But there was no rest that night. Just at daybreak she went down to find that Martha still slept, and shuddering, lest the events of the night should be known, she went into her father's chamber and replaced the gun in its old corner; looked out in the cold grey morning, and saw that it was possible for the absent pane of gla.s.s to be attributed to the work of the wind blowing about a loosened cas.e.m.e.nt. Lastly, there was something else for which she sought in the cold grey light of morning--traces of the gun-shot wound.

There were none visible. If there had been, a sufficiency of rain had fallen to wash all away, and leaving the window ajar, Dinah was in the act of turning back, pondering upon her position and shrinking from telling her father more than ever. She determined that Martha must know nothing, when she caught a glimpse of her pale, troubled face in the gla.s.s, and then uttered a faint cry of horror, for her light dress was horribly stained about the breast and shoulder, showing plainly that Sturgess must have received a severe wound, whose traces had been transferred to her when he had seized her in his arms.

"How can I speak!--how can I tell all!" she moaned, as she hurried guiltily back to her own room to remove the still damp and draggled garments. "It is too horrible. Oh," she cried, fiercely now in her desperation, "if he would but die!"

"Oh, my dear, how pale and white you do look," said Martha at breakfast-time; and Dinah gazed at her wildly, as if in dread lest she knew all. "I feel as sure as sure that we both had something that didn't agree with us yesterday, though I can't say for the moment what.

Yes, my dear, I didn't really know how it was, but I felt poorly all day yesterday, and grew so drowsy at last that I went off fast asleep. Did you come and find me then?"

"Yes, I came and found you," said Dinah dreamily, as the whole scene of the previous night came back.

"Of course it was very strange, but it was so kind of you not to wake me. But I'm better now--all but a headache. Does yours ache too?"

"Yes, Martha, badly," said Dinah, with a sigh, as for a moment she pondered about taking the old woman into her confidence.

"I thought it did. There; have a good cup of tea. You'll be better then. Will master be back to-day?"

"I hope so, Martha," said Dinah, with a sigh; and then hope came to revive her once more. For he would come and bring news of Clive, who must know all, and then there would be safety--protection, and no more of this abject fear.

In the afternoon news reached the cottage that there had been an accident at the mine, where early that morning Mr Sturgess, the foreman, had fallen down one of the lower shafts, and severely cut and injured his left shoulder.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

A NEW HORROR.

Letters reached the cottage at frequent intervals after the Major's return, in which as he breathed in every line his intense affection, Clive fretted at the chain which still bound him to London.

For, as he explained at length, a heavy blow had been struck at the mining company, bringing ruin upon those who had shown a want of faith, though the stability of the property was not really stirred. The rumour which had so rapidly spread had had its influence though, and time would be needed before many people would believe in the truth, and it was for the protection of the property, and to save other shareholders from following the panic-stricken party, that Clive felt compelled to be in town.

Then, too, he sent a shiver through Dinah, as he wrote to her about his troubles at the mine.

"Misfortunes never come singly," he said. "As I daresay you have heard, my foreman Sturgess has met with a nasty accident, and Robson, my clerk, sends me word that he has been delirious and wandering a good deal. He fell down one of the inner shafts where he could have no business, and ought to be thankful that he escaped with his life. Now I do not want to be exacting, darling, but if you could do any little thing to soften the man's misfortune, I should be glad. He is an ill-conditioned fellow, but he is my employe, and I want to do my duty by him as far as I can."

Dinah, in her agony of spirit, wanted to rush off to her own room and hide herself from the sight of all. For this appeal seemed more than she could bear; but the Major was present, and at that moment spoke about the contents of his own letter.

"Reed wants us to see and help his foreman, who is lying at one of the cottages ill from a fall. We must do all we can, my dear. He's a good fellow, is Clive. Very thoughtful of others. Dear, dear, if I had only been a little more strong-minded."

"Have you suffered so very heavily, father?" said Dinah, who forced herself to be calm and speak.

"Suffered! Oh, yes, my dear, in mind as well as pocket. You were right, my child; he is all that is honourable and true. But it is very humiliating--very lowering to the spirit of an old soldier."

"To find that you have mistrusted him, father?"

"Er--er--yes, my dear; but--but--there I will be frank with you. I did not mean that."

"Father, you are keeping something from me."

"Yes, my dear, I am," said the Major hurriedly; "but Dinah, my dear, I have not accepted yet. The fact is, I have lost all, my dear--at least all but a beggarly pittance saved out of the wreck; and Clive--G.o.d bless him for a true gentleman!"

Dinah's arms were round her father's neck, as the love-light shone in her eyes, and she laid her cheek upon his shoulder.

"Well, yes, my dear, he is; and I suppose with all his simplicity and want of ostentation he is very rich. His house in town is--ah, well, never mind that! He insists upon giving me as many shares in the mine as I fooled away."

"But you cannot accept them from him, dear father," cried Dinah, raising her head, and looking at him anxiously.

"No, my darling, I told him so; that it would be a cruel humiliation; and that I would never accept them."

"Yes; that was quite right, dearest," said Dinah, with her eyes flashing.

"But he said--"

"Yes, what did he say?"

"That I was foolishly punctilious, that I was going to give him something of more value than all the riches in the world, and that I refused to take a fitting present from him."

The warm blood glowed in Dinah's cheeks, and there was a look of pride and happiness in her eyes which were gradually softened by the gathering tears.

"Yes, but you cannot take this, father dear!" she said softly. "It would be humiliation to us both. If we are very poor, and Clive loves me, he will love my dear father too. You must not take this, dear. It would be doubly painful after mistrusting him as you did."

"Then I have done right," cried the Major cheerfully.

"You have refused."

"Yes. I was sorely tempted, my darling, for I felt how I was bringing you down to poverty; that I was no longer in a position to--to--Oh, hang it, Dinah," cried the old man, with the tears in his eyes, "I would sooner march through a storm of bullets than go through this."

"Clive loves me for myself, dearest father," said Dinah, drawing his convulsed face down upon her bosom, to hide the weak tears of bitterness; "and it is not as if you were living in London. Our wants are so few here, and there are the few hundred pounds which you have often told me came from my dearest mother."

"No, no; that could not be touched," cried the Major, very firmly now.

"That was to be your wedding portion, child."

"There is no question of money between us, father," said Dinah proudly.

"I tell you again Clive loves me for myself, and there is a wedding portion here within my heart that can never fail. No, dearest, you cannot take this gift from my husband. You are rich in yourself as an English gentleman, and with your honourable name."

A spasm shot through the Major, and his face contracted and looked older.

"There," continued Dinah, "that is all at an end. Only we will economise, and live more simply, dear. But tell me I am right."

"Always right, my darling," cried the Major. "There, you have taken a heavy load from my breast. Hang it, yes, pet. We have our home and garden, and there is my preserve. A bit of bread of old Martha's best, and a dish of trout of my own catching, or a bird or two. Bah! who says we're poor?"

"Who would not envy us for being so rich?" cried Dinah, smiling.

"To be sure. And when my lord of the mines comes down," cried the Major merrily, "we'll be haughty with him, and let him see that it is a favour to be allowed to partake of our hermitage fare, eh?"

"Yes, yes," cried Dinah, with childlike glee, though her eyes were still wet with tears. "But, father dear," she faltered, "there is one thing I want to say."

"Yes, my darling?"

"This man who is lying ill."