The dance-music was still floating through the passages with a mocking allurement.  The tramp of feet and laughter of many voices rose with it.  A flicker of irony passed over his drawn face.  He straightened his collar with absolute steadiness, and moved away in the direction of his own room.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE CAPTIVE

Isabel uttered no reproaches to her charge as, quivering with shame, she returned from her escapade.  She exchanged no more than a low “Good night!” with Scott, and then turned back into the room with Dinah.  But as the latter stood before her, crest-fallen and humiliated, expecting a reprimand, she only laid very gentle hands upon her and began to unfasten her dress.

“I wasn’t spying upon you, dear child,” she said.  “I only looked in to see if you would care for a cup of milk last thing.”

That broke Dinah utterly and overwhelmingly.  In her contrition, she cast herself literally at Isabel’s feet.  “Oh, what a beast I am!  What a beast!” she sobbed.  “Will you ever forgive me?  I shall never forgive myself!”

Isabel was very tender with her, checking her wild outburst with loving words.  She asked no question as to what had been happening, for which forbearance Dinah’s gratitude was great even though it served to intensify her remorse.  With all a mother’s loving care she soothed her, assuring her of complete forgiveness and understanding.

“I did wild things in my own girlhood,” she said.  “I know what it means, dear, when temptation comes.”

And so at last she calmed her agitation, and helped her to bed, waiting upon her with the utmost gentleness, saying no word of blame or even of admonition.

Not till she had gone, did it dawn upon Dinah that this task had probably been left to Scott, and with the thought a great dread of the morrow came upon her.  Though he had betrayed no hint of displeasure, she felt convinced that she had incurred it; and all her new-born shyness in his presence, returned upon her a thousandfold.  She did not know how she would face him when the morning came.

He would not be angry she knew.  He would not scold her like Colonel de Vigne.  But yet she shrank from the thought of his disappointment in her as she had never before shrunk from the Colonel’s rebuke.  She was sure that she had forfeited his good opinion for ever, and many and bitter were the tears that she shed over her loss.

Her thoughts of Eustace were of too confused a nature to be put into coherent form.  The moment they turned in his direction her brain became a flashing whirl in which doubts, fears, and terrible ectasies ran wild riot.  She lay and trembled at the memory of his strength, exulting almost in the same moment that he had stooped with such mastery to possess her.  His magnificence dazzled her, deprived her of all powers of rational judgment.  She only realized that she—­and she alone—­had been singled out of the crowd for that fiery worship; and it seemed to her that she had been created for that one splendid purpose.