THE VISION OF GREATHEART
The darkness of the night lay like a black pall upon the mountain. The
snow was falling thickly, and ever more thickly. It drifted in upon
Dinah, as she crouched in the shelter of an empty shed that had been
placed on that high slope for the protection of sheep from the spring
storms. They had come upon this shelter just as the gloom had become too
great for even Isabel to regard further progress as possible, and in
response to the girl's insistence they had crept in to rest. They had
lost the beaten track long since; neither of them had realized when. But
the certainty that they had done so had had its effect upon Isabel. Her
energies had flagged from the moment that it had dawned upon her. A
deadly tiredness had come over her, a feebleness so complete that Dinah
had had difficulty in getting her into the shelter. Return was utterly
out of the question. They were hopelessly lost, and to wander in that
densely falling snow was to court disaster.
Very thankful Dinah had been to find even so poor a refuge in that waste
of drifting fog; but now as she huddled by Isabel's side it seemed to her
that the relief afforded was but a prolonging of their agony. The cold
was intense. It seemed to penetrate to her very bones, and she knew by
her companion's low moaning that she was suffering keenly also.
Isabel seemed to have sunk into a state of semi-consciousness, and only
now and then did broken words escape her--words scarcely audible to
Dinah, but which testified none the less to the bitterness of despair
that had come upon her.
She sat in a corner of the desolate place with Dinah pressed close to
her, while the snow drifted in through the door-less entrance and
sprinkled them both. But it was the darkness rather than the cold or the
snow that affected the girl as she crouched there with her arms about her
companion, striving to warm and shelter her while she herself felt frozen
to the very heart. It was so terrible, so monstrous, so nerve-shattering.
And the silence that went with it was like a nightmare horror to her
shrinking soul. For all Dinah's sensibilities were painfully on the
alert. No merciful dulness of perception came to her. Responsibility had
awakened in her a nervous energy that made her realize the awfulness of
their position with appalling vividness. That they could possibly survive
the night she did not believe. And Death--Death in that fearful
darkness--was a terror from which she shrank almost in panic.
That she retained command of her quivering nerves was due solely to the
fact of Isabel's helplessness--Isabel's dependence upon her. She knew
that while she had any strength left, she must not give way. She must be
brave. Their sole chance of rescue hung upon that.
Like Scott, she thought of the guide, though the hope was a forlorn one.
He might know of this shelter; but whether in the awful darkness he would
ever be able to find it she strongly doubted. Their absence must have
been discovered long since, she was sure; and Scott--Scott would be
certain to think of the mountain path. He would remember his sister's
wild words of the day before, and he would know that she, Dinah, had had
no choice but to accompany her upon the mad quest. It comforted her to
think that Scott would understand, and was already at work to help them.
If by any means deliverance could be brought to them she knew that Scott
would compass it. His quiet and capable spirit was accustomed to grapple
with difficulties, and the enormity of a task would never dismay him. He
had probably organized a search-party long ere this. He would not rest
until he had done his very utmost. She wondered if he would come himself
to look for them; but discarded the idea as unlikely. His infirmity made
progress on the mountains a difficult matter at all times, and he would
not wish to hamper the movements of the others. That was like Scott, she
reflected. He would always keep his own desires in the background,
subservient to the needs of others. No, he would not come himself. He
would stay behind in torturing inaction while fitter men fared forth.
The thought of Eustace came again to her. He would be one of the
search-party. She pictured him forcing his way upwards, all his
magnificent strength bent to the work. Her heart throbbed at the memory
of that all-conquering presence--the arms that had held her, the lips
that had pressed her own. And he had stooped to plead with her also. She
would always remember that of him with a thrill of ecstasy. He the
princely and splendid--Apollo the magnificent!
Always? A sudden chill smote her heart numbing her through and through.
Always? And Death waiting on the threshold to snatch her away from the
wonderful joy she had only just begun to know! Always! Ah, would she
remember even to-morrow--even to-morrow? And he--would he not forget?
Isabel stirred in her arms and murmured an inarticulate complaint.
Tenderly she drew her closer. How cold it was! How cruelly, how bitingly
cold! All her bones were beginning to ache. A dreadful stiffness was
creeping over her. How long would her senses hold out, she wondered
piteously? How long? How long?
It must be hours now since they had entered that freezing place, and with
every minute it seemed to be growing colder. Never in her life had she
imagined anything so searching, so agonizing, as this cold. It held her
in an iron rigour against which she was powerless to struggle. The
strength to clasp Isabel in her arms was leaving her. She thought that
her numbed limbs were gradually turning to stone. Even her lips were so
numbed with cold that she could not move them. The steam of her breath
had turned to ice upon the wool of her coat.
The need for prayer came upon her suddenly as she realized that her
faculties were failing. Her belief in God was of that dim and far-off
description that brings awe rather than comfort to the soul. The sudden
thought of Him came upon her in the darkness like a thunderbolt. In all
her life Dinah had never asked for anything outside her daily prayers
which were of a strictly formal description. She had shouldered her own
troubles unassisted with the philosophy of a disposition that was
essentially happy. She had seldom given a serious thought to the life of
the spirit. It was all so vague to her, so far removed from the daily
round and the daily burden. But now--face to face with the coming
night--the spiritual awoke in her. Her soul cried out for comfort.
With Isabel still clasped in her failing arms, she began a desperate
prayer for help. Her words came haltingly. They sounded strange to
herself. But with all the strength that remained she sent forth her cry
to the Infinite. And even as she prayed there came to her--whence she
knew not--the conviction that somewhere--probably not more than a couple
of miles from her though the darkness made the distance seem
immeasurable--Scott was praying too. That thought had a wonderfully
comforting effect upon her. His prayer was so much more likely to be
answered than hers. He was just the sort of man who would know how to
pray.
"How I wish he were here!" she whispered piteously into the darkness. "I
shouldn't be afraid of dying--if only he were here."
She was certain--quite certain--that had he been there with her, no fear
would have reached her. He wore the armour of a strong man, and by it he
would have shielded her also.
"Oh, dear Mr. Greatheart," she murmured through her numb lips, "I'm sure
you know the way to Heaven."
Isabel stirred again as one who moves in restless slumber. "We must scale
the peaks of Paradise to reach it," she said.
"Are you awake, dearest?" asked Dinah very tenderly.
Isabel's head was sunk against her shoulder. She moved it, slightly
raised it. "Yes, I am awake," she said. "I am watching for the dawn."
"It won't come yet," whispered Dinah tremulously. "It's a long, long way
off."
Isabel moved a little more, feeling for Dinah in the darkness. "Are you
frightened, little one?" she said. "Don't be frightened!"
Dinah swallowed down a sob. "It is so dark," she murmured through
chattering teeth. "And so, so cold."
"You are cold, dear heart?" Isabel sat up suddenly. "Why should you be
cold?" she said. "The darkness is nothing to those who are used to it. I
have lived in outer darkness for seven weary years. But now--now I think
the day is drawing near at last."
With an energy that astounded Dinah she got upon her knees and by her
movements she realized, albeit too late, that she was divesting herself
of the long purple coat.
With all her strength she sought to frustrate her, but her strength had
become very feebleness; and when, despite resistance, Isabel wrapped her
round in the garment she had discarded, her resistance was too puny to
take effect.
"My dear," Isabel said, in her voice the deep music of maternal
tenderness, "I am not needing it. I shall not need any earthly things for
long. I am going to meet my husband in the dawning. But you--you will go
back."
She fastened the coat with a quiet dexterity that made Dinah think again
of Scott, and sat down again in her corner as if unconscious of the cold.
"Come and lie in my arms, little one!" she said. "Perhaps you will be
able to sleep."
Dinah crept close. "It will kill you--it will kill you!" she sobbed. "Oh,
why did I let you?"
Isabel's arms closed about her. "Don't cry, dear!" she murmured fondly.
"It is nothing to me. A little sooner--a little later! If you had
suffered what I have suffered you would say as I do, 'Dear God, let it be
soon!' There! Put your head on my shoulder, dear child! See if you can
get a little sleep! You have cared for me long enough. Now I am going to
care for you."
With loving words she soothed her, calming her as though she had been a
child in nightmare terror, and gradually a certain peace began to still
the horror in Dinah's soul. An unmistakable drowsiness was stealing over
her, a merciful lethargy lulling the sensibilities that had been so
acutely tried. Her weakness was merging into a sense of almost blissful
repose. She was no longer conscious of the anguish of the cold. Neither
did the darkness trouble her. And the comfort of Isabel's arms was rest
to her spirit.
As one who wanders in a golden maze she began to dream strange dreams
that yet were not woven by the hand of sleep. Dimly she saw as down a
long perspective a knight in golden armour climbing, ever climbing, the
peaks of Paradise, from which, as from an eagle's nest, she watched his
difficult but untiring progress. She thought he halted somewhat in the
ascent--which was unlike Apollo, who walked as walk the gods with a gait
both arrogant and assured. But still he came on, persistently,
resolutely, carrying his golden shield before him.
His visor was down, and she wished that he would raise it. She yearned
for the sight of that splendid face with its knightly features and blue,
fiery eyes. She pictured it to herself as he came, but somehow it did not
seem to fit that patient climbing figure.
And then as he gradually drew nearer, the thought came to her to go and
meet him, and she started to run down the slope. She reached him. She
gave him both her hands. She was ready--she was eager--to be drawn into
his arms.
But he did not so draw her. To her amazement he only bowed himself before
her and stretched forth the shield he bore that it might cover them both.
"It is Mr. Greatheart!" she said to herself in wonder. "Of course--it is
Mr. Greatheart!"
And then, while she still gazed upon the glittering, princely form, he
put up a hand and lifted the visor. And she saw the kindly, steadfast
eyes all kindled and alight with a glory before which instinctively she
hid her own. Never--no, never--had she dreamed before that any man could
look at her so! It was not passion that those eyes held for her;--it was
worship.
She stood with bated breath and throbbing heart, waiting, waiting, as one
in the presence of a vision, who longs--yet fears--to look. And while she
waited she knew that the sun was shining upon them both with a glowing
warmth that filled her soul abrim with such a rapture as she had never
known before.
"How wonderful!" she murmured to herself. "How wonderful!"
And then at last she summoned courage to look up, and all in a moment her
vision was shattered. The darkness was all about her again; Greatheart
was gone.