The White Virgin

Chapter Thirty.

After the Encounter

“But, my dear boy, why not have made a fight for it?” cried the Major, as he perspired profusely in his efforts to keep up with Clive, who was striding about the garden.

“I’m going to fight for it, sir,” cried Clive impatiently; “but these matters are not settled by brute force and bayonets.”

“Well, well, no,” cried the Major; “but you gave up almost without a word.”

“Everything was against me, sir. Come: you, as a soldier, know that I was beaten by a clever bit of strategy, and that I must meet the position by something of the same kind.”

“Yes, but you were in possession.”

“I was, sir, but a majority of the shareholders decided that my management was bad, and appointed another man, so I am bound to give up.”

“But not without a struggle.”

“I am going to struggle, sir, but carefully. I cannot afford to fight against what is partly my own property.”

“But you had a great number of shares, my dear boy.”

“I did hold nearly half, sir, and I felt it my duty to help friends who had lost, and – ”

“You have ruined yourself to help me!” cried the Major passionately.

“Nonsense! there is no question of ruin in this case, sir. It is only a business of the management. I ought to have known that my brother would never sit down quietly under his disappointment; but I never thought he would be partner in such a scheme as this.”

“Then you think it was your brother who was the man that set the rumour afloat?” cried the Major.

“From his connection with, and knowledge of stocks, I now feel convinced it was.”

“The man whom I made my guest.”

“Yes,” said Clive. “He was down here, evidently as a spy, and this fellow – this solicitor, Wrigley, seems to be an old friend of his. Nice way to speak of my own brother, sir.”

“Your own brother!” cried the Major, in a towering passion; “he is a scoundrel, sir; I’d disown him, sir. He’s my enemy, sir. He has ruined me as well as you.”

“No, no, no, my dear sir. I tell you there is no question of ruin in the matter. There is the mine, and it is so enormously rich that the shareholders cannot suffer. The annoyance is, being kicked out of one’s position in the management; but, as we school-boys used to say, – ‘two can play at that game;’ and perhaps at the next board meeting I shall be able to overset Mr Jessop. Why, the scoundrel must have been in league with Sturgess, and that accounts for this fellow’s insolence to me on several occasions.”

“Of course; and a nice diabolical scheme they have hatched between them. But you shall overthrow them, Clive, my boy, that you shall. Oh, I see it all now, unbusiness-like as I am. They had that report spread, frightened the shareholders into a panic, and then bought up everything.”

“Yes, sir, that was their modus operandi.”

“And they caught all the fools, including my stupid old self,” growled the Major. “But wait a bit. I daresay I shall have a settlement with Master Jessop Reed one of these days, and when that day does come, let him look out.”

“No, Major, you will leave this to me,” said Clive quietly. “Now, then, I’m going to throw over this piece of worry, and have a calm quiet day with our darling. As I tell you, it does not interfere with my monetary position in the least, and it will save me a great deal of hard work; but to-morrow morning I must go back to town and see the other shareholders, for this state of affairs ought not to continue, though I must own that Sturgess is a clever manager, and does his work well.”

The Major unslung a satchel from his shoulder at the door.

“Why, you have been carrying that heavy lot of specimens all the time,” said Clive, smiling.

“Yes, I forgot all about them,” said the Major; and he tossed the contents out into a basket in the tiny hall.

“Lead ore,” said Clive, looking curiously at a little block of dull grey stone.

“Yes, there’s plenty of that stuff on my wild bit of mountain land. It all interests me, and of course much more since I have been a shareholder in the mine – I mean,” said the Major hastily, “since I was once.”

“You are, Major. Once for all, no more words about that. A certain number more shares have been transferred to you, and they stand as yours in the company’s books. Not another word. Ah, Dinah! I seem to have neglected you sadly. Now, no more business; the whole day is ours. To-morrow morning I must be off back to town.”

The parting was sad enough the next morning quite early, for, to Dinah, it was as if she were losing her protector for many days to come, and she could not drive away the forebodings of looming troubles as she clung to Clive after accompanying him with the Major for some distance along the mountain track leading to Blinkdale. But Clive was cheerful and bright, and at last he tore himself away, insisting upon their returning, as he would have to hasten on.

“Take care of her, Major,” he cried, “and I’ll send you plenty of letters. Keep a good heart – it will all come right in the end. Now – goodbye.”

He sprang away, and they stood watching him as he stopped from time to time to wave his hand before plunging down into a hollow, and disappearing from their sight.

They turned then, and walked back in silence to the cottage, each too much occupied with painful thoughts to attempt to speak, for a shadow seemed to have fallen over their lives which was gradually darkening; and there were moments when Dinah looked forward, and then clung spasmodically to her father’s arm, for he broke out into angry mutterings from time to time, and as she looked in his face she could see that it was black with suppressed passion.

At last they reached the river path, and the Major broke out:

“I see it all plainly enough,” he cried. “Clive was right; that scoundrel of a brother was down here as a spy, and, curse him, I entertained him for his sake. He has won round that fellow Sturgess, and they think they are going to do as they like; but if I am to be a shareholder, confound them! they shall find that I can be a sharp one too, so let them beware.”

Chapter Thirty One.

Fox and Wolf

The days went by slowly and sadly. Letters came regularly enough, but they were not hopeful, for Clive told how he was hemmed in by difficulties which prevented his stirring: and, as he said, it would be madness to do anything which would involve legal proceedings and injure the prospects of the mine. There was nothing for it but to wait: for Wrigley had laid his plans only too well, and he and Jessop had everything in their own hands.

To the Major he said emphatically that as far as money matters were concerned there was nothing to mind, for the new management was bound for their own sake to do their best, as any lapse and falling off of the returns would be fatal to their position.

To Dinah there were tender breathings of devotion, and the assurance that though absent he was with her always in spirit; and at the first opportunity he would run down.

Ten days had passed, and one afternoon the Major had encountered Robson, whom he was passing with a short nod; but, after glancing round to see whether they were observed, the young man followed the Major and said quickly —

“I’m kept on at the mine, sir, because I know so much of the books, and they can’t very well get along without me; but you looked at me so differently to what you used, sir, that I thought I’d speak.”

“Yes, sir: you belong to the enemy’s camp,” said the Major sharply.

“No, I don’t, sir, though I’m there, and I wish to goodness Mr Clive Reed was back, for Sturgess is unbearable with his bullying ways; and as for Mr Jessop, he’s no more like his brother than chalk’s like cheese. Think there’s any chance of Mr Clive coming back?”

“Yes, my lad, every chance, if we’re true to him,” cried the Major; “and I beg your pardon, Mr Robson, I thought you were one of the scoundrels. I’m very glad to find you are not.”

“I thank you, sir,” cried the young man; “and if you write to Mr Clive Reed, please tell him so long as I’m in the mine office the books shall be kept just as he wished, so that any one can see at a glance how matters stand.”

“And I thank you too, Mr Robson. I, as a shareholder, am very glad that we have so good a man in your administrative post. But tell me, how are the returns?”

“Wonderful, sir. They increase every day. The profits will be enormous.”

“And is this man Sturgess doing his duty?”

“Oh! yes, sir, splendidly,” said Robson, laughing. “By his new agreement he is to get a percentage upon the metal smelted. I don’t like him, but there’s no mistake in his working.”

“Humph, that’s right,” growled the Major.

“And now, sir, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go, for if it was known that I talked about the mine affairs, I should be packed off; and for Mr Clive Reed’s sake I want to stay.”

“Right: good day. I daresay we shall run up against each other again.”

They parted, and none too soon, for, hammer in hand, the Major had just plunged down into a gully when Robson caught sight of a tiny cloud of smoke rising above a ridge before him.

Quick as thought he threw himself down among the heather, and lay peering between two tufts, till Jessop came into sight directly after, puffing away at a big cigar as he walked sharply along the track, passing the spot where the clerk lay, and evidently going in the direction of the cottage.

Robson looked uneasy, and his forehead began to wrinkle with the thoughts which entered his brain. He was puzzled at first; then suspicious; and at last determined.

He waited until Jessop was well out of sight, and with his mind made up, he was about to scramble to his feet, but he dropped down again, feeling sure he must have been seen, for he was conscious of a figure higher up the slope, coming slowly towards him; and soon after Sturgess, with his arm still in a sling, came close by, went down to the shelf-track, and there seated himself in a nook amongst some ferns. This forced the young clerk to slowly worm himself along among the heath and whortleberry tufts for a couple of hundred yards before the rising ground was well between them, when he went off at a sharp walk in the direction taken by the Major.

Meanwhile Jessop had gone on smoking heavily till he reached the river side, where he stopped gazing down into the sparkling water, evidently thinking deeply, and drawing hard at his cigar, till it was nearly done, when he threw it to fall with a loud hiss into the stream.

Then, with a quiet, satisfied aspect he went on for a few steps, and turned up the tiny gully hard by the Major’s garden.

Fortune favoured him, for Dinah was seated in the shady porch working; and she started up in alarm as he came close up.

“Don’t be frightened,” he said, with a smile, and holding out his hand. “Surely you have not forgotten me?”

“No,” said Dinah, recovering herself, though her heart beat heavily from apprehension. “You called here once before.”

“To be sure I did; but you will shake hands?”

“As a friend of Mr Clive Reed, under the present circumstances, surely, sir, it is better not,” she replied with dignity.

“Sir – under the present circumstances,” he cried bitterly. “The old story. Blackguard again. Ah,” he said, with a stamp of the foot, “is that man to go through the whole of his life spreading malicious slanders about his brother?”

Dinah was silent.

“Then you will not shake hands with one who spared no effort to get himself appointed to stay down here – whose sole thought has been of her whom he met once – only once – but whose impression was fixed so deeply upon his heart that ever since he has thought of her night and day.”

Dinah rose and drew back into the doorway, looking at him with contempt.

“Is this part of some melodrama, Mr Jessop Reed?” she said, “or do you imagine that you are speaking to a weak rustic girl?”

“I am speaking the truth – blunderingly, perhaps,” he cried excitedly, “but in the best way I can. I wonder that I am not dumb before you. How can you be so cruel. You must have seen how you impressed me when I was down here before. That feeling has grown into an overpowering passion. Dinah Gurdon,” he cried, catching her hand, “I came down hereto live – to love you. I cannot help it.”

“And you know that I am your brother’s betrothed,” she said wildly.

“I know that without doubt he has taken advantage of his position here to try and delude you, as he has deluded other poor girls again and again; but you must know the truth. He is not fit to touch your hand – no, not even to stand in your presence. Hush! let me speak. I know all this is cruelly sudden, but you would forgive me if you knew what I have suffered since I saw you last. Dinah, dearest Dinah, give me some little ray of hope to take away with me. You are too beautiful to be cruel – too gentle to send me away despairing. Ah, you are relenting! A word only, and I will go away patiently, and ready to wait till you know me better.”

“I never could know you better than I do at present,” said Dinah firmly, and quietly withdrawing her hand.

“Ah, then I may hope?” he cried.

“For what, sir? – an increase in my feeling of contempt? Your brother spared you, but I formed my own estimate of your nature, and it is true.”

“I – I don’t understand you,” he whispered, “only that your words give me intense pain.”

“I know, too, my father’s estimate of your character. Shall I tell you what he said?”

“If you will. It is joy to hear you speak,” he cried, as he tried to catch her hand again.

“He said, sir, that you were a scoundrel.”

“Of course,” cried Jessop, with a bitter laugh, “from my brother’s slanders.”

“Did your brother slander you when he told me that you married his betrothed?” cried Dinah indignantly, her eyes speaking her disgust. “Should I slander you, sir, if I told you that your words to me – words from a married man, to one whom you know to be his promised wife, are an insult? Have the goodness to go, sir, before my father returns, or I will not be answerable for the consequences. Ah!”

She rushed past Jessop, forcing him on one side, for the Major, warned by Robson, had hurried back, and was coming up the path with his stick quivering in his grasp.

“Don’t – don’t, father,” she panted in her excitement, “for my sake. I have said enough.”

The Major’s face was purple with anger, but he did not speak, only raised his quivering stick, and pointed down toward the pathway, while Dinah clung to his arm.

Jessop shrugged his shoulders, uttered a contemptuous laugh, and calmly took out his case, selected and lit a cigar, closed the case with a snap, pocketed it, and walked by them smoking, insultingly contriving to send a puff of tobacco into the Major’s face as he passed.

The next minute he was on the shelf path with his face convulsed with fury; and he walked on backward toward the mine, biting off pieces of the cigar, and spitting them out savagely.

“That’s it, is it?” he snarled. “Well, we can soon tame all that. He won’t come back here, and all that is vapour. Pretty indignation; but a woman is weak. She knows I want her, and she’ll dream about it, and grow softer till the siege comes to an end. For it shall come to an end, and in my way, my lady. I never fairly attacked a girl yet without winning; and my pretty, sweet darling shall go on her knees to me yet, and what do you mean by that?”

“I want to talk to you, guv’nor,” said Sturgess, who had suddenly clapped him roughly on the shoulder.

“What is it, then? And, confound you, don’t you forget your place, sir.”

“No fear. I’ve done your dirty work, and helped you to get your position here.”

“And your own,” cried Jessop, with a sneer.

“Oh yes, that’s all right; but I’m not going to have you ride roughshod over me in every way.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“That you’ve got to keep away from the cottage yonder. I’m not going to have you poaching on my preserves.”

“What do you mean?”

“That Dinah Gurdon’s mine – my lass; and that I’d break the neck of any man who came between us two.”

Jessop looked at the man in astonishment for a few minutes, and then burst into a mocking laugh.

“You!” he cried. “Oh, this is too rich.”

“What!” cried Sturgess, who was black with fury.

“You be damned!” cried Jessop; and rudely thrusting the man aside, making him wince as he touched his wounded arm, strode away.

Chapter Thirty Two.

In a Flash

It was a curious blending of the bitter and the sweet when Clive Reed came down to the Blinkdale Moor. To a man of his temperament, it was maddening to find himself completely supplanted at the mine – where Jessop reigned supreme, when Wrigley did not come down; and in spite of the past the young engineer would have insisted upon frequent inspection of the place and statements as to the proceedings, but he dared not go, for at his next visit the Major had excitedly told him of all that had taken place with Jessop, and also of Dinah’s complaint of insult received from Sturgess.

“I promised her that I would leave it to her to tell, my dear boy, but it’s like going into action – one does not care to begin, but the moment one’s blood is up, one doesn’t know where to stop.”

“No,” said Clive, with his brow contracting. “The scoundrel, the scoundrel!”

“And that brother of yours is the worst. Why, good heavens, is he mad with conceit as well as brazen wickedness? What does he take my darling for – some silly country wench to whom he has only to throw the handkerchief for her to fall on her knees at his feet?”

“Don’t talk about it, please, sir!” cried Clive huskily. “I find that my bad passions are stronger than I thought, for I dare not go over to the mine for fear of the scene which would be sure to follow.”

“No: you mustn’t go, Clive, or you’d half kill him – though he’s your own brother. If I had known all when I came back that day, thanks to that young fellow, Robson, I’d have thrashed him till he couldn’t stand. Thirty years older, my boy, but I’m a better man than he is: a miserable, flushed-faced sot! He drinks. I know he does, and he must have been half drunk when he came here that day.”

“He will not dare to come again.”

“No. Let him take the consequences if he does – him or that black-haired scoundrel, I’ll give either of them a charge of shot, I swear.”

Still there was the sweet as well as the bitter, during his stays at the cottage; and Clive often asked himself why he, with the large property left to him by his father, should trouble about the mine, when there was a dreamy life of simple, idyllic happiness and joy. No allusion was made to Jessop or Sturgess by either Dinah or her lover, for it was enough that they could be together in that little paradise the Major had in the course of years contrived, wandering hand in hand beside the clear sparkling river which ran on laughing in the sunshine, so stern and calm in the deep shades beneath the rocks. They said little save in the language of the eye, and though Dinah had again and again determined to speak and tell Clive everything – some day when he was seated at her feet holding her hand in his, and say to him, “I dared not tell you lest you should despise me,” those words never passed her lips. “I cannot tell him now,” she sighed to herself. “I am so happy – he looks at me so full of joy and trust. Some day I will, some day when he is holding me tightly in his arms, and I feel so safe. I will tell him then. How can I make him unhappy now?”

So she went on dreaming; happy in the present. The little river valley had never looked so beautiful before, nor her father so restful and content. It was life’s summer, a golden time with nothing to wish for more. The storms were hushed to sleep, and like the beautiful streamlet, they two were gliding onward in that mystic peace that softens down the passion of a strong first genuine love.

“Bah! I wish there was no London, my boy. No work, no worry, no struggle,” cried the Major, one evening, when he was alone with Clive, who had been looking curiously at Martha, and recalling that night when he had first slept at the cottage. He was wondering how it all was. Whether the sturdy elderly woman had some love affair. Then he had, in spite of himself, thought of Sturgess, whom he had that day seen crossing one of the hills at a distance. He recalled the Major’s words and asked himself whether he, as a man, ought not in his resentment to have taken some step to punish the scoundrel. But with the idea within his mental grasp, he had let it slide again. For why, he asked himself, should he strike and jar the gentle, harmonious life of her who was so happy.

Though the mine was so near, he had only seen his brother and the new deputy manager from time to time, at a distance, and his knowledge of the progress there came either from London or from Robson, who wrote occasionally, always to say that things were miserable, for Jessop and Sturgess were at daggers drawn, but the profits of the mine still rose.

And now a letter had come down from the old lawyer – Mr Belton – endorsing the clerk’s announcements, and saying that an extraordinary meeting was to be held through a movement on the part of Wrigley, and in connection with the advance of the mine under the new management.

“I don’t know what plans the man is going to propose, but you had better come up, my dear boy, and be present. I daresay you will do more good here than by staying down there watching and keeping those people up to their work.”

So wrote the old family solicitor, and Clive’s conscience smote him, as he recalled how little he had done, and how very small was the credit he deserved. For his days had been spent in that dreamy pleasure at the cottage, and for the most part the mine was forgotten.

But this letter had roused him to a sense of his duties, and, commending Dinah to her father’s care, Clive departed once more for town, in happy unconsciousness of the fact that his every step was watched; while as his figure grew less and less as she watched him along the moorland track, Dinah’s heart sank, and the old dread crept back at first like a faint mist, then growing more and more dense, until it was a black shadow between her and the sunshine of her life.

“But it will not be long – he will not be long, he said,” she whispered to herself. “He will come back to-day.”

That was on the following morning. But there was no Clive, and on the second morning she rose hopeful, saying the same words – “He will come to-day;” and she waited eagerly till toward evening, when the Major said suddenly —

“No message from Clive, pet. I thought we should have a telegram.”

Dinah looked at him wistfully, and then her face brightened up.

“That means,” said the Major, “that he is coming back to-night. Look here, my dear, I’ll take the rod and get a brace or two of trout for his supper. There are four or five fine fellows in the lower pool, where I haven’t been for months. You had better stop in case Clive comes.”