Greatheart Part 34

He might know of this shelter; but whether in the awful darkness he would ever be able to find it she strongly doubted. Their absence must have been discovered long since, she was sure; and Scott--Scott would be certain to think of the mountain path. He would remember his sister's wild words of the day before, and he would know that she, Dinah, had had no choice but to accompany her upon the mad quest. It comforted her to think that Scott would understand, and was already at work to help them.

If by any means deliverance could be brought to them she knew that Scott would compa.s.s it. His quiet and capable spirit was accustomed to grapple with difficulties, and the enormity of a task would never dismay him. He had probably organized a search-party long ere this. He would not rest until he had done his very utmost. She wondered if he would come himself to look for them; but discarded the idea as unlikely. His infirmity made progress on the mountains a difficult matter at all times, and he would not wish to hamper the movements of the others. That was like Scott, she reflected. He would always keep his own desires in the background, subservient to the needs of others. No, he would not come himself. He would stay behind in torturing inaction while fitter men fared forth.

The thought of Eustace came again to her. He would be one of the search-party. She pictured him forcing his way upwards, all his magnificent strength bent to the work. Her heart throbbed at the memory of that all-conquering presence--the arms that had held her, the lips that had pressed her own. And he had stooped to plead with her also. She would always remember that of him with a thrill of ecstasy. He the princely and splendid--Apollo the magnificent!

Always? A sudden chill smote her heart numbing her through and through.

Always? And Death waiting on the threshold to s.n.a.t.c.h her away from the wonderful joy she had only just begun to know! Always! Ah, would she remember even to-morrow--even to-morrow? And he--would he not forget?

Isabel stirred in her arms and murmured an inarticulate complaint.

Tenderly she drew her closer. How cold it was! How cruelly, how bitingly cold! All her bones were beginning to ache. A dreadful stiffness was creeping over her. How long would her senses hold out, she wondered piteously? How long? How long?

It must be hours now since they had entered that freezing place, and with every minute it seemed to be growing colder. Never in her life had she imagined anything so searching, so agonizing, as this cold. It held her in an iron rigour against which she was powerless to struggle. The strength to clasp Isabel in her arms was leaving her. She thought that her numbed limbs were gradually turning to stone. Even her lips were so numbed with cold that she could not move them. The steam of her breath had turned to ice upon the wool of her coat.

The need for prayer came upon her suddenly as she realized that her faculties were failing. Her belief in G.o.d was of that dim and far-off description that brings awe rather than comfort to the soul. The sudden thought of Him came upon her in the darkness like a thunderbolt. In all her life Dinah had never asked for anything outside her daily prayers which were of a strictly formal description. She had shouldered her own troubles una.s.sisted with the philosophy of a disposition that was essentially happy. She had seldom given a serious thought to the life of the spirit. It was all so vague to her, so far removed from the daily round and the daily burden. But now--face to face with the coming night--the spiritual awoke in her. Her soul cried out for comfort.

With Isabel still clasped in her failing arms, she began a desperate prayer for help. Her words came haltingly. They sounded strange to herself. But with all the strength that remained she sent forth her cry to the Infinite. And even as she prayed there came to her--whence she knew not--the conviction that somewhere--probably not more than a couple of miles from her though the darkness made the distance seem immeasurable--Scott was praying too. That thought had a wonderfully comforting effect upon her. His prayer was so much more likely to be answered than hers. He was just the sort of man who would know how to pray.

"How I wish he were here!" she whispered piteously into the darkness. "I shouldn't be afraid of dying--if only he were here."

She was certain--quite certain--that had he been there with her, no fear would have reached her. He wore the armour of a strong man, and by it he would have shielded her also.

"Oh, dear Mr. Greatheart," she murmured through her numb lips, "I'm sure you know the way to Heaven."

Isabel stirred again as one who moves in restless slumber. "We must scale the peaks of Paradise to reach it," she said.

"Are you awake, dearest?" asked Dinah very tenderly.

Isabel's head was sunk against her shoulder. She moved it, slightly raised it. "Yes, I am awake," she said. "I am watching for the dawn."

"It won't come yet," whispered Dinah tremulously. "It's a long, long way off."

Isabel moved a little more, feeling for Dinah in the darkness. "Are you frightened, little one?" she said. "Don't be frightened!"

Dinah swallowed down a sob. "It is so dark," she murmured through chattering teeth. "And so, so cold."

"You are cold, dear heart?" Isabel sat up suddenly. "Why should you be cold?" she said. "The darkness is nothing to those who are used to it. I have lived in outer darkness for seven weary years. But now--now I think the day is drawing near at last."

With an energy that astounded Dinah she got upon her knees and by her movements she realized, albeit too late, that she was divesting herself of the long purple coat.

With all her strength she sought to frustrate her, but her strength had become very feebleness; and when, despite resistance, Isabel wrapped her round in the garment she had discarded, her resistance was too puny to take effect.

"My dear," Isabel said, in her voice the deep music of maternal tenderness, "I am not needing it. I shall not need any earthly things for long. I am going to meet my husband in the dawning. But you--you will go back."

She fastened the coat with a quiet dexterity that made Dinah think again of Scott, and sat down again in her corner as if unconscious of the cold.

"Come and lie in my arms, little one!" she said. "Perhaps you will be able to sleep."

Dinah crept close. "It will kill you--it will kill you!" she sobbed. "Oh, why did I let you?"

Isabel's arms closed about her. "Don't cry, dear!" she murmured fondly.

"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 shield 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 shield 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 worship.

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 shining 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 fashion 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 fashion, 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 shiver 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.