“It’s the work,” he used to say, “the work. Nothing like action for a diseased mind.” Then by slow degrees after his brother’s visit the truth began to dawn upon him. At first he doubted, and ridiculed the idea; then he began to wonder, and lastly to ask himself what manner of man he really was. He had believed himself to be strong and determined of purpose, and now he told himself that he must be weak as water, and that, in spite of the past, he had never thoroughly felt a strong man’s genuine love.
“Yes,” he said, as he walked slowly along that narrow shelf-like path towards the Major’s house, “it is the truth – the simple truth.”
The evening was closing in, and the darkness gathered fast in the shadowy valley where the river rippled, so that by the time he reached the spot where the perpendicular side of the mountain had been cut away, forming the sides of a tunnel, with here and there a gap forming a cavernous niche, it was quite obscure for some fifty yards. But the thoughtful man was so wrapped up in the mission he had on hand, that he did not notice the faint odour of a cigar, as if some one had lately passed there smoking; neither did he turn his head to the right and look up when a small stone came rattling down from above; but, as if Fate was leading him into a temptation, he suddenly stopped and stood gazing off to his left at where, in the south-east, a bright star was rising out of the mists.
Had he turned and looked up, he would have seen a man’s face peering over a rugged block of stone which effectually hid the watcher’s body, and that between the face and him a piece of rock was balanced and held by two hands, either occupied in retaining it, or ready to send it crashing down.
It would have been a perilous position for a man to have walked close under that stone where the track was most worn, for the other part skirted the edge of the precipice, which fell sheer two hundred feet, and hence was bad for those who had not a steady nerve.
But Clive Reed’s nerve was once again steady, and he had chosen to walk to the edge and then to stop and gaze down into the gathering darkness.
For a few moments he did think of how easily any one might fall there, and what a fate it would be if the stones which had been left roof-like by the old workers who had made that path should come crumbling down. But the thought passed away, thrust out by others, some pleasant and full of delight, others serious of import, and connected with the purpose of that night.
He passed on directly after, and a faint rustling sound was heard from the narrow rift which led upward behind the loosened stone. The face had disappeared, but a bright light flashed up from behind the rock, and once more the odour of tobacco began to be diffused in the cavernous gloom of the place.
But it was bright and clear where Clive Reed walked on, and his mind too was quite clear, his purpose determined, as he strode on now at a rapid pace till he reached the path down by the river, and then turned up suddenly in front of the cottage, where he stopped short once more to look up at the light shining out of the little drawing-room window.
It was open, and he could see that Dinah was seated at work; and, as if irresistibly attracted by her, he advanced quickly two or three steps to enter by the window; but he suddenly turned off by the path leading to the door.
“Yes; far better, Reed,” said a low voice at his elbow.
“Major Gurdon!”
“Yes. It was cool and pleasant out here. How plainly a man’s features sometimes show his intentions. Will you have a cigar? I am going to smoke another.”
“Not now,” said Clive huskily, as he followed his host up the garden to some seats. “You are right, sir, and it was an unwarrantable liberty. I am glad I did not take it.”
“So am I,” said the Major drily. “But I thought it possible that you might come over this evening.”
“And I have come, sir, for I have grave news to communicate.”
“Great heavens!” cried the Major, starting from his garden-seat in a nook of the ferny rocks, “don’t tell me, sir, that there is anything wrong about the mine.”
Clive was silent for a few moments as he gazed at the dimly seen, agitated face before him, and saw that the Major hurriedly wiped his brow.
“Tell me, then,” he said hoarsely, “the worst.”
“I have no worst to tell, sir,” said Clive quietly. “You have been anxious, then, about the mine?”
“Yes; I couldn’t help it, my dear sir,” said the Major nervously. “This sort of thing is new to me, and it means so much. But there is something wrong about it.”
“Nothing whatever, sir.”
“Thank God,” muttered the Major.
“So far from there being anything wrong, sir, I had a letter this evening announcing, on the basis of our success here, that in a few days the shareholders will receive an interim dividend of twenty per cent, which means, sir, one-fifth of your investment returned already.”
“My dear Reed, you amaze me. It is marvellous. But never mind that now. You said you came upon grave business.”
“Yes, sir,” said Clive, after a pause, “very grave business to me.”
“Yes. Pray speak. You are in want of a little money?”
“No, sir, I do not want money; I want time.”
“What is the matter, then? Your voice is quite changed.”
Clive was silent again for a few moments, and then, after glancing at the window, he said in a low voice —
“Major Gurdon, the time has come for me to know whether I am to visit here again.”
“Come here again? I do not quite understand you, sir. Pray speak out.”
“I will, sir,” said Clive earnestly. “I love your child.”
“We all do, sir,” said the Major coldly. “Who could help it?”
“Yes, who could help it?” said Clive, in a tone of voice which told how deeply he was moved. “And now, as an honourable man, I ask you, sir, whether I am still to visit here, or my visits are to cease?”
“Have you told Dinah what you have told me?”
“Not a word, sir.”
“That’s right!”
“How could I without your leave?”
“True! Well, Mr Reed, I will be frank with you. A short time back I had not thought of such a thing. I welcomed you here selfishly, as a visitor who would relieve some of the monotony of my existence. Then, sir, I began to like you, and then by slow degrees I began to see that I had either made a great error, or else fate was working, as she always does, silently. I have been much exercised in my mind as to what I should do, and ended by acting on the defensive, leaving the enemy to declare his plans.”
“And am I the enemy of your peace, sir?”
“Mr Reed, you are, I fear, the enemy of my daughter’s peace, and I say to you, sir, as one who has shown himself to be a man of honour, if there is anything likely to militate against my child’s happiness, for heaven’s sake, sir, speak out, and let this end at once.”
“You say you will be frank with me, sir; I will be frank with you. Not many months back I was engaged to be married.”
“And broke it off?” said the Major sharply.
“No, sir; I was a poor weak lover, I suppose. Too much immersed in business. The lady chose again, or, poor girl, was tricked into another engagement, and is married. I came down here, half mad with despair, to forget my cares in work; and instead I have awakened to the fact there is still happiness for me if I can win it.”
“Ah!” said the Major. “In plain English, then, sir, you wish to speak to Dinah?”
“Yes.”
“You are aware, I suppose, that she has nothing but her own sweet nature with which to endow a man.”
“I never asked myself that question, sir.”
“Of course, at my death she will have a few thousands, upon whose interest we live.”
“Will she?” said Clive quietly.
“Yes; and you, Mr Reed, it is my duty as a father to ask you a question or two. Will your position as manager of this mine enable you to keep her, not in affluence, but modest comfort?”
“I think so, sir,” said Clive, smiling.
“That’s well. But there, if – I say if this goes on, she shall have half my shares at once. A fair white virgin shall go to the altar with so many ‘White Virgins’ in her train.”
“My dear Major Gurdon,” said Clive, grasping the old officer’s hand, “don’t you know?”
“Know – know, sir! What?”
“That exactly one-third of the ‘White Virgin’ shares are mine, beside a great deal of property my father left. I suppose I am what people call a very rich man.”
“What!” cried the Major, literally dazed, “and you work like you do?”
“And why not? It is for myself – for the shareholders – for you. It was my father’s wish, sir, that this mine should prove to be a great success, and it is my sacred duty to make it so.”
“But – but, my dear Reed, you must be a millionaire!”
“I suppose so,” said Clive quietly.
“Then it will be impossible. My poor child could not marry so wealthy a man.”
“Then I must make myself poor,” said Clive. “Bah! what has money to do with it? Major Gurdon, I came down here to find rest and peace; let me find happiness as well, and that the world is not all base.”
“I hardly dare give consent,” faltered the Major. “You are the first, sir, who has ever approached her in this way, and I could not help seeing how day by day she has brightened and seemed to grow more restful and content. It has been as if she felt that with you near she could be at rest, that you were at hand to protect her, and that the poor old father was growing to be nobody now. Ah! Reed, she has ceased to care for me as she used.”
“Father!”
“You there, Dinah? You heard what we said?”
“I heard you tell Mr Reed something that you cannot mean.”
“You heard no more?”
“No, dear; but why?”
She stopped short, with the colour flushing to her cheeks, and her heart beating heavily, for Clive gently took her hand. His voice was very low, and there, in the soft darkness of the autumnal evening, he said earnestly —
“Miss Gurdon – Dinah – I have dared to tell your father that I love you with all my heart, and begged him to let me speak to you. Not as a dramatic lover, but as an earnest man, who would have but one thought, dear, if you gave him the right, to make your life peaceful and happy to the end. Dinah – my own love – can you give me that right?”
Her hand struggled in its prison for a moment, and then lay trembling there, as if too firmly held by the strong fingers which formed its cage.
“I – I fear – I ought not – I – ”
She faltered these words painfully; and then, with an hysterical cry, she nestled to him.
“Yes, yes,” she cried; “take me, and protect me, Clive. I do love you, and will love you to the end.”
“My darling!” he whispered, as he clasped her passionately to his heart, just as the dog burst out into a furious volley of growls and barks, mingled with sounds as if he were struggling hard to tear away his chain.
Dinah nestled to him more closely, and the start she had given at the dog’s barking gave place to a feeling of safety in those two strong arms.
“Are you content, sir?” said Clive, turning at last, as he drew Dinah’s arm through his with a sense of possession which made his heart beat against it heavily.
But there was no reply, for the Major had gone off to see what had alarmed the dog.
“Nothing that I can see,” he said, upon his return. “Why, of course! Clever dog! He scented a thief.”
“A thief?”
“Yes, my dear, a scoundrel come to try and steal away my darling girl.”
“Ah!”
A low sigh and a shiver of horror, as Dinah shrank away to flee into the house; but as she felt Clive’s arm tighten about her, she clung to him once more.
“Why, you silly child, don’t you understand a joke?” cried the Major. “I mean this fellow who is holding you fast; and you not shrinking in the least. But there! it is a time to be serious now. God bless you, Clive Reed! You have solved one difficulty in a declining life. I have often said to myself, ‘What is to become of my darling when I go?’ Now I know, and can go in peace.”
Two hours later, with the kisses of love moist upon his lips, Clive Reed started for his lonely walk back over the mountain-side.
End of Volume One.
Chapter Twenty One.
Alarm Notes
Dinah Gurdon sat near the shaded lamp with her eyes directed toward the open window, and her face transformed by the thoughts within her breast. For the love-light burned brilliantly in those softened eyes, and the happy, satisfied look of one restful and content was there.
The Major sat back watching her, with his brow wrinkled and perplexed by his troubled thoughts as the clouds floated by, now shadowing the sunshine of his life, now making it look the brighter as they passed away and left it clear.
For there were thoughts within that were quite new. Naturally he had felt that the time would some day come when a man would step between them and take away his child’s love; but this had seemed to be something belonging to the future, and when the new manager of the mine crossed his path, and the friendly feeling had increased, he, the father, had gone on blindly, never thinking of the possible result, or, at most, giving the idea but a passing thought as something too absurd to retain. And now the true facts of the case had come upon him like a thunder-clap, and he sat thinking over the events of the evening and watching his child. Now he was happy, rejoicing and satisfied that her choice should have fallen upon so frank and manly a fellow; now his selfish feelings were aroused and mingled with a kind of petty jealousy that made him sigh with discontent, and then task himself mentally in his annoyance that he could be so unfair.
He spoke at last, after waiting to see whether Dinah would awaken from her pleasant dream to the present, and it was in a teasing, half-malicious strain that he said —
“I hope that fellow will not go making short cuts to-night, and break his neck down one of the old shafts. – Dinah, my own darling! Don’t, pray, look like that,” he cried, as he sprang from his seat and caught her in his arms. For she had started up with her hands to her heart, pale as death, her eyes wild and strange, and her lips apart and blanched.
“There, there!” he whispered, as he held her to his breast. “I was only teasing you. It was all nonsense. No, no; don’t sob like that. Why, my pet, you are weak still, and as nervous as can be. It was only a joke. He is too keen and clever to make a mistake.”
She clung to him, fighting hard to suppress her hysterical sobs, till she grew calmer, but she clung to him still.
“Ah! that’s better,” he said tenderly, as he stroked her face and kissed her forehead. “That’s right. It was very brutal of me, but I never thought you would take my idle words amiss.”
He held her tightly to him, and felt the throbbing heart and heaving breast gradually calm down.
“Then you love him very dearly, Dinah?”
She raised her pale face, and looked full in his eyes, gazing at him in silence for a few minutes before she replied simply —
“Yes, father, I love him very dearly.”
The Major drew a long breath as he nodded his head slowly.
“Yes,” he said, “and it is a different love to that of a child for her father. It will not make any difference, dear? I know; you need not tell me. I shall not grow to be a lonely, desolate old man.” Dinah’s arms stole round his neck, and she laid her cheek to his.
“You know that, dear,” she whispered. “How could it make any difference to us?”
“No; it can make no difference, my darling, save make me the happier. But only to think of it. Which of us could have said a few months ago that our quiet life here would be changed as it has been, I turning into a greedy speculator and holder of mining shares, the most ephemeral of property, and you giving your treasure to this base intruder – no, no, I mean this prince in disguise, who came to the castle to ask for my hospitality. Ah! we can’t see into the future.”
“Why did you buy those shares, dear?” asked Dinah, as she rested her head upon his shoulder.
“Hang the shares! they are an excitement and worry. No, no, they are not. It’s quite right. I’ll tell you: I bought them because I wanted my darling to be independent and far above want when I go away on the long journey!”
“Father!” cried Dinah wildly.
“Hush, my pet. Nervous again: I can feel your heart beating. Why, of course I must go some day. And now this Clive Reed has somehow got hold of my confidence as well as yours. I trust him, you see, just as you do, my darling, and – and, Dinah, he’s a fine fellow, a fine, true-hearted, manly fellow, and – and I won’t be a miserable, selfish old man, but happy and contented, and glad that my darling’s choice has fallen upon so genuine a man. There! do you hear, my pet? I am heartily glad, for I like him. God bless him! God bless you both!”
The arms clung more tightly round the Major’s neck, and a shower of kisses fell upon his cheeks and lips.
“It’s quite right, Di – quite right. You are growing strong and well again. He has done you good. There is no reason whatever why you should not love him, and make him the best of wives.”
Dinah’s arms relaxed a little, and her cheeks, which had begun to flush, once more turned deadly pale.
“There is no just cause or impediment why you should not love him and be loved. But not yet, Di, not yet.”
The Major did not see the frightened look at that moment as it intensified in his daughter’s eyes, but he did directly after as the dog’s chain was heard to rattle and it burst into a furious baying.
“Confound it! there must be some one about,” said the Major angrily. “There, there! don’t turn white like that.”
“No, no, don’t, don’t go,” whispered Dinah, clinging to him.
“Not go? Why, you little coward, I must go. Where’s my stick? It’s one of those mining scamps.” Dinah shuddered.
“After eggs or chickens, for a sovereign.”
“Don’t – don’t go, father,” whispered Dinah again, as she clung to him tightly.
“Not go? Why, what has come to you, Dinah? This will not do, little one. I have only to hurry out and scare anybody who is there into fits. Guilty conscience, you know.”
She stared at him wildly.
“Why, my darling, I thought you were getting over this nervousness,” he said tenderly. “You used not to be like this. Well, I will not go; but I must do something to scare him, whoever it is.” She made no answer, but clung to him half fainting, and he helped her to a chair, noticing the while that she was gazing excitedly towards the open window.
The dog was silent now, but as the Major went and shouted a few angry words it responded with a sharp, clear bark or two, and its master returned.
“Scared away without my help,” said the Major, coming back again, and speaking lightly. “Come, come, this will not do! I shall have to tell Reed what a little coward you have grown. Why, you look as if you had seen a ghost. It’s all right now. Whoever it was has gone, or the dog would not have calmed down. Nothing stolen this time, I’ll venture to swear. There,” he cried, as he shut the window and closed the shutters before turning to where Dinah sat fighting hard to be calm, and noticing that she uttered a sigh as if of relief, “if you turn like this, my dear, I shall begin to think that we are living in a lonely spot too secluded for you, and look out for a place in town.”
“No, no, I’m better now,” she said, turning to her father with a smile.
“Of course you are, my dear. There’s a sturdy protector, too, for us now, eh? There, there,” he cried, bending down to kiss her. “Go to bed; you’re a bit overdone, my darling; this has been an exciting evening – enough to upset any one’s nerves. I’m off my balance too. First, I have had to deal with one marauder who comes to steal my little ewe lamb, and I get rid of him to be permitted to keep her a little longer; and then comes another would-be thief. Dinah! my darling child!” he cried, as she rose to fling herself into his arms and cling to him more agitated and overcome than ever. “There, there, I must play doctor. Dose for soothing the nerves; eight hours’ sound sleep. The medicine to be taken instantly. Off with you. Good-night.”
Dinah passionately returned his embrace, and hurried to her room, but not to sleep. The nervous excitement kept her wakeful hour after hour, with the intense longing to shelter herself in her lover’s arms; and all the time a fierce lurid pair of eyes seemed to be watching her, and, as plainly as if the words had been spoken by her ear, she heard a rough, deep voice whispering, “It’s no use, little one. No one is coming betwixt us two.”
As she lay in her bed, too, she fancied she could hear the man’s firm step patrolling the paths about the place.
But Michael Sturgess was a couple of miles away, though he had been down to the cottage, and so close that he could look in and see that his chief was not there still. For there were bounds to the man’s patient doggedness, and he had grown wearied out at last, when Clive Reed had taken a short cut over the mountain, home, and did not return by the spoil bank and the shelf-like path.
Still Dinah Gurdon could not know this as she lay there, torn by the mental fever which made her temples throb.
Loved – loved by one who idolised her, and who had made her heart awaken and unfold to the true meaning of the great passion of human life. He loved her as she loved him, and she had let him press her in his arms; she had thrilled beneath his kisses, and all as in a dream of joy and delight. Safe, too, with him near to cherish and protect. Then he had left her, and the old cloud of horror and dread had come back, and with it the still small voice of conscience out of the darkness of her heart. Ought she not to have spoken? Ought she not to have whispered to her father, or failing him, to have confided in their old servant – the only woman near – the terror of that day, and how she had been haunted since?
Always the same reply as her woman’s heart rebelled and shrank from the confession. How could she? She dared not. She would sooner have died than made the avowal, while there before her, looming up, the precursors of a storm, were the black clouds of the future, and Michael Sturgess’s words vibrating always in her ears.
Chapter Twenty Two.
Bad Omens
“No insolence, sir!”
“What?”
“I say no insolence, sir. I am aware of the fact that you are an excellent workman and valuable to me here, but you are presuming on those facts, and I warn you that if ever you dare to answer me in that way again, we part on the instant.”
“What way?”
“As you addressed me a short time back. Michael Sturgess, I have long noticed your insolent, overbearing ways with the men. They are beginning to resent it. I have had several complaints from them, and all this must end, if you are to stay here.”
“If I’m to stay here, eh? I daresay if the company is tired of the way in which I have made this old mine pay, I can soon get another engagement.”
“My good man,” said Clive Reed coldly and dispassionately, “prosperity is making you lose your head, and it is an act of kindness to disillusionise you before you go too far and lose a valuable appointment.”
The man glared at him as they stood together in one of the dark passages of the mine, close to an old shaft which descended to a lower line of workings.
“Let me tell you, once for all, that, though you have worked well, you are in no wise answerable for the success of the mine, and that it would have been quite as prosperous if Michael Sturgess had not been here.”
“Oh, indeed!” said the man insolently; and Reed flushed angrily, but controlled his rising temper, and went on calmly enough.
“Secondly, let me disabuse your mind of the idea that it is open to you to appeal to the company against any decision of mine. Understand this, sir: my power here is supreme, and, though I should be reluctant to exercise that power against a good workman, the trouble of obtaining a successor in your post would not be great, and I should exercise that power sharply and firmly, if I had just cause.”
“Oh, I don’t know so much about that, Mr Reed. You are chief here at the mines.”
“And at the board in town, my man. You are insolent and angry still. Go about your work, and when you are calm and have had an opportunity for thinking all this over, come to me and apologise as a straightforward man should.”
“Oh, there’s no time like the present,” said the man roughly.
