Dinah Gurdon stood for a time grasping the back of a chair, battling
with a fit of trembling and the strange sense of dread, which rapidly
increased till in the enervation it produced, her eyes half-closed, the
light upon the table grew dull, and a soft, many-hued halo spread round
the flame as she was about to sink helpless upon the floor.
Then mind mastered matter, and with an effort she drew a long catching
breath, her eyes opened widely with the pupils dilated in the now clear
light. Then she looked wildly at the door and window, whose panes seen
against the darkness merely reflected the comfortable kitchen interior,
where she stood. But all the same she felt sure that there was a face
looking in at her--a face she knew only too well.
Then, tearing away her eyes from where they had rested upon the lower
corner, fascinated and held for a time in spite of her will, she turned
and gazed at the door, which she now saw was unfastened, while the bolts
at top and bottom showed plainly in the light, waiting to be shot into
their sockets.
Four steps would have taken her there; but that face was watching her,
and she felt fixed to the spot, her heart beating with heavy throbs, and
something seeming to force the conviction upon her that the moment she
stirred to go to that door, her watcher would spring to it, fling it
open, and seize her.
So strong was this feeling upon her that for minutes she could not stir.
Then fresh imaginings crowded in upon her brain, and she saw that the
face she had conjured up was no longer there at the window, but there
was a faint rustling outside, and a low sighing, whistling noise, and a
regular pat--pat--pat as of footsteps.
The feeling of enervation came back, and the light grew dim and obscured
by dancing rays, while the latch of the door appeared to quiver, slowly
rise up and up, to stop at the highest point, and the door slowly moved
towards her.
"Imagination!" she exclaimed, and in an instant she had darted to the
door, thrust in both bolts, and then drawn down the window-blind, to
stand now breathing heavily but feeling master of herself, and ready to
act again in any way which she might find necessary.
The pallor had gone now from her cheeks, which became flushed by a
couple of red spots, as she felt irritated and indignant at her childish
fears. But all the same she could not conceal from herself the fact
that there was peril; and now, full of energy, she went quickly from
room to room and made sure that every window and door was really secure,
before hurrying up to the different chambers and examining the casement
fastenings. She then descended to the lower floor of the little
fortress to stand and think, asking herself whether her alarms were
childish and only the effect of imagination after all.
But she was fain to confess that they were not. She had too strong
grounds in fact for her dread, and the incidents of the previous night
and that evening showed her that the man she dreaded was as unscrupulous
as he was daring.
At last came bitter repentance for her weakness. Had she summoned up
the courage to speak, and told all to her father, he would have taken
steps to guard her from future danger.
She shuddered at the thought, and the colour in her cheeks deepened as
she conjured up scenes such as she had heard of in the past.
Too late now; and she felt this, but that if the trouble were repeated
she could not have acted otherwise. And now it was of the present that
she had to think. There was no help to be expected from Martha, but, in
the energy of despair, she went to the woman's side, shook her, and
spoke loudly with lips close to her ear. Then fetching water, she
bathed the sleeper's temples, for, rid of the sensation that her acts
were watched, she worked with spirit.
But all was in vain; Martha slept heavily, her breathing sounding
regular and deep.
Two or three times over Dinah ceased her efforts, and stood listening,
startled by the different sounds of the storm gathering in the
mountains. But she grew firmer now minute by minute, and quietly
analysed each sound she heard. This was only the drip of the rain from
the eaves on the stones below, although it resembled wonderfully the
fall of feet. That was no rustling of a body forcing a way through the
shrubs, but the work of a gust of wind bending down the little cypress,
and making the clematis stream out upon the black darkness.
There was every token of a rough night in the hills, for ever and anon
after a lull, the wind hissed and whistled at the windows, and rumbled
in the chimneys after the fashion familiar in winter. But as she told
herself, there was nothing in this to fear.
Feeling that Martha must be left to finish her heavy sleep, and after
seeing that she could not injure herself if alone, Dinah went back with
the light to the little drawing-room, where, after an uneasy glance at
the window, she satisfied herself that she could not, by any
possibility, be watched, and sat down to read.
The effort was vain: not a line of the page was understood, but scenes
and faces were called up. Clive's looking lovingly into her eyes, with
that frank, manly gaze, before which her own fell and her cheeks
reddened. Then that meeting on the mountain path, when on her way home
and alone, for the dog had left her and gone off in pursuit of a hare.
She shuddered as she recalled it all, and hurriedly forced herself to
think of her father and his anger that morning against Clive, who was,
of course, all that was true and just--her lover--her protector--to whom
some day she could tell everything--some day when safe in his arms and
quite at rest. It was impossible now.
Her thoughts went to him more and more persistently, as she wondered
where he then was--whether he was thinking about her--when he would be
back.
The book fell into her lap and glided to the carpet with a loud rap, and
quick as thought her hand was extended to the lamp. The next moment she
sat in darkness, listening, and half repentant of her act. For though
she had sought the enveloping cloak of darkness, she shivered as it
closed her in.
For that was not wind or rain, neither was it the effect of imagination.
She could not be deceived this time. The latch of the kitchen door had
been raised, and had given forth that click with which she had been
familiar from childhood. True, it had sounded faintly, but it was
unmistakable. The room door was open, so was that leading from the
little passage into the kitchen, for she had left both wide, that she
might hear if Martha stirred.
She drew a breath of relief the next moment, for she felt that she had
not heard their servant stir, but all the same she must have risen, and
gone to try whether the door was fast.
Quickly and silently she stole into the kitchen, and felt the way to the
table. "Martha!" was on her lips, but she did not utter the word, only
extending her hand as she heard a deep, low, sighing breath. The next
instant her fingers rested upon the woman's shoulder, and she knew that
there had been no change in position. A feeling of suffocation attacked
her, as she held her breath, and listened to a repetition of the sound,
for the latch was softly raised now, and the door creaked as it was
evidently pressed from outside.
This was repeated, and then all was black darkness and silence once
more, while poor Rollo, who would only a few hours before have loudly
given warning of danger and torn at his chain to come to the protection
of his mistress, lay sleeping his last beneath the newly-turned earth.
Would he dare to break in?
She was alone.
A question and answer which sent a chill through her: but despair gave
her courage, and she stood there pondering as the door creaked heavily
once more.
Where would he try to force an entrance? she asked herself, and then,
feeling how frail were the fastenings, she silently made for the foot of
the staircase, closed the door, bolted it, and ascended to the little
landing.
The next moment, her hand was upon her bedroom latch, but altering her
mind she passed into her father's room, and closed and locked the door,
to stand listening, her mind fixed upon the drawing-room window beneath
where she stood.
It would be there, beneath the little verandah, she thought; and
extending her hand to touch the wall and guide herself to the window,
her fingers encountered something which sent a thrill through her, for
she touched the Major's double gun standing in the corner formed by a
little cabinet, where he had stood and forgotten it; and in the drawer
of that cabinet there were cartridges, for she had seen him place them
there only a week or two before.
Continuing her way, she crept to the window to listen, feeling sure that
she would hear if any attempt was made below in the verandah, but
clinging to the hope that the nocturnal visitor would go on finding that
his plan was checkmated.
She was not long left in doubt, for a rustling sound told her that the
clematis was being torn away from one of the rough fir-posts which
supported the verandah roof; and the next minute she was conscious by
the sound that some one had reached the thatch, and was drawing himself
up the yielding slope.
For a moment Dinah was giddy once more with dread and despair. The next
she was strong again in the wild desire to protect herself--for her own,
and for Clive Reed's sake; and stepping softly back, she drew out the
drawer of the cabinet and felt that the cartridges were there. Then
catching up the gun, she rapidly opened the breech and inserted a couple
of the charges, closed it, and fully cocked the piece, to stand with it
at the ready, its muzzle directed to the window, which showed darker in
the middle where a grating sound was heard.
She knew it at once; a knife was forcing back the leadwork, so that a
diamond-shaped pane might be taken out by the man who believed this room
to be empty.
She could see nothing, but it was all plain enough; the grating ceased,
the pane was eased out by the knife, a rustling told that there was a
hand being thrust in, and she heard the fastening yield, and the iron
frame of the casement creak as it was drawn outward. Then followed a
heavy breath, the sound of some one drawing himself up, and strong now,
at bay in her own defence, Dinah Gurdon's finger pressed the trigger, as
she still held the gun at the ready with its butt beneath her arm.