Part 82 (1/2)

The smoke cleared from the embankment, and two figures were left facing one another on the gra.s.sy slope. Neither of them spoke a word. It was as if they were waiting for some sign. Scott was panting, but Dinah did not seem to be breathing at all. She stood there tense and silent, terribly white, her eyes burning like stars.

The last sound of the train died away in the distance, and then, such was their utter stillness, from the thorn-bush close to them a thrush suddenly thrilled into song. The soft notes fell balmlike into that awful silence and turned it into sweetest music.

Scott moved at last, and at once the bird ceased. It was as if an angel had flown across the heaven with a silver flute of purest melody and pa.s.sed again into the unknown.

He came to Dinah. ”My dear,” he said, and his voice was slightly shaky, ”you shouldn't be here.”

She stood before him, pillar-like, her two hands clenched against her sides. Her lips were quite livid. They moved soundlessly for several seconds before she spoke. ”I--was waiting--for the express.”

Her voice was flat and emotionless. It sounded almost as if she were talking 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 G.o.d'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 encompa.s.sed 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.