THE ESCAPE OF THE PRISONER
Dinah spent her Sunday afternoon seated in a far corner of the verandah,
inditing a very laboured epistle to her mother--a very different affair
from the gay little missives she scribbled to her father every other day.
The letter to her mother was a duty which must of necessity be
accomplished, and perhaps in consequence she found it peculiarly
distasteful. She never knew what to say, being uncomfortably aware that a
detailed account of her doings would only give rise to drastic comment.
The glories of the mountains were wholly beyond her powers of description
when she knew that any extravagance of language would be at once termed
high-flown and ridiculous. The sleigh-drive of the day before was
disposed of in one sentence, and the dance of the evening could not be
mentioned at all. The memory of it was like a flame in her inner
consciousness. Her cheeks still burned at the thought, and her heart
leapt with a wild longing. When would he kiss her again, she wondered?
Ah, when, when?
There was another thought at the back of her wonder which she felt to be
presumptuous, but which nevertheless could not be kept completely in
abeyance. He had said that there would be no consequences; but--had he
really meant it? Was it possible ever to awake wholly from so perfect a
dream? Was it not rather the great reality of things to which she had
suddenly come, and all her past life a mere background of shadows? How
could she ever go back into that dimness now that she felt the glorious
rays of this new radiance upon her? And he also--was it possible that he
could ever forget? Surely it had ceased to be just a game to either of
them! Surely, surely, the wonder and the rapture had caught him also into
the magic web--the golden maze of Romance!
She leaned her head on her hand and gave herself up to the great
enchantment, feeling again his kisses upon lips and eyes and brow, and
the thrilling irresistibility of his hold. Ah, this was life indeed! Ah,
this was life!
A soft footfall near her made her look up sharply, and she saw Rose de
Vigne approaching. Rose was looking even more beautiful than usual, yet
for the first time Dinah contemplated her without any under-current of
envy. She moved slightly to make room for her.
"I haven't come to stay," Rose announced with her quiet, well-satisfied
smile, as she drew near. "I have promised to sing at to-night's concert
and the padre wants to look through my songs. Well, Dinah, my dear, how
are you getting on? Is that a letter to your mother?"
Dinah suppressed a sigh. "Yes. I've only just begun it. I don't know in
the least what to say."
Rose lifted her pretty brows. "What about your new friend Sir Eustace
Studley's sister? Wouldn't she be interested to hear of her? Poor soul,
it's lamentably sad to think that she should be mentally deranged. Some
unfortunate strain in the family, I should say, to judge by the younger
brother's appearance also."
Dinah's green eyes gleamed a little. "I don't see anything very unusual
about him," she remarked. "There are plenty of little men in the world."
"And crippled?" smiled Rose.
"I shouldn't call him a cripple," rejoined Dinah quickly. "He is quite
active."
"Many cripples are, dear," Rose pointed out. "He has learnt to get the
better of his infirmity, but nothing can alter the fact that the
infirmity exists. I call him a most peculiar little person to look at. Of
course I don't deny that he may be very nice in other ways."
Dinah bit her lip and was silent. To hear Scott described as nice was to
her mind less endurable than to hear him called peculiar. But somehow she
could not bring herself to discuss him, so she choked down her
indignation and said nothing.
Rose seated herself beside her. "I call Sir Eustace a very interesting
man," she observed. "He fully makes up for the deficiencies of his
brother and sister. He seems to be very kind-hearted too. Didn't I see
him helping you with your skating the other night?"
Dinah's eyes shone again with a quick and ominous light. "He helped you
with your ski-ing too, didn't he?" she said.
"He did, dear. I had a most enjoyable afternoon." Rose smiled again as
over some private reminiscence. "He told me he thought you were coming
on, in fact he seems to think that you have the makings of quite a good
skater. It's a pity your opportunities are so limited, dear." Rose paused
to utter a soft laugh.
"I don't see anything funny in that," remarked Dinah.
"No, no! Of course not. I was only smiling at the way in which he
referred to you. 'That little brown cousin of yours' he said, 'makes me
think of a water-vole, there one minute and gone the next.' He seemed to
think you a rather amusing child, as of course you are." Rose put up a
delicate hand and playfully caressed the glowing cheek nearest to her. "I
told him you were not any relation, but just a dear little friend of mine
who had never seen anything of the world before. And he laughed and said,
'That is why she looks like a chocolate baby out of an Easter egg.'"
"Anything else?" said Dinah, repressing an urgent desire to shiver at the
kindly touch.
"No, I don't think so. We had more important matters to think of and talk
about. He is a man who has travelled a good deal, and we found that we
had quite a lot in common, having visited the same places and regarded
many things from practically the same point of view. He took the trouble
to be very entertaining," said Rose, with a pretty blush. "And his
trouble was not misspent. I am convinced that he enjoyed the afternoon
even more than I did. We also enjoyed the evening," she added. "He is an
excellent dancer. We suited each other perfectly."
"Did you find him good at sitting out?" asked Dinah unexpectedly.
Rose looked at her enquiringly, but her eyes were fixed upon the distant
mist-capped mountains. There was nothing in her aspect to indicate what
had prompted the question.
"What a funny thing to ask!" she said, with her soft laugh. "No; we
enjoyed dancing much too much to waste any time sitting out. He gave you
one dance, I believe?"
"No," Dinah said briefly. "I gave him one."
She turned from her contemplation of the mountains. An odd little smile
very different from Rose's smile of complacency hovered at the corners of
her mouth. She gave Rose a swift and comprehensive glance, then slipped
her pen into her writing-case and closed it.
"I am afraid I have interrupted you," said Rose.
"Oh no, it doesn't matter." Dinah's dimple showed for a second and was
gone. "I can't write any more now. There's something about this air that
makes me feel now and then that I must get up and jump. Does it affect
you that way?"
"You funny little thing!" said Rose. "Why, no!"
Dinah's chin pointed upwards. She looked for the moment almost
aggressively happy. But the next her look went beyond Rose, and she
started. Her expression altered, became suddenly tender and anxious.
"There is Mrs. Everard!" she said softly.
Rose looked round. "Ah! Captain Brent's Purple Empress!" she said. "How
haggard the poor soul looks!"
As if drawn magnetically, Dinah moved along the verandah.
Isabel was dressed in the long purple coat she had worn the previous day.
She had a cap of black fur on her head. She stood as if irresolute,
glancing up and down as though she searched for someone. There was an odd
furtiveness in her bearing that struck Dinah on the instant. It also
occurred to her as strange that though the restless eyes must have seen
her they did not seem to take her in.
The fact deterred her for a second, but only for a second. Then swiftly
she went forward and joined her.
"Are you looking for someone, dear Mrs. Everard?"
Isabel's eyes glanced at her, and instantly looked beyond. "I am looking
for my husband," she said, her voice quick and low. "He does not seem to
be here. You have not seen him, I suppose? He is tall and fair with a
boyish smile, and eyes that look straight at you. He laughs a good deal.
He is always laughing. You couldn't fail to notice him. He is one whom
the gods love."
Again her eyes roamed over Dinah, and again they passed her to scan the
mist-wreathed mountains.
Dinah slipped a loving hand through her arm. "He is not here, dear," she
said. "Come and sit down for a little! The sun won't be gone yet. We can
watch it go."
She tried to draw her gently along the verandah, but Isabel resisted.
"No--no! I am not going that way. I have to go up the mountains to meet
him. Don't keep me! Don't keep me!"
Dinah threw an anxious look around. There was no one near them. Rose had
moved away to join a group just returned from the rink. The laughter and
gay voices rose on the still air in merry chorus. No one knew or cared of
the living tragedy so near.
Pleadingly she turned to Isabel. "Darling Mrs. Everard, need you go now?
Wait till the morning! It is so late now. It will soon be dark."
Isabel made a sharp gesture of impatience. "Be quiet, child! You don't
understand. Of course I must go now. I have escaped from them, and if I
wait I shall be taken again. It would kill me to be kept back now. I must
meet him in the dawn on the mountain-top. What was it you called it? The
peaks of Paradise! That is where I shall find him. But I must start at
once--at once."
She threw another furtive look around, and stepped forth. Dinah's hand
closed upon her arm. "If you go, I am coming too," she said, with quick
resolution. "But won't you wait a moment--just a moment--while I run
and get some gloves?"
Isabel made a swift effort to disengage herself. "No, child, no! I can't
wait. If you met Eustace, he would make you tell him where you were
going, and then he would follow and bring me back. No, I must go now--at
once. Yes, you may come too if you like. But you mustn't keep me back. I
must go quickly--quickly--before they find out. Everything depends on
that."
There was no delaying her. Dinah cast another look towards the chattering
group, and gave up hope. She dared not leave her, for she had no idea of
the whereabouts of either of the brothers. And there was no time to make
a search. The only course open to her was to accompany her friend
whithersoever the fruitless quest should lead. She was convinced that
Isabel's physical powers of endurance were slight, and that when they
were exhausted she would be able to bring her back unresisting.
Nevertheless, she was conscious of a little tremor at the heart as they
set forth. There was an air of desperation about her companion that it
was impossible to overlook. Isabel's manner towards her was so wholly
devoid of that caressing element that had always marked their intimacy
till that moment. Without being actually frightened, she was very uneasy.
It was evident that Isabel was beyond all persuasion that day.
The sun was beginning to sink towards the western peaks as they turned up
the white track, casting long shadows across the snow. The pine-wood
through which the road wound was mysteriously dark. The rush of the
stream in the hollow had an eerie sound. It seemed to Dinah that the
ground they trod was bewitched. She almost expected to catch sight of
goblin-faces peering from behind the dark trunks. Now and then muffled in
the snow, she thought she heard the scamper of tiny feet.
Isabel went up the steep track with a wonderful elasticity, looking
neither to right nor left. Her eyes were fixed perpetually forwards, with
the look in them of one who strains towards a goal. Her lips were parted,
and the eagerness of her face went to Dinah's heart.
They came out above the pine-wood. They reached and passed the spot where
she and Scott had turned back on their first walk together. The snow
crunched crisply underfoot. The ascent was becoming more and more acute.
Dinah was panting. Light as she was, with all the activity of youth in
her veins, she found it hard to keep up, for Isabel was pressing,
pressing hard. She went as one in whom the fear of pursuit was ever
present, paying no heed to her companion, seeming indeed to have almost
forgotten her presence.
On and on, up and up, they went on their rapid pilgrimage. The winding of
the road had taken them out of sight of the hotel, and the whole world
seemed deserted. The sun-rays slanted ever more and more obliquely. The
valley behind them had fallen into shadow.
Before them and very far above them towered the great pinnacles, clothed
in the everlasting snows, beginning to turn golden above their floating
wreaths of mist. Even where they were, trails like the ragged edges of a
cloud drifted by them, and the coldness of the air held a clammy quality.
The sparkling dryness of the atmosphere seemed to be dissolving into
these thin, veil-like vapours. The cold was more penetrating than Dinah
had ever before experienced.
Now and then an icy draught came swirling down upon them, making her
shiver, though it was evident that Isabel was unaware of it. The harder
the way became, the more set upon her purpose did she seem to be. Dinah
marvelled at her strength and unvarying determination. There was about it
an element of the wild, not far removed from ferocity. Her uneasiness was
growing with every step, and something that was akin to fear began to
knock at her heart. The higher they mounted, the more those trails of
mist increased. Very soon now the sun would be gone. Already it had
ceased to warm that world of snow. And what would happen then? What if
the dusk came upon them while still they pressed on up that endless,
difficult track?
Timidly she clasped Isabel's arm at last. "It will be getting dark soon,"
she said. "Shouldn't we be going back?"
For a moment Isabel's eyes swept round upon her, and she marvelled at
their intense and fiery brilliance. But instantly they sought the
mountain-tops again, all rose-lit in the opal glow of sunset.
"You can go back, child," she said. "I must go on."
"But it is getting so late," pleaded Dinah. "And look at the mist! If we
keep on much longer, we may be lost."
Isabel quickened her pace. "I am not afraid," she said, and her voice
thrilled with a deep rapture. "He is waiting for me, there where the
mountains meet the sky. I shall find him in the dawn. I know that I shall
find him."
"But, dear Mrs. Everard, we can't go on after dark," urged Dinah. "We
should be frozen long before morning. It is terribly cold already. And
poor Biddy will be so anxious about you."
"Oh no!" Isabel spoke with supreme confidence. "Biddy will know where I
have gone. She was asleep when I left, poor old soul. She had had a bad
night." A sudden sharp shudder caught her. "All night I was struggling
against the bars of my cage. It was only when Biddy fell asleep that I
found the door was open. But you can go back, child," she added. "You had
better go back. Eustace won't want to follow me if he has you."
But Dinah's hold instantly grew close and resolute. "I shall not leave
you," she said, with decision.
Isabel made no further attempt to persuade her. She seemed to regard it
as a matter of trifling importance. Her one aim was to reach those
glowing peaks that glittered far above the floating mists like the
glories half-revealed of another world.
It was nothing to her that the road by which they had come should be
blotted out. She had no thought for that, no desire or intention to
return. If an earthquake had rent away the ground behind them, she would
not have been dismayed. It was only the forward path, leading ever
upwards to the desired country, that held her mind, and the memory of a
voice that called far above the mountain height.
The sun sank, the glory faded. The dark and the cold wrapped them round.
But still was she undaunted. "When the dawn comes, we shall be there,"
she said.
And Dinah heard her with a sinking heart. She had no thought of leaving
her, but she knew and faced the fact that in going on, she carried her
life in her hand. Yet she kept herself from despair. Surely by now the
brothers would have found out, and they would follow! Surely they would
follow! And Eustace--Eustace would thank her for what she had done.
She strained her ears for their coming; but she heard nothing--nothing
but their own muffled footsteps on the snow. And ever the darkness
deepened, and the mist crept closer around them.
She gathered all her courage to face the falling night. She was sure she
had done right to come and so she hoped God would take care of them.