CHAPTER XXVII
THE MOUNTAIN-TOP
The night fell like a black veil, starless and still. Up in Isabel's roomthe watchers came and went, dividing the hours. Only the nurse and oldBiddy remained always at their posts, the one seated near one of thewide-flung windows, the other crouched on an ottoman at the foot of thebed, her beady eyes perpetually fixed upon the white, motionless faceupon the pillow.
Only by the irregular and sometimes difficult breathing did they knowthat Isabel still lived, for she gave no sign of consciousness, utteredno word, made no voluntary movement of any sort. Like those who watchedabout her, she seemed to be waiting, waiting for the amazing revelationof the Dawn.
They had propped her high with pillows; her pale hands lay outside thecoverlet. Her eyes were closed. She did not seem to notice who came orwent.
"She may slip away without waking," the nurse whispered once to Dinah whohad crept to her side. "Or she may be conscious just at the last. Thereis no telling."
Dinah did not think that she was asleep, but yet during all her vigil thewhite lids had not stirred, no spark of vitality had touched the marbleface. She was possessed by a great longing to speak to her, to call herout of that trance-like silence; but she did not dare. She was as onebound by a spell. The great stillness was too holy to break. All herown troubles were sunk in oblivion. She felt as if she moved in ashadow-world where no troubles could penetrate, where no voice wasever lifted above a whisper.
As she crept from the room, she met Eustace entering. He looked gaunt andhaggard in the dim light. Nothing seemed natural on that night ofwaiting.
He paused a moment, touched her shoulder. "Go and rest, child!" hemuttered. "I will call you if she wakes."
She sent him a faint smile and flitted by him into the passage. Howcould she rest on a night like this, with the vague whisperings of thespirit-world all about her? Besides, in another hour the darkness wouldbe over--the Dawn would come! Not for all the world would she miss thatwonderful coming of a new day--the day which Isabel was awaiting in thatdumb passivity of unquestioning patience. They had come so far up themountain-track together; she must be with her when the morning foundthem on the summit.
But it was Eustace's turn to watch, and she moved towards herown room, through the open windows of which the vague murmur andsplash of the sleeping sea drifted like the accompaniment of far-offmusic--undreamed-of Alleluias.
The dim glow of a lamp lay across her path, like a barrier staying herfeet. Almost involuntarily she paused before a half-open door. It was asthough some unseen force compelled her. And, so pausing, there came toher a sound that gripped her like a hand upon her heart--it was thebroken whispering of a man in an agony of prayer.
It was not by her own desire that she stood to listen. The anguish ofthat voice held her, so that she was powerless to move.
"O God! O God!" The words pierced her with their entreaty; it was a cryfrom the very depths. "The mistake was mine. Let me bear theconsequences! But save her--O save her--from further suffering!" Amomentary silence, and then, more desperately still: "O God--if Thou artanywhere--hear--and help! Let me bear whatever Thou wilt! But spareher--spare her! She has borne so much!"
A terrible sob choked the gasping utterance. There fell a silence sotense, so poignant with pain, that the girl upon the threshold trembledas one physically afraid. Yet she could not turn and flee. She felt as ifit were laid upon her to stand and witness this awful struggle of a soulin torment. But that it should be Scott--the wise, the confident, theunafraid--passing alone through this place of desolation, sent the bloodto her heart in a great wave of consternation. If Scott failed--if thesword of Greatheart were broken--it seemed to her that nothing could beleft in all the world, as if even the coming Dawn must be buried indarkness.
Was it for Isabel he was praying thus? She supposed it must be, thoughshe had felt all through this night of waiting that no prayer was needed.Isabel was so near the mountain-top that surely she was safe--neareralready to God than any of their prayers could bring her.
And yet Scott was wrestling here as one overwhelmed with evil. Wherefore?Wherefore? The steady faith of this good friend of hers had never to herknowledge flickered before. What had happened to shake him thus?
He was praying again, more coherently but in words so low that they werescarcely audible. She crept a little nearer, and now she could see him,kneeling at the table, his head sunk upon it, his arms flung wide withclenched fists that seemed impotently to beat the air.
"I'm praying all wrong," he whispered. "Forgive me, but I'm all in thedark to-night. Thou knowest, Lord, how awful the dark can be. I'm notasking for an answer. Only guide our feet! Deliver us from evil--deliverher--O God--deliver my Dinah--by that love which is of Thee and whichnothing will ever alter! If I may not help her, give me strength--tostand aside!"
A great shiver went through him; he gripped his hands together suddenlyand passionately.
"O my God," he groaned, "it's the hardest thing on earth--to stand and donothing--when I love her so."
Something seemed to give way within him with the words. His shouldersshook convulsively. He buried his face in his arms.
And in that moment the power that had stayed Dinah upon the thresholdsuddenly urged her forward.
Almost before she realized it, she was there at his side, stooping overhim, holding him--holding him fast in a clasp that was free from anyhesitation or fear, a clasp in which all her pulsing womanhood rushedforth to him, exulting, glorying in its self-betrayal.
"My dear! Oh, my dear!" she said. "Are you praying for me?"
"Dinah!" he said.
Just her name, no more; but spoken in a tone that thrilled her throughand through! He leaned against her for a few moments, almost as if hefeared to move. Then, as one gathering strength, he uttered a great sighand slowly got to his feet.
"You mustn't bother about me," he said, and the sudden rapture had allgone out of his voice; it had the flatness of utter weariness. "I shallbe all right."
But Dinah's hands yet clung to his shoulders. Those moments of yieldinghad revealed to her more than any subsequent word or action could belie.Her eyes, shining with a great light, looked straight into his.
"Dear Scott! Dear Greatheart!" she said, and her voice trembled over thetender utterance of the name. "Are you in trouble? Can't I help?"
He took her face between his hands, looking straight back into theshining eyes. "You are the trouble, Dinah," he told her simply. "And I'dgive all I have--I'd give my soul--to make life easier for you."
She leaned towards him, and suddenly those shining eyes were blurredwith a glimmer of tears. "Life is dreadfully difficult," she said. "Butyou have never done anything but help me. And, oh, Scott, I--don't knowif I ought to tell you--forgive me if it's wrong--but--but I feel Imust--" her breath came so quickly that she could hardly utter thewords--"I love you--I love you--better than anyone else in the world!"
"Dinah!" he said, as one incredulous.
"It's true!" she panted. "It's true! Eustace knows it--has known italmost as long as I have. It isn't the only thing I have to tell you,but it's the first--and biggest. And even though--even though--I shallnever be anything more to you than I am now--I'm glad--I'm proud--foryou to know. There's nothing else that counts in the same way. Andthough--though I refused you the other day--I wanted you--dreadfully,dreadfully. If--if I had only been good enough for you--But--but--I'mnot!" She broke off, battling with herself.
He was still holding her face between his hands, and there was somethingof insistence, something that even bordered upon ruthlessness, in hishold. Though the tears were running down her face, he would not let hergo.
"Will you tell me what you mean by that?" he said, his voice very low."Or--must I ask Eustace?"
She started. There was that in his tone that made her wince inexplicably."Oh no," she said, "no! I'll tell you myself--if--if you must know."
"I am afraid I must," he said, and for all their resolution, the wordshad
a sound of deadly weariness. He let her go slowly as he uttered them."Sit down!" he said gently. "And please don't tremble! There is nothingto make you afraid."
She dropped into the chair he indicated, and made a desperate effort tocalm herself. He stood beside her with the absolute patience of oneaccustomed to long waiting.
After a few moments, she put up a quivering hand, seeking his. He took itinstantly, and as his fingers closed firmly upon her own, she foundcourage.
"I didn't want you to know," she whispered. "But I--I see now--it'sbetter that you should. There's no other way--of making you understand.It's just this--just this!" She swallowed hard, striving to control thepiteous trembling of her voice. "I am--one of those people--that--thatnever ought to have been born. I don't belong--anywhere--exceptto--my mother who--who--who has no use for me,--hated me before ever Icame into the world. You see, she--married because--because--anotherman--my real father--had played her false. Oh, do you wonder--do youwonder--" she bowed her forehead upon his hand with a rush oftears--"that--that when I knew--I--I felt as if--I couldn't--go onwith life?"
Her weeping was piteous; it shook her from head to foot.
But--in the very midst of her distress--there came to her a wonder sogreat that it checked her tears at the height of their flow. For verysuddenly it dawned upon her that Scott--Scott, her knight of the goldenarmour--was kneeling at her feet.
Half in wonder and half in awe, she lifted her head and looked at him.And in that moment he took her two hands and kissed them, tenderly,reverently, lingeringly.
"Was this what you and Eustace were talking about this afternoon?" hesaid.
She nodded. "I had to tell him--why--I couldn't marry you. He--he hadbeen--so kind."
"But, my own Dinah," he said, and in his voice was a quiverhalf-quizzical yet strangely charged with emotion, "did you everseriously imagine that I should allow a sordid little detail likethat to come between us? Surely Eustace knew better than that!"
She heard him in amazement, scarcely believing that she heard. "Doyou--can you mean--" she faltered, "that--it really--doesn't count?"
"I mean that it is less than nothing to me," he made answer, and in hiseyes as they looked into hers was that glory of worship that she had onceseen in a dream. "I mean, my darling, that since you want me as I wantyou, nothing--nothing in the world--can ever come between us any more.Oh, my dear, my dear, I wish you'd told me sooner."
"I knew I ought to," she murmured, still hardly believing. "Andyet--somehow--I couldn't bear the thought of your knowing,--particularlyas--as--till Eustace told me--I never dreamed you--cared. You areso--great. You ought to have someone so much--better than I. I'm notnearly good enough--not nearly."
He was drawing her to him, and she went with a little sob into his arms;but she turned her face away over his shoulder, avoiding his.
"I ought not--to have told you--I loved you," she said brokenly."It wasn't right of me. Only--when I saw you so unhappy--Icouldn't--somehow--keep it in any longer. Dear Scott, don't youthink--before--before we go any further--you had better--forget itand--give me up?"
"No, I don't think so." Scott spoke very softly, with the utmosttenderness, into her ear. "Don't you realize," he said, "that we belongto each other? Could there possibly be anyone else for either you or me?"
She did not answer him; only she clung a little closer. And, after amoment, as she felt the drawing of his hold, "Don't kiss me---yet!" shebegged him tremulously. "Let us wait till--the morning!"
His arms relaxed, "It is very near the morning now," he said. "Shall wego and watch for it?"
They rose together. Dinah's eyes sought his for one shy, fleeting second,falling instantly as if half-dazzled, half-afraid. He took her hand andled her quietly from the room.
It was no longer dark in the passage outside. A pearly light was growing.The splash of the sea sounded very far below them, as the dim surging ofa world unseen might rise to the watchers on the mountain-top.
They moved to an open window at the end of the passage. No sound camefrom Isabel's room close by, and after a few seconds Scott turnednoiselessly aside and entered.
Dinah remained at the open window waiting with a throbbing heart in thegreat silence that wrapped the world. She was not afraid, but she longedfor Scott to come back; she was conscious of an urgent need of him.
Several moments passed, and then softly he returned. "No change!" hewhispered. "Eustace will call us--when it comes."
She slipped her hand back into his, without speaking. He made her situpon the window-seat, and knelt himself upon it, his arm about hershoulders, his fingers clasping hers.
She could see his face but vaguely in the dimness, but many times duringthat holy hour before the dawn, though he spoke no word, she felt that hewas praying or giving thanks.
Slowly the twilight turned into a velvet dusk. The great Change wasdrawing near. The silence lay like a thinning veil of mist upon themountain-top. The clouds were parting in the East, all tinged with gold,like burnished gates flung back for the royal coming of the sun-god. Thestillness that lay upon all the waiting earth was sacred as the hush ofprayer.
Their faces were turned towards the spreading glow. It shone upon them asit shone upon all beside, widening, intensifying, till the whole earthlay wrapped in solemn splendour--and then at last, through the opengates, red, royal, triumphant, the sun-god came.
There came a moment in which all things were touched with the glory, allthings were made new. And in that moment, sudden as a flash of light, abird of pure white plumage appeared before their eyes, hovered aninstant; then flew, mounting on wide, gleaming wings, straight into thedawn....
Even while they watched, it vanished through the gates of gold. And onlythe gracious sunshine of a new day remained....
A low voice spoke from the chamber of Death. They turned from the visionand saw Eustace standing in the doorway.
He was very white, but absolutely calm. There was a nobility about him atthat moment that sent a queer little throb to Dinah's heart. He held outhis hand, not to her, but to Scott. "She is gone," he said.
Scott went to him; she saw their hands meet. There was no agitation abouteither of them.
"In her sleep?" Scott said.
"Yes. We didn't even know--till it was over."
They turned into the room, still hand grasping hand.
And Dinah knelt up and stretched out her arms to the shining morning sky.Something within her was whispering that she and Scott had seen more ofthe passing of Isabel than any of those who had watched beside her bed.And in the quiet of that wonderful morning, she offered her quiveringthanks to God.