Kitabı oku: «The White Virgin», sayfa 17
Chapter Thirty Eight.
The Ruptured Vein
“He’s my father-in-law, Wrigley, but he’s an old beast,” said Jessop, in a low snarling tone, as the Doctor’s steps died away in the distance.
“I daresay he is,” replied Wrigley; “but this is no time for pouring your domestic troubles on my head. What did you mean by telling me that this man, Sturgess, fell down a shaft?”
“That’s what he told me – a brute! I’ve no sympathy with him whatever, but I don’t, want it to be said that we neglected him, in case he dies. We’ve got troubles enough.”
“Rather. It’s about as near utter ruin as a man can get. Stockbroker? You’re lucky if you don’t turn stone-broker.”
“Mind what you’re talking about. You’ll have that fellow Robson hear you.”
“Doesn’t seem to matter to me who hears me now. The game’s up.”
“No, no, wait till that fellow comes and makes his examination.”
“Oh yes. I’ll wait. Here by twelve, won’t he? But I’m not going to pin my faith to his coming. To me as good an idea as ever man put upon the market has gone dead.”
“Yes, curse you, and ruined me,” growled Jessop. “You always were so cursed clever.”
“Come, I like that; ruined you, eh? Ruin the ruined. Why, for years past you’ve never been worth a rap, and have had to come to me to keep you going.”
“And pretty dearly I’ve had to pay for it.”
“Yes; a man who wants his bills discounted, and who is known to be stone broke, does have to pay pretty smartly for the risk that is run. But never mind, Jessop, we must try something else. I say, though, that father-in-law of yours is a tartar. You don’t expect to get anything out of him, do you?”
“He must leave his daughter his money.”
“No, he mustn’t. There are plenty of hospitals and charities about. He’ll never let you have a sou.”
“Can’t you find some other cursedly nasty thing to tell me, Wrig,” snarled Jessop. “It’s infernally cowardly of you, that’s what it is. Thank goodness, here’s the engineer.”
“Then now we shall get out of our difficulties or plunge deeper in. Why couldn’t you know something about mining engineering, and so have saved this expense?”
“Mr Wrigley?” said a quiet, solid-looking man, riding up to the office door.
“My name is Wrigley, sir. Are you Mr Benson?”
“Yes; and I came as soon as I could, after I heard from the Woden Mine Company’s secretary. What is the question, gentlemen. Deeper sinking? Troubled with water?”
“No,” said Jessop eagerly. “The lode we have been working has suddenly come to an end in the solid stone.”
“I see. A blind lead,” said the newcomer, dismounting.
“And we want advice as to what is best to do so as to hit again upon the ore,” said Wrigley. “I hear that you stand at the top of the tree in such matters.”
“Very kind of people to say so, sir,” replied the mining engineer. “I do my best. But you used to have a first-class man here – Mr Clive Reed.”
“Yes; but he is dangerously ill, or I should have called him in,” said Wrigley; and Jessop’s countenance cleared. “Well, sir, shall we go down the mine?”
“Better let me go alone, sir,” said the engineer. “I cannot tell you what you want to know in a minute. Perhaps it will take me a week.”
“Take your time, only get to work, and let’s have the full truth, as soon as you can,” said Wrigley, and the engineer nodded, had himself put into communication with the underground foreman, and passed the whole of the following week in the mine. At the end of that time he announced that he was ready with his report, and an adjournment was made to the little office, where Wrigley threw himself into a chair, and Jessop lit a cigar which kept going out, and had to be re-lit again and again, as the expert began to read his carefully written report of his work from day to day.
“My dear sir,” said Wrigley at last, impatiently, “we do not want to hear what time you went into the mine each day, or when you came out, nor yet about how you tested the surroundings of the great lode in different places. Let’s have your final decision, and the position.”
“Very good, gentlemen. I’ll give you both together. The lode ends dead against the barren rock.”
“Which we had already discovered,” said Wrigley sarcastically.
“Through a geological fault,” continued the engineer; “and I have tried hard to make out whether the vein of silver lead, where it was snapped off in some convulsion, or gradual sinking, went down or up.”
“Down or up,” said Jessop, who was listening eagerly, trying with nervous fingers to re-light his cigar from time to time.
“If it went downward, by constant search and sinking – ”
“Money?” interrupted Wrigley.
“I mean shafts, sir,” said the engineer, smiling; “but you may include money; you might perhaps hit upon the lode again; but I am inclined to think, from the conformation of the strata, that the vein was snapped in two and thrust upward.”
“What!” cried Jessop, “then it must be close to the surface?”
“I should say, sir, it was on the surface, and all cleared away hundreds upon hundreds of years ago.”
“But you would sink shafts to try if it had gone down?” said Wrigley, eyeing the engineer keenly.
“No, sir; if it were my case I would be content with the money I had got out of the mine.”
“General burst up, Jessop, my lad,” said Wrigley coolly. “The ‘White Virgin’s’ reputation is smirched, and she is not immaculate after all. Thank you, Mr Benson, I am quite satisfied with your judgment. There, you must have your cheque. There will not be many more for any one.”
Just about the same time, after a week’s trembling in the balance, Clive Reed had taken a turn which filled all at the cottage with hope. His senses returned upon that day a week earlier; but after some hours’ calm sleep, he woke in so enfeebled a state that it required all the efforts of nurse and doctor to keep him from sinking calmly away into the great sleep of all.
Now he was undoubtedly amending, and getting better hour after hour, though still so weak that he was unconscious of who it was who tended him night and day. Nothing seemed to trouble him. Nature had prescribed utter rest so that she might have time to rebuild the waste, and the Doctor’s chief efforts were directed towards keeping him free from the slightest trouble which might ripple the placid lake of his existence.
“There now,” he said, “let him sleep all he can. That is the best.”
He walked over to the mine, arriving there soon after the engineer had gone, and avoiding Jessop, went straight into the room occupied by Sturgess, who lay waiting for him eagerly.
“Better, arn’t I, Doctor?”
“Yes; getting stronger fast. The festering wound looks healthy now.”
“What festering wound?” said the man, with a stare.
“The one in your shoulder, which you said was caused by a fall.”
Sturgess scowled.
“Lucky for you I was fetched to you in time, and then dressed the wound in your leg. Your flesh was in a bad way, my man. You should never neglect the bite of a dog.”
“Fear he should go mad?” said Sturgess grimly. “No fear o’ that one going mad now.”
“Shot him, I suppose.”
“Yes,” said Sturgess, smiling. “I shot him, Doctor. When may I get about again?”
“Oh, not for a week or two yet – perhaps three. You mustn’t hurry.”
“Can’t you get me up in a week, sir?” said the man anxiously. “I have got a good deal to do.”
“Not in the mine. That’s at an end.”
“Yes, I heard that. But no, it arn’t that. It’s business I want to settle about some one I know.”
“Ah, well, we shall see,” said the Doctor. “Be patient.”
He walked back to the cottage, and not seeing either the Major or his child, hung up his hat, and went to Clive’s chamber, where he stopped short at the door, startled by the scene within. For Dinah was in the act of advancing to the bed just as Clive lay half dozing.
The sharp crack of a floor board roused him into wakefulness, and he opened his eyes wonderingly, so that they fell upon Dinah’s sweet, sad face.
The result was startling to the Doctor, and filled Dinah with agonising despair. For as the light of recognition came into the suffering man’s countenance, his features contracted, his brow wrinkled and twitched, and he turned his eyes away with a look of disgust and horror, while Dinah uttered a low moan, covered her face with her hands, and fled from the room, her whole attitude and every movement suggesting utter despair.
Chapter Thirty Nine.
After a Lapse
“Why, my dear child, it is one of the commonest of things. I’ve known plenty of cases of this kind, and I daresay your father has.”
Dinah looked at the Doctor wistfully, with her face growing old and careworn; but she said nothing, only turned to her father, as he took and held her hand.
“Come, come, this will not do,” continued the Doctor. “I don’t want to have you upon my hands as a patient. Now, look here; I promise you that all will come right, and it is not the physic-monger speaking now, but your father’s friend.”
The Major darted a grateful look at the speaker, while Dinah did not stir, but sat hardly hearing him, alone with her despair.
“They do not know all,” she said to herself; “they do not know all.”
“You see, my dear,” continued the Doctor, “he is rapidly mending, and he knows us all, and speaks sensibly; but he is not quite compos mentis yet his brain had a nasty shock, from which it is recovering, but it must have time. You feel it bitterly, of course, but it is a natural, though only temporary, outcome of this ailment. Over and over again we doctors find that the one the invalid loves best – wife, mother, betrothed – is the one against whom he takes an unaccountable dislike, and in endless cases this is the one who has devoted herself to constant nursing. Ah, they re an ungrateful lot, patients, when they are a bit off their heads. I had one to whom I was administering nothing but beef tea, and water just flavoured with syrup of aurantia – orange and sugar, you know. Well, that ruffian swore that I was slowly poisoning him.”
“But Reed has quite recovered his senses,” said the Major uneasily; “it is six weeks to-day since he turned like this.”
“He has not quite recovered his senses, or he would be upon his knees, asking pardon of an angel, sir. No, my dear, I’m not flattering you, for if ever woman displayed devotion and love for sinful man, you have done so for my boy Clive. Come, promise me that you will try and hold up, for your father’s sake. Yes, and Clive’s. He is rapidly growing stronger, but he wants your help to console him for his losses. That is what we want to get off his brain. Once he can bear that philosophically all will be well.”
The Doctor’s long speeches were cut short by a visitor in the shape of Wrigley, who was shown in by Martha, Dinah at the same moment escaping to her room, where, on approaching the window, she became aware of the fact that Jessop had accompanied the visitor. He was waiting at the bottom of the garden down by the river, and she shrank away in horror and dread as she trembled lest Clive should see him and it might bring on a fresh attack.
For a few moments she thought of going to Clive’s room and telling him. But the dread of meeting his cruel searching eyes, and experiencing another of those shrinking looks of horror and disgust, kept her away, and she sank wearily into a chair, shivering, and with the feeling of utter despair growing upon her more and more.
Meanwhile a scene was taking place in the little dining-room below, where the Major had made a sign toward a chair.
“Thank you,” said Wrigley. “I will not detain you long.”
“What is it, sir? Sturgess worse?” said the Doctor.
“Oh, no! The fellow is, thanks to you, Doctor, growing stronger and more impudent every day. The fact is, gentlemen, I have come over to see Mr Clive Reed. His brother is waiting down by the river. He would not come in, as they are not on good terms.”
The Major frowned.
“As I am Mr Clive Reed’s doctor, sir, I have a right to ask you what you want with him.”
“Simple matter of business, sir. I want him to come over and inspect the mine.”
“Not fit, sir. Too weak,” said the Doctor sternly. “Bless my soul! my dear boy, are you mad?”
“I hope not, Doctor,” said Clive, as he entered the room, looking very white, but quite able to dispense with the stick he held in his hand.
“Glad to see you about again, Mr Reed,” said Wrigley at once, and he held out his hand; but it was not taken. “Mr Reed, I have come on behalf of the shareholders in the ‘White Virgin’ mine.”
“Including yourself, sir, and Mr Jessop Reed?” said Clive coldly.
“Of course,” said Wrigley, with an assumption of frankness. “We stand to be heavy losers over the mine if the lost lode is not discovered. But perhaps you don’t know that the rich vein has ended suddenly?”
“I know everything in connection with the mine, sir,” said Clive, as the Doctor watched him anxiously; but to his intense gratification saw nothing to cause him uneasiness.
“That’s well, sir. Then I will be quite plain with you, and ask you to let bygones be bygones, for I am sure that you, as an English gentleman, and one of our principal shareholders, wish for nothing but what is fair and right by all concerned.”
He ceased and waited for Clive to speak, but the engineer remained silent, and Wrigley went on —
“I should tell you, sir, that our foreman, Sturgess, has made the most careful investigations, both before his illness and since. He is hardly fit to be about.”
“Not fit,” said the Doctor.
“Exactly, sir; but he has insisted upon going down the mine during the past four days, and testing in different directions. Then, too, we have had the advice of an eminent mining engineer, Mr Benson, and unfortunately both give a decidedly adverse report. Well, sir, this is bad, but for my part I have great faith in your knowledge.”
“Which you showed, sir, by scheming with my brother to get me ousted from the post!”
“An error in judgment, Mr Reed, due to an eager desire to make money. I made the mistake of choosing the wrong brother. I apologise, and you know that I have suffered for my blunder. But let us repair all the past for the sake of everybody concerned. Mr Clive Reed, in perfect faith that you will restore the ‘White Virgin’ to her former prosperity, I, as a very large holder of shares, ask you to resume your position as manager and engineer. Tell me that you will do this, and I will at once go back to town, call an extraordinary meeting, and get your reappointment endorsed.”
A slight flush came into Clive’s pale cheeks as he sat listening to Wrigley’s words, and the latter took hope therefrom.
“I see that you feel that there is hope for the mine, sir,” he said eagerly; “and that you will sink the past and join us in working heart and soul for every one’s benefit.”
The Major looked curiously at Clive, whom the excitement of the interview seemed to be rousing from his despondent state, but drawing himself up, the latter said quietly —
“I am sorry, of course, sir, for the innocent shareholders in the mine, but the interim dividends that they have received prevent them from being heavy losers. As to the speculators, they must thank fate that their losses are not greater.”
“Yes, yes, of course, Mr Reed, but you will soon set all that right. Take a month at sea, sir, at the company’s expense, and come back strong as a lion, ready to go to work again, and make the ‘White Virgin’ richer than ever.”
“No, sir,” said Clive coldly. “I lose more heavily than any one, and I am prepared to stand by my losses.”
“Yes, yes, but you will soon recoup – there will be no losses. I know that you must naturally feel a jealousy of my friend, Jessop Reed.”
Clive’s face darkened.
“But he shall not be in your way, my dear sir. You can take it for granted that he will in future have no part in the management. You shall stand at the head, and your judgments shall be unquestioned.”
“I thank you, sir, for this great display of confidence,” said Clive coldly; “but I have ceased to take any interest in the mine – I may say in anything whatever in life. No, sir, I will have no dealings whatever with you and your partner in the cowardly scheme by which I was overthrown. I can only thank you for arranging that this collapse should not occur during my management. All right, Doctor; I have done. I am not going to be excited, and this interview is at an end.”
“Yes, this one,” said Wrigley, rising. “You are still weak, Mr Reed, and I will not bother you more to-day. I shall stay at the mine, and be happy to run over on receiving a message, for that you will come round to my wishes I am convinced. Good morning, gentlemen, and I should advise you both to invest heavily in the mine shares, for this second panic has sent them down almost to zero.”
He smiled pleasantly and went out to join Jessop, who was waiting impatiently, but with his eyes fixed upon Dinah’s open window all the time.
“A smooth, deceitful scoundrel!” said Clive contemptuously, and he held out a hand to the Doctor, who laid a finger upon his pulse. “Quite calm, Doctor,” he continued. “Yes, I’m about well now. I only want rest and peace. As soon as you will let me, I will go right away. On the Continent, I think.”
“Yes; do you a great deal of good, my dear boy,” said the Major. “We must have a change too. Poor Dinah is very pale.”
Clive was silent for a few moments, and then said coldly —
“Yes, Miss Gurdon looks very white. I am most grateful to you, Major Gurdon, for the care and attention I have received in this house.”
“Then prove it, sir,” said the Major sternly.
“I will,” said Clive, with not a muscle moving. “I will do so by releasing your daughter from an engagement which has become irksome and painful to her.”
“What!”
“From any ties which held her to a kind of bankrupt – to a man broken in health, pocket, and his belief in human nature.”
“Mr Clive Reed,” began the Major haughtily. “No: Clive, my dear boy, you are sick and look at things from a jaundiced point of view. Don’t talk nonsense. You will think differently in a week.”
“Never,” said Clive firmly. “All that, sir, is at an end.”
“And pray why?” cried the Major. “When that attachment sprang up we believed you to be a poor man. Do you suppose Dinah’s love for you came from the idea that you were well-to-do?”
“We will not argue that, sir. Your daughter wishes the engagement to be broken off.”
“Indeed! I’ll soon prove that to be false,” cried the Major, springing up.
“No, sir,” cried the Doctor; “there has been enough for one day.”
But he was too late, for the Major had flung open the door, called “Dinah,” loudly, and her foot was already upon the stairs.
“You want me, father?” she said as she entered, looking wan and thin, but perfectly quiet and self-contained.
“Yes, my child,” cried the Major, taking her hand. “Our patient is better, and wants to go away for a change.”
“Yes, father dear,” she said, without glancing at Clive, who kept his eyes averted; “it would be better as soon as he can bear a journey.”
“But he says that you wish the engagement to be at an end.”
She bowed her head.
“Yes, dear,” she said gently, “it is better so.”
“For the present,” cried the Doctor quickly.
“For the present that lasts till death,” said Clive sternly.
And Dinah in acquiescence bowed her head without uttering sob or sigh, but to herself —
“It is the end.”
Chapter Forty.
The Telegram
“Go on, Doctor, say what you like. I cannot defend myself.”
“I will go on, sir; I will say what I like, and I will risk its hurting you, for I feel towards you as a father, and it maddens me to see my old friend Grantham’s son behaving like a scoundrel towards as sweet and lovable a girl as ever lived.”
Clive drew a deep breath as they walked slowly along the shelf path towards the mine.
“Yes, sir, you may well shrink. I brought you out here for a walk to make you wince. I can talk to you, and say what I like out here without expecting the poor girl and her father to come back and interrupt. Look here, Clive; I’m a cleverish sort of old fellow in my way, and experience has put me up to a good many wrinkles in the treatment of disease, but I tell you frankly it was not I, but Dinah Gurdon, who saved your life by her nursing.”
“I suppose so,” said Clive, with a sigh.
“Then why the deuce, sir, do you go on like this and break the poor girl’s heart?”
“I cannot explain matters,” said Clive sadly. “You saw for yourself that Miss Gurdon accepted the position.”
“Of course she did, sir; so would any girl of spirit if she found a man playing fast and loose with her. Now look here, Clive, my boy, surely you are not throwing her over because you have lost all this money? Hang it, man! she would be just as happy if you hadn’t a penny. Now, then, out with it; was it because of the money?”
“The money! Absurd!” cried Clive, with an angry gesture.
“Then it must be due to some silly love quarrel. Look here, Clive, my boy, for your honour and your father’s honour, I’m going to take you back to the cottage, and when they return this evening, you will have to show them by your apology that if there is a scoundrel in the Reed family his name is not Clive. What do you say to that?”
“Impossible, sir. Doctor, you do not know, and I cannot tell you, the reasons why I act as I do.”
“You’re mad; that’s what’s the matter with you.”
“I wish your words were true, sir,” said Clive despondently, and stretching out his hand, he rested against the rock, and then let himself down to sit upon a rough stone. “I’m very weak, I find,” he continued apologetically; and then he shuddered as he noted that they were in the spot where Dinah had turned upon him and handed him the paper which he struck from her hand.
“Yes, my boy, you are weak, and I oughtn’t to press you; but I cannot stand it. Come, be frank to me. What have you done to make that poor girl throw you over?”
“I? nothing,” said Clive sternly.
“What! then you accuse her? Hang it, I won’t believe a word of it, sir. That girl could no more do anything to justify your conduct than an angel could out of heaven. Look here, sir, I constitute myself her champion. – What’s that noise?”
“I don’t know. I heard it twice before. Some shepherd calling his sheep, I suppose.”
The Doctor looked up at the bold precipitous bulwark of rock above their heads, and then downward toward the far-stretching vale below the shelf-like path, where a flock of sheep dotting the bottom by the river, endorsed the suggestion that the sound might be a call.
“Never mind that,” said the Doctor. “Come, I say that Dinah has given you no reason for behaving as you have.”
“Doctor, I resent all this,” cried Clive angrily. “I make no charge against Miss Gurdon, and I tell you that you have no right to attack me as you do. A man is helpless in such a case. Hush! No more. – Major Gurdon.”
For the old officer came round an angle of the steeply-scarped rock above them, walking fast, and descended agilely to where they stood.
“You here, gentlemen?” he said; “have you seen my daughter?”
“No, but we have been no farther than this,” said the Doctor.
“I’m growing uneasy about her,” said the Major; and a curious sensation of mingled dread and jealousy attacked Clive.
“Did she go out – come this way?” said the Doctor.
“Yes. Martha told me she struck off over the mountain in this direction.”
He looked sharply about him, but the path curved suddenly before toward the mine, and backward in the direction of the river, forming out there a natural terrace in the huge rampart of limestone.
“Perhaps you have missed her,” said the Doctor. “She may have returned home another way, without she has gone on toward the mine.”
A spasm shot through Clive, who stood up firmly now, nerved by the bitter thoughts which suggested to his jealous mind Dinah seeking his brother once more.
“She would not go there,” cried the Major angrily. “Ah, what’s that?”
For at that moment the cry they had before heard came faintly to their ears.
The Major stepped quickly to the edge of the path, protected only by a rough parapet of loose stones, looked over, and then, leaping back, threw off his coat, leaped over the rough protection, and began to lower himself down the steep precipice.
For a moment or two Clive could not stir; then, weak, trembling, and with his mouth hot and dry, he walked to the edge, and looked down to see, quite two hundred feet below, a portion of a woman’s dress, and directly after, as she clung there desperately, Dinah Gurdons white upturned face; and he knew now whence came the wailing sound.
“Clive! what are you going to do?”
“Get down to help,” he said hoarsely.
“Madness! You have no strength. You could not hold on for a minute.”
Clive groaned, for even as he stood there a sensation of faintness came over him, to teach him that he was helpless as an infant.
“Good heavens! what a place!” cried the Doctor. “I cannot – I dare not go down. It would be madness at my age.”
Then he stood speechless as his companion; and they craned over, and watched the Major, active still as a young man from his mountain life, descending quickly from block to block, making use of the rough growth of heather for hand hold, and now quite fifty feet below where they knelt, while the look of agony in Dinah’s eyes as she clung there, apparently unnerved and helpless, was as plain through the clear air as if she were close at hand.
“Your work, Clive,” cried the Doctor furiously, but in a low whisper. “The poor girl in her misery and despair has thrown herself over, and lodged where she is. Thank God, I am down here. I can be of use when we get her home. If we get her home alive,” he added to himself.
Clive made no reply, but knelt down panting and enraged against the weakness which kept him there supine, when, in spite of all, he would have given a dozen years of his life to have been able to descend and bear the poor girl up to a place of safety.
But he could only gaze down giddily with heart beating as he watched the Major slowly and carefully descending, now making good progress, now slipping or sending down a loose stone. Once they saw him hanging only by his hands, again losing his footing and seeming to be gone. The next minute, though, he was still descending, and in the silence of the mountain side, they could hear his words, short, sharp, and decisive, as he called to his child, bidding her be of good heart, for he would be with her directly; and that she would be safe.
Then, to Clive’s horror and despair, he saw the starting eyes which had looked up so wildly, gradually close, and the sun gleamed on them no more. He knew only too well what it meant; that Dinah was turning faint and weak; and once more unable to bear the agony, he made a rapid movement to descend.
“Madman!” cried the Doctor, and he flung himself upon Clive, mastering him directly, for the sudden strength flickered away at once. “Don’t you see,” he panted, “you cannot do it, and your fall would be destruction to them both. Keep still and silent. The Major will reach her directly. Yes: look: he is as active as a goat. Ah! great God! No: saved – he has her!”
The Doctor shrank away unable to bear it, for as they stared below with dilated eyes they saw Dinah begin to glide downward just as her father was steadying himself, holding on by one hand to a tough root. Then he seemed to make a dart with the other, and his child suddenly became stationary while he shifted his position, got his feet against a piece of rock, and they saw him draw her up to his side and hold her there.
The rest of that scene was dreamlike to Clive, as he lay with his breast over the edge looking down, till nerved and urged on by her father’s strong will, Dinah seemed to recover, and began to climb up under his directions and with his help, step by step, and inch by inch, till at last she was so close that Clive stretched out his hands to help her, while the Major supported her from below. But their eyes met, and she did not touch those hands, but gave her wet and bleeding fingers to the Doctor, who drew her into safety on the path, where she rose now to stand shivering while the Major sprang to her side.
“I did not think I could have done it,” he panted. “Oh, Dinah, my child, don’t say you threw yourself down there.”
“No,” she said, giving him a piteous look, and then turning slowly to face Clive. “I went down to fetch this – to give to Clive Reed before he left us for ever. I thought it must be there.”
She took from her breast, where it had evidently been thrust, a stained scrap of reddish paper, made more ruddy where she held it, for her fingers bled freely.
“A telegram,” cried the Doctor.
“Yes. Take it, Clive,” said Dinah slowly, but evidently rapidly recovering her strength. “It is the message I received from you that day.”
“I sent no message,” he cried, as he hastily read the stained slip, and caught the words “come” – “meet me” – some figures “P.M.,” and his name in full – “Clive Reed.”
“A forgery!” he cried wildly, as the truth flashed upon him. “There is no postal mark upon it. I did not send this lie.”
“No?” said Dinah faintly, as the look of despair grew more marked in her eyes. “I have thought since that I had been deceived, but I felt that I would sooner die than you should not know the truth.” Then she turned pale and shrank to her father’s side, as a spasm of rage shot through Clive Reed.
“Jessop again!” he whispered hoarsely to the Doctor; and his fingers crooked, and he held out his hands as if about to spring at another’s throat. Then he reeled, but recovered himself with an exultant cry, for a voice came loudly to their ears from round the buttress toward the mine.
“Curse you! I will. The police shall stop that.”
“No; you don’t get away,” cried another voice; and Dinah turned of a sickly white. “Stop, you! and let’s have it out, or I’ll heave you down below. Blast you! I tell you she was my lass – before you and your cursed brother came in the way. Mine, I tell you. – Ah! just in time!”
Sturgess uttered a savage laugh, and he stopped short facing the little group upon the shelf, and holding on by Jessop’s collar, in spite of the latter’s struggles to get free.
“Look here, all of you. This man, my servant – you are witnesses – he has threatened my life. I go in fear of him. I’ll have him in charge. I go in fear, I tell you.”
