THE RETURN
What happened after the passing of her vision Dinah never fully knew, so
slack had become her grip upon material things. Her spirit seemed to be
wandering aimlessly about the mountain-side while her body lay in icy
chains within that miserable shelter. Of Isabel's presence she was no
longer even dimly aware, and she knew neither fear nor pain, only a wide
desolation of emptiness that encompassed her as atmosphere encompasses
the world.
Sometimes she fancied that the sound of voices came muffled through the
fog that hung impenetrably upon the great slope. And when this fancy
caught her, her spirit drifted back very swiftly to the near
neighbourhood of that inert and frozen body that lay so helpless in the
dark. For that strange freedom of the spirit seemed to her to be highly
dangerous and in a fashion wrong. It would be a terrible thing if they
found and buried the body, and the spirit were left alone to wander for
ever homeless on that desolate mountain-side. She could not imagine a
fate more awful.
At the same time, being free from the body, she knew no physical pain,
and she shrank from returning before she need, knowing well the anguish
of suffering that awaited her. The desolation and loneliness made her
unhappy in a vague and not very comprehensible fashion, but she did not
suffer actively. That would come later when return became imperative.
Till then she flitted to and fro, intangible as gossamer, elusive as the
snow. She wondered what Apollo would say if he could see her thus. Even
he would fail to catch her now. She pictured the strong arms closing upon
her, and clasping--emptiness. That thought made her a little cold, and
sent her floating back to make sure that the lifeless body was still
there.
And as she went, drifting through the silence, there came to her the
thought that Scott would be unutterably shocked if they brought her back
to him dead. It was strange how the memory of him haunted her that night.
It almost seemed as if his spirit were out there in the great waste,
seeking hers.
She reached the shelter and entered, borne upon snowflakes. Yes, the body
was still there. She hovered over it like a bird over its nest. For
Scott's sake, should she not return?
And then very suddenly there came a great sound close to her--the loud
barking of a dog;--and in a second--in less--she had returned.
A long, long shiver went through the poor frozen thing that was herself,
and she knew that she moaned as one awaking....
Vaguely, through dulled senses, she heard the great barking yet again,
and something immense that was furry and soft brushed against her. She
heard the panting of a large animal close to her in the hut, and very
feebly she put out a hand.
She did not like that loud baying. It went through and through her brain.
She was not frightened, only dreadfully tired. And now that she was back
again in the body, she longed unspeakably to sleep.
But the noise continued, a perfect clamour of sound; and soon there came
other sounds, the shouting of men, the muffled tread of feet sorely
hampered by snow. A dim light began to shine, and gradually increased
till it became a single, piercing eye that swept searchingly around the
wretched shelter. An arc of fog surrounded it, obscuring all besides.
Dinah gazed wide-eyed at that dazzling arc, wondering numbly, whence it
came. It drew nearer to her. Its brightness became intolerable. She tried
to shut her eyes, but the lids felt too stiff to move. Again, more
feebly, she moved her hand. It would be terrible if they thought her
dead, especially after all the trouble she had taken to return.
And then very suddenly the deadly lethargy passed from her. All her
nerves were pricked into activity. For someone--someone--was kneeling
beside her. She felt herself gathered into strong arms.
"Quick, Wetherby! The brandy!" Ah, well she knew those brief, peremptory
tones! "My God! We're only just in time!"
Fast pressed against a man's heart, a faint warmth went through her. She
knew an instant of perfect serenity; but the next she uttered a piteous
cry of pain. For fire--liquid, agonizing--was on her bloodless lips and
in her mouth. It burned its ruthless way down her throat, setting her
whole body tingling, waking afresh in her the power to suffer.
She turned, weakly gasping, and hid her face upon the breast that
supported her.
Instantly she felt herself clasped more closely. "It's all right, little
darling, all right!" he whispered to her with an almost fierce
tenderness. "Take it like a good child! It'll pull you through."
With steady insistence he turned her face back again, chafing her icy
cheek hard. And in a moment or two another burning dose was on its way.
It made her choke and gurgle, but it did its work. The frozen heart in
her began to beat again with great jerks and bounds, sending quivering
shocks throughout her body.
She tried to speak to him, to whisper his name; but she could only gasp
and gasp against his breast, and presently from very weakness she began
to cry.
He gathered her closer still, murmuring fond words, while he rubbed her
face and hands, imparting the warmth of his own body to hers. His
presence was like a fiery essence encompassing her. Lying there against
his heart, she felt the tide of life turn in her veins and steadily flow
again. Like a child, she clung to him, and after a while, with an impulse
sublimely natural, she lifted her lips to his.
He pressed his lips upon them closely, lingeringly. "Better now,
sweetheart?" he whispered.
And she, clinging to him, found voice to answer, "Nothing matters now you
have come."
The consciousness of his protecting care filled her with a rapture almost
too great to be borne. She throbbed in his arms, pressing closer, ever
closer. And the grim Shadow of Death receded from the threshold. She knew
that she was safe.
It was soon after this that the thought of Isabel came to her, and
tremulously she begged him to go to her. But he would not suffer her out
of his arms.
"The others can see to her," he said. "You are my care."
She thrilled at the words, but she would not be satisfied. "She has been
so good to me," she told him pleadingly "See, I am wearing her coat."
"But for her you would never have come to this," he made brief reply, and
she thought his words were stern.
Then, as she would not be pacified, he lifted her like a child and held
her so that she could look down upon Isabel, lying inert and senseless
against the doctor's knee.
"Oh, is she dead?" whispered Dinah, awe-struck.
"I don't know," he made answer, and by the tightening of his arms she
knew that her safety meant more to him at the moment than that of Isabel
or anyone else in the world.
But in a second or two she heard Isabel moan, and was reassured.
"She is coming round," the doctor said. "She is not so far gone as the
other lassie."
Dinah wondered hazily what he could mean, wondered if by any chance he
suspected that long and dreary wandering of her spirit up and down the
mountain-side. She nestled her head down against Eustace's shoulder with
a feeling of unutterable thankfulness that she had returned in time.
Her impressions after that were of a very dim and shadowy description.
She supposed the brandy had made her sleepy. Very soon she drifted off
into a state of semi-consciousness in which she realized nothing but the
strong holding of his arms. She even vaguely wondered after a time
whether this also were not a dream, for other fantasies began to crowd
about her. She rocked on a sea of strange happenings on which she found
it impossible to focus her mind. It seemed to have broken adrift as it
were--a rudderless boat in a gale. But still that sense of security never
wholly left her. Dreaming or waking, the force of his personality
remained with her.
It must have been hours later, she reflected afterwards, that she heard
the Colonel's voice exclaim hoarsely over her head, "In heaven's name,
say she isn't dead!"
And, "Of course she isn't," came Eustace's curt response. "Should I be
carrying her if she were?"
She tried to open her eyes, but could not. They seemed to be weighted
down. But she did very feebly close her numbed hands about Eustace's
coat. Emphatically she did not want to be handed over like a bale of
goods to the Colonel.
He clasped her to him reassuringly, and presently she knew that he bore
her upstairs, holding her comfortably close all the way.
"Don't go away from me!" she begged him weakly.
"Not so long as you want me, little sweetheart," he made answer. But her
woman's heart told her that a parting was imminent notwithstanding.
In all her life she had never had so much attention before. She seemed to
have entered upon a new and amazing phase of existence. Colonel de Vigne
faded completely into the background, and she found herself in the care
of Biddy and the doctor. Eustace left her with a low promise to return,
and she had to be satisfied with that thought, though she would fain have
clung to him still.
They undressed her and put her into a hot bath that did much to lessen
the numb constriction of her limbs, though it brought also the most
agonizing pain she had ever known. When it was over, the limit of her
endurance was long past; and she lay in hot blankets weeping helplessly
while Biddy tried in vain to persuade her to drink some scalding mixture
that she swore would make her feel as gay as a lark.
In the midst of this, someone entered quietly and stood beside her; and
all in a moment there came to Dinah the consciousness of an unknown force
very strangely uplifting her. She looked up with a quivering smile in the
midst of her tears.
"Oh, Mr. Greatheart," she whispered brokenly, "is it you?"
He smiled down upon her, and took the cup from Biddy's shaky old hand.
"May I give you this?" he said.
Dinah was filled with gratified confusion. "Oh, please, you mustn't
trouble! But--how very kind of you!"
He took Biddy's place by her side. His eyes were shining with an odd
brilliance, almost, she thought to herself wonderingly, as if they held
tears. A sharp misgiving went through her. How was it they were bestowing
so much care upon her, unless Isabel--Isabel--
She did not dare to put her doubt into words, but he read it and
instantly answered it. "Don't be anxious!" he said in his kindly, tired
voice. "All is well. Isabel is asleep--actually sleeping quietly without
any draught. The doctor is quite satisfied about her."
He spoke the simple truth, she knew; he was incapable of doing anything
else. A great wave of thankfulness went through her, obliterating the
worst of her misery.
"I am so glad," she told him weakly. "I was--so dreadfully afraid. I--I
had to go with her, Mr. Studley. I do hope everyone understands."
"Everyone does," he made answer gently. "Now let me give you this, and
then you must sleep too."
She drank from the cup he held, and felt revived.
He did not speak again till she had finished; then he leaned slightly
towards her, and spoke with great earnestness. "Miss Bathurst, do you
realize, I wonder, that you saved my sister's life by going with her? I
do; and I shall never forget it."
She was sure now that she caught the gleam of tears in the grey eyes. She
slipped her hands out to him. "I only did what I could," she murmured
confusedly. "Anyone would have done it. And please, Mr. Greatheart, will
you call me Dinah?"
"Or Mercy?" he suggested smiling, her hands clasped close in his.
She smiled back with shy confidence. The memory of her dream was in her
mind, but she could not tell him of that.
"No," she said. "Just Dinah. I'm not nice enough to be called anything
else. And thank you--thank you for being so good to me."
"My dear child," he made quiet reply, "no one who really knows you could
be anything else."
"Oh, don't you think they could?" said Dinah wistfully. "I wish there
were more people in the world like you."
"No one ever thought of saying that to me before," said Scott.