He came to Dinah. "My dear," he said, and his voice was slightly shaky,
"you shouldn't be here."
She stood before him, pillar-like, her two hands clenched against her
sides. Her lips were quite livid. They moved soundlessly for several
seconds before she spoke. "I--was waiting--for the express."
Her voice was flat and emotionless. It sounded almost as if she were
talking in her sleep. And strangely it was that that shocked Scott even
more than her appearance. Dinah's voice had always held countless
inflections, little notes gay or sad like the trill of a robin. This was
the voice of a woman in whom the very last spark of hope was quenched.
It pierced him with an intolerable pain. "Dinah--Dinah!" he said. "For
God's sake, child, you don't mean--that!"
Her white, pinched face twisted in a dreadful smile. "Why not?" she said.
"There was no other way." And then a sudden quiver as of returning life
went through her. "Why did you stop me?" she said. "If you hadn't, it
would have been--all over by now."
He put out a quick hand. "Don't say it,--in heaven's name! You are not
yourself. Come--come into the wood, and we will talk!"
She did not take his hand. "Can't we talk here?" she said.
He composed himself with an effort. "No, certainly not. Come into the
wood!"
He spoke with quiet insistence. She gave him an inscrutable look.
"You think you are going to help me,--Mr.
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