isabel said.

And she advanced with quickened steps to find Isabel lying propped on the sofa, looking at her, smiling up at her, with such a glory on her wasted face as made it ”as it had been the face of an angel.”

In an instant Dinah was on her knees beside her, with loving arms clasping her close. ”Oh, darling, I've only just heard. Are you better?

Are you better?” she said yearningly.

Isabel held her, and fondly kissed the upturned lips. ”Why, I believe Scott has been frightening you,” she said. ”Silly fellow! Yes, dear. I am well--quite well.”

”You are sure?” Dinah insisted. ”You are really not ill?”

Isabel's smile had in it--had she but known it--a gleam of the Divine.

”My dearest, all is well with me,” she said. ”I lay down for a little to please Scott. But I am going to get up now. Where have you been since _dejeuner_? I missed you.”

Dinah clung closer, hiding her face.

Instantly Isabel's arms tightened. The pa.s.sionate tenderness of them thrilled her through and through. ”Why, child, what has happened?” she whispered. ”Tell me! Tell me!”

But Dinah only hid her face a little deeper. ”I don't know how,” she murmured.

There fell a silence. Then, under her breath, Isabel spoke. ”My darling, whisper--just whisper! Who--is it?”

And very, very faintly, at last Dinah made answer. ”It--it is--Sir Eustace.”

There fell another silence, longer, deeper, than the first. Then Isabel uttered a short, hard sigh, and, stooping, kissed the bowed, curly head.

”G.o.d bless and keep you always, dearest!” she said.

Something in the words--or was it the tone?--pierced Dinah. She turned her face slightly upwards. ”I--I was afraid you wouldn't be pleased,” she faltered. ”Do--do forgive me--if you can!”

”Forgive you!” All the wealth of Isabel's love was in the words. ”Why, darling, I have been wanting you for my own little sister ever since I first saw you.”

”Oh, have you?” Eagerly Dinah lifted her head. Her eyes were s.h.i.+ning, her cheeks very flushed. ”Then you are pleased?” she said earnestly. ”You really are pleased?”

Isabel smiled at her very sadly, very fondly. ”My darling, if you are happy, I am more than pleased,” she said.

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