"Hah! I nearly had you that time, my fine fellow," said Major Gurdon,
as he stood deep in the shade, where twilight was falling fast, and ever
and anon he deftly threw a fly with his lissome rod right across to the
edge of the black water, where the deep suddenly grew shallow, and a
sharp rippling was made by the swiftly flowing stream.
"Feel it chilly, my dear?" he said, as he made the brass winch chirrup
as he drew out more line.
"No, dear," said Dinah, with her pale, troubled face lighting up, as she
stood there holding a landing-net. "It is very beautiful and cool and
pleasant now."
"Ah! that sounds better," said the Major, as he made his fine line whish
through the air and sent the fly far away down-stream. "You have been
fidgeting me, my dear."
"I, papa?" said the girl hurriedly.
"Yes. You haven't seemed the same since you had that fall."
"Oh, it was nothing much, dear."
"But it was a good deal to make you look so white and upset ever
since.--Missed him!--Do you know, my dear," continued the Major, making
another throw, "I lay awake half last night thinking that I ought to
take you up to London to see some clever physician."
"Oh, no, no, no," said the girl hurriedly. "You shouldn't fidget about
that. I am better. I am, indeed."
"Then impossibilities have come to pass, and your little face is
deceitful."
"You take too much notice of things, dear," said Dinah, shrinking a
little behind her father, so as to hide the fresh shade of trouble in
her countenance.
"Oh no, I don't," said the Major, as he threw his fly again. "I have
not studied your face since you were a baby, Diny, for nothing. Do you
know, my dear," he continued, as his child stood with her lips pressed
so firmly together that they formed a thin white line, "I really think
that fish have more gumption than we give them credit for. They really
do get to be educated and know when they are being fished for."
"Well, what wonder that they should refuse to take a tiny patch of hair
and feathers hiding a hook?"
"But it's a lovely black gnat I am trying, my dear. I couldn't tell it
in the water from the real; and there: look at that," he cried, in a
tone full of vexation, as a big trout suddenly sucked down an
unfortunate fly floating close by the Major's cunningly made lure. "I
knew that fellow was there, and I hereby register a vow that I mean to
have him wrapped in buttered writing-paper and grilled for my breakfast
before I have done. What a--ah! that's a good throw, right above him.
That ought to tempt any natural fish. Got him!--Be ready with the net,"
he cried. "Not yet," as there was a wallow, a boil in the water, a
splash, and an ejaculation as the Major's rod, which had bent nearly
double, became straight again.
"Lost him, papa?"
"Lost him! Of course. My usual luck. Lightly hooked in the lip.--
Eh?--No. A badly-tempered hook snapped short off. I wish the scoundrel
who made it--Dinah, my dear, would you mind walking just out of hearing.
There are a few good old trooper's oaths just suitable to this
occasion, and I should like to let them off."
Dinah did not stir, but a sad smile crossed her features, and she stood
waiting while her father selected a fresh fly, straightened the gut, and
began to fasten it to the collar of his line.
"Such a pity! Just as I had hooked him too. I wonder whether he will
try again. I was going to say what a deal of trouble one does take, and
what an amount of time one does waste in fishing. And so you think that
I need not take you up to town?"
"Oh, no, no," cried Dinah quickly. "I am quite well."
"Ahem!"
"Well, nearly well again, dear. Don't fidget about me, pray."
"Oh, no. You are of no consequence whatever, not the slightest; and I
am to take no interest in you of any kind. Ah! you are a strange girl,
Di, but you make my life bearable, only it seems brutally selfish to
keep you down here in this wilderness."
"You know I am very happy here."
"No, I do not," said the Major, whipping the stream rather viciously.
"You have looked miserable for a month past."
"No, no, dear, you exaggerate," said Dinah, with a smile that was
piteous. "There! I am going to be as cheerful as can be now, and you
shall hear me singing about the place again."
"Hah! at last!" cried the Major, striking sharply. "Home this time, Di.
I believe it's that big trout with the distorted tail-fin. That's
right, my fine fellow; run, but I think I have you. No more lovely
May-flies to be sucked down your capacious gullet. I have you, my
tyrant of the waters. I'll bring him in ten yards lower down, my dear.
Mind and get your net well under him, and don't touch him with the
ring."
There followed five minutes' playing of the gallant fish, which leaped
twice out of the water in its desperate efforts to escape, and then it
was gently reeled in and lifted out on the stones.
"Best this season, my dear. A beauty," said the Major, transferring the
speckled beauty to his creel, and preparing for another throw. It was
suppertime with the trout in the twilight, and they were feeding eagerly
now, as the Major began once more--casting his line, and chatting the
while to his child, who stood just beside him on his left.
"They're pretty busy bringing the machinery over to the mine, I see."
"Indeed?"
"Yes; and the men told me that Mr What's-his-name, Reed, is down
again."
Dinah drew a faint breath and exhaled it in something like a sigh.
"Reed--bad name for a man of trust. I say, Dinah, I don't like that
other fellow, that man Sturgess, at all."
Dinah's hands grasped the landing-net handle convulsively.
"He is offensive. A coarse, overbearing, brutal sort of fellow. I
don't like the way he looks at me. I suppose in his eyes a man living
down here in a cottage cannot be a gentleman. I shall have to give him
a setting down. He is not coming to lord it over us. I saw him fishing
below here the other day."
"No, no, don't speak to him," cried Dinah hastily.
"Nonsense! I have commanded bigger and uglier fellows than he, my dear.
The fellow's insolent, and I saw him twice over clambering round the
rocks and staring into the garden. I won't have it. He shall respect
my boundaries, and--Ah! good evening, Mr Reed. Down again, then! What
is the last news in London?"
Clive Reed had come upon them suddenly from behind one of the angles of
the perpendicular rock which rose up from the narrow pathway beside the
river, and was quite unnoticed until he was close at hand.
Dinah turned pale as death as she uttered a low gasp, and for the moment
looked as if she were about to turn and run.
"Good evening, Miss Gurdon," said Clive.
He took off his hat to the Major's daughter as he spoke; and then, as
the fisherman released the hand which had been warmly grasped, the young
man stood hesitating; but as Dinah made no sign, he let it fall to his
side.
"I have been expecting to see something of you," continued the Major.
"Have you been to the cottage?"
"No," said Clive, in a quiet, constrained tone, and to Dinah's great
relief he did not look her way, but seemed to stare about him strangely.
"I did not call. I did not expect to meet you here."
"Ah! well, never mind; we are glad to see you, but--Good heavens!--Mr
Reed! You've been ill or something. My dear sir, have you had some
accident up at the mine?"
"No," said Clive, smiling faintly. "The trouble is past. I have lost
my father, Major Gurdon, since I was here. He died suddenly."
"God bless me!" cried the Major, in a tone full of sympathy, as he threw
his rod aside, and laid his hand with a sympathetic movement upon the
young man's arm. "And I was thoughtlessly amusing myself here while you
were in trouble. In the midst of life--dear, dear me! I am deeply
grieved, sir--we are deeply grieved. Mr Reed, you have suffered much.
Dinah, my child, I am sure Mr Reed will give us his company to-night."
Dinah bent her head, and, in spite of herself, gave their companion a
commiserating glance, their eyes meeting, and his resting upon hers with
a sad, wistful look as if he were grateful for their kindly sympathy.
Then he turned to the Major.
"I thank you warmly," he said, "but not this evening. I have been down
in the mine all day, and chose this path for the sake of the cool,
sweet, moist air."
"The more need for a little rest and quiet communion with others, my
dear young friend," said the Major. "You will give us pain if you do
refuse, Mr Reed. I too have known trouble, perhaps greater than yours.
Don't say no, sir. You will come?" Dinah stood with her lips apart,
listening, as she mentally prayed that her father's hospitality might be
refused.
"You wish it?" said Clive.
"My dear sir," paid the Major, speaking rather stiffly, "I very rarely
ask a visitor to my little hermitage. I have many failings, but my
daughter here will endorse my words when I tell you that insincerity is
not one."
"I beg your pardon, Major Gurdon," said Clive, more warmly, "I beg Miss
Gurdon's. I am not a society man, and--and trouble and anxiety have
made me rather boorish, I am afraid."
"Suppose we set aside attack and defence, my dear sir," said the Major
gravely. "I too am no society man, a mere hermit living in this
desolate--no, not desolate spot. Dinah here makes my home a place of
happiness and rest."
It was on Clive Reed's lips to say coldly that he was sure that was the
case, but he was in no mood for passing empty compliments, and he
remained silent.
"Let me be frank, Mr Reed. I look back upon the time you spent with
us, sir, as a bright little spot in rather a dark existence. You
impressed me favourably, sir. This is a very unconventional admission,
but I am eccentric. Let me tell you openly that you impressed me very
favourably, and when you do have a leisure evening, you will be
conferring a kindness upon me by coming across to the cottage, where we
will do our best to make your stay such as would be acceptable to a busy
man--restful and calm. There, Dinah, what do you say to that for a long
complimentary speech."
Dinah murmured something, but her eyes did not endorse her father's
words, for they fell, and the nerves about the corners of her lips
twitched slightly as she listened to their visitor's reply.
"This is very good and kind of you, Major Gurdon," he said; "and I
should be ungrateful if I did not accept your hospitality. Let me be
frank, though, with you, sir. I came down here to try and forget my
troubles in hard work. My mission is to make this mine a successful
venture for the sake of those who have embarked in the scheme, and my
thoughts run upon the work, and that alone. I shall prove to be a very
dreary guest."
"Let me have my opinion about that," said the Major, smiling. "You have
done wisely, sir. Hard work in these solitudes will restore your tone.
I came down years ago in despair, to die forgotten; but I soon found out
that `there is a divinity which shapes our ends, rough hew them as we
may.' I was not to die, sir. Life began to have attractions once more.
I found that there was something to live for besides self. Here we
are, then, and, Mr Reed, you are very welcome."
He drew back for his guest to enter, and he in turn made place for
Dinah, who raised her eyes to thank him in silence for his courtesy,
when he saw a sudden change come over her countenance, which in an
instant was full of a painful look of utter despair, as she seemed to
have caught sight of something over his shoulder.
The next moment she had hurried in, and Clive Reed followed, feeling a
new interest in his host's child, and at the same moment asking himself
whether she were not suffering from some mental trouble, which was
eating away the hopefulness of a life so young as hers.
There was something very restful and calm about that evening at the
cottage. Dinah hardly spoke a word, but after the pleasant meal sat
engaged upon some piece of work, over which her white fingers passed
hastily to and fro, as the guest sat back in his chair and watched them,
while the Major smoked his cigar at the window, and chatted at times
about London and India, where he had gone through some service at the
time of the Mutiny.
But there were many lapses into silence, and the whole tone of the
evening was grave and still, according wonderfully with Clive Reed's
state of mind, as he felt a kind of sympathy for the lady before him,
and found himself working out her career, without female companionship,
saving that of the stern-looking elderly servant. Dinah Gurdon, he
thought, must have gone through some terrible time of anguish to wear
such an aspect as he had noticed more than once, and he pitied her, as
he saw the busy hands, utterly devoid of any ornament but their natural
beauty of form and whiteness, still going to and fro the needlework in
the light cast upon them by the shaded lamp.
And then all at once it was late, and time for him to go; but he did not
care to stir--all was truly calm, there was such a sweet repose about
the place that life had suddenly grown dreamy, and he lay back in his
chair listening to the Major, and still watching those hands that were
as beautiful as--more beautiful than--Janet's.
Her face came into his mind with that, like a painful jarring discord in
the midst of some soft, dreamy symphony, and he started up.
"Eh? What is the matter?" cried the Major suddenly.
"It is late, sir. I am keeping you up far beyond your usual time, I am
sure."
"Yes, and thank you for doing so," said the Major. "It is a pleasant
change. Early to bed is good, but not too early. Why, you do not
suppose, Mr Reed, that we are going to let you tramp across the bleak
mountain-side to-night, and have inquiries made for you in the morning,
because you have not gone to the mine."
"But really, Major Gurdon," protested Reed.
"My dear sir, after all these years in this solitude, I know the place
by heart, and there are dozens of spots--old shafts and the like--where
a man may lose his life."
"But indeed--"
"You are a new-comer. Yes, my dear sir, and we must take care of you.
See how dark it is. Look, Dinah, my child. Go and see what the night
is like."
Dinah trembled as she went to the open French window, stepped into the
verandah, and came back looking ghastly, just as the dog began to bark
fiercely from somewhere at the back.
"Poachers after the grouse," said the Major decisively. "I hope, Mr
Reed, you will use your influence to keep your men from trespassing and
going after the game--and my trout."
"Of course, sir, but--"
"Well, Dinah?" said the Major, without noticing her agitated face.
"It is very dark," she said huskily.
"Exactly! Too dark for you to go, my dear sir. Stay! We will have an
early breakfast, and you can walk across to the mine. I will not have
my peace of mind destroyed by being summoned to sit on a jury at an
inquest upon my late guest."
There was a mingling of mirth and seriousness in the Major's words, and
Reed hesitated.
"Well, sir," he said, involuntarily glancing across at Dinah, and
meeting her troubled gaze.
"I insist," cried the Major. "What do you say, my dear?"