It was not by her own desire that she stood to listen.  The anguish of that voice held her, so that she was powerless to move.

“O God!  O God!” The words pierced her with their entreaty; it was a cry from the very depths.  “The mistake was mine.  Let me bear the consequences!  But save her—­O save her—­from further suffering!” A momentary silence, and then, more desperately still:  “O God—­if Thou art anywhere—­hear—­and help!  Let me bear whatever Thou wilt!  But spare her—­spare her!  She has borne so much!”

A terrible sob choked the gasping utterance.  There fell a silence so tense, so poignant with pain, that the girl upon the threshold trembled as one physically afraid.  Yet she could not turn and flee.  She felt as if it were laid upon her to stand and witness this awful struggle of a soul in torment.  But that it should be Scott—­the wise, the confident, the unafraid—­passing alone through this place of desolation, sent the blood to her heart in a great wave of consternation.  If Scott failed—­if the sword of Greatheart were broken—­it seemed to her that nothing could be left in all the world, as if even the coming Dawn must be buried in darkness.

Was it for Isabel he was praying thus?  She supposed it must be, though she had felt all through this night of waiting that no prayer was needed.  Isabel was so near the mountain-top that surely she was safe—­nearer already to God than any of their prayers could bring her.

And yet Scott was wrestling here as one overwhelmed with evil.  Wherefore?  Wherefore?  The steady faith of this good friend of hers had never to her knowledge flickered before.  What had happened to shake him thus?

He was praying again, more coherently but in words so low that they were scarcely audible.  She crept a little nearer, and now she could see him, kneeling at the table, his head sunk upon it, his arms flung wide with clenched fists that seemed impotently to beat the air.

“I’m praying all wrong,” he whispered.  “Forgive me, but I’m all in the dark to-night.  Thou knowest, Lord, how awful the dark can be.  I’m not asking for an answer.  Only guide our feet!  Deliver us from evil—­deliver her—­O God—­deliver my Dinah—­by that love which is of Thee and which nothing will ever alter!  If I may not help her, give me strength—­to stand aside!”

A great shiver went through him; he gripped his hands together suddenly and passionately.

“O my God,” he groaned, “it’s the hardest thing on earth—­to stand and do nothing—­when I love her so.”

Something seemed to give way within him with the words.  His shoulders shook convulsively.  He buried his face in his arms.

And in that moment the power that had stayed Dinah upon the threshold suddenly urged her forward.

Almost before she realized it, she was there at his side, stooping over him, holding him—­holding him fast in a clasp that was free from any hesitation or fear, a clasp in which all her pulsing womanhood rushed forth to him, exulting, glorying in its self-betrayal.