THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW
After that interview with Scott there followed a long, long period of
pain and weakness for Dinah. She who had never known before what it meant
to be ill went down to the Valley of the Shadow and lingered there for
many days and nights. And there came a time when those who watched beside
her began to despair of her ever turning back.
So completely had she lost touch with the ordinary things of life that
she knew but little of what went on around her, dwelling as it were
apart, conscious sometimes of agonizing pain, but more often of a
dreadful sinking as of one overwhelmed in the billows of an everlasting
sea. At such times she would cling piteously to any succouring hand,
crying to them to hold her up--only to hold her up. And if the hand were
the hand of Greatheart, she always found comfort at length and a sense of
security that none other could impart.
Her fancy played about him very curiously in those days. She saw him in
many guises,--as prince, as knight, as magician; but never as the mean
and insignificant figure which first had caught her attention on that
sunny morning before the fancy-dress ball.
This man who sat beside her bed of suffering for hours together because
she fretted when he went away, who held her up when the gathering billows
threatened to overwhelm her fainting soul, who prayed for her with the
utmost simplicity when she told him piteously that she could not pray for
herself, this man was above and beyond all ordinary standards. She looked
up to him with reverence, as one of colossal strength who had power with
God.
But she never dreamed again that golden dream of Greatheart in his
shining armour with the light of a great worship in his eyes. That had
been a wild flight of presumptuous fancy that never could come true.
His was not the only hand to which she clung during those terrible days
of fear and suffering. Another presence was almost constantly beside her
night and day,--a tender, motherly presence that watched over and
ministered to her with a devotion that never slackened. For some time
Dinah could not find a name for this gracious and comforting presence,
but one day when a figure clothed in a violet dressing-gown stooped over
her to give her nourishment an illuminating memory came to her, and from
that moment this loving nurse of hers filled a particular niche in her
heart which was dedicated to the Purple Empress. She could think of no
other name for her. That quiet and stately presence seemed to demand a
royal appellation. In her calmer moments Dinah liked to lie and watch the
still face with its crown of silvery hair. She loved the touch of the
white hands that always knew with unerring intuition exactly what needed
to be done. There seemed to be healing in their touch.
Very strangely the thought of Eustace never came to her, or coming, but
flitted unrecorded and undetained across the surface of her mind. He had
receded with all the rest of the world into the far, far distance that
lay behind her. He had no place in this region of many shadows where
these others so tenderly guided her wandering feet. No one else had any
place there save old Biddy who, being never absent, seemed a part of the
atmosphere, and the doctor who came and went like a presiding genie in
that waste of desolation.
She did not welcome his visits, although he was invariably kind, for on
one occasion she caught a low murmur from him to the effect that her
mother had better come to her, and this suggestion had thrown her into a
most painful state of apprehension. She had implored them weeping to let
her mother stay away, and they had hushed her with soothing promises; but
she never saw the doctor thereafter without a nervous dread that she
might also see her mother's gaunt figure accompanying him. And she was
sure--quite sure--that her mother would be very angry with her when she
saw her helplessness.
Nightmares of her mother's advent began to trouble her. She would start
up in anguish of soul, scarcely believing in the soothing arms that held
her till their tenderness hushed her back to calmness.
"No one can come to you, sweetheart, while I am here." How often she
heard the low words murmured lovingly over her head! "See, I am holding
you! You are quite safe. No one can take you from me."
And Dinah would cling to her beloved empress till her panic died away.
On one of these occasions Scott was present, and he presently left the
sick-room with a look in his eyes that gave him a curiously hard
expression. He went deliberately in search of Billy whom he found playing
a not very spirited game with the two little daughters of the
establishment. The weather had broken, and several people had left in
consequence.
Billy was bored as well as anxious, and his attitude said as much as he
unceremoniously left his small playfellows to join Scott.
"Just amusin' the kids," he observed explanatorily. "How is she now?"
Scott linked his hand in the boy's arm. "She's pretty bad, Billy," he
said. "Both lungs are affected. The doctor thinks badly of her, though he
still hopes he may pull her through."
"You may you mean," returned Billy. "Can't say the de Vignes have put
themselves out at all over her. There's Rose flirts all day long with
your brother, and Lady Grace grumbling continually about the folly of
undertaking other people's responsibilities. She swears she must get back
at the end of next week for their precious house-party. And the Colonel
fumes and says the same. I told him I shouldn't go unless she was out of
danger, though goodness knows, sir, I don't want to sponge on you."
Scott's hand pressed his arm reassuringly. "Don't imagine such a thing
possible!" he said. "Of course you must stay if she isn't very much
better by that time. But now, Billy, tell me--if it isn't an unwelcome
question--why doesn't your sister want your mother to come to her?"
Billy gave him one of his shrewd glances. "She's told you that, has she?
Well, you know the mater is rather a queer fish, and I doubt very much if
she'd come if you asked her."
"My good fellow!" Scott said. "Not if she were dying?"
"I doubt it," said Billy, unmoved. "You see, the mater hasn't much use
for Dinah, except as a maid-of-all work. Never has had. It's not
altogether her fault. It's just the way she's made."
"Good heavens!" said Scott, and added, as if to himself, "That little
fairy thing!"
"She can't help it," said Billy. "She can't get on with the female
species. It's like cats, you know,--a sort of jealousy."
"And your father?" questioned Scott, the hard look growing in his eyes.
"Oh, Dad!" said Billy, smiling tolerantly. "He's all right--quite a
decent sort. But you wouldn't get him to leave home in the middle of the
hunting season. He's one of the Whips."
Scott's hand had tightened unconsciously to a grip. Billy looked at him
in surprised interrogation, and was amazed to see a heavy frown drawing
the colourless brows. There was a fiery look in the pale eyes also that
he had never seen before.
He waited in silence for developments, being of a wary disposition, and
in a moment Scott spoke in a voice of such concentrated fury that Billy
felt as if a total stranger were confronting him.
"An infernal and blackguardly shame!" he said. "It would serve them right
if the little girl never went back to them again. I never heard of such
damnable callousness in all my life before."
Billy opened his eyes wide, and after a second or two permitted himself a
soft whistle.
Scott's hold upon his arm relaxed. "Yes, I know," he said. "I've no right
to say it to you. But when the blood boils, you've got to let off the
steam somehow. I suppose you've written to tell them all about her?"
"Oh yes, I wrote, and so did the Colonel. I had a letter from Dad this
morning. He said he hoped she was better and that she was being well
looked after. That's like Dad, you know. He never realizes a thing unless
he's on the spot. I daresay I shouldn't myself," said Billy
broadmindedly. "It's want of imagination in the main."
"Or want of heart," said Scott curtly.
Billy did not attempt to refute the amendment. "It's just the way you
chance to be made," he said philosophically. "Of course I'm fond of
Dinah. We're pals. But Dad's an easy-going sort of chap. He isn't
specially fond of anybody. The mater,--well, she's keen on me, I
suppose," he blushed a little; "but, as I said before, she hasn't much
use for Dinah. Even when she was a small kid, she used to whip her no
end. Dinah is frightened to death at her. I don't wonder she doesn't want
her sent for."
Scott's face was set in stern lines. "She certainly shall not be sent
for," he said with decision. "The poor child shall be left in peace."
"She is going to get better, isn't she?" said Billy quickly.
"I hope so, old chap. I hope so." Scott patted his shoulder kindly and
prepared to depart.
But Billy detained him a moment. "I say, can't I come and see her?"
"Not now, lad." Scott paused, and all the natural kindliness came back
into his eyes. "My sister was just getting her calm again when I came
away. We won't disturb her now."
"How is your sister, sir?" asked Billy. "Isn't she feeling the strain
rather?"
"No, she is standing it wonderfully. In fact," Scott hesitated
momentarily, "I believe that in helping Dinah, she has found herself
again."
"Do you really?" said Billy. "Then I do hope for her sake that Dinah will
buck up and get well."
"Thanks, old chap." Scott held out a friendly hand. "I'm sorry you're
having such a rotten time. Come along to me any time when you're feeling
bored! I shall be only too pleased when I'm at liberty."
"You're a brick, sir," said Billy. "And I say, you'll send for me, won't
you, if--if--" He broke off. "You know, as I said before, Dinah and I are
pals," he ended wistfully.
"Of course I will, lad. Of course I will." Scott wrung his hand hard.
"But we'll pull her through, please God! We must pull her through."
"If anyone can, you will," said Billy with conviction.
Like Dinah, he had caught a glimpse in that brief conversation of the
soul that inhabited that weak and puny form.