Greatheart Part 78

But it did not come. His arms held her indeed, but without violence, and in his stillness there was no tension to denote its presence.

He spoke at length, almost whispering. "Dinah, who is the lucky fellow?

Tell me!"

She started away from him. She almost cried out in her dismay. But he stopped her. He took her face between his hands with an insistence that would not be denied. He looked closely, searchingly, into her eyes.

"Is it Scott?" he said.

She did not answer him. She stood as one paralysed, and up over face and neck and all her trembling body, enwrapping her like a flame, there rose a scorching, agonizing blush.

He held her there before him and watched it, and she saw that his eyes were piercingly bright, with the brightness of burnished steel. She could not turn her own away from them, though her whole soul shrank from that stark scrutiny. In anguish of mind she faced him, helpless, unutterably ashamed, while that burning blush throbbed fiercely through every vein and gradually died away.

He let her go at last very slowly. "I--see," he said.

She put her hands up over her face with a childish, piteous gesture. She felt as if he had ruthlessly torn from her the one secret treasure that she cherished. She was free--she knew she was free. But at what a cost!

"So," Eustace said, "that's it, is it? We've got at the truth at last!"

She quivered at the words. Her whole being seemed to be shrivelled as though it had pa.s.sed through the fire. He had wrenched her secret from her, and she had nothing more to hide.

Sir Eustace walked to the end of the room and back. He halted close to her, but he did not touch her. He spoke, briefly and sternly.

"How long has this been going on?"

She looked up at him, her face pathetically pinched and small. "It hasn't been going on. I--only realized it to-day. He doesn't know. He never must know!" A sudden sharp note of anxiety sounded in her voice. "He never must know!" she reiterated with emphasis.

"He hasn't made love to you then?" Sir Eustace spoke in the same curt tone; his mouth was merciless.

She started as if stung. "Oh no! Oh no! Of course he hasn't! He--he doesn't care for me--like that. Why should he?"

Eustace's grim lips twitched a little. "Why indeed? Well, it's lucky for him he hasn't. If he had, I'd have half killed him for it!"

There was concentrated savagery in his tone. His eyes shone with a fire that made her shrink. And then very suddenly he put his hand upon her shoulder.

"Do you mean to tell me that you want to throw me over solely because you imagine you care for a man who doesn't care for you?" he asked.

She looked up at him piteously, "Oh, please don't ask me any more!" she said.

"But I want to know," he said stubbornly. "Is that your only reason?"

With difficulty she answered him. "No."

"Then what more?" he demanded.

It was inevitable. She made a desperate effort to be brave. "I couldn't be happy with you. I am afraid of you. And--and--you are not kind to--to Isabel."

"Who says I am not kind to Isabel?" His hand pressed upon her ominously; his look was implacably stern.

But the effort to be brave had given her strength. She stiffened in his hold. "I know it," she said. "I have seen it. She is always miserable when you are there."

He frowned upon her heavily. "You don't understand. Isabel is very hysterical. She needs a firm hand."

"You are more than firm," Dinah said. "You are--cruel."

Never in her wildest moments had she imagined herself making such an indictment. She marvelled at herself even as it left her lips. But something seemed to have entered into her, taking away her fear. Not till long afterwards did she realize that it was her new-found womanhood that had come upon her all unawares during that poignant interview.

She faced him without a tremor as she uttered the words, and he received them in a silence so absolute that she went on with scarcely a pause.

"Not only to Isabel, but to everyone; to Scott, to that poor poacher, to me. You don't believe it, because it is your nature. But it is true all the same. And I think cruelty is a most dreadful thing. It's a vice that not all the virtues put together could counter-balance."

"When have I been cruel to you?" he said.

His tone was quiet, his face mask-like; but she thought that fury raged behind his calm. And still she knew no fear, felt no faintest dread of consequence.

"All your love-making has been cruel," she said. "Only once--no, twice now--have you been the least bit kind to me. It's no good talking. You'd never understand. I've lain awake often in the night with the dread of you. But"--her voice shook slightly--"I didn't know what I wanted, so I kept on. Now that I do know--though I shall never have it--it's made a difference, and I can't go on. You don't want me any more now I've told you, so it won't hurt you so very badly to let me go."

"You are wrong," he said, and suddenly she knew that out of his silence or her speech had developed something that was strange and new. His voice was quick and low, utterly devoid of its customary arrogance. "I want you more than ever! Dinah--Dinah, I may have been a brute to you. You're right. I often am a brute. But marry me--only marry me--and I swear to you that I will be kind!"

His calm was gone. He leaned towards her urgently, his dark face aglow with a light that was not pa.s.sion. She had deemed him furious, and behold, she had him at her feet! Her ogre was gone for ever. He had crumbled at a touch. She saw before her a man, a man who loved her, a man whom she might eventually have come to love but for--

She caught her breath in a sharp sob, and put forth a hand in pleading.

"Eustace, don't! Please don't! I can't bear it. You--you must set me free!"

"You are free as air," he said.

"Am I? Then don't--don't ask me to bind myself again! For I can't--I can't. I want to go away. I want to be quiet." She broke down suddenly.

The strain was past, the battle over. She had vanquished him, how she scarcely knew; but her own brief strength was tottering now. "Let me go home!" she begged. "Tell Scott I've gone! Tell everyone there won't be a wedding after all! Say I'm dreadfully sorry! It's my fault--all my fault!

I ought to have known!" Her tears blinded her, silenced her. She turned towards the door.

"Won't you say good-bye to me?" Eustace said.

Her voice was low and very steady. The glow was gone. He was calm again, absolutely calm. With the failure of that one urgent appeal, he seemed to have withdrawn his forces, accepting defeat.

She turned back gropingly. "Good-bye--good-bye--" she whispered, "and--thank you!"

He put his arm around her, and bending kissed her forehead. "Don't cry, dear!" he said.

His manner was perfectly kind, supremely gentle. She hardly knew him thus. Again her heart smote her in overwhelming self-reproach. "Oh, Eustace, forgive me for hurting you so--forgive me--for all I've said!"

"For telling me the truth?" he said. "No, I don't forgive you for that."

She broke down utterly and sobbed aloud. "I wish--I wish I hadn't! How could I do it? I hate myself!"

"No--no," he said. "It's all right. You've done nothing wrong. Run home, child! Don't cry! Don't cry!"

His hand touched her hair under the soft cap, touched and lingered. But he did not hold her to him.

"Run home!" he said again.

"And--and--you won't--won't--tell--Scott?" she whispered through her tears.