The White Virgin

“Why fidget about them, sir?” said Reed, smiling. “The amount is not large.”

“Not large? Do you hear him, my dear? He says the amount is not large when it is my poor all. One can see that you have been accustomed to deal with pretty heavy amounts, and – There, I will not continue this hateful topic. Let’s have something else to think about. Dinah, shall I be selfish if I challenge this man to a game of chess?”

For answer she rose and fetched the board and men, set out the pieces, and then took her seat by Clive and watched the game, which proved to be a long one, ending at last in the Major checkmating his adversary, who was quite a knight stronger, but he had been simply on his defence all through, listening the while to the soft breathing from the lips by his side, as from time to time it caressed his hand, or sounded like a suppressed sigh. No words passed between them, but they were needless. It was enough that they could be side by side, feeling each other’s presence, happy yet saddened by an indescribable portent of something coming to ruffle the placid stream of their existence.

As for the Major, he was happy and triumphant. It was a genuine pleasure to him, a man who had exiled himself from the world, to live in seclusion, to find that he was a match for this clever, keen man of business, and he showed his delight in many ways.

“What!” he cried, as his visitor rose to go. “You are not going to run off without your revenge. Eh! What?” he said, as Reed quietly took out his watch, and held the face toward him. “Oh, absurd! That thing must be wrong! Eh! No. Mine says the same. Eleven; and I thought it was not near ten. But you will stay now?”

“Don’t tempt me, sir. I have a busy day to-morrow.”

“But you could leave here early.”

“Not so early as I could wish, sir. There is a special reason, too, for my being at the mine early. I have a sort of quarrel on the way with my principal man, Sturgess.”

Dinah turned pale, while there was a strange, fixed look in her eyes.

“The man has been very strange of late, and I had to take him severely to task to-day. I want to meet him when he first comes to the mine. There cannot be two masters there.”

He looked smilingly at Dinah, and saw the trouble in her face.

“Nothing to alarm you,” he said, taking her hand to hold in his, while the Major suddenly recollected that he had a letter he should like to send, so that one of the men could take it on in the morning.

“You are nervous again about my crossing the hills so late. Why should you be, dearest?”

He drew her toward him, and she yielded to his embrace.

“It was not that,” she said faintly. “You talked of a quarrel with – with – ”

“My foreman, Sturgess. Hardly a quarrel, but the sharp talking to, necessary to be given by a master.” At that moment the dog began to bark violently, and Dinah caught Clive’s arm and clung to him in dread lest he should go possibly into danger.

“It is nothing, dearest,” he whispered, proud of the way in which she clung to him for protection, while she listened with her eyes dilated, as there was the sound of the window in the Major’s den being opened, and his voice challenging.

“Is Mr Reed here, sir?” came from the garden.

“My clerk – Robson, from the mine,” said Reed, rather excitedly. “Whatever brings him here?”

“Your man, my dear boy,” said the Major, entering. “He has brought you a despatch.”

“It must be important,” said Reed quickly; and he passed his hand across his forehead. “I was half afraid there was some accident. Come in, Robson,” he continued, as he stepped into the little passage. “What is it?”

“A telegram, sir, from London. The postmaster sent it over at once by special messenger.”

Reed took the missive and went back into the little drawing-room, where Dinah stood pale and anxious, while the Major sat writing his letter there.

“Come, little wifie to be,” whispered Reed tenderly, “I have no secrets from you. This cannot be business, and you must share my troubles as well as joys.”

The Major glanced at them with a sigh full of regrets for the past, and smiled sadly as he saw his child pass her arm through Reed’s, and lean on him while he opened the envelope, and held it so that she could peruse the telegram at the same time. It was very brief: —

“For heaven’s sake, come at once and help me. I am half mad. – Praed.”

Dinah looked up in her lover’s anxious face, as it clouded over, her own full of eagerness and sympathy.

“From Janet Praed’s father, dearest,” he said softly. “You know everything – my brother’s wife. There must be some terrible trouble on the way. – Major, I must go up to town at once. Here is a telegram from my dear old godfather, Doctor Praed. You will take care of my darling till I return?”

“Not – not dead?” said the Major anxiously.

Clive Reed started, as a spasm shot through him.

“I pray God, no,” he said hoarsely, as for a moment he turned ghastly and wild-looking. Then he was the prompt man of business decision again.

“We must not jump at conclusions,” he said gravely. “Good-bye, dearest. I will telegraph the news as soon as I know it. God bless you, darling,” he whispered, as he embraced her. “Let’s hope for the best. – Good-bye, sir.”

“One moment, my boy, would it not be better to sleep here, and go on from Chapel in the morning?”

“My dear sir, I must be in London in the morning. If I run to the mine and get one of the horses, there will be just time to gallop over to Blinkdale and catch the up mail. Good-bye.”

The next minute, with the dog barking loudly, the Major and his daughter stood in the garden, listening to the regular beat-beat of feet as the two men went along the stony path, the sounds growing fainter and fainter, dying away, coming again, and finally dying out for good.

“Poor lad! I hope it is nothing very serious,” said the Major. “Good heavens! what is the matter with the dog?”

For suddenly as they stood there, the animal gave vent to a piteous, heartrending cry, which sent a thrill through the hearers. It was followed by another less wild and strange, and then came a quick scuffling sound, and the noise of the rattling of the chain.

“Back directly, my dear,” said the Major, and he hurried round to the other side of the cottage, leaving Dinah standing on the little lawn.

She took a step to follow, but at that moment there was a slight rustling sound from the bushes close at hand, and she stood as if petrified.

But only for a few moments, for directly after her father’s voice came loudly —

“Dinah! Quick! Bring a light.”

Before she could reach the little drawing-room a light flashed out from the door, and Martha, who had heard the words, appeared bringing a lamp.

“Don’t be frightened, Miss Dinah,” she said, as her arm was caught, and they hurried on together to where the dog’s piteous whines could be heard; “the poor thing must be in a fit.”

She was quite right, but it was a fit of agony – the last, for as they reached the kennel where the Major knelt on one knee, the poor dog uttered one short gasping bark, as it stretched itself out more and more, and then there was a sudden snatching, quivering motion, and it seemed to be drawn backward till it formed a curve.

“Father! Oh, poor Rollo!” cried Dinah, going down upon her knees by her old companion’s side; “he is dying.”

“No, my child,” said the Major sternly; and he drew in his breath with a low hiss, and bent down and softly patted the poor beast’s head, smoothing the long silky ears, “he is dead.”

“Dead!” cried Dinah wildly, as she sank upon her knees, and lifted the dog’s head into her lap. “Impossible!”

But the heavy, motionless weight endorsed the Major’s words. There was no joyous movement, no nestling toward her, no gladsome, whining bark; Rollo had had his last gambol over the mountain side, and lay slowly stiffening out, with eyes glazing and seeming to gaze mournfully up at her he had loved so well.

“Oh, sir,” cried Martha piteously, “I have been so careful, but he would take them. I always felt sure he would be choked by some bone.”

“Choked!” cried the Major angrily; “the poor brute has been poisoned for doing his duty too well.”