The White Virgin

“Good!” cried the Major sharply, clapping the young man on the shoulder, and drawing him into the room. “Sit down and swallow a cup of coffee, my lad. You’ve had no breakfast. Dinah, my child, be a woman. We’ll go over at once. No. You and Martha make a bed for him in my study. I’ll have him carried here. He cannot stay at that noisy mine.”

“Yes – yes,” said Dinah, in a whisper, as with trembling hands she hurriedly placed the coffee before the messenger. “Martha will get that ready, father. I must come too.”

“No, no, my child! – well, yes, you may be of use. Be quick, then. In a minute we must be off.” Then, as Dinah ran up to her room, he went to the study and returned hastily, placing something in his breast.

“Old soldiers know a little about surgery, Mr Robson,” he said. “It will be a couple of hours before the doctor can get to the mine.”

“Three, sir.”

“Perhaps, and I may be of use.”

“I thought you would come, sir,” said Robson, as he hurriedly appeased his hunger. “There’s something wrong, too, at the mine, so one of the principal men says, but I didn’t stop to hear what it was, for I was coming on here.”

“Curse the mine!” roared the Major; “let’s think of poor Mr Reed. Ah, that’s right, my dear,” he cried sharply, as Dinah came into the room, looking very white, but firm and determined. “Ready, Mr Robson?”

“Quite, sir,” said the messenger, starting up.

“Tell Martha, my dear?”

Dinah nodded. She could not speak, and the next minute they were down by the river, and then ascended the mountain path, walking quickly along the narrow shelf, with thrill after thrill passing through the girl, as she went by the spot where Clive had struck the paper she had offered him from her hand; and this was supplemented by a suffocating feeling of despair as they reached the cool, dark, shady cutting, tunnelled out in the precipitous cliff. Here she glanced wildly at the spot where she had flown, as she believed, to her lover’s arms, and rested in them for a moment, murmuring her delight that he had come.

There was a heavy dull pulsation in her brain, as she passed on with her father out into the sunshine once again, deafening her to the words he spoke from time to time, while the mountain side seemed to swim around before her and the purple heather to rise and fall in waves till the gap was reached. That pathway to the mine chasm with all its host of terrible recollections brought her back to the present with a shock, and she walked down it clinging to her father’s arm.

She shivered and felt cold now as she gazed wildly before her. It was wonderfully changed, but the salient points were the same, and she hardly noted the many buildings which had sprung up, but gazed excitedly round, expecting moment by moment that her eyes would light upon the fierce mocking face of Sturgess; while by a strange confusion of ideas, the beating of her heart seemed to form itself into the heavy steps of the man from whom she fled panting with horror, coming in rapid pursuit.

She started nervously again and again, as the figure of some sturdy workman passed before them, coming or going from different portions of the busy hive, where a steam-engine was panting heavily, or a huge pump toiled on tossing out the water from the depths of the mine to run gurgling along by the side of the path they followed.

At last the new-looking offices were reached, and a group of workmen drew away to let them pass, while Dinah gazed round nervously, clinging more tightly now to her father’s arm, feeling sure that in another moment or two she must face the man she feared.

A spasm shot through her, as Robson exclaimed sharply —

“How is he?”

And she strained her ears for the answer from a man in the doorway.

“Just the same, sir. He hasn’t moved.”

The next question turned her giddy.

“Where is Sturgess – in his room?”

“No, sir. He got up when they told him, and went down the mine.”

“Why, he wasn’t fit to stir! This way, sir.”

Robson led them into his room; and there Dinah fell upon her knees beside a mattress, upon which, pale and stern, with his head enveloped in a broad bandage, lay Clive Reed, his eyes half-closed, and his lips moving as he went on muttering incoherently; while as Dinah bent down over him, she heard her name faintly whispered.

For a moment she believed that it was in recognition of her presence, and her heart gave one great leap of joy. But it sank down directly into a slow, feeble beat, as she grasped only too truly that the speaker was delirious, and there was a look in his face which sent a terrible foreboding to her heart.

“Let him not die, O God, without knowing that I was his very own,” she moaned to herself, as an intense longing came over her to clasp him tightly to her heart.

Then she gave way, and rose with a low sigh, as her father said sternly —

“Let me come, my child. Minutes are precious. At all costs we will get him away from here.”

What followed was like a dream, but she heard the Major’s sharp military voice as he gave decisive commands. She saw him remove the bandage and replace it with another well saturated with water, and then as she stood back, she saw four sturdy, willing men stoop down at her father’s order, each take a corner of the thin, narrow mattress upon which Clive lay, and keeping step, bear him out of the place and along the path toward the entrance of the gap. Then she was conscious that she was walking behind in the little procession, with the Major grasping her arm, and carrying a large bottle of water.

“It is the best way,” he said, “and he will see the doctor all the sooner, for he must pass us on his way from Blinkdale.”

The little procession went steadily on, Robson leaving them now, and Dinah’s breath came more freely as they reached the mouth of the gap, and turned round on to the path without Sturgess having been seen. In this fashion they made their way steadily on to the cottage, the Major calling a halt, so that he could saturate the bandage from time to time. But the little ambulance party had hardly passed out of sight of the mine entrance, when in answer to the signal the engine gear began to work, the wire rope ran over the wheel as it revolved rapidly, till with a sudden clang the ascending cage reached the platform and Sturgess stepped out, with his arm and shoulder roughly bound up, and with a wild look in his eyes as they burned feverishly above his hollow, pallid cheeks.

The captain of one of the underground gangs stepped out after him, and laying a hand upon his arm, said quietly —

“You take my advice, Mr Sturgess; that place is turning ugly. You go and lie down again, and let the doctor see it when he comes.”

“You hold your tongue for a fool,” said Sturgess savagely; and then he made a lurch as if he had turned giddy, but he recovered himself directly. “Here, some of you: where’s Mr Jessop Reed?”

“I told you,” said Robson, who came up just then, “he has gone to town.”

“It’s a lie!” said Sturgess. “He wouldn’t have gone without telling me.”

“Then he told it himself on paper,” said Robson coolly. “I read you what he said.”

“And it’s a lie, and so is what Smithers says like a fool.”

“Ah! you told me there was something wrong below just as I was off this morning,” said Robson eagerly. “Nobody hurt, Smithers?”

“Nobody hurt?” said the man, with a coarse laugh; “well, I suppose everybody concerned. It’s a general burst up, Mr Robson.”

“A lie. All a lie,” said Sturgess, stretching out his hands and groping as if to save himself from falling. “All a big flam.”

“Is it? you’ll see,” muttered the captain.

“A lie, I say!” growled Sturgess, half-deliriously, as he looked round from one to the other, pressing his hand to his heated shoulder all the while. “A lie, I say, to frighten the people into selling their shares, and they did, the fools. Bah! The ‘White Virgin’s’ the richest mine in England, and I’ll break the neck of any one who says it arn’t!”

“No, you won’t break anybody’s neck,” said the man gravely, “unless it’s your own, Mr Sturgess, and unless you take care you’re going to be very badly. It’s all true, Mr Sturgess. I thought that lode couldn’t go on yielding like it did.”

“In Heaven’s name, man, what do you mean?” cried Robson.

“Only this, sir: we’ve come upon a blind lead.”

“What?”

“The lode has stopped dead in the rock, and we can’t find any more trace of it. Nothing but the stone, and I don’t believe there’ll be another scrap of ore ever found.”

“A blind lead,” cried Robson, astounded.

“Yes, sir, that’s it; and if Mr Clive Reed holds any shares still it’s a cruel bit of news for him. As for the other chaps – well, they can take their chance. – Ah, I thought so!”