Chapter Nine.Poker and Philosophy.There were few Americans on the Fields, scarcely a score, but you heard from each one of them, as an individual, and soon learned on what footing you must meet him. Were he a gentleman from the “States,” if you had not heard of that country, he had, and could give you information about it, from its present commander-in-chief to the one who in early days first held aloft the screaming eagle—that invincible bird!—a man like himself in one particular—he could not tell a lie. That is to say, if you dared to doubt his word, you could immediately have a chance to choose your weapons.He was celebrated for his talent in forming stock companies, then running up the price of shares and quietly selling out; after which, intimating that he needed a vacation, he would return to the States, leaving the bubble to burst after his departure.Sometimes he was known as a physician who, with his patent medicines, pretended to successfully combat those African fevers which English flesh is heir to; or a surgeon of skill, with instruments acknowledged to be as keen as Damascus blades, compared with those with which his English professional brother was “handicapped.”He was not less renowned for playing a beautiful hand at the (so-called) American national game of Poker, and for teaching some highly intellectual emissary of Duke of This and Lord That, who had come out to speculate for their Serene Highnesses, how neatly the game could be played, provided they took a few lessons, and paid well for them.Among the few Americans on the Fields none stood higher in public favour than the really skilful surgeon, Dr Fox, who took a deep interest in all public matters.Dr Fox was sitting in his office puffing at his briar-wood, and thinking of—nothing; a subject which he made it a point to reflect on daily, at least one hour of his sixteen waking ones.He had knocked around the world a good deal, and now, among people from everywhere, was “settled” for the time at Kimberley. Strange as it may seem, it was no less a fact, that right here amidst the most intense excitement of an easily excited population he had suddenly stumbled across a thought. That thought was not to think: here where everybody was thinking and thinking, he thought of the thought—not to think. To give his brain a rest, he stopped thinking in the very midst of a deep thought. Great scheme!This idea came to him something in this wise. He had been walking until he became very tired. Wanting to rest, and not being near a convenient hotel, or at home, or in any place where he could go to bed, he sat down, pulled out his pipe, lit it, and smoked. As he smoked he thought; he had not yet learned how not to think.“My body rests while sitting: I do not always go to sleep to rest. Why not sit down for an hour, and think of nothing, and rest my brain by vacancy, instead of sleep?”He did so. While resting his body by keeping still, he rested his brain by not thinking. When the hour expired he said to himself:“To think constantly on one subject, will relax our hold on it. Given a subject we think and think on it, until all the grip of the brain is lost. I’ll give the grey matter a rest.”On this evening, his hour for meditating on nothing was interrupted by a visit from Herr Schwatka and Major Kildare.“Good evening, Doctor.”“Good evening, gentlemen; glad to see you. Cool night this, after such a hot day. These African nights are glorious. Step inside,” and the doctor led the way to his private room. “Now, with your permission, I will mix you a concoction, the secret of which I learned in New York; ’tis a nectar fit for—men,” and turning to the sideboard loaded with lemons, spices, and cooling beverages, he commenced to prepare the summer drink whose delights he had extolled.“Do you know,” said Kildare, “I have not tasted a drop of palatable water since I’ve been on the Fields?”“I have had many encounters with the water question, and have subdued, but not yet conquered it. I had a barrel brought from the Dam yesterday. The brownish liquid you see in that jar is some of it. Don’t look so disgusted, Major, the little water you will drink in the compound I am mixing has been filtered through that Faitje of powdered charcoal,” and the doctor pointed to a bag suspended from the ceiling of an adjoining room.Major Kildare was a retired English officer, who had been sent, as Agent of his Grace the Duke of Graberg, to purchase from the unsuspecting Boers, at nominal sums, their Transvaal farms on which he knew there was gold. Many of these farms were valueless stone mountains, but if His Grace the Duke allowed his name to appear at the head of the great South African gold mining company, it must be a good thing to invest in.The Agent had an original idea—so he thought—as to the way a certain game of cards should be played, suggested by an American Diplomat at the Court of Saint James, from whom he had taken several expensive lessons.He unfolded his scheme to the two gentlemen present, and proposed a practical exhibition of his science. Dr Fox, having limited the game to eleven o’clock, at which hour he had an appointment with two other M.D.’s, for an important consultation, consented, and then proceeded to become initiated in the mysteries of the game of Poker, as taught by an Englishman, and in endeavouring to graduate in it, lost several large sums of money. The three played until Herr Schwatka protested that he was no match for the other two, and withdrew from the game.The Yankee Doctor soon began to exhibit signs of having known—perhaps in some pre-historic existence which he was just beginning to remember—something of how the game should be played himself.“Doctor,” said Schwatka, “if I could develop so great a talent as you have, in so short a time, at a game you seemed to know but little of, I should stop giving medicine for a living.”“Ah! would you,” replied the doctor. “I rarely do give medicine. Five out of every ten physicians give their patients medicine simply to follow traditions. The friend of my boyhood, old Dr Snow, used to say, that giving medicine to a patient, is like going into a dark room where your friend is in mortal combat with an enemy. All is dark, not a ray of light to distinguish friend from foe. You raise a club and strike in the location of the struggle. If you miss your friend and hit his foe, your friend is saved!”“The deal is with you, Doctor.”“Excuse me for talking shop, though you’ll have to charge that to Herr Schwatka,” said the doctor, dealing. “How many cards, Major?”“Two.”“I’ll chance one.”“What is it that makes people sick?” continued Schwatka.“It is often fear that makes people ill. They fear this and fear that; their thoughts dwell upon a dread disease, or they apprehend some danger in business affairs, until their thoughts are so saturated with the dread, that it is impossible to escape from it.”“This looks good for a pound,” put in the major.“I’ll see that and raise you five,” said the doctor.“I’ll see that five and go you five better,” said Kildare.“I’ll see that and raise you ten,” returned the doctor.“Call you, Doctor. You can’t scare me with a bob-tail flush.” The doctor threw his cards in the pack. The major smiled as he raked in the stakes, and asked the doctor to continue on his theory.“Many men,” he observed, “of supposed integrity on the Fields, are illicit diamond buyers. They are constantly haunted by the fear of detection, and they will try to deceive themselves into the belief that the dread that is eating them up is some liver or stomach trouble, and they come to the doctor for relief. That they are tracked by this invisible foe no further proof is needed than the fact that last year six of our leading business men committed suicide. Fear is a ghost which stalks to and fro over the earth, forever haunting the imaginations of men.”“Raise you a fiver,” called the major.“See that, and ten better,” replied the doctor.“Call you, doctor.”“Queens.”“Never bet on the women, Doctor; Kings.”“Heavy betting for so light a hand,” remarked Herr Schwatka.“I’ve won a thousand with a smaller. It’s sand, not cards, that wins at Poker. Half past ten!—as I have to be present at an interesting surgical operation, within the next hour, I think we had better discontinue our game.”
There were few Americans on the Fields, scarcely a score, but you heard from each one of them, as an individual, and soon learned on what footing you must meet him. Were he a gentleman from the “States,” if you had not heard of that country, he had, and could give you information about it, from its present commander-in-chief to the one who in early days first held aloft the screaming eagle—that invincible bird!—a man like himself in one particular—he could not tell a lie. That is to say, if you dared to doubt his word, you could immediately have a chance to choose your weapons.
He was celebrated for his talent in forming stock companies, then running up the price of shares and quietly selling out; after which, intimating that he needed a vacation, he would return to the States, leaving the bubble to burst after his departure.
Sometimes he was known as a physician who, with his patent medicines, pretended to successfully combat those African fevers which English flesh is heir to; or a surgeon of skill, with instruments acknowledged to be as keen as Damascus blades, compared with those with which his English professional brother was “handicapped.”
He was not less renowned for playing a beautiful hand at the (so-called) American national game of Poker, and for teaching some highly intellectual emissary of Duke of This and Lord That, who had come out to speculate for their Serene Highnesses, how neatly the game could be played, provided they took a few lessons, and paid well for them.
Among the few Americans on the Fields none stood higher in public favour than the really skilful surgeon, Dr Fox, who took a deep interest in all public matters.
Dr Fox was sitting in his office puffing at his briar-wood, and thinking of—nothing; a subject which he made it a point to reflect on daily, at least one hour of his sixteen waking ones.
He had knocked around the world a good deal, and now, among people from everywhere, was “settled” for the time at Kimberley. Strange as it may seem, it was no less a fact, that right here amidst the most intense excitement of an easily excited population he had suddenly stumbled across a thought. That thought was not to think: here where everybody was thinking and thinking, he thought of the thought—not to think. To give his brain a rest, he stopped thinking in the very midst of a deep thought. Great scheme!
This idea came to him something in this wise. He had been walking until he became very tired. Wanting to rest, and not being near a convenient hotel, or at home, or in any place where he could go to bed, he sat down, pulled out his pipe, lit it, and smoked. As he smoked he thought; he had not yet learned how not to think.
“My body rests while sitting: I do not always go to sleep to rest. Why not sit down for an hour, and think of nothing, and rest my brain by vacancy, instead of sleep?”
He did so. While resting his body by keeping still, he rested his brain by not thinking. When the hour expired he said to himself:
“To think constantly on one subject, will relax our hold on it. Given a subject we think and think on it, until all the grip of the brain is lost. I’ll give the grey matter a rest.”
On this evening, his hour for meditating on nothing was interrupted by a visit from Herr Schwatka and Major Kildare.
“Good evening, Doctor.”
“Good evening, gentlemen; glad to see you. Cool night this, after such a hot day. These African nights are glorious. Step inside,” and the doctor led the way to his private room. “Now, with your permission, I will mix you a concoction, the secret of which I learned in New York; ’tis a nectar fit for—men,” and turning to the sideboard loaded with lemons, spices, and cooling beverages, he commenced to prepare the summer drink whose delights he had extolled.
“Do you know,” said Kildare, “I have not tasted a drop of palatable water since I’ve been on the Fields?”
“I have had many encounters with the water question, and have subdued, but not yet conquered it. I had a barrel brought from the Dam yesterday. The brownish liquid you see in that jar is some of it. Don’t look so disgusted, Major, the little water you will drink in the compound I am mixing has been filtered through that Faitje of powdered charcoal,” and the doctor pointed to a bag suspended from the ceiling of an adjoining room.
Major Kildare was a retired English officer, who had been sent, as Agent of his Grace the Duke of Graberg, to purchase from the unsuspecting Boers, at nominal sums, their Transvaal farms on which he knew there was gold. Many of these farms were valueless stone mountains, but if His Grace the Duke allowed his name to appear at the head of the great South African gold mining company, it must be a good thing to invest in.
The Agent had an original idea—so he thought—as to the way a certain game of cards should be played, suggested by an American Diplomat at the Court of Saint James, from whom he had taken several expensive lessons.
He unfolded his scheme to the two gentlemen present, and proposed a practical exhibition of his science. Dr Fox, having limited the game to eleven o’clock, at which hour he had an appointment with two other M.D.’s, for an important consultation, consented, and then proceeded to become initiated in the mysteries of the game of Poker, as taught by an Englishman, and in endeavouring to graduate in it, lost several large sums of money. The three played until Herr Schwatka protested that he was no match for the other two, and withdrew from the game.
The Yankee Doctor soon began to exhibit signs of having known—perhaps in some pre-historic existence which he was just beginning to remember—something of how the game should be played himself.
“Doctor,” said Schwatka, “if I could develop so great a talent as you have, in so short a time, at a game you seemed to know but little of, I should stop giving medicine for a living.”
“Ah! would you,” replied the doctor. “I rarely do give medicine. Five out of every ten physicians give their patients medicine simply to follow traditions. The friend of my boyhood, old Dr Snow, used to say, that giving medicine to a patient, is like going into a dark room where your friend is in mortal combat with an enemy. All is dark, not a ray of light to distinguish friend from foe. You raise a club and strike in the location of the struggle. If you miss your friend and hit his foe, your friend is saved!”
“The deal is with you, Doctor.”
“Excuse me for talking shop, though you’ll have to charge that to Herr Schwatka,” said the doctor, dealing. “How many cards, Major?”
“Two.”
“I’ll chance one.”
“What is it that makes people sick?” continued Schwatka.
“It is often fear that makes people ill. They fear this and fear that; their thoughts dwell upon a dread disease, or they apprehend some danger in business affairs, until their thoughts are so saturated with the dread, that it is impossible to escape from it.”
“This looks good for a pound,” put in the major.
“I’ll see that and raise you five,” said the doctor.
“I’ll see that five and go you five better,” said Kildare.
“I’ll see that and raise you ten,” returned the doctor.
“Call you, Doctor. You can’t scare me with a bob-tail flush.” The doctor threw his cards in the pack. The major smiled as he raked in the stakes, and asked the doctor to continue on his theory.
“Many men,” he observed, “of supposed integrity on the Fields, are illicit diamond buyers. They are constantly haunted by the fear of detection, and they will try to deceive themselves into the belief that the dread that is eating them up is some liver or stomach trouble, and they come to the doctor for relief. That they are tracked by this invisible foe no further proof is needed than the fact that last year six of our leading business men committed suicide. Fear is a ghost which stalks to and fro over the earth, forever haunting the imaginations of men.”
“Raise you a fiver,” called the major.
“See that, and ten better,” replied the doctor.
“Call you, doctor.”
“Queens.”
“Never bet on the women, Doctor; Kings.”
“Heavy betting for so light a hand,” remarked Herr Schwatka.
“I’ve won a thousand with a smaller. It’s sand, not cards, that wins at Poker. Half past ten!—as I have to be present at an interesting surgical operation, within the next hour, I think we had better discontinue our game.”
Chapter Ten.An Explosion or Two.“We have time for a game or two yet, Doctor, and let us make it a Jack-pot,” said the major.“All right. I’ll open it for a pound,” said the doctor, looking at two cards.“How many cards will you have?”“I’ll stand pat.”“I’ll take three.”“Major, I think these are worth a fiver.”“Mine are worth ten.”“Well, let me see. I’ll see that ten and raise you twenty.”“Kilters won’t work in a Jack-pot. I think you’re bluffing with that pat hand.”“It will only cost you twenty pounds more to find out.”“I’ll see that twenty and raise you fifty,” said the major.“There is your fifty, and one hundred on top. Now your curiosity may be more expensive. I think it will take all that to make me even,” rejoined the doctor. The Englishman hesitated, and raised it another hundred.“Well, here goes; I’ll call you. I don’t like high play among friends, Major. What have you got?”The major dropped three kings and two aces. The doctor showed four sixes.“I thought you played with sand, and not with cards, Doctor,” remarked the major, sarcastically.“They are both useful in the game of poker,” replied the doctor as he tipped back in his chair.The major’s face showed signs of annoyance, but with a forced calmness he said:“It is early yet; shall we not continue?”“I think we have played long enough for one sitting,” responded the doctor. “It is eleven now; recollect my consultation. I trust you may have better luck next time.”“I hardly think it quite square to quit, and I so heavy a loser.”“I am not accustomed to having my squareness questioned, Major. My record here and elsewhere shows no entry of unfair play; but we will not continue this line of conversation. Gentlemen, you are my guests.”“Herr Schwatka is your friend, and mine. He shall settle the question,” continued the major, turning to Schwatka.“I beg you, gentlemen,” said Schwatka, “to arrange this matter without any quarrel.”“Herr Schwatka,” said the doctor, slowly, “there will be no quarrel. It takes two to make one, and I shall not be a party. I merely say, that long play, and high play, tends to mar friendship, and we cannot afford to be other than friends.”“Dr Fox, I regret that I have met a card sharper, instead of a gentleman,” cried the major, choking with rage.“Major, do not lose your temper so cheaply. Name your loss and I will return the sum to you.”The brow of Kildare clouded as black as night, and he fiercely exclaimed:“Do you mean to insult me, sir? I am no beggar to ask alms. You add insult to injury, and shall answer for it.”He and Schwatka had risen to their feet during this heated colloquy. The doctor alone remained seated.Leaning his arm on the table he said, in a low and firm voice:“Major, you and I cannot afford to fight. All know you are a brave man. Your courage, as the world interprets that sentiment, no one would question.”The quiet, unimpassioned tone of Dr Fox seemed to subdue the fiery major, who resumed his seat as the doctor proceeded: “My definition of the word ‘courage’ differs widely from the general acceptation of its meaning. Why does the commander of a regiment rush to the front, and lead his men to the charge? Paradoxical as it may seem, fear, fear is the impelling force; fear lest he be thought a coward. I have looked down the barrel of a shot-gun, in a country where men go gunning for men, as you do for chance hits at fledgelings at the game of poker.”Here the doctor rose, and proceeded to the sideboard; as he mixed a drink, he continued:“I am alone in the world, with no family ties. You have a wife and family. Would it he a heroic act for me to accept a challenge from you and perchance kill you? No, Major, I confess I am too much of a coward to meet the anguished looks of those whom my hand had widowed and orphaned. If you will drop in here any evening, I shall be pleased to give you the opportunity of getting even.”Before Kildare could reply, a terrific roar and cannonading smote the air. The three men gazed in silence at each other, with astonishment depicted on their faces. As the cannonading continued, they rushed to the door, and there in the bright moonlight perceived a column of smoke rising to the height of near a thousand feet.Looking at it, Schwatka exclaimed: “The unexpected is constantly occurring in this town. Earthquakes shake the mine, causing the reef to fall, thereby covering up valuable ground which must be laboriously unearthed again. Explosions in the mines follow on the heels of some accident caused by machinery giving way, and so it goes on,ad infinitum. What’s this last infernal noise about, I wonder?”This disturbance was beyond the understanding of those men, who had forgotten all their differences of the evening, in gazing at that strange and monstrous cloud rising in the air, and hanging over them with threatening aspect, as if it would descend upon the town and destroy it.As the noise continued, they went out into the compound, and walked in the direction of the sound.The midnight hour is devoted to blasting in the mines, but it was not yet midnight. Hastening on their way to the scene of the cannonading, a man approached, leading Mrs Laure’s favourite servant, Bela. He was covered with blood, and, holding his hand to his face, moaned piteously. The doctor perceived that the boy’s face had been terribly torn by a flying missile.“What is the cause of all this noise?” asked the doctor.“The powder magazines are blown up,” replied the man.“Which ones?”“The whole thirty.”“What do you say? Not thirty tons of dynamite?”“Yes, together with the gelatine and the cartridges. You needn’t go any further, this boy needs your attention. I will leave him in your care, Doctor, and return to the scene of the disaster.”“I will go with you,” said Kildare. Dr Fox, accompanied by Herr Schwatka, returned to his office with Bela. On examining the boy, the doctor found it necessary to use his surgical skill on the boy’s eye, which had been torn from its socket.“Well, Bela,” said Schwatka, “this is a sorry piece of business, but as one of your most interesting characteristics is lack of beauty, your value may be enhanced by the loss of an optic! Your mistress will be sorry to lose you, for she could not endure to see you around her disfigured in this way.” He left Bela with the doctor, and sauntered out. After Schwatka had gone, Dr Fox gazed some time at Bela, then sat down and wrote a letter to a London oculist, ready for that day’s English mail, ordering a glass eye for Bela, to be sent to him immediately.“Yes,” mused the doctor, “I can place an artificial eye in that socket, that will make you again presentable,” and taking the boy by the hand, accompanied him to the hospital, and placed him in charge of those self-sacrificing women, who devote their lives to the alleviation of human pain, utterly forgetful of self, in the divine love which shines through them.Although Bela was called “boy” by many, he was nearly forty years of age. It is the custom of the white men to call the blacks “boys,” in speaking to them.Bela was a “Bosjesman” or Bushman, with features of the negro type, and short crispy black hair. He was about four feet in height, being one of a race of pigmies, now nearly extinct. They are the oldest race known in Africa. Though living in the midst of foreign tribes of warriors of large stature, their traditions tell of a mighty nation who dwelt in caves and holes in the ground, who were great elephant hunters, and who used poisoned arrows in warfare.
“We have time for a game or two yet, Doctor, and let us make it a Jack-pot,” said the major.
“All right. I’ll open it for a pound,” said the doctor, looking at two cards.
“How many cards will you have?”
“I’ll stand pat.”
“I’ll take three.”
“Major, I think these are worth a fiver.”
“Mine are worth ten.”
“Well, let me see. I’ll see that ten and raise you twenty.”
“Kilters won’t work in a Jack-pot. I think you’re bluffing with that pat hand.”
“It will only cost you twenty pounds more to find out.”
“I’ll see that twenty and raise you fifty,” said the major.
“There is your fifty, and one hundred on top. Now your curiosity may be more expensive. I think it will take all that to make me even,” rejoined the doctor. The Englishman hesitated, and raised it another hundred.
“Well, here goes; I’ll call you. I don’t like high play among friends, Major. What have you got?”
The major dropped three kings and two aces. The doctor showed four sixes.
“I thought you played with sand, and not with cards, Doctor,” remarked the major, sarcastically.
“They are both useful in the game of poker,” replied the doctor as he tipped back in his chair.
The major’s face showed signs of annoyance, but with a forced calmness he said:
“It is early yet; shall we not continue?”
“I think we have played long enough for one sitting,” responded the doctor. “It is eleven now; recollect my consultation. I trust you may have better luck next time.”
“I hardly think it quite square to quit, and I so heavy a loser.”
“I am not accustomed to having my squareness questioned, Major. My record here and elsewhere shows no entry of unfair play; but we will not continue this line of conversation. Gentlemen, you are my guests.”
“Herr Schwatka is your friend, and mine. He shall settle the question,” continued the major, turning to Schwatka.
“I beg you, gentlemen,” said Schwatka, “to arrange this matter without any quarrel.”
“Herr Schwatka,” said the doctor, slowly, “there will be no quarrel. It takes two to make one, and I shall not be a party. I merely say, that long play, and high play, tends to mar friendship, and we cannot afford to be other than friends.”
“Dr Fox, I regret that I have met a card sharper, instead of a gentleman,” cried the major, choking with rage.
“Major, do not lose your temper so cheaply. Name your loss and I will return the sum to you.”
The brow of Kildare clouded as black as night, and he fiercely exclaimed:
“Do you mean to insult me, sir? I am no beggar to ask alms. You add insult to injury, and shall answer for it.”
He and Schwatka had risen to their feet during this heated colloquy. The doctor alone remained seated.
Leaning his arm on the table he said, in a low and firm voice:
“Major, you and I cannot afford to fight. All know you are a brave man. Your courage, as the world interprets that sentiment, no one would question.”
The quiet, unimpassioned tone of Dr Fox seemed to subdue the fiery major, who resumed his seat as the doctor proceeded: “My definition of the word ‘courage’ differs widely from the general acceptation of its meaning. Why does the commander of a regiment rush to the front, and lead his men to the charge? Paradoxical as it may seem, fear, fear is the impelling force; fear lest he be thought a coward. I have looked down the barrel of a shot-gun, in a country where men go gunning for men, as you do for chance hits at fledgelings at the game of poker.”
Here the doctor rose, and proceeded to the sideboard; as he mixed a drink, he continued:
“I am alone in the world, with no family ties. You have a wife and family. Would it he a heroic act for me to accept a challenge from you and perchance kill you? No, Major, I confess I am too much of a coward to meet the anguished looks of those whom my hand had widowed and orphaned. If you will drop in here any evening, I shall be pleased to give you the opportunity of getting even.”
Before Kildare could reply, a terrific roar and cannonading smote the air. The three men gazed in silence at each other, with astonishment depicted on their faces. As the cannonading continued, they rushed to the door, and there in the bright moonlight perceived a column of smoke rising to the height of near a thousand feet.
Looking at it, Schwatka exclaimed: “The unexpected is constantly occurring in this town. Earthquakes shake the mine, causing the reef to fall, thereby covering up valuable ground which must be laboriously unearthed again. Explosions in the mines follow on the heels of some accident caused by machinery giving way, and so it goes on,ad infinitum. What’s this last infernal noise about, I wonder?”
This disturbance was beyond the understanding of those men, who had forgotten all their differences of the evening, in gazing at that strange and monstrous cloud rising in the air, and hanging over them with threatening aspect, as if it would descend upon the town and destroy it.
As the noise continued, they went out into the compound, and walked in the direction of the sound.
The midnight hour is devoted to blasting in the mines, but it was not yet midnight. Hastening on their way to the scene of the cannonading, a man approached, leading Mrs Laure’s favourite servant, Bela. He was covered with blood, and, holding his hand to his face, moaned piteously. The doctor perceived that the boy’s face had been terribly torn by a flying missile.
“What is the cause of all this noise?” asked the doctor.
“The powder magazines are blown up,” replied the man.
“Which ones?”
“The whole thirty.”
“What do you say? Not thirty tons of dynamite?”
“Yes, together with the gelatine and the cartridges. You needn’t go any further, this boy needs your attention. I will leave him in your care, Doctor, and return to the scene of the disaster.”
“I will go with you,” said Kildare. Dr Fox, accompanied by Herr Schwatka, returned to his office with Bela. On examining the boy, the doctor found it necessary to use his surgical skill on the boy’s eye, which had been torn from its socket.
“Well, Bela,” said Schwatka, “this is a sorry piece of business, but as one of your most interesting characteristics is lack of beauty, your value may be enhanced by the loss of an optic! Your mistress will be sorry to lose you, for she could not endure to see you around her disfigured in this way.” He left Bela with the doctor, and sauntered out. After Schwatka had gone, Dr Fox gazed some time at Bela, then sat down and wrote a letter to a London oculist, ready for that day’s English mail, ordering a glass eye for Bela, to be sent to him immediately.
“Yes,” mused the doctor, “I can place an artificial eye in that socket, that will make you again presentable,” and taking the boy by the hand, accompanied him to the hospital, and placed him in charge of those self-sacrificing women, who devote their lives to the alleviation of human pain, utterly forgetful of self, in the divine love which shines through them.
Although Bela was called “boy” by many, he was nearly forty years of age. It is the custom of the white men to call the blacks “boys,” in speaking to them.
Bela was a “Bosjesman” or Bushman, with features of the negro type, and short crispy black hair. He was about four feet in height, being one of a race of pigmies, now nearly extinct. They are the oldest race known in Africa. Though living in the midst of foreign tribes of warriors of large stature, their traditions tell of a mighty nation who dwelt in caves and holes in the ground, who were great elephant hunters, and who used poisoned arrows in warfare.
Chapter Eleven.A Visit to a Diamond Mine.As Dainty Laure and Kate Darcy stood on the edge of the Kimberley Mine, it was with a feeling of awe that Kate looked down into its depths filled with Kafirs and their white overseers, and saw those endless cable wires extending from the brink to the bottom of the mine. The huge buckets resembled spiders at work, ascending until they reached the edge of the bowl, when they would drop their spoils into cars which stood waiting for them, and which in turn would crawl off and away to the “floor,” where they deposited their load, leaving the spiders to return to their task in the bottom of the mine.On the arrival of Donald, Schwatka, and the ladies at the Company’s office, they were conducted to the brink of the shaft sunk by a countryman of Kate’s, which was the first successful attempt made in that direction.Entering an elevator about six feet square, which was waiting to receive them, they slowly descended to the depth of two hundred feet. The earth had been probed to three times that depth, but the shaft had not as yet been sunk deeper. From the bottom of the shaft was a tunnel reaching to the mine, a distance of two hundred feet. It seemed like looking through an inverted telescope.In this tunnel was laid a tramway, on which cars were constantly going to and from the mine.They walked through the tunnel until an opening was reached, then stepped out on a ledge, and found themselves in the mine, on the precious blue soil; with hundreds of Kafirs working below, under the inspection of overseers, who would occasionally draw a gem from under the spade of one of the delvers. From there they looked upward to the sun, glaring hot and bright over them, and then to the brink of the mine, where men seemed like small boys moving about.It was a strange sensation to stand and gaze around on this comparatively recent discovery, and contemplate what had been accomplished, and reflect on the strange chance that had unearthed so much magnificent wealth.“Mr Laure, how has this bed of diamonds been formed?” asked Miss Darcy.“The mine is thought to be the ‘pipe’ of an extinct volcano, and it is supposed that the diamondiferous soil containing garnets, ironstone, crystals, and diamonds, has been thrown up by the action of the great heat of this volcano,” replied Donald, “and there seems to be no end of the glorious riches of this bed of diamonds.”“Well,” continued Kate, “it is difficult to realise that this monster pit has been hewn out in so short a time by man. Nothing daunts him in his frantic search for wealth.”“Those white men you see are overseers. Each overseer has from ten to fifteen Kafirs under his eye, to see that they do not conceal diamonds, as they turn over the ‘blue stuff’ as we call it,” said Schwatka. “Notwithstanding the utmost watchfulness, they contrive to steal and secrete the gems about their persons in inconceivable ways. As an incentive to his vigilance each overseer is given a portion of the profits on all diamonds found under his watchful eyes. An overseer picked up the Porter Rhodes diamond, and his share of the profits made him a wealthy man.”“Do these overseers detect many Kafirs in the act of stealing?”“No, Miss Darcy. A Kafir’s countenance is so immovable, that it is unreadable. Looking right at the overseer he will work a diamond in between his toes, and thus convey it out of the mine. He eludes the keenest vigilance by concealing the gems in his woolly hair, and under his tongue, and even by swallowing them. A stray dog will receive into his shaggy back, a valuable stone, and carry it around with him, until relieved of it by the Kafir.”“The working of the mine must be attended with great expense, and these natives must seem like vampires to the claim-holders,” said Kate.“That is true. Two years ago there were one million carats of diamonds taken out of the Kimberley Mine, while those of Dutoits Pan and Bultfontein yielded no less than seven hundred thousand carats. About one quarter of this enormous product was stolen by the Kafirs employed in the mines, and sold by them to the I.D.B.’s, who are often respected and licensed diamond buyers. The large number of jewels stolen by the blacks while working in the mines has led the Government to make stringent laws to regulate their purchase and sale.”“How do these Kafirs know to whom to sell their booty?” asked Kate.“Most of the natives who work in the mines have friends in service in the town; and it is through their assistance that they dispose of the stolen diamonds. These house servants form the acquaintance of some illicit diamond buyer, or I.D.B., as he is pithily called, to whom they sell the precious stones. There is a fascination to some men engaged in this traffic which far excels that of any other species of gambling. If they win, they leave for Europe comparatively rich men in a few years, but they run such risks of detection that it makes life unbearable to a man troubled with a conscience.”“Are the diamonds from this soil as fine as those taken from the Brazilian mines?”“That is a question that is raised by many, but there is no doubt that the South African or Cape diamond is as pure and brilliant as any from Brazil. Most of the crown jewels of Europe, renowned for their history no less than their intrinsic worth, came from India. The Koh-i-noor was owned by an East Indian chief, five thousand years ago. The Indian mines were eclipsed by the Brazilian, which in their turn have yielded to the fame of those of South Africa—the largest in the world.”
As Dainty Laure and Kate Darcy stood on the edge of the Kimberley Mine, it was with a feeling of awe that Kate looked down into its depths filled with Kafirs and their white overseers, and saw those endless cable wires extending from the brink to the bottom of the mine. The huge buckets resembled spiders at work, ascending until they reached the edge of the bowl, when they would drop their spoils into cars which stood waiting for them, and which in turn would crawl off and away to the “floor,” where they deposited their load, leaving the spiders to return to their task in the bottom of the mine.
On the arrival of Donald, Schwatka, and the ladies at the Company’s office, they were conducted to the brink of the shaft sunk by a countryman of Kate’s, which was the first successful attempt made in that direction.
Entering an elevator about six feet square, which was waiting to receive them, they slowly descended to the depth of two hundred feet. The earth had been probed to three times that depth, but the shaft had not as yet been sunk deeper. From the bottom of the shaft was a tunnel reaching to the mine, a distance of two hundred feet. It seemed like looking through an inverted telescope.
In this tunnel was laid a tramway, on which cars were constantly going to and from the mine.
They walked through the tunnel until an opening was reached, then stepped out on a ledge, and found themselves in the mine, on the precious blue soil; with hundreds of Kafirs working below, under the inspection of overseers, who would occasionally draw a gem from under the spade of one of the delvers. From there they looked upward to the sun, glaring hot and bright over them, and then to the brink of the mine, where men seemed like small boys moving about.
It was a strange sensation to stand and gaze around on this comparatively recent discovery, and contemplate what had been accomplished, and reflect on the strange chance that had unearthed so much magnificent wealth.
“Mr Laure, how has this bed of diamonds been formed?” asked Miss Darcy.
“The mine is thought to be the ‘pipe’ of an extinct volcano, and it is supposed that the diamondiferous soil containing garnets, ironstone, crystals, and diamonds, has been thrown up by the action of the great heat of this volcano,” replied Donald, “and there seems to be no end of the glorious riches of this bed of diamonds.”
“Well,” continued Kate, “it is difficult to realise that this monster pit has been hewn out in so short a time by man. Nothing daunts him in his frantic search for wealth.”
“Those white men you see are overseers. Each overseer has from ten to fifteen Kafirs under his eye, to see that they do not conceal diamonds, as they turn over the ‘blue stuff’ as we call it,” said Schwatka. “Notwithstanding the utmost watchfulness, they contrive to steal and secrete the gems about their persons in inconceivable ways. As an incentive to his vigilance each overseer is given a portion of the profits on all diamonds found under his watchful eyes. An overseer picked up the Porter Rhodes diamond, and his share of the profits made him a wealthy man.”
“Do these overseers detect many Kafirs in the act of stealing?”
“No, Miss Darcy. A Kafir’s countenance is so immovable, that it is unreadable. Looking right at the overseer he will work a diamond in between his toes, and thus convey it out of the mine. He eludes the keenest vigilance by concealing the gems in his woolly hair, and under his tongue, and even by swallowing them. A stray dog will receive into his shaggy back, a valuable stone, and carry it around with him, until relieved of it by the Kafir.”
“The working of the mine must be attended with great expense, and these natives must seem like vampires to the claim-holders,” said Kate.
“That is true. Two years ago there were one million carats of diamonds taken out of the Kimberley Mine, while those of Dutoits Pan and Bultfontein yielded no less than seven hundred thousand carats. About one quarter of this enormous product was stolen by the Kafirs employed in the mines, and sold by them to the I.D.B.’s, who are often respected and licensed diamond buyers. The large number of jewels stolen by the blacks while working in the mines has led the Government to make stringent laws to regulate their purchase and sale.”
“How do these Kafirs know to whom to sell their booty?” asked Kate.
“Most of the natives who work in the mines have friends in service in the town; and it is through their assistance that they dispose of the stolen diamonds. These house servants form the acquaintance of some illicit diamond buyer, or I.D.B., as he is pithily called, to whom they sell the precious stones. There is a fascination to some men engaged in this traffic which far excels that of any other species of gambling. If they win, they leave for Europe comparatively rich men in a few years, but they run such risks of detection that it makes life unbearable to a man troubled with a conscience.”
“Are the diamonds from this soil as fine as those taken from the Brazilian mines?”
“That is a question that is raised by many, but there is no doubt that the South African or Cape diamond is as pure and brilliant as any from Brazil. Most of the crown jewels of Europe, renowned for their history no less than their intrinsic worth, came from India. The Koh-i-noor was owned by an East Indian chief, five thousand years ago. The Indian mines were eclipsed by the Brazilian, which in their turn have yielded to the fame of those of South Africa—the largest in the world.”
Chapter Twelve.Strolling among Riches.As Kate watched the Kafirs fill the buckets with the diamondiferous soil, she understood the fascination which kept men tarrying in that hot climate, hoping that some lucky turn of the pick or spade might unearth for them a fortune.While they were standing on the ledge of blue stuff extending from the tunnel, Donald moved a short distance from them when a stone fell at his feet. It was thrown in such a manner, that he knew it was not accidental. His countenance never changed, and he stood perfectly still for several minutes, then strolled leisurely back to the mouth of the tunnel. As he did so, a Kafir’s voice in a low tone said: “Ba-a-as!”Donald wheeled, and there in a dark angle of the excavation where it led into an inner chamber, stood a native who had been pushing the cars through the tunnel as the party entered it.He held up between his thumb and finger something white, like a large lump of alum. Donald stood a few seconds with his hands in his pockets, eyeing him intently, then took a few steps, looked down the tunnel and listened attentively for any sound in the opposite direction; the next moment he had made three strides toward the boy and taken the diamond from his hand, when two shadows fell across his pathway. He glanced up and beheld Dainty and Schwatka. He closed his hand over the gem and put it in his pocket. The two men looked at each other without speaking, and then as Herr Schwatka’s eyes filled with a fine scorn they fell on Dainty, and there was an instantaneous change of expression in them, which he concealed by turning his face. Speaking in a bantering tone, he said:“Donald prefers darkness to light! I think, Mrs Laure, that if he does not regain his sunny disposition, you will have to take him away from the camp for a vacation.”Dainty had observed the look which passed between her husband and Schwatka, but did not understand its meaning.She had not perceived the diamond in Donald’s hand, for she had been picking her way to the entrance of the tunnel, and had approached it with her eyes cast down, until her companion came to a standstill.She understood the meaning of that look later. How often a cloud passes over us surcharged with power, to which we are indifferent, until it is revealed to us by some lightning flash of memory.The Kafir had immediately taken hold of his car, and wheeled it into an inner chamber, but not before Dainty had noted that he was a Fingo boy, who often came to the house on errands for Donald. The beads, earrings, and ornaments with which the natives adorn themselves, and also the style of wearing the hair, distinguish one tribe of Kafirs from another; and these peculiarities were well known to Dainty.As Miss Darcy joined them, they returned to the shaft, entered the elevator, and soon arrived at the Company’s office.The day’s “wash-up” of the diamonds was next seen, and the assorting of them on the “sorting” table (which is very agreeable work to those who are looking for a prize—and find it, but a little tedious if the labours result in failure) was gone through, and some fine brilliants found.It was about five o’clock in the afternoon on their return home that they strolled through the diamond market, a street of one-story houses built of corrugated iron, with the interiors very simply finished. They visited the offices of several diamond buyers, representing Parisian, English, Viennese, and Holland houses in this branch of trade. They were of all nations, those of Jewish origin predominating, and the visitors were received with the utmost courtesy.The contents of their safes, stored with precious stones awaiting the departure of the English mail, packets of gems containing from ten to one hundred carats weight, were freely exhibited; and Kate almost wished that she too might enter the fascinating trade of buying and selling diamonds.Proceeding on their way to the hotel, they passed through the market square which was strewn with the merchandise of the country. It was difficult to say whether the mine they had recently left was even as interesting as the exhibit of wealth lying before them, brought from a great distance in the interior; that delightful unknown country, with its lions, leopards, ivory, and impregnable strongholds of savage chiefs and adventurous traders.The life of this latter class is as interesting to contemplate as are the fruits of their labour and skill. They go into the strange country where the ’Tse fly stings their horses to death, and where they must fight the still more deadly fevers. If they survive and manage to crawl out yellow and wan, the fervid life still holds out its charms for them, and they return to it again with the same eagerness; the voice of adventure drowns the admonitory tones of ease and safety.On the corner of the market square, sat a Coolie woman, about thirty years of age, of diminutive form. In her native costume of many bright-hued silk handkerchiefs draped around her limbs, neck, and head, with the gold ring hanging from the nose, the earrings surrounding the entire outer edge of the ear, bracelets, anklets, and armlets, she presented a perfect type of this semi-barbaric country.Sitting there beside her basket of oranges and melons, she fitted like a mosaic into the strange scene before them.A little farther on was a trader’s wagon, about fourteen feet long, and four and a half feet wide, piled high with skins of the leopard, silver jackal, tiger, hyena, and rare black fox. These skins, or karosses, as they are called, were as soft to the touch as a velvet robe, and had none of that hard thickness which characterise the cured skins of our wild animals. The natives are experts in the curing of these skins, and deliver them to the traders sewed together as neatly as a Parisian kid-glove, with thread made from the sinews of wild animals.As they strolled along, the next objects which attracted their attention were the large-sized oxen with their enormously long and graceful horns.These animals are the especial pride of the Boer farmer, who cares more for his span of sixteen handsomely-matched oxen than for any other object, animate or inanimate, on his farm. The particular cattle which attracted their notice were beautifully spotted black and white, with hides shining like satin. As Kate approached one of them, and reached out her hand, she could not touch the line of his back-bone, even when standing on tip-toe.They stood there, huge creatures, with their horns towering in the air.They would have made a fortune for the brush of a Bonheur.It can hardly excite wonder that such animals gain so much affection. The trader’s wagon to which they were yoked was loaded with ivory tusks, valuable furs, ostrich feathers, and other rich and singular merchandise. One feather, a yard long and half a yard wide from tip to tip, passed into Kate’s possession. It was a plume no less beautiful than rare.“These feathers,” said Kate, regarding the gift with admiration, “do not look like the flossy, saucy, flirty things which appear on ladies’ hats, strewing coquettish shadows over the face. They resemble those ugly awkward trailing bits of vanity which weep from their hats after a heavy rain, when they have neglected to carry that everyday English article of dress, an umbrella! They are as ugly as the bird from which they are plucked, until some unconscionable merchant brings the tempting merchandise to town, and places it in the hands of the milliner. Then the great play of ‘My Milliner’s Bill’ is enacted, husbands and fathers are ruined by its representation, while the women, pretty pieces of vanity, get free tickets to the show.”
As Kate watched the Kafirs fill the buckets with the diamondiferous soil, she understood the fascination which kept men tarrying in that hot climate, hoping that some lucky turn of the pick or spade might unearth for them a fortune.
While they were standing on the ledge of blue stuff extending from the tunnel, Donald moved a short distance from them when a stone fell at his feet. It was thrown in such a manner, that he knew it was not accidental. His countenance never changed, and he stood perfectly still for several minutes, then strolled leisurely back to the mouth of the tunnel. As he did so, a Kafir’s voice in a low tone said: “Ba-a-as!”
Donald wheeled, and there in a dark angle of the excavation where it led into an inner chamber, stood a native who had been pushing the cars through the tunnel as the party entered it.
He held up between his thumb and finger something white, like a large lump of alum. Donald stood a few seconds with his hands in his pockets, eyeing him intently, then took a few steps, looked down the tunnel and listened attentively for any sound in the opposite direction; the next moment he had made three strides toward the boy and taken the diamond from his hand, when two shadows fell across his pathway. He glanced up and beheld Dainty and Schwatka. He closed his hand over the gem and put it in his pocket. The two men looked at each other without speaking, and then as Herr Schwatka’s eyes filled with a fine scorn they fell on Dainty, and there was an instantaneous change of expression in them, which he concealed by turning his face. Speaking in a bantering tone, he said:
“Donald prefers darkness to light! I think, Mrs Laure, that if he does not regain his sunny disposition, you will have to take him away from the camp for a vacation.”
Dainty had observed the look which passed between her husband and Schwatka, but did not understand its meaning.
She had not perceived the diamond in Donald’s hand, for she had been picking her way to the entrance of the tunnel, and had approached it with her eyes cast down, until her companion came to a standstill.
She understood the meaning of that look later. How often a cloud passes over us surcharged with power, to which we are indifferent, until it is revealed to us by some lightning flash of memory.
The Kafir had immediately taken hold of his car, and wheeled it into an inner chamber, but not before Dainty had noted that he was a Fingo boy, who often came to the house on errands for Donald. The beads, earrings, and ornaments with which the natives adorn themselves, and also the style of wearing the hair, distinguish one tribe of Kafirs from another; and these peculiarities were well known to Dainty.
As Miss Darcy joined them, they returned to the shaft, entered the elevator, and soon arrived at the Company’s office.
The day’s “wash-up” of the diamonds was next seen, and the assorting of them on the “sorting” table (which is very agreeable work to those who are looking for a prize—and find it, but a little tedious if the labours result in failure) was gone through, and some fine brilliants found.
It was about five o’clock in the afternoon on their return home that they strolled through the diamond market, a street of one-story houses built of corrugated iron, with the interiors very simply finished. They visited the offices of several diamond buyers, representing Parisian, English, Viennese, and Holland houses in this branch of trade. They were of all nations, those of Jewish origin predominating, and the visitors were received with the utmost courtesy.
The contents of their safes, stored with precious stones awaiting the departure of the English mail, packets of gems containing from ten to one hundred carats weight, were freely exhibited; and Kate almost wished that she too might enter the fascinating trade of buying and selling diamonds.
Proceeding on their way to the hotel, they passed through the market square which was strewn with the merchandise of the country. It was difficult to say whether the mine they had recently left was even as interesting as the exhibit of wealth lying before them, brought from a great distance in the interior; that delightful unknown country, with its lions, leopards, ivory, and impregnable strongholds of savage chiefs and adventurous traders.
The life of this latter class is as interesting to contemplate as are the fruits of their labour and skill. They go into the strange country where the ’Tse fly stings their horses to death, and where they must fight the still more deadly fevers. If they survive and manage to crawl out yellow and wan, the fervid life still holds out its charms for them, and they return to it again with the same eagerness; the voice of adventure drowns the admonitory tones of ease and safety.
On the corner of the market square, sat a Coolie woman, about thirty years of age, of diminutive form. In her native costume of many bright-hued silk handkerchiefs draped around her limbs, neck, and head, with the gold ring hanging from the nose, the earrings surrounding the entire outer edge of the ear, bracelets, anklets, and armlets, she presented a perfect type of this semi-barbaric country.
Sitting there beside her basket of oranges and melons, she fitted like a mosaic into the strange scene before them.
A little farther on was a trader’s wagon, about fourteen feet long, and four and a half feet wide, piled high with skins of the leopard, silver jackal, tiger, hyena, and rare black fox. These skins, or karosses, as they are called, were as soft to the touch as a velvet robe, and had none of that hard thickness which characterise the cured skins of our wild animals. The natives are experts in the curing of these skins, and deliver them to the traders sewed together as neatly as a Parisian kid-glove, with thread made from the sinews of wild animals.
As they strolled along, the next objects which attracted their attention were the large-sized oxen with their enormously long and graceful horns.
These animals are the especial pride of the Boer farmer, who cares more for his span of sixteen handsomely-matched oxen than for any other object, animate or inanimate, on his farm. The particular cattle which attracted their notice were beautifully spotted black and white, with hides shining like satin. As Kate approached one of them, and reached out her hand, she could not touch the line of his back-bone, even when standing on tip-toe.
They stood there, huge creatures, with their horns towering in the air.
They would have made a fortune for the brush of a Bonheur.
It can hardly excite wonder that such animals gain so much affection. The trader’s wagon to which they were yoked was loaded with ivory tusks, valuable furs, ostrich feathers, and other rich and singular merchandise. One feather, a yard long and half a yard wide from tip to tip, passed into Kate’s possession. It was a plume no less beautiful than rare.
“These feathers,” said Kate, regarding the gift with admiration, “do not look like the flossy, saucy, flirty things which appear on ladies’ hats, strewing coquettish shadows over the face. They resemble those ugly awkward trailing bits of vanity which weep from their hats after a heavy rain, when they have neglected to carry that everyday English article of dress, an umbrella! They are as ugly as the bird from which they are plucked, until some unconscionable merchant brings the tempting merchandise to town, and places it in the hands of the milliner. Then the great play of ‘My Milliner’s Bill’ is enacted, husbands and fathers are ruined by its representation, while the women, pretty pieces of vanity, get free tickets to the show.”
Chapter Thirteen.A Morning Ride.One bright summer’s morning in the latter part of November, as Dr Fox was on his way to visit a patient living in Dutoits Pan, he turned his horses’ heads into the street where lived Miss Kate Darcy.As he neared the house of his countrywoman, in whom he had recently come to take a deep interest, she appeared descending the steps of the verandah which surrounded the house. He spoke to his horses, and they increased their speed, reaching the curbstone as Miss Darcy opened the gate.“Good-morning, Miss Darcy,” said he, “out for a walk? Would that I were also walking!”Kate looked up brightly and smiled. “Good-morning,” said she, “would that I were also riding!”Dr Fox’s eyes held a gleam of pleasure, and springing lightly from the carriage, said, “I shall admit of no retreat after that. I am going to Dutoits Pan, and you must go with me.”Kate readily entered the carriage, the doctor seated himself by her side, and the horses sped away.“Is there not a sort of indefinable recognition of approach and presence, by which we may sometimes become aware of the proximity of people before seeing them?” began the doctor. “I was thinking of you as I rode along, and here you are!”Kate did not say that she had also thought of the doctor that morning. She only replied:“Yes, I think there is often something of that sort. And recognition goes farther, too. We may often see a man’s invisible soul, paradoxically speaking, against his will, and without desire. There is something, too, about a person that radiates, as it were, and unconsciously to himself and others affects those with whom he comes in contact. I suppose it affects sometimes from afar, as I did you this morning.”Dr Fox looked at Kate curiously.“You are a novelty in this part of the world,” he said. “I suppose no other woman this side an ocean voyage could talk like that.”“That may be true,” said Kate, unaffectedly. “Women about here are not thinkers along certain lines. But I have a belief that moral and spiritual atmosphere has an extent and influence of which we little dream.”There was silence for a moment. Then, with a quick transition, Kate again spoke:“Isn’t this glorious? I am never happier than when I am behind fine horses, riding over a good road.”“I think, then, I see the way to giving you happiness,” said the doctor, “and at the same time getting a good deal for myself. You seem like a bit of my native land again.”“Of the earth, earthy?” queried Kate.“How can you!” cried the doctor, “but you are the first American woman I have seen in two years, and you are tremendously Yankee.”“Pray, what is tremendously Yankee?” asked Kate.“Oh, delightfully individual! that is a trait of our countrymen—yours and mine. One sees it in you when you cross the floor, or do any other everyday thing. You could not conceal your nationality.”“We do not try to conceal what we take pride in. I am proud of being an American. Dear old America, I have not seen it in five years.”“So long? What have you been doing?”“I have had a career,” said Kate, quietly.“Tell me about your career,” said the doctor. “I have lived here two years, as you know. When you have tarried so long, you will want to know, as deeply as you can, the first congenial spirit that comes to Africa and finds you.”“What, two long years in Africa! Nothing could induce me to stay in such a land so long.”“The improbable, even the seemingly impossible things, often come to pass, Miss Darcy. Now, please, are you going to tell me about your career?”“It won’t be long.”“What—your career?”“No—the story of it. There was a good deal of career. While I was living it, it seemed as if there would never be any end to it, and I often wished for any other life but that. It came to an end only a few months ago. It seems like a dream of centuries.”“You must have been very young when you began, for you—”“Don’t look all those centuries, eh?” said Kate, laughingly. “Why, I am twenty-eight.” She then gave him an outline of her life, with the heartache left out. Although Kate was of an ardent imaginative temperament, she never sentimentally dwelt on her griefs.By this time they had reached their destination. The call was short, the doctor taking little time to listen to the recounting of aches and pains. He braced his hypochondriacal patient up, by telling him that he was far better than he had expected to find him, and before the invalid could relapse, the doctor had gone. But the man was better, of course, for had not the doctor told him so?“You have returned quickly,” said Kate. “Is your patient better?”“The patient? Oh yes, he’s all right. I will bring my galvanic battery with me next time, and just give him a little homoeopathic earthquake. Don’t let us talk about these sick people. You don’t look as if sick subjects would be appropriate to your thoughts or conversation.”
One bright summer’s morning in the latter part of November, as Dr Fox was on his way to visit a patient living in Dutoits Pan, he turned his horses’ heads into the street where lived Miss Kate Darcy.
As he neared the house of his countrywoman, in whom he had recently come to take a deep interest, she appeared descending the steps of the verandah which surrounded the house. He spoke to his horses, and they increased their speed, reaching the curbstone as Miss Darcy opened the gate.
“Good-morning, Miss Darcy,” said he, “out for a walk? Would that I were also walking!”
Kate looked up brightly and smiled. “Good-morning,” said she, “would that I were also riding!”
Dr Fox’s eyes held a gleam of pleasure, and springing lightly from the carriage, said, “I shall admit of no retreat after that. I am going to Dutoits Pan, and you must go with me.”
Kate readily entered the carriage, the doctor seated himself by her side, and the horses sped away.
“Is there not a sort of indefinable recognition of approach and presence, by which we may sometimes become aware of the proximity of people before seeing them?” began the doctor. “I was thinking of you as I rode along, and here you are!”
Kate did not say that she had also thought of the doctor that morning. She only replied:
“Yes, I think there is often something of that sort. And recognition goes farther, too. We may often see a man’s invisible soul, paradoxically speaking, against his will, and without desire. There is something, too, about a person that radiates, as it were, and unconsciously to himself and others affects those with whom he comes in contact. I suppose it affects sometimes from afar, as I did you this morning.”
Dr Fox looked at Kate curiously.
“You are a novelty in this part of the world,” he said. “I suppose no other woman this side an ocean voyage could talk like that.”
“That may be true,” said Kate, unaffectedly. “Women about here are not thinkers along certain lines. But I have a belief that moral and spiritual atmosphere has an extent and influence of which we little dream.”
There was silence for a moment. Then, with a quick transition, Kate again spoke:
“Isn’t this glorious? I am never happier than when I am behind fine horses, riding over a good road.”
“I think, then, I see the way to giving you happiness,” said the doctor, “and at the same time getting a good deal for myself. You seem like a bit of my native land again.”
“Of the earth, earthy?” queried Kate.
“How can you!” cried the doctor, “but you are the first American woman I have seen in two years, and you are tremendously Yankee.”
“Pray, what is tremendously Yankee?” asked Kate.
“Oh, delightfully individual! that is a trait of our countrymen—yours and mine. One sees it in you when you cross the floor, or do any other everyday thing. You could not conceal your nationality.”
“We do not try to conceal what we take pride in. I am proud of being an American. Dear old America, I have not seen it in five years.”
“So long? What have you been doing?”
“I have had a career,” said Kate, quietly.
“Tell me about your career,” said the doctor. “I have lived here two years, as you know. When you have tarried so long, you will want to know, as deeply as you can, the first congenial spirit that comes to Africa and finds you.”
“What, two long years in Africa! Nothing could induce me to stay in such a land so long.”
“The improbable, even the seemingly impossible things, often come to pass, Miss Darcy. Now, please, are you going to tell me about your career?”
“It won’t be long.”
“What—your career?”
“No—the story of it. There was a good deal of career. While I was living it, it seemed as if there would never be any end to it, and I often wished for any other life but that. It came to an end only a few months ago. It seems like a dream of centuries.”
“You must have been very young when you began, for you—”
“Don’t look all those centuries, eh?” said Kate, laughingly. “Why, I am twenty-eight.” She then gave him an outline of her life, with the heartache left out. Although Kate was of an ardent imaginative temperament, she never sentimentally dwelt on her griefs.
By this time they had reached their destination. The call was short, the doctor taking little time to listen to the recounting of aches and pains. He braced his hypochondriacal patient up, by telling him that he was far better than he had expected to find him, and before the invalid could relapse, the doctor had gone. But the man was better, of course, for had not the doctor told him so?
“You have returned quickly,” said Kate. “Is your patient better?”
“The patient? Oh yes, he’s all right. I will bring my galvanic battery with me next time, and just give him a little homoeopathic earthquake. Don’t let us talk about these sick people. You don’t look as if sick subjects would be appropriate to your thoughts or conversation.”
Chapter Fourteen.An Unexpected Declaration.“I have never had time to think of being sick myself, or to think of myself in any way. I used to worry over every thing, and strove to gather sufficient force in one day to last a week, but the effort was useless. I now realise that I am not doing this living. I am being lived. There is much rest to me in that thought.”“You speak in riddles,” said the doctor, “how can an unimaginative fellow like me solve the mystery of ‘I am being lived?’”“It is not a riddle, and it is not for the imaginative,” said Kate. “It is reality of which I speak. We talk of the burden of life. But life is not a burden. If you look about at the over-burdened world you will find that its people are weighed down with loads of their own accumulation. Apprehension, fretfulness, discontent—a thousand things—dissipate the strength and happiness of mortals. I have come to believe that individual life, as it was given from the hand of God, is a fulness—not a strife. The familiar old figure of speech, ‘Life is a river,’ expresses it to me, and the river just flows along and takes all the goodly, streams that flow into it all the length of its course. So it grows and is filled, not filling itself.”“But don’t you see, Miss Darcy, that the river must also take all the bad that flows into it.”“But don’tyousee,” asked Kate, “that pursuing its course to the great ocean it purifies and brings to sparkling clearnessallthat comes to it. That is always the result of patient and cheerful acceptance.”It is in unexpected places and at unexpected times that we most often find ourselves speaking of heart-experiences, and spiritual beliefs and attainments. To Dr Fox this was a rare occasion. In the life he had known since he had left his native shores, the questions of the hour arising for the earnest thinker had not been presented to him. Like other men away from the influence of home and intelligent high-toned womanhood, he had drifted into careless modes of thought.The ease that comes from a happy-go-lucky philosophy is not the peace that comes of trust. Dr Fox felt this with a startling clearness. Through the woman by his side came the white, searching light of a pure soul within, shining upon his own and revealing the barrenness of life without earnestness. How had she reached her spiritual altitude amid the ambitions and crushing disappointments of her past?“Miss Darcy,” said the doctor, “you are one of the rare beings who see only the good in every thing. You seem to know no other force. This may do for women, but how can men, with grosser natures, come into such a wide place?”Kate looked at her companion with brave, open eyes, and she longed to impart her own earnestness to him. Every good woman is a natural moral reformer.“Why,” said Kate, “do men leave women lonely on spiritual heights? The men, too, are gods if they did but know it. Shall women have all the riches and delights of inward content? To live in harmony with our source means perfect health, and the attainment of our heart’s desire, for then there can be no friction, no uncontrollable conditions. Why should not men without scepticism or half-heartedness accept and know the truth?”“But you see, Miss Darcy, men would become dreamers, not workers. I fear we must leave the angel-side of existence to you, only stipulating that you do not fly away from us entirely.”“That is the trouble with a man,” said Kate, “he calls the strongest force in the world a dream. As for the women flying away—don’t think it. They love to stay where they can keep the men in sight.”She laughed. Laughter and tears were always close by with Kate.“I believe,” she continued, “most men think that thoughts of this sort are to be saved for the occupying of eternal years. Whereas Eternity always was, and now is. We are living in the Eternal Now.”“You think that men and women could be companions in this thought?” queried the doctor.“I do. To be companions in the married or unmarried state, is just the rarest happiness in the world, but we are demanding it. It is the desire of the heart, and we will have it. Man stands for Love. Woman for Intelligence, Intuition. The Woman, no matter how intellectual, is ever craving for Love, ever seeking it. When Love on the one hand, and Intelligence and Intuition on the other, meet in this belief in the one Force, and recognise in each other the desire of their hearts and cry out, ‘I have found you,’ the two become one—Spirit.”“Why do you say ‘Man is Love?’ I have always thought he represented Intelligence.”“Is not Cupid a boy?” replied Kate saucily.The doctor touched the horses with the whip, and they sped along the road. There was silence for a few moments, when Kate broke it by saying:“I shall remember this ride with pleasure, Doctor, as it will probably be the last one I shall take with you before my departure for other scenes.”The reins fell idly on the doctor’s lap, and the horses dropped into a walk. Horses have a trick of accommodating themselves to the moods of their drivers.The doctor’s face lost its look of enthusiasm.“When do you go, and where do you go?” he asked.“I want to leave the Fields during the hot Christmas holidays, and have arranged to go to that pretty little spot not far away—Bloemfontein.”“I am sorry you are going away,” said the doctor, “but I should be sorrier if it were further from Kimberley. It seems a short time since you came here.”“Short stays make long friends,” said Kate.“Then I shall come and make short stays,” exclaimed the doctor, with a return to something like gaiety.“Do—” said Kate. “I mean do come. I don’t mean make short stays!”“Of course you will return to Kimberley?”“I hardly think I shall,” replied Kate.“Is there nothing that I can say that could induce you to return?” The doctor said this with an accent on the personal pronoun “I.”Kate did not think for a moment that it meant anything more than gallantry, but something: in the tone of his voice made her look into his face. The doctor was looking at her in that manly way of his, and she answered his look, with one as sweetly womanly, but hesitated to frame any words, for the right ones would not come. Where now was Kate’s fluency of speech? He laid his hand over hers, resting passively in her lap, and said:“Pardon me for revealing my feelings toward you. Don’t speak now. I cannot expect you to come to my quick conclusions in a matter like this. Kate, you are my ideal woman. Only that man who has daily before him his ideal for inspiration can hope to attain his highest manhood. When I make a farewell call upon you before my trip to England, tell me if I have gone farther than you can go with me.”Kate sat in a twilight happiness and her lips were dumb. She could neither encourage nor deny. Her past was before her. She remembered the time when she had laid her young heart on the altar of an early love. Could it be possible she could find happiness in the love of another? Should she take into the joyousness of her existence, won by submission and an exalted spiritual life, a new relationship?The doctor’s manner showed neither embarrassment nor anxiety. He had the assurance of a nature that knows what it wants—as the satisfaction of love, and that can say, “I want you for my wife. Come!” intending to take no denial. Then the woman, contented in his love, is willing to say, “I will love, honour, and obey,” for her yoke is the yoke of love, and her burden light, because she is evenly yoked. He was sure that he could make Kate Darcy happy. It should be her own fault if he did not. A vision of such a home as could be counted by thousands in his own happy land was before him. If this woman had drank of the elixir of life, she should by her companionship share her cup with him. By her own story she had grown younger with years. She should share her perfected youth with him.This was a strange couple. Not a wand more of the mysteries of life and love escaped them. They talked as though they were henceforth sane on all subjects. The horses once more became swift. It is well that horses, if they can hear and comprehend, cannot talk.
“I have never had time to think of being sick myself, or to think of myself in any way. I used to worry over every thing, and strove to gather sufficient force in one day to last a week, but the effort was useless. I now realise that I am not doing this living. I am being lived. There is much rest to me in that thought.”
“You speak in riddles,” said the doctor, “how can an unimaginative fellow like me solve the mystery of ‘I am being lived?’”
“It is not a riddle, and it is not for the imaginative,” said Kate. “It is reality of which I speak. We talk of the burden of life. But life is not a burden. If you look about at the over-burdened world you will find that its people are weighed down with loads of their own accumulation. Apprehension, fretfulness, discontent—a thousand things—dissipate the strength and happiness of mortals. I have come to believe that individual life, as it was given from the hand of God, is a fulness—not a strife. The familiar old figure of speech, ‘Life is a river,’ expresses it to me, and the river just flows along and takes all the goodly, streams that flow into it all the length of its course. So it grows and is filled, not filling itself.”
“But don’t you see, Miss Darcy, that the river must also take all the bad that flows into it.”
“But don’tyousee,” asked Kate, “that pursuing its course to the great ocean it purifies and brings to sparkling clearnessallthat comes to it. That is always the result of patient and cheerful acceptance.”
It is in unexpected places and at unexpected times that we most often find ourselves speaking of heart-experiences, and spiritual beliefs and attainments. To Dr Fox this was a rare occasion. In the life he had known since he had left his native shores, the questions of the hour arising for the earnest thinker had not been presented to him. Like other men away from the influence of home and intelligent high-toned womanhood, he had drifted into careless modes of thought.
The ease that comes from a happy-go-lucky philosophy is not the peace that comes of trust. Dr Fox felt this with a startling clearness. Through the woman by his side came the white, searching light of a pure soul within, shining upon his own and revealing the barrenness of life without earnestness. How had she reached her spiritual altitude amid the ambitions and crushing disappointments of her past?
“Miss Darcy,” said the doctor, “you are one of the rare beings who see only the good in every thing. You seem to know no other force. This may do for women, but how can men, with grosser natures, come into such a wide place?”
Kate looked at her companion with brave, open eyes, and she longed to impart her own earnestness to him. Every good woman is a natural moral reformer.
“Why,” said Kate, “do men leave women lonely on spiritual heights? The men, too, are gods if they did but know it. Shall women have all the riches and delights of inward content? To live in harmony with our source means perfect health, and the attainment of our heart’s desire, for then there can be no friction, no uncontrollable conditions. Why should not men without scepticism or half-heartedness accept and know the truth?”
“But you see, Miss Darcy, men would become dreamers, not workers. I fear we must leave the angel-side of existence to you, only stipulating that you do not fly away from us entirely.”
“That is the trouble with a man,” said Kate, “he calls the strongest force in the world a dream. As for the women flying away—don’t think it. They love to stay where they can keep the men in sight.”
She laughed. Laughter and tears were always close by with Kate.
“I believe,” she continued, “most men think that thoughts of this sort are to be saved for the occupying of eternal years. Whereas Eternity always was, and now is. We are living in the Eternal Now.”
“You think that men and women could be companions in this thought?” queried the doctor.
“I do. To be companions in the married or unmarried state, is just the rarest happiness in the world, but we are demanding it. It is the desire of the heart, and we will have it. Man stands for Love. Woman for Intelligence, Intuition. The Woman, no matter how intellectual, is ever craving for Love, ever seeking it. When Love on the one hand, and Intelligence and Intuition on the other, meet in this belief in the one Force, and recognise in each other the desire of their hearts and cry out, ‘I have found you,’ the two become one—Spirit.”
“Why do you say ‘Man is Love?’ I have always thought he represented Intelligence.”
“Is not Cupid a boy?” replied Kate saucily.
The doctor touched the horses with the whip, and they sped along the road. There was silence for a few moments, when Kate broke it by saying:
“I shall remember this ride with pleasure, Doctor, as it will probably be the last one I shall take with you before my departure for other scenes.”
The reins fell idly on the doctor’s lap, and the horses dropped into a walk. Horses have a trick of accommodating themselves to the moods of their drivers.
The doctor’s face lost its look of enthusiasm.
“When do you go, and where do you go?” he asked.
“I want to leave the Fields during the hot Christmas holidays, and have arranged to go to that pretty little spot not far away—Bloemfontein.”
“I am sorry you are going away,” said the doctor, “but I should be sorrier if it were further from Kimberley. It seems a short time since you came here.”
“Short stays make long friends,” said Kate.
“Then I shall come and make short stays,” exclaimed the doctor, with a return to something like gaiety.
“Do—” said Kate. “I mean do come. I don’t mean make short stays!”
“Of course you will return to Kimberley?”
“I hardly think I shall,” replied Kate.
“Is there nothing that I can say that could induce you to return?” The doctor said this with an accent on the personal pronoun “I.”
Kate did not think for a moment that it meant anything more than gallantry, but something: in the tone of his voice made her look into his face. The doctor was looking at her in that manly way of his, and she answered his look, with one as sweetly womanly, but hesitated to frame any words, for the right ones would not come. Where now was Kate’s fluency of speech? He laid his hand over hers, resting passively in her lap, and said:
“Pardon me for revealing my feelings toward you. Don’t speak now. I cannot expect you to come to my quick conclusions in a matter like this. Kate, you are my ideal woman. Only that man who has daily before him his ideal for inspiration can hope to attain his highest manhood. When I make a farewell call upon you before my trip to England, tell me if I have gone farther than you can go with me.”
Kate sat in a twilight happiness and her lips were dumb. She could neither encourage nor deny. Her past was before her. She remembered the time when she had laid her young heart on the altar of an early love. Could it be possible she could find happiness in the love of another? Should she take into the joyousness of her existence, won by submission and an exalted spiritual life, a new relationship?
The doctor’s manner showed neither embarrassment nor anxiety. He had the assurance of a nature that knows what it wants—as the satisfaction of love, and that can say, “I want you for my wife. Come!” intending to take no denial. Then the woman, contented in his love, is willing to say, “I will love, honour, and obey,” for her yoke is the yoke of love, and her burden light, because she is evenly yoked. He was sure that he could make Kate Darcy happy. It should be her own fault if he did not. A vision of such a home as could be counted by thousands in his own happy land was before him. If this woman had drank of the elixir of life, she should by her companionship share her cup with him. By her own story she had grown younger with years. She should share her perfected youth with him.
This was a strange couple. Not a wand more of the mysteries of life and love escaped them. They talked as though they were henceforth sane on all subjects. The horses once more became swift. It is well that horses, if they can hear and comprehend, cannot talk.
Chapter Fifteen.An Abrupt Awakening.“Fingo boy here, Ba-a-as,” said a Coolie servant, as he entered the room where Laure was sitting, on the third day after the visit to the mine.“Where is he?”“In kitchen.”A cloud darkened Laure’s face; after a moment’s hesitation he told the Coolie to send the boy to him. The Fingo boy, who had handed the diamond to Laure in the tunnel, entered the room, and standing near the door waited for him to speak.“Well, Fingo,” said Laure, in a pleasant tone of voice, “you are around early this morning—shut the door. What can I do for you?”“Come to see bout dat big, white diamond.”“Ah, yes; now how much shall I give you for it? It has a flaw in it, you know.”“Let Fingo boy see. Kafir want see hole in diamond.”“I haven’t it about me. It isn’t safe to have such a stone around. I may never have a chance to sell it,” said Laure, firmly, looking at the Kafir.“Dat good stone, Ba-a-as. Bring big money. Mus’ have money fo’ dat.”“What have you done with all the money I have given you, Fingo?”“Me save him. Me buy cows, pony.”“It won’t do for you to have so much gold about you. Detectives will get you and put you in the chain-gang.”“Me hide it—way off. Nobody find it!”“Well how much shall I give you for it?”“Hunder pound.”“Too much. It isn’t worth it. I’ll give you eighty, or you may come to-morrow and I’ll give it back to you,” said Laure, who was pretty certain that the Kafir would hardly dare hunt for a buyer, as many a buyer, though an illicit one, would bring him before the authorities and compel him to disgorge, simply to throw the detectives off the scent in regard to himself. The Fingo hesitated for a moment or two, and then accepted the offer.“Going back to work to-day?” asked Laure.“No! Me go way soon as me sell ’nother big white diamond me hab. Me buy wife, get big Kraal. Hab plenty ox, cow, pony.”“You have a wife now, haven’t you?”“Me hab two, three, four wife bime bye,” replied the Kafir as he held up four fingers. “Me know pretty Kafir girl: hoe corn; pound mealies—cook. Me work no more. Hunt blesse-bok; ride pony; smoke dagga; hab good time!”“Yes, that is right, Fingo, you must leave the Fields. I will have the money for you, and will meet you at—or, stay. I will put it under the rock where you got the last. But mind, don’t stay round here much longer, or the police will get you—do you hear?”“Kafir no fool, Ba-a-as Laure. He jes’ go home to his Kraal. No work more,” and the Kafir left the room.That evening Laure and Schwatka were sitting talking in the library, when Dainty unexpectedly approached the room. A fragment of their conversation reached her, and as the full meaning of the words she heard burst upon her, she stood speechless, half hidden in the folds of the curtained doorway.“Laure, how dare you carry on this illicit trade of buying diamonds of the Kafirs? Don’t you fear that they will give you away to the detectives?” Schwatka was saying.“I suppose I am in danger of being trapped, but I am pretty sure of the Fingo who sells me the blazers.”“You know you are safe, as far as I am concerned,” replied Schwatka. “I am thinking what your wife would do, if you should be caught, through the treachery of this Fingo. You can never tell what they will not do for money.”“That’s true, but I rather think my luck won’t go back on me. I don’t mind telling you, that I happen to know that this Fingo has a big diamond that I want, but he asks too much money for it—I tell you it’s a beauty. These Kafirs are getting too knowing for us fellows; they are too well aware of the exact value of the diamonds, and we have to go slow with them.”“There are too many risks in that trade to attract me. I say, Laure, how do you expect to sell that diamond if you get it?”“I shall probably keep it, until I go to Europe. The idea that an illicit or stolen diamond sells there for half its value, is nonsense. In Amsterdam, the great European market, a diamond sells according to its weight and purity. Its intrinsic worth is all that the buyer or seller thinks of. Look at this gem.”As Donald said this, he turned and caught sight of Dainty standing in the doorway. She looked from one to the other. Donald cast his eyes guiltily down, unable to meet the glances of the woman he loved; while Schwatka sat looking up into her face with his own all aglow, and in an attitude that suggested the ardent lover eager to shield her from trouble.As her eyes at last rested on Herr Schwatka, in a dazed sort of way, her heart gave one bound and went out to him.Though daily she had met the Austrian who had so often sought for opportunities to be near her, though daily her interest had become greater, and her pleasure in his presence increased, though sometimes she had felt dissatisfaction as she compared her husband with him whom she called her friend—yet, not until this sudden revelation terrified her, as a sense of its danger came over her, did she realise her actual feelings.Silently turning, in a half-blinded way, she left the room. For a moment she was dazed. Then the peril of the situation flashed through her mind. Her alert, savage blood was roused at last, and from that moment she lost her indolent, indifferent manner. Never for one moment was she forgetful of the situation.At any moment the officers of the law might be on their track. Both she and Donald were henceforth bound to Herr Schwatka. One by love—the other by fear. Even the generosity of Schwatka, should he conceal Donald’s felony, made her sick at heart—for discovered, each was a partner in the other’s guilt.Her sleep, once so peaceful, was fitful and disturbed. She asked of neither an explanation.What to do, to whom to turn, between her love, her duty, and her fears, was like an ever-present nightmare.She had awakened to a new life; her eyes, that until now were soft, blazed with a fire that had never before been kindled in them. Emotions new to her had taken possession of her mind. Herr Schwatka came frequently, as before, and, with more eagerness than she had ever looked for Donald, she looked for him.Strange were the mental experiences of Herr Schwatka. He saw what he desired to see, that her heart was his. But not with the triumph he would have known had he not fallen into his own trap.Schwatka, who had coolly won more hearts than he ever took pains to count, was enthralled by the power of Dainty.He felt he could not harm her, though he felt he could not lose her. By the power of his love he read every passing thought as it flitted over her face; and he would willingly have risked all his hope and happiness in other things, could he but possess the life of this woman—like a lamb in her helplessness, like a young lioness in her love of freedom, and in her rebellion against the chafing of distasteful bonds.As the days passed, her restlessness of spirit increased. At last the fire began to consume the material body. She grew thin, a hectic flush tinged her cheek. Her eyes, like great burning lamps, looked out upon the world with an unsatisfied expression pitiful to behold. For a time these new emotions escaped the notice of Donald, but when she began to droop, and he perceived what he feared might be some malady, he resorted to Dr Fox with real anxiety.
“Fingo boy here, Ba-a-as,” said a Coolie servant, as he entered the room where Laure was sitting, on the third day after the visit to the mine.
“Where is he?”
“In kitchen.”
A cloud darkened Laure’s face; after a moment’s hesitation he told the Coolie to send the boy to him. The Fingo boy, who had handed the diamond to Laure in the tunnel, entered the room, and standing near the door waited for him to speak.
“Well, Fingo,” said Laure, in a pleasant tone of voice, “you are around early this morning—shut the door. What can I do for you?”
“Come to see bout dat big, white diamond.”
“Ah, yes; now how much shall I give you for it? It has a flaw in it, you know.”
“Let Fingo boy see. Kafir want see hole in diamond.”
“I haven’t it about me. It isn’t safe to have such a stone around. I may never have a chance to sell it,” said Laure, firmly, looking at the Kafir.
“Dat good stone, Ba-a-as. Bring big money. Mus’ have money fo’ dat.”
“What have you done with all the money I have given you, Fingo?”
“Me save him. Me buy cows, pony.”
“It won’t do for you to have so much gold about you. Detectives will get you and put you in the chain-gang.”
“Me hide it—way off. Nobody find it!”
“Well how much shall I give you for it?”
“Hunder pound.”
“Too much. It isn’t worth it. I’ll give you eighty, or you may come to-morrow and I’ll give it back to you,” said Laure, who was pretty certain that the Kafir would hardly dare hunt for a buyer, as many a buyer, though an illicit one, would bring him before the authorities and compel him to disgorge, simply to throw the detectives off the scent in regard to himself. The Fingo hesitated for a moment or two, and then accepted the offer.
“Going back to work to-day?” asked Laure.
“No! Me go way soon as me sell ’nother big white diamond me hab. Me buy wife, get big Kraal. Hab plenty ox, cow, pony.”
“You have a wife now, haven’t you?”
“Me hab two, three, four wife bime bye,” replied the Kafir as he held up four fingers. “Me know pretty Kafir girl: hoe corn; pound mealies—cook. Me work no more. Hunt blesse-bok; ride pony; smoke dagga; hab good time!”
“Yes, that is right, Fingo, you must leave the Fields. I will have the money for you, and will meet you at—or, stay. I will put it under the rock where you got the last. But mind, don’t stay round here much longer, or the police will get you—do you hear?”
“Kafir no fool, Ba-a-as Laure. He jes’ go home to his Kraal. No work more,” and the Kafir left the room.
That evening Laure and Schwatka were sitting talking in the library, when Dainty unexpectedly approached the room. A fragment of their conversation reached her, and as the full meaning of the words she heard burst upon her, she stood speechless, half hidden in the folds of the curtained doorway.
“Laure, how dare you carry on this illicit trade of buying diamonds of the Kafirs? Don’t you fear that they will give you away to the detectives?” Schwatka was saying.
“I suppose I am in danger of being trapped, but I am pretty sure of the Fingo who sells me the blazers.”
“You know you are safe, as far as I am concerned,” replied Schwatka. “I am thinking what your wife would do, if you should be caught, through the treachery of this Fingo. You can never tell what they will not do for money.”
“That’s true, but I rather think my luck won’t go back on me. I don’t mind telling you, that I happen to know that this Fingo has a big diamond that I want, but he asks too much money for it—I tell you it’s a beauty. These Kafirs are getting too knowing for us fellows; they are too well aware of the exact value of the diamonds, and we have to go slow with them.”
“There are too many risks in that trade to attract me. I say, Laure, how do you expect to sell that diamond if you get it?”
“I shall probably keep it, until I go to Europe. The idea that an illicit or stolen diamond sells there for half its value, is nonsense. In Amsterdam, the great European market, a diamond sells according to its weight and purity. Its intrinsic worth is all that the buyer or seller thinks of. Look at this gem.”
As Donald said this, he turned and caught sight of Dainty standing in the doorway. She looked from one to the other. Donald cast his eyes guiltily down, unable to meet the glances of the woman he loved; while Schwatka sat looking up into her face with his own all aglow, and in an attitude that suggested the ardent lover eager to shield her from trouble.
As her eyes at last rested on Herr Schwatka, in a dazed sort of way, her heart gave one bound and went out to him.
Though daily she had met the Austrian who had so often sought for opportunities to be near her, though daily her interest had become greater, and her pleasure in his presence increased, though sometimes she had felt dissatisfaction as she compared her husband with him whom she called her friend—yet, not until this sudden revelation terrified her, as a sense of its danger came over her, did she realise her actual feelings.
Silently turning, in a half-blinded way, she left the room. For a moment she was dazed. Then the peril of the situation flashed through her mind. Her alert, savage blood was roused at last, and from that moment she lost her indolent, indifferent manner. Never for one moment was she forgetful of the situation.
At any moment the officers of the law might be on their track. Both she and Donald were henceforth bound to Herr Schwatka. One by love—the other by fear. Even the generosity of Schwatka, should he conceal Donald’s felony, made her sick at heart—for discovered, each was a partner in the other’s guilt.
Her sleep, once so peaceful, was fitful and disturbed. She asked of neither an explanation.
What to do, to whom to turn, between her love, her duty, and her fears, was like an ever-present nightmare.
She had awakened to a new life; her eyes, that until now were soft, blazed with a fire that had never before been kindled in them. Emotions new to her had taken possession of her mind. Herr Schwatka came frequently, as before, and, with more eagerness than she had ever looked for Donald, she looked for him.
Strange were the mental experiences of Herr Schwatka. He saw what he desired to see, that her heart was his. But not with the triumph he would have known had he not fallen into his own trap.
Schwatka, who had coolly won more hearts than he ever took pains to count, was enthralled by the power of Dainty.
He felt he could not harm her, though he felt he could not lose her. By the power of his love he read every passing thought as it flitted over her face; and he would willingly have risked all his hope and happiness in other things, could he but possess the life of this woman—like a lamb in her helplessness, like a young lioness in her love of freedom, and in her rebellion against the chafing of distasteful bonds.
As the days passed, her restlessness of spirit increased. At last the fire began to consume the material body. She grew thin, a hectic flush tinged her cheek. Her eyes, like great burning lamps, looked out upon the world with an unsatisfied expression pitiful to behold. For a time these new emotions escaped the notice of Donald, but when she began to droop, and he perceived what he feared might be some malady, he resorted to Dr Fox with real anxiety.