He went on after a moment with that gentle philosophy
of his that seemed to soften all he said. "She is as one nearing the end
of a long journey, and she is very tired, poor girl. We can't grudge her
her rest--when it comes. Eustace wants to rouse her, but I think the time
for that is past. It is kinder--it is wiser--to let her alone."
Dinah drew a little nearer to him. "Do you mean--that you think she won't
live very long?" she whispered.
"If you like to put it that way," Scott answered quietly.
"Oh, but what of you?" she said.
She uttered the words almost involuntarily, and the next moment she would
have recalled them, for she saw his face change. For a second--only a
second--she read suffering in his eyes. But he answered her without
hesitation.
"I shall just keep on, Dinah," he said. "It's the only way. But, as I
think I've mentioned before, it's no good meeting troubles half-way. The
day's work is all that really matters."
They walked on for a space in silence; then as they drew near the house
he changed the subject. But that brief shadow of a coming desolation
dwelt in Dinah's memory with a persistence that defied all lesser things.
He was brave enough, cheery enough, in the shouldering of his burden; but
her heart ached when she realized how heavy that burden must be.
A message awaited her at the house that she would go to Isabel in her
sitting-room, and she went, half-eager, half-diffident.
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