Her thoughts went to him more and more persistently, as she wondered where he then was--whether he was thinking about her--when he would be back.

The book fell into her lap and glided to the carpet with a loud rap, and quick as thought her hand was extended to the lamp. The next moment she sat in darkness, listening, and half repentant of her act. For though she had sought the enveloping cloak of darkness, she shivered as it closed her in.

For that was not wind or rain, neither was it the effect of imagination.

She could not be deceived this time. The latch of the kitchen door had been raised, and had given forth that click with which she had been familiar from childhood. True, it had sounded faintly, but it was unmistakable. The room door was open, so was that leading from the little pa.s.sage into the kitchen, for she had left both wide, that she might hear if Martha stirred.

She drew a breath of relief the next moment, for she felt that she had not heard their servant stir, but all the same she must have risen, and gone to try whether the door was fast.

Quickly and silently she stole into the kitchen, and felt the way to the table. "Martha!" was on her lips, but she did not utter the word, only extending her hand as she heard a deep, low, sighing breath. The next instant her fingers rested upon the woman's shoulder, and she knew that there had been no change in position. A feeling of suffocation attacked her, as she held her breath, and listened to a repet.i.tion of the sound, for the latch was softly raised now, and the door creaked as it was evidently pressed from outside.

This was repeated, and then all was black darkness and silence once more, while poor Rollo, who would only a few hours before have loudly given warning of danger and torn at his chain to come to the protection of his mistress, lay sleeping his last beneath the newly-turned earth.

Would he dare to break in?

She was alone.

A question and answer which sent a chill through her: but despair gave her courage, and she stood there pondering as the door creaked heavily once more.

Where would he try to force an entrance? she asked herself, and then, feeling how frail were the fastenings, she silently made for the foot of the staircase, closed the door, bolted it, and ascended to the little landing.

The next moment, her hand was upon her bedroom latch, but altering her mind she pa.s.sed into her father's room, and closed and locked the door, to stand listening, her mind fixed upon the drawing-room window beneath where she stood.

It would be there, beneath the little verandah, she thought; and extending her hand to touch the wall and guide herself to the window, her fingers encountered something which sent a thrill through her, for she touched the Major's double gun standing in the corner formed by a little cabinet, where he had stood and forgotten it; and in the drawer of that cabinet there were cartridges, for she had seen him place them there only a week or two before.

Continuing her way, she crept to the window to listen, feeling sure that she would hear if any attempt was made below in the verandah, but clinging to the hope that the nocturnal visitor would go on finding that his plan was checkmated.

She was not long left in doubt, for a rustling sound told her that the clematis was being torn away from one of the rough fir-posts which supported the verandah roof; and the next minute she was conscious by the sound that some one had reached the thatch, and was drawing himself up the yielding slope.

For a moment Dinah was giddy once more with dread and despair. The next she was strong again in the wild desire to protect herself--for her own, and for Clive Reed's sake; and stepping softly back, she drew out the drawer of the cabinet and felt that the cartridges were there. Then catching up the gun, she rapidly opened the breech and inserted a couple of the charges, closed it, and fully c.o.c.ked the piece, to stand with it at the ready, its muzzle directed to the window, which showed darker in the middle where a grating sound was heard.

She knew it at once; a knife was forcing back the leadwork, so that a diamond-shaped pane might be taken out by the man who believed this room to be empty.

She could see nothing, but it was all plain enough; the grating ceased, the pane was eased out by the knife, a rustling told that there was a hand being thrust in, and she heard the fastening yield, and the iron frame of the cas.e.m.e.nt creak as it was drawn outward. Then followed a heavy breath, the sound of some one drawing himself up, and strong now, at bay in her own defence, Dinah Gurdon's finger pressed the trigger, as she still held the gun at the ready with its b.u.t.t beneath her arm.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

FOR CLIVE'S SAKE.

"For Clive's sake," she said to herself, as the charge exploded, and the recoil of the loosely held gun rent the bodice of her dress and jerked her violently backward.

There was a savage snarl, mingled with the report of the piece, and followed instantly by the tinkling of falling gla.s.s, a crushing sound of a gliding body, and then a dull concussion upon the stones beneath, where there was a panting and struggling, accompanied by a hissing as of breath drawn in agony; and then the rushing of the wind as it tore round the house, while within all was silence, as if of the dead.

Dinah stood in the chamber holding the gun, motionless and with a cold perspiration bedewing her face as she breathed the dank, clinging, hydrogenous fumes of the burnt powder. Every sense was on the strain, and her fingers rested now upon the second trigger as she waited, firm and determined to fire again in her defence should her would-be a.s.sailant climb up.

It was for Clive's sake. She was his now--his very own; and in her excited, nerve-strung state she was ready to defend herself to the last, and die sooner than that man, her horror and despair, should again clasp her in his arms.

But no fresh sound arose as she waited in the black darkness grasping everything now. How that Sturgess must have deeply laid his plans, and in revenge for a savage seizure made by the dog, as she remembered with a shudder, first poisoned the poor brute, and then somehow have contrived to drug the tea of which Martha had partaken that evening.

She shivered again, as she thought of how closely this man must have watched everything that went on at the cottage, and how often he must have been near at hand at times when she knew it not. Then he must, in the knowledge of her father's absence, have selected the Major's chamber as a place where he could obtain entrance unheard, little thinking that Fate would inspire his child to select that as a place of safety.

And all the while Dinah stood there motionless, a yard farther from the open window, drawing her breath at intervals, her heart beating, and every sense still upon the strain, as she waited ready to repel the next attack.

Twice over a pang shot through her, and she felt that the time had come, for there was a rustling sound below, and in imagination she saw the dark opening grow more dark. But the sound died away again, and she knew that it was only a sudden gust of wind sweeping the rain-drops before it. And at last a new horror a.s.sailed her. That man--Sturgess, she was sure--had been in the act of climbing to the room and she had fired.

Of course she knew all that, but somehow in her excitement--her exaltation of spirit in her defence of all that was dear to her in life--it seemed part of a horrible dream, a something which could not have been true.

But it was true! She had fired and heard the cry of agony, the crushing of the thatch, and the heavy fall, and writhing on the stones beneath, followed by that awful silence during which she had waited in expectation for it to be broken by his coming on again.

But it had not been broken, and she knew why now. The thought came to her like a revelation--Michael Sturgess was lying there, beneath that window, either grievously wounded or dead.

A vertigo seized her, and she nearly dropped the gun. But Dinah's nerves had been too tightly strung to give way now; and once more mastering her weakness, she walked bravely to the window, hesitated and then leaned out, starting back in horror, for she was touched.

But it was only the edge of the iron frame of the cas.e.m.e.nt swung to by the wind; and as she leaned out and looked down, she held her breath and listened, expecting to hear some movement--some slight stir. But there below in the dense darkness all was perfectly still; no movement, no hard-drawn breath as of one in agony, but a silence so horrible that she staggered back to throw the gun upon the bed, and press her hand down to try and allay the laboured breathing of her heart.

She could bear it no longer. She felt that she must go down and see.

Evil as the man was, he might be still alive, and she might save him.

If not, she must know whether he was dead, for the suspense was infinitely worse than the knowledge could possibly be.

In a state of maddening excitement now, she unfastened the door, and went down the dark stairs, pausing for a brief moment in the kitchen, where a heavy breathing told her that Martha still slept her drugged sleep; and then going to the front door she softly and quickly drew back the bolts, and turned the key, when the door yielded, as she grasped the handle, with a faint cracking sound.

Then, nerved by her excitement, she stepped through the porch into the outer darkness, stooping down and peering before her in her endeavour to make out the prostrate body she expected to see lying p.r.o.ne.

But nothing was visible, and gathering courage and calmness she went farther, walking to and fro over the spot where he must have fallen, without result, till, satisfied that the worst had not happened, and full of hope that he had fled after the shot, she hurried back to re-enter the house, stepping quickly over the stones to the little porch, and right into a pair of arms.

With a wild cry of horror she struck at the man with all her might, with the result that there arose a yell of rage and pain. A brief struggle followed, and in her frantic efforts to free herself, Dinah tore herself away. Then turned and fled blindly, anywhere, so as to escape.

But Sturgess was close behind.

"Stop!" he cried hoa.r.s.ely. "It's of no use now, little one. Hah, I have you at last."

She was rushing up the rocky garden, and he was close behind and caught her by the shoulders, but with a cry of despair she flung herself side-wise, and he stumbled past her, and fell heavily, uttering an angry oath.

She turned and fled downward toward the river, tripping again and again over the scattered stones and bushes, and making such bad progress that Sturgess had time to gather himself up, hear where she was forcing her way along, and followed wildly in pursuit.

But, mad now with fear and horror, weak too from her exertions and the enervation caused by the dread of being overtaken, Dinah sped on, meaning to run to left or right, along the river edge, but taking neither way; for in her despair, she ran straight into the river, wading right out, so as to try and gain the shelter of the rocks on the further side.

It was shallow where she waded, but she knew that beneath the rocks there were deep holes, where the great trout lay; and she felt that she might step right into one of these. But the cold clinging embraces of the water were better than the clasp of this ruffian, and without a moment's hesitation she pressed on to gain her haven of safety, and then stopped short with the water nearly to her waist, and pressing softly against her, to bear her away: for she heard a loud e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n from the path she had left, and then her pursuer's heavy steps, as he ran for a few yards downwards, and then came back and ran upward, and returned.

"Curse her! Which way has she gone?" came plainly to her ears, followed by the rippling sound of the river, as it ran swiftly on.

She knew that Sturgess could not see her, for he was evidently listening, and the slightest movement would have betrayed the fact that she was standing there only a few yards away.

Two or three times the force of the river was so great that she felt as if she must yield to it; but she stood firm and then felt a fresh chill, for the man snarled out an oath, and the lapping and splashing sound made her turn and wade a little farther, for she felt that her enemy had made her out, and was wading in. But in another moment a savage e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of pain made the truth known, for Sturgess was kneeling down and bathing the wound he had received.

She grasped it all plainly enough now, for from time to time he uttered a low groan, and then rose up and staggered away over the stones, while her heart leaped for joy, as she knew that he was growing weak and faint from exertion.

From this moment everything became plain to her--made known in the darkness by the sounds. She could see nothing, but she knew as well as if she had been by his side that the man was painfully staggering up the stony slope along by the river edge, as if making for the mine. But she dared not move, only try to stand firm against the pressure of the water, and wait till the last sound had reached her ear. Then, and then only, did she stir, but only to wade upward a little into shallower water, where the pressure was not so great. For the river was her protector, and she knew that Sturgess might come back.

A full hour must have pa.s.sed before, stiff and chilled, she waded slowly out, and crept up the path to the cottage, the water streaming from her as she walked, till she reached the porch, crept in trembling and secured the door, and then did not rest till she had reached her own room to throw herself upon her knees in thankfulness for her escape.