But I pity you, dear. You are my sister now; and I pity you."

He would calm down for a while, and then begin again, mingling his troubles in so confused a fashion, that Dinah would grow puzzled. But she could not tear herself away, and listened eagerly as the sick man rambled on, and laid bare the whole of his troubled life.

Then she would writhe in her agony, as from out of the tangle her own name would come, and he grew excited as he wandered on, going back to hearing her sobbing in the next room, the shots pattering on the window, and on and on to the surprise in the tunnelled pathway.

"All, all the same. So gentle and loving, but all so weak. Poor little sweet: so beautiful. Her words would ring like music, and yet she could throw herself into his arms. Forgive her? Yes, I must forgive her. So weak, so hard to trust."

And then, sobbing gently, Dinah would bend over, and lay her cheek against his aching forehead, and whisper to him to believe in her. That there was nothing to forgive--that she was his own, and that he must live to learn the truth or she would die.

But her tender appeals were to one who could not understand. Still they were a solace to her, as she hung about his bed. She had him with her, the man who loved her so tenderly, and in those secret moments, when they were alone, often enough in the silent watches of the night, she could fall into an ecstasy of joy, as in the abandonment of her love, with none to know, she could draw the dear head upon her throbbing breast, and cover his face with her kisses.

"My own, my loving husband!" she would coo softly in the midst of her caresses, at first with burning cheeks, later on with her pulses undisturbed, her heart suffused by a sweet placid joy which made her beam upon him as a mother over her babe.

"Some day he will know all, and I can wait till then," she sighed, as even in the midst of her agony of doubt as to his recovery, she revelled in the joy of having him there insensible, ignorant of her caresses, but still all her own.

The doctor had reached them soon after they arrived at the cottage, two of the bearers having been stationed upon high points to intercept him should he take any other track, and after his examination he had removed one horror from Dinah's breast. For he declared the injury to be the result of a fall, and hence it was not through some furious encounter between brothers--a fratricidal strife.

But the fall, he declared, was not the sole trouble. There was fever, brain fever, and when pressed as to the result, he only shook his head, wisely, and said--

"We shall see--we shall see."

Then in obedience to a letter from the Major, Doctor Praed had come down, to enter the cottage fussy, tired, and irritable.

"Most unreasonable, Major Gurdon, to bring me down to this out-of-the-way desert to see Clive Reed. Hang him, and his brother too.

They've been the curse of my life. Dozens of important patients waiting for me, and I leave them to come down here to see this boy.

Hang him, and his father too, sir. I wish I had never seen them.

Ruined me--almost, and I'm very glad the mine has turned out a failure, after all."

"I am afraid you are a little tired with your journey, sir!" said the Major stiffly.

"Tired, sir! I don't seem to have a bone left. Of course, I'm tired.

How a sane man could ever come and live in such an out-of-the-way spot, I don't know."

"A very peaceful spot, sir, for a heart-sore man," said the Major coldly. "I will ask you to come and see the patient as soon as you feel refreshed."

At that moment the door opened, and Dinah, looking pale, subdued, and anxious, appeared.

The Doctor started from his seat.

"Dinah, my child," said the Major, "Clive Reed's G.o.dfather, Doctor Praed. Can he come up now?"

The Doctor advanced, and took her hands, raised them one by one to his lips, and then letting them fall, he took her in his arms and kissed her forehead reverently.

"G.o.d bless you, my dear!" he said, in a softened voice. "So you are his tender nurse. It is you whom he spoke of as her who had made him think the world was not all bad. Hah, yes," he continued, looking at her curiously, "the face of an angel. Major Gurdon, forgive my petulance.

Getting old, sir. Tired and worried. I'm very glad you sent for me.

Clive is my own dear boy. I always looked upon him as a son. There, I'm only an ignorant man, my dear," he continued, turning to Dinah with a pitiful smile on his face, "but with G.o.d's help and yours, he shall ask me to his wedding yet. I'll come and claim the first kiss from her who is going to help me try and save his life. Hah! now I feel ready to go to work. As for the other patients, Major, there are plenty of doctors in town. I'm going to stop here with my boy Clive."

The tears coursed rapidly down Dinah's cheeks as she listened, while Doctor Praed patted the hand he held, and smiled.

"Ah," he said, "you have no faith in me. You think I am a prattling old man, who talks instead of acts. Come along, and let's see my patient, only really, according to etiquette, I ought to be meeting your regular attendant in consultation."

"He is twelve miles away, sir," said the Major rather coldly, "and unable to get over here much. He said it was a case for nursing."

"No doubt, no doubt," said the Doctor; and he followed Dinah to the patient's couch, and then drew up the blind and sat down by the pillow.

"Poor boy!" he said tenderly, as he took Clive's hand and noted his hollow cheeks, large burning eyes, and the restless muttering he kept up. "No doubt about it, my dear. That injury is nothing. Bled a good deal, you say?"

"Terribly," whispered Dinah, with a suppressed sob.

"Weakened him, but on the whole I should say it was favourable. This is all brain, my child. Overwork and anxiety. He must have had some mental shock. He must have known that his fathers pet scheme had failed before any one else had suspected the fact."

Dinah looked at him piteously, as she felt that it was her doing, as much so as if her acts had been intentional instead of the work of others.

"Well, this will not do," said the Doctor, replacing a tiny clinical thermometer in its case. "His head is far too hot, and I suppose you have no ice here. All this must come off."

He pointed to the sufferer's hair, and Dinah's face contracted with horror.

"I can't help it, my child. Come; we must save his life. Where are your scissors? It will be a task for you. Pooh! don't look like that, my dear. It will all grow again."

A few minutes later, with the tears slowly trickling down her cheeks, Dinah sat, carefully cutting off lock after lock, the Doctor looking on impatiently.

"There," he cried at last, "you must let me do it, child. You are snipping little bits off as if they were more precious than gold. I tell you it must all come off at once. His head ought, to be shaved.-- Scissors."

"No, no, please. Let me," pleaded Dinah, hurriedly placing the scissors behind her.

"Very well, then, will you cut close?"

"But must it all be cut off?"

"Every sc.r.a.p, and at once. It will relieve his poor burning head. You can save a nice curly bit. Save it all if you like."

Dinah coloured, and darted at him a resentful look, then the sound of the scissors went on--snip, snip, as they closely sheared away the thick hair, the fall of every lock giving the operator a sharp pang.

"Ah, that's better. Closer by the temples. The doctor you had ought to have insisted upon all that coming off at once."

"He did," sighed Dinah; "but I pleaded so hard for it to be left that he gave way."

"And you nearly killed the poor fellow--because you were so proud of him, eh? But I will not reproach you. Ah, no evasion, please. Once for all I want that hair all removed, and possibly then I may think it necessary to operate with your father's razor--that is, if you do not do your work well."

Dinah sighed, and went on, shivering slightly as she saw how she was disfiguring the poor fellow, but steeling herself now to her task, till it was thoroughly done. Then she stood back full of remorse, and feeling that at last she had really done something which would make Clive hate her.

"Now, we can give him a chance. The cold bandages to his head will be of some service. The wind can blow upon them, and the evaporation will take away a great deal of heat from the poor fellow's brain."

To Dinah's great delight their patient soon grew calmer, and the low mutterings and tossing of the head from side to side partially subsided.

"Well, sir," said the Major that evening, after patiently waiting for the Doctor to give him some report, "can you tell us that we may hope?"

"I will not say that," replied the Doctor. "Give me another twenty-four hours. A fever like this is slow. I must own that he is in a very critical condition; but do not tell your daughter that."