The White Virgin

by George Manville Fenn

The pallor had gone now from her cheeks, which became flushed by a couple of red spots, as she felt irritated and indignant at her childish fears. But all the same she could not conceal from herself the fact that there was peril; and now, full of energy, she went quickly from room to room and made sure that every window and door was really secure, before hurrying up to the different chambers and examining the casement fastenings. She then descended to the lower floor of the little fortress to stand and think, asking herself whether her alarms were childish and only the effect of imagination after all.

But she was fain to confess that they were not. She had too strong grounds in fact for her dread, and the incidents of the previous night and that evening showed her that the man she dreaded was as unscrupulous as he was daring.

At last came bitter repentance for her weakness. Had she summoned up the courage to speak, and told all to her father, he would have taken steps to guard her from future danger.

She shuddered at the thought, and the colour in her cheeks deepened as she conjured up scenes such as she had heard of in the past.

Too late now; and she felt this, but that if the trouble were repeated she could not have acted otherwise. And now it was of the present that she had to think. There was no help to be expected from Martha, but, in the energy of despair, she went to the woman’s side, shook her, and spoke loudly with lips close to her ear. Then fetching water, she bathed the sleeper’s temples, for, rid of the sensation that her acts were watched, she worked with spirit.

But all was in vain; Martha slept heavily, her breathing sounding regular and deep.

Two or three times over Dinah ceased her efforts, and stood listening, startled by the different sounds of the storm gathering in the mountains. But she grew firmer now minute by minute, and quietly analysed each sound she heard. This was only the drip of the rain from the eaves on the stones below, although it resembled wonderfully the fall of feet. That was no rustling of a body forcing a way through the shrubs, but the work of a gust of wind bending down the little cypress, and making the clematis stream out upon the black darkness.

There was every token of a rough night in the hills, for ever and anon after a lull, the wind hissed and whistled at the windows, and rumbled in the chimneys after the fashion familiar in winter. But as she told herself, there was nothing in this to fear.

Feeling that Martha must be left to finish her heavy sleep, and after seeing that she could not injure herself if alone, Dinah went back with the light to the little drawing-room, where, after an uneasy glance at the window, she satisfied herself that she could not, by any possibility, be watched, and sat down to read.

The effort was vain: not a line of the page was understood, but scenes and faces were called up. Clive’s looking lovingly into her eyes, with that frank, manly gaze, before which her own fell and her cheeks reddened. Then that meeting on the mountain path, when on her way home and alone, for the dog had left her and gone off in pursuit of a hare.