Chapter Sixteen.The Family Physician.On entering the doctor’s office, Laure found him examining Bela’s eye, or rather the part of the face that once contained that valuable organ.“How do, Doctor,” said Laure; “how are you, Bela? Now that you are well, why do you not return to your mistress?”“Missy don’t want see Bela now he got only one eye.”“We’ll see about that,” said Dr Fox. “Glad you came in, Laure. I was about experimenting on the boy’s eye. We’ll see if we can’t send you back to your mistress with a new optic!”As he said this he lifted Bela’s eyelid, and in another second the boy stood before the men with two eyes in his head, though one was but a glass eye.“Hello!” said Laure, “what hinders you now from going home to your mistress? You are nearly as good-looking as you ever were! By the way, Doctor I wish you would drop in and see Mrs Laure. She does not look well.”“Sorry to hear that,” said the doctor. “I will call there this morning and take Bela with me.” The two men exchanged a few more words and then parted. Some hours later Bela, accompanied by the doctor, entered his old home dressed in a most fantastic costume, and expressed, in his peculiar way, the greatest joy at seeing his mistress, who was well pleased to receive him again. She greeted the doctor cordially, and was curious about this new eye of Bela’s.“How did you ever do it?” she asked.Pleased to see her interested, the doctor slipped the shell that so skilfully simulated the destroyed organ of sight, and showed her how it was inserted.“It is easy enough. You could do it yourself,” said he.Dainty felt a childish desire to try. She had none of that horror of mutilation that most delicate women have, for her life had made her familiar with the sight of physical afflictions. The doctor, though he secretly wondered at her curiosity, was willing to indulge it, and Dainty soon found that she could actually adjust a glass eye herself.Bela was dismissed, and her look of interest gave place to one of weariness. “Well, Mrs Laure, what is the reason I have not seen you riding of late?”The blood flew to her cheeks, for she felt that the doctor was reading her heart. With the desire that every woman has to guard her dearest secret, she said:“Donald imagines I am threatened with fever. It is nothing but a feeling of homesickness. To be sure my heart beats so at times that it nearly chokes me, but I think it will soon pass away. I have been coaxing Mr Laure to take me away from the Fields. I think if I were near the old ocean once more my health would return.”The doctor listened to her voice, but he only heard her mental words. The words she framed with her lips did not conceal the cause of her distress. We think to deceive the world when we talk to cover our feelings, but how rarely do we succeed with the good and true. The soul sits in the silence. Its influences are silent influences, and its voice soft and gentle. So, as it is attuned to stillness, it hears other soul voices when in harmony with it, and it discerns the truth with unerring judgment.Dr Fox had diagnosed mental struggles until it had become second nature to him to read the thoughts of his patients. He had also been keenly alive to the infatuation of Herr Schwatka for Mrs Laure, and when she alluded to a weakness of the heart, he asked:“Have you anything on your mind that worries you?” She caught her breath for a second, and the doctor read in her hesitancy the true answer, though she replied:“Oh, no.”“I will leave you a few powders, though a change of scene would do you more good than any medicine I might prescribe. You need to get out and away from accustomed places. You are stagnating. Your mind is travelling in a circle, and your thoughts dwell too much on yourself, which always produces an unsatisfactory mental, as well as physical condition. I sometimes advise my lady patients, when they are the subject of their own thoughts, to think of me. A crusty old bachelor is so radical a change, and so hard a subject that it has succeeded admirably in curing some of them, who only needed variety.” This last remark brought a smile to Dainty’s face.“Yet I advise them not to overdo the remedy lest they think too much of me. I am extremely cautious, Mrs Laure.”Dainty smiled again. Sentiment and the doctor seemed so absurd a combination to her. He was kind-hearted, but to think of him as an awakener of love—Ah! love brought to her mind another. She blushed, stopped, andthought of the doctor. It was a good remedy. He was looking at her. She felt a mixture of discomfort and a desire to tell him how great was her heartache. Had he asked her her secret, she would have told him. He divined her confidential mood, but asked nothing. It is sometimes wise to be ignorant. If the family physician should divulge the secrets of the inner life of the social sphere in which he moves, what a shattered world would we live in! The life of a hermit would at once hold irresistible charms for many.What an innocent and ignorant violator of social and marital laws was Dainty! But ignorance and innocence are not as beautiful qualities as knowledge and purity. With the former, life is but drifting; with the latter, it is anchored to a rock.The doctor realised that Dainty was drifting. He had seen many another woman drift, only to be broken against the rocks on bleak unknown shores; later he had seen the wreck washed up lying on the sands of life, exposed to the gaze of the gaping curiosity-seeker, and to his careless comments. Would this beautiful creature, wounded almost to death, be another wreck noted by pitying angels, and filling a sorrowful page in the book of Time? Not if he could help guide her. Ah! if our impulses are in the direction of the good, we know not how soon we may be given the opportunity to guide a frail bark clear of some threatening rock, into smiling waters, and under summer skies! The doctor’s opportunity came sooner than he anticipated.“I will call in again, Mrs Laure,” said he, rising. “I have to see a patient a few hours’ ride from here, and on my return, will tell Mr Laure that he must take you to England. I am expecting to go home for a short trip this summer, I need a change, too. One gets rusty living in Africa without a sight of other lands.”He took her little hand in his, gave it a quick, firm, friendly grasp, that seemed to say: “I know all about your trouble. Everything will come out all right.” Aloud he said: “You must stop thinking about yourself,” and left the house.
On entering the doctor’s office, Laure found him examining Bela’s eye, or rather the part of the face that once contained that valuable organ.
“How do, Doctor,” said Laure; “how are you, Bela? Now that you are well, why do you not return to your mistress?”
“Missy don’t want see Bela now he got only one eye.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Dr Fox. “Glad you came in, Laure. I was about experimenting on the boy’s eye. We’ll see if we can’t send you back to your mistress with a new optic!”
As he said this he lifted Bela’s eyelid, and in another second the boy stood before the men with two eyes in his head, though one was but a glass eye.
“Hello!” said Laure, “what hinders you now from going home to your mistress? You are nearly as good-looking as you ever were! By the way, Doctor I wish you would drop in and see Mrs Laure. She does not look well.”
“Sorry to hear that,” said the doctor. “I will call there this morning and take Bela with me.” The two men exchanged a few more words and then parted. Some hours later Bela, accompanied by the doctor, entered his old home dressed in a most fantastic costume, and expressed, in his peculiar way, the greatest joy at seeing his mistress, who was well pleased to receive him again. She greeted the doctor cordially, and was curious about this new eye of Bela’s.
“How did you ever do it?” she asked.
Pleased to see her interested, the doctor slipped the shell that so skilfully simulated the destroyed organ of sight, and showed her how it was inserted.
“It is easy enough. You could do it yourself,” said he.
Dainty felt a childish desire to try. She had none of that horror of mutilation that most delicate women have, for her life had made her familiar with the sight of physical afflictions. The doctor, though he secretly wondered at her curiosity, was willing to indulge it, and Dainty soon found that she could actually adjust a glass eye herself.
Bela was dismissed, and her look of interest gave place to one of weariness. “Well, Mrs Laure, what is the reason I have not seen you riding of late?”
The blood flew to her cheeks, for she felt that the doctor was reading her heart. With the desire that every woman has to guard her dearest secret, she said:
“Donald imagines I am threatened with fever. It is nothing but a feeling of homesickness. To be sure my heart beats so at times that it nearly chokes me, but I think it will soon pass away. I have been coaxing Mr Laure to take me away from the Fields. I think if I were near the old ocean once more my health would return.”
The doctor listened to her voice, but he only heard her mental words. The words she framed with her lips did not conceal the cause of her distress. We think to deceive the world when we talk to cover our feelings, but how rarely do we succeed with the good and true. The soul sits in the silence. Its influences are silent influences, and its voice soft and gentle. So, as it is attuned to stillness, it hears other soul voices when in harmony with it, and it discerns the truth with unerring judgment.
Dr Fox had diagnosed mental struggles until it had become second nature to him to read the thoughts of his patients. He had also been keenly alive to the infatuation of Herr Schwatka for Mrs Laure, and when she alluded to a weakness of the heart, he asked:
“Have you anything on your mind that worries you?” She caught her breath for a second, and the doctor read in her hesitancy the true answer, though she replied:
“Oh, no.”
“I will leave you a few powders, though a change of scene would do you more good than any medicine I might prescribe. You need to get out and away from accustomed places. You are stagnating. Your mind is travelling in a circle, and your thoughts dwell too much on yourself, which always produces an unsatisfactory mental, as well as physical condition. I sometimes advise my lady patients, when they are the subject of their own thoughts, to think of me. A crusty old bachelor is so radical a change, and so hard a subject that it has succeeded admirably in curing some of them, who only needed variety.” This last remark brought a smile to Dainty’s face.
“Yet I advise them not to overdo the remedy lest they think too much of me. I am extremely cautious, Mrs Laure.”
Dainty smiled again. Sentiment and the doctor seemed so absurd a combination to her. He was kind-hearted, but to think of him as an awakener of love—Ah! love brought to her mind another. She blushed, stopped, andthought of the doctor. It was a good remedy. He was looking at her. She felt a mixture of discomfort and a desire to tell him how great was her heartache. Had he asked her her secret, she would have told him. He divined her confidential mood, but asked nothing. It is sometimes wise to be ignorant. If the family physician should divulge the secrets of the inner life of the social sphere in which he moves, what a shattered world would we live in! The life of a hermit would at once hold irresistible charms for many.
What an innocent and ignorant violator of social and marital laws was Dainty! But ignorance and innocence are not as beautiful qualities as knowledge and purity. With the former, life is but drifting; with the latter, it is anchored to a rock.
The doctor realised that Dainty was drifting. He had seen many another woman drift, only to be broken against the rocks on bleak unknown shores; later he had seen the wreck washed up lying on the sands of life, exposed to the gaze of the gaping curiosity-seeker, and to his careless comments. Would this beautiful creature, wounded almost to death, be another wreck noted by pitying angels, and filling a sorrowful page in the book of Time? Not if he could help guide her. Ah! if our impulses are in the direction of the good, we know not how soon we may be given the opportunity to guide a frail bark clear of some threatening rock, into smiling waters, and under summer skies! The doctor’s opportunity came sooner than he anticipated.
“I will call in again, Mrs Laure,” said he, rising. “I have to see a patient a few hours’ ride from here, and on my return, will tell Mr Laure that he must take you to England. I am expecting to go home for a short trip this summer, I need a change, too. One gets rusty living in Africa without a sight of other lands.”
He took her little hand in his, gave it a quick, firm, friendly grasp, that seemed to say: “I know all about your trouble. Everything will come out all right.” Aloud he said: “You must stop thinking about yourself,” and left the house.
Chapter Seventeen.“You have made me your Prisoner.”Dainty, left alone, smiled in mockery. “Stop thinking!” As if she could!She was innocent of any intentional wrong toward her husband, but oh! that world, that real world of hers—her thoughts.Even in the midst of her self-upbraiding, her rebel thoughts would break loose, and reach out toward the man she loved. It was the ecstasy of a Heaven, blended with the agony of a Hell.The shuttle of love that winds and weaves an unseen thread, had bound her heart in bond so firm, that to break it seemed like breaking the thread of life. Would that she could see how near the fate stood that would cut that thread! She felt that the new love which had sprung to a giant’s strength within her heart, was doing cruel injustice to the loyal heart of her husband. She wished to be true to herself, and that meant true to Donald. Was he not truth itself to her? But she had no strength to fight against the power which Schwatka exerted over her, and thoughts of him held her prisoner as she lay on her divan moaning like a helpless wounded doe.At this moment Herr Schwatka entered the room. As he approached, their eyes met in one long look, and as if mesmerised, their lips met in a kiss that annihilated time and space, and that for Dainty rent asunder all other bonds. Centuries of time were lived in that one kiss. She had been long married, but not until now was she mated.At last time began again to beat out to the lovers those seconds and moments of which they had been too oblivious.“Dainty,” said he, “I can no longer endure to see you bear toward another the relation of—wife. I came to-day to tell you that I leave Kimberley within twenty-four hours. I know that I have been a coward to remain here and see you suffer for my sake, but the strength of love has been my weakness, and has chained me to your side. My beloved, life without you is worth to me not a puff of smoke; if I remain here longer I shall become a dangerous enemy to your husband. He stands between you and me; therefore I go away. Absence sometimes brings forgetfulness. The memory of your dearly beautiful face, of your soulful eyes—ah! What shall I do!—I cannot, I cannot tear myself from you!”He sank on his knees by her side, and laid his head on her shoulder, a man given over to the longings of a great love, without hope therein.She was now the stronger of the two. How often do we see the dumb animal side, in the strongest nature, assert itself when it lays its head on the heart of a frail woman for comfort.What is that power which enchains men and women for a season when death itself would be preferable to the bitter sweetness which fills the soul. The heart never entirely recovers, though by and by the pain is a dull heavy sorrow as for a loved one buried long ago? We pity ourselves then, to think that it is possible for us to so change.Dainty could not move hand or foot, her eyes looked as if tears lay behind in the veiled depths, in sacred sympathy with the soul, in the throes of an agony which few are capable of understanding.Great beads of perspiration stood on her brow; she tried to speak, but ended in an incoherent whisper. Her lover recognised the suffering of her soul, akin to his own, and wiped the cold dews away with a holy touch. There was no flaming consuming passion in his touch. How strange was this in a nature like Herr Schwatka’s! It was one of the marvels of love that it could purify the impulses and purposes of such a man, not used to live above the moral plane of the careless man of the world. He might easily have wrought ruin in the life of this unsophisticated woman, who could not, in one remove from savage ancestry, grow away from the tendency of love to follow its own, regardless of consequences. So had her mother done. Raising herself, and looking him steadfastly in the eyes, she slowly said, in an earnest whisper: “If you go, I go with you.”“No, no, Dainty, I love you too truly to let you live to repent anything for my sake. Donald will not return to you until evening. I must go while I have any manliness left, or we will both live to repent it.”There was silence for a few moments, and then he hesitatingly said:“I want to make a confession, sweetheart, that will help to ease my pain.” He stopped and his bosom heaved with emotion. “It is that—I was fascinated by you, and your untamed ways, so different from what I had ever known, and I thought you would be a pastime to me. See what misery my wrong has wrought to both. You are the one woman in the world stronger than I, who thought myself invincible. You have made me your prisoner.”Anger against her fate began to rise within her heart, and strange thoughts surged and swelled through her throbbing brain. She spoke with wild determination:“Listen. Donald is keeping some great secret from me, and although he has no suspicion of the love existing between you and me, his life is as separated from mine as if we were living in different continents. My life is my own, and if you leave me, I follow.”“No, no, my beloved,” cried Schwatka.Dainty continued in the same voice:“You cannot change me now. Bela,” calling to her servant, “have the horses harnessed to the cart at once, I am going for a drive. Now,” turning to Schwatka, “leave me. I have not the strength to bear your presence longer. I shall be at the meeting of the roads,” naming a spot about five hours distant, “and will meet you there.”“No, no,” said he, mournfully but firmly. “Here I bid you farewell.” He laid his hand on her shoulder. “When you cease to think of me as a lover, hold my memory kindly as your saviour.”His hand fell from her shoulder slowly down her beautiful arm, till it reached the little firmly-knit hand, which he held a prisoner for a few seconds, then tenderly raised to his lips. In another moment he had gone.
Dainty, left alone, smiled in mockery. “Stop thinking!” As if she could!
She was innocent of any intentional wrong toward her husband, but oh! that world, that real world of hers—her thoughts.
Even in the midst of her self-upbraiding, her rebel thoughts would break loose, and reach out toward the man she loved. It was the ecstasy of a Heaven, blended with the agony of a Hell.
The shuttle of love that winds and weaves an unseen thread, had bound her heart in bond so firm, that to break it seemed like breaking the thread of life. Would that she could see how near the fate stood that would cut that thread! She felt that the new love which had sprung to a giant’s strength within her heart, was doing cruel injustice to the loyal heart of her husband. She wished to be true to herself, and that meant true to Donald. Was he not truth itself to her? But she had no strength to fight against the power which Schwatka exerted over her, and thoughts of him held her prisoner as she lay on her divan moaning like a helpless wounded doe.
At this moment Herr Schwatka entered the room. As he approached, their eyes met in one long look, and as if mesmerised, their lips met in a kiss that annihilated time and space, and that for Dainty rent asunder all other bonds. Centuries of time were lived in that one kiss. She had been long married, but not until now was she mated.
At last time began again to beat out to the lovers those seconds and moments of which they had been too oblivious.
“Dainty,” said he, “I can no longer endure to see you bear toward another the relation of—wife. I came to-day to tell you that I leave Kimberley within twenty-four hours. I know that I have been a coward to remain here and see you suffer for my sake, but the strength of love has been my weakness, and has chained me to your side. My beloved, life without you is worth to me not a puff of smoke; if I remain here longer I shall become a dangerous enemy to your husband. He stands between you and me; therefore I go away. Absence sometimes brings forgetfulness. The memory of your dearly beautiful face, of your soulful eyes—ah! What shall I do!—I cannot, I cannot tear myself from you!”
He sank on his knees by her side, and laid his head on her shoulder, a man given over to the longings of a great love, without hope therein.
She was now the stronger of the two. How often do we see the dumb animal side, in the strongest nature, assert itself when it lays its head on the heart of a frail woman for comfort.
What is that power which enchains men and women for a season when death itself would be preferable to the bitter sweetness which fills the soul. The heart never entirely recovers, though by and by the pain is a dull heavy sorrow as for a loved one buried long ago? We pity ourselves then, to think that it is possible for us to so change.
Dainty could not move hand or foot, her eyes looked as if tears lay behind in the veiled depths, in sacred sympathy with the soul, in the throes of an agony which few are capable of understanding.
Great beads of perspiration stood on her brow; she tried to speak, but ended in an incoherent whisper. Her lover recognised the suffering of her soul, akin to his own, and wiped the cold dews away with a holy touch. There was no flaming consuming passion in his touch. How strange was this in a nature like Herr Schwatka’s! It was one of the marvels of love that it could purify the impulses and purposes of such a man, not used to live above the moral plane of the careless man of the world. He might easily have wrought ruin in the life of this unsophisticated woman, who could not, in one remove from savage ancestry, grow away from the tendency of love to follow its own, regardless of consequences. So had her mother done. Raising herself, and looking him steadfastly in the eyes, she slowly said, in an earnest whisper: “If you go, I go with you.”
“No, no, Dainty, I love you too truly to let you live to repent anything for my sake. Donald will not return to you until evening. I must go while I have any manliness left, or we will both live to repent it.”
There was silence for a few moments, and then he hesitatingly said:
“I want to make a confession, sweetheart, that will help to ease my pain.” He stopped and his bosom heaved with emotion. “It is that—I was fascinated by you, and your untamed ways, so different from what I had ever known, and I thought you would be a pastime to me. See what misery my wrong has wrought to both. You are the one woman in the world stronger than I, who thought myself invincible. You have made me your prisoner.”
Anger against her fate began to rise within her heart, and strange thoughts surged and swelled through her throbbing brain. She spoke with wild determination:
“Listen. Donald is keeping some great secret from me, and although he has no suspicion of the love existing between you and me, his life is as separated from mine as if we were living in different continents. My life is my own, and if you leave me, I follow.”
“No, no, my beloved,” cried Schwatka.
Dainty continued in the same voice:
“You cannot change me now. Bela,” calling to her servant, “have the horses harnessed to the cart at once, I am going for a drive. Now,” turning to Schwatka, “leave me. I have not the strength to bear your presence longer. I shall be at the meeting of the roads,” naming a spot about five hours distant, “and will meet you there.”
“No, no,” said he, mournfully but firmly. “Here I bid you farewell.” He laid his hand on her shoulder. “When you cease to think of me as a lover, hold my memory kindly as your saviour.”
His hand fell from her shoulder slowly down her beautiful arm, till it reached the little firmly-knit hand, which he held a prisoner for a few seconds, then tenderly raised to his lips. In another moment he had gone.
Chapter Eighteen.A Friend in Deed.Not for a moment was Dainty’s determination shaken by the action of Schwatka. So full of magnetic fire she had never been disciplined to control; had love been sooner enkindled, she would but sooner have leaped into its flame, whether it meant warmth or destruction. Many women of her nature, live and die ignorant of love. Are they more blest for the ignorance?Turning to her dressing-case, in which were her diamonds and costly jewels, she looked at them, and in another moment she replaced the casket. She rapidly dressed for the journey, and ordered Bela to pack a small trunk with necessary and sufficient apparel, and take it to the Cape cart waiting at the door. These things were quickly done by the silent, swiftly-moving Bushman.Trembling with excitement she followed the Bushman, and got into the cart. As they drove away, she gave one backward glance at the home where she had lived so peacefully with Donald. Nerving herself, she bade Bela hasten. When they had reached the edge of the town, she seized the reins, and with a strength born of excitement, urged the horses on with a frenzy that caused Bela to give his mistress a look of wonder.Her thoughts had been too long busy with her work to think of anything further, until now, with the motion of the revolving wheels, and the speeding horses, a sense of liberty took possession of her.She was free! Away over the veldt she flew, the horses seeming to become imbued with the spirit of their mistress, which gave impulse to their fast-flying feet. This sense of freedom was a reaction from the sense of captivity, of late so strongly upon her.Two hours or more flew by, before she gave a thought to the scenes through which she was passing. A weary waste of sandy, desert road; a treeless veldt covered sparsely with a coarse grass; a dreary farmhouse in the distance surrounded by a few trees, was a joyless picture to look upon.Bela sat silent, watching the horses and the flying cart, but immovable as a statue. When the native becomes attached to his mistress, he accepts everything from the “Inkosa” whom he regards as a queen. Dainty’s strength was ebbing fast, but with superhuman effort she rallied all her energies, and, when she saw a horseman in the distance, called to her aid her most languorous and indifferent manner, reined in her rapid steeds and handed the reins to Bela. As the man drew near, to her dismay she recognised Dr Fox, who was returning from his patient. As he rode up to the cart, an expression of amazement spread over his face. When he stopped his horse to speak to her, she ordered Bela to stop, also.“Good afternoon, Mrs Laure. You have greatly improved since I saw you this morning. I scarcely thought you well enough to venture so long a drive. Is it health or pleasure you seek?”Dainty was as white as the dead are. She trembled before this man’s honest way of asking questions. Her strength, until now fed by excitement, left her, and her tongue refused to move, though her lips parted in the effort.The agony that convulsed her frame was depicted on her face, and she shook like one with ague. What should she say? The doctor perceived that here was some awful crisis. He rose to the occasion.“Do not speak. Try to calm yourself,” said he. Dismounting, he took Bela’s place in the cart, and putting his horse in the Bushman’s keeping, told him to follow them to town. He then gathered up the reins and wheeled the horses homeward. They were no sooner turned, than Dainty, unable to support herself, dropped her head on the doctor’s shoulder.“Mrs Laure, I see that you are in distress. I ask you nothing, every woman in trouble is my sister. That’s right, let those wells in your eyes run dry. It would have done you good if they had run over many days earlier.” To himself the doctor continued:“We men have a great deal to answer for. Will we never learn to spare the beautiful butterflies whose lives we so wantonly break? If women only knew men, as men know each other, there would be more missionary work done before marriage. In fact home missionaries do not appreciate their opportunities, for most of us are heathens!”The doctor slackened the reins, and the horses their pace, as they were ascending a hill, at the summit of which he saw a cart driven by Schwatka rapidly approaching. The doctor’s grey eyes shot fire, his mouth set firmly under his brown moustache, and giving the horse a sharp cut with the whip, he passed Schwatka with a jovial, “How are you?” that had a ring in it that sounded like “Check!”Dainty half rose, gave one little heartbroken moan, and sunk back into the corner of the seat. The doctor drove home as quickly as possible, and they were soon at the house, which Dainty had but lately left, expecting never to return. He gently lifted her out of the cart and carried her into the house. His presence was soothing to her spirit, and before he left the house she was wrapped in a sound sleep. She needed rest, for her day was not ended.
Not for a moment was Dainty’s determination shaken by the action of Schwatka. So full of magnetic fire she had never been disciplined to control; had love been sooner enkindled, she would but sooner have leaped into its flame, whether it meant warmth or destruction. Many women of her nature, live and die ignorant of love. Are they more blest for the ignorance?
Turning to her dressing-case, in which were her diamonds and costly jewels, she looked at them, and in another moment she replaced the casket. She rapidly dressed for the journey, and ordered Bela to pack a small trunk with necessary and sufficient apparel, and take it to the Cape cart waiting at the door. These things were quickly done by the silent, swiftly-moving Bushman.
Trembling with excitement she followed the Bushman, and got into the cart. As they drove away, she gave one backward glance at the home where she had lived so peacefully with Donald. Nerving herself, she bade Bela hasten. When they had reached the edge of the town, she seized the reins, and with a strength born of excitement, urged the horses on with a frenzy that caused Bela to give his mistress a look of wonder.
Her thoughts had been too long busy with her work to think of anything further, until now, with the motion of the revolving wheels, and the speeding horses, a sense of liberty took possession of her.
She was free! Away over the veldt she flew, the horses seeming to become imbued with the spirit of their mistress, which gave impulse to their fast-flying feet. This sense of freedom was a reaction from the sense of captivity, of late so strongly upon her.
Two hours or more flew by, before she gave a thought to the scenes through which she was passing. A weary waste of sandy, desert road; a treeless veldt covered sparsely with a coarse grass; a dreary farmhouse in the distance surrounded by a few trees, was a joyless picture to look upon.
Bela sat silent, watching the horses and the flying cart, but immovable as a statue. When the native becomes attached to his mistress, he accepts everything from the “Inkosa” whom he regards as a queen. Dainty’s strength was ebbing fast, but with superhuman effort she rallied all her energies, and, when she saw a horseman in the distance, called to her aid her most languorous and indifferent manner, reined in her rapid steeds and handed the reins to Bela. As the man drew near, to her dismay she recognised Dr Fox, who was returning from his patient. As he rode up to the cart, an expression of amazement spread over his face. When he stopped his horse to speak to her, she ordered Bela to stop, also.
“Good afternoon, Mrs Laure. You have greatly improved since I saw you this morning. I scarcely thought you well enough to venture so long a drive. Is it health or pleasure you seek?”
Dainty was as white as the dead are. She trembled before this man’s honest way of asking questions. Her strength, until now fed by excitement, left her, and her tongue refused to move, though her lips parted in the effort.
The agony that convulsed her frame was depicted on her face, and she shook like one with ague. What should she say? The doctor perceived that here was some awful crisis. He rose to the occasion.
“Do not speak. Try to calm yourself,” said he. Dismounting, he took Bela’s place in the cart, and putting his horse in the Bushman’s keeping, told him to follow them to town. He then gathered up the reins and wheeled the horses homeward. They were no sooner turned, than Dainty, unable to support herself, dropped her head on the doctor’s shoulder.
“Mrs Laure, I see that you are in distress. I ask you nothing, every woman in trouble is my sister. That’s right, let those wells in your eyes run dry. It would have done you good if they had run over many days earlier.” To himself the doctor continued:
“We men have a great deal to answer for. Will we never learn to spare the beautiful butterflies whose lives we so wantonly break? If women only knew men, as men know each other, there would be more missionary work done before marriage. In fact home missionaries do not appreciate their opportunities, for most of us are heathens!”
The doctor slackened the reins, and the horses their pace, as they were ascending a hill, at the summit of which he saw a cart driven by Schwatka rapidly approaching. The doctor’s grey eyes shot fire, his mouth set firmly under his brown moustache, and giving the horse a sharp cut with the whip, he passed Schwatka with a jovial, “How are you?” that had a ring in it that sounded like “Check!”
Dainty half rose, gave one little heartbroken moan, and sunk back into the corner of the seat. The doctor drove home as quickly as possible, and they were soon at the house, which Dainty had but lately left, expecting never to return. He gently lifted her out of the cart and carried her into the house. His presence was soothing to her spirit, and before he left the house she was wrapped in a sound sleep. She needed rest, for her day was not ended.
Chapter Nineteen.Detectives.At dinner that evening, Donald’s mind was fortunately too preoccupied to note the haggard face of the little woman sitting opposite. They were scarcely seated, when from the window she saw two men come into the yard and enter the kitchen. Turning she whispered one word:“Detectives!”Dainty had no suspicion of his having diamonds on his person, until he dropped his knife, and sat pale and nerveless. Leaping from her seat, she flew to his side, thrust her hand into one pocket and another, until she drew forth a large diamond. In another second she was standing in the middle of the room. What should she do with it? Where should she hide it, from those sharp-eyed hunters? There was no spot in the room that would not be searched.There was a rent in the wall paper through which she felt tempted to slip it! The seconds were flying. In another moment those men would open that door and all would be lost! She could almost have annihilated time and space, so greatly was her mentality strained and quickened. In turning to look once more, with a sickening despair striking her vitals, her glance fell on Bela, standing perfectly rigid with terror.Quick as thought she flew to the Bushman, and placing her finger on his eye, lifted the lid, took out that glass eye, slipped the diamond in, and returned the eye to its place. Then turning to her husband, panting, she whispered:“Where did you get that diamond?” He collected his scattered senses and feebly answered:“The Fingo boy.” She sank on her chair a seemingly indifferent, indolent houri, as the door flew open and the detectives entered.“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” said Dainty in a steady voice, but with a questioning look, as if she wondered at the strange hour and abrupt entrance of visitors.“Sorry to disturb your dinner, madam,” said one of the men, “but we have traced a marked diamond here; and must search for it.”“Why do you search here?” said Donald, haughtily.“Hush, Donald! I suppose nothing we could say would hinder them,” said Dainty, calmly.Her coolness and her smile won the evident admiration of the men for a moment; but yet brusquely spoke one of them:“Nothing, madam,” and immediately the search began. Again Donald spoke:“Gentlemen, I have no diamonds about me.”“Perhaps not, sir! But it is our business to make sure of it,” said one detective as he deftly began a personal search.Nothing coming to light, they seemed puzzled, for they had bribed the Fingo boy that day to sell the diamond to Donald, and knowing he had bought it within the hour, thought to find it on him. Then they ransacked the house. Carpets were torn up and furniture ripped open.They even thrust their hands through the rent in the wall paper and felt on the ground below; but their search was fruitless.They next closely inspected Dainty, her hair was combed, and her clothing handled unceremoniously by one man, while the other took Donald into custody. So sure were they that he had the diamond, that when the gem could not be found on the man or the premises, they had no hesitation in arresting him, and stationing the police to watch the house. But it was not so well watched, as to prevent that keen bright woman from eluding their vigilance.Bela stood like a stone image with his one eye fastened on his mistress, and the other eye holding the honour or disgrace of her husband. Nothing could have made him disclose the secret.As the officers left the house with Donald, her every sense was alert, and ready to spring to action.What to do next? The diamond was safe. She must find that Fingo boy who had sold Donald the diamond, and put him out of the way. With the keener sense which she possessed as a birth right, with that black blood in her veins, her woman’s wit came to her assistance, and she resolved to foil the bloodhounds of the law.She remembered a suit she had prepared as a gift to a favourite Malay boy. It hung in her closet, not yet bestowed upon its future owner. With feverish haste she secured it, and dressed herself in it. The soft gay handkerchief she tied around her head, and over this placed the hat. She had smiled at the odd costume when she had first made it ready, but she did not smile now, nor at her appearance in it. She only felt joy in the disguise.Now—how to pass the guards!It was desperate business. She called Bela—trusty fellow! He must help. The Bushman started at sight of her, and only the voice assured him it was really she.“Bela,” said she, “I must get away for a while and you must help me. Do you go out to the gate, and when the guards stop you, keep them as long as you can. I will run another way and try to get out of sight. They will send you back, of course.”The Bushman started on his mission. Dainty watched him concealed in the shadow of the house. The guards stopped him as she had thought. It was growing rapidly dark. She heard the authoritative voices of the guards, and the stupid answers of Bela. Dashing at right angles from the scene, she scaled the fence unobserved, and rapidly left the unsuspecting guards trying to convince Bela that it would not do. When he finally submitted, the outwitted officers congratulated themselves on their vigilance. So was the first step accomplished!Now to find her stalwart driver and order her cart and horses. She had gone scarce one hundred yards when, to her unspeakable joy and surprise, she found the servant going toward home. It was with difficulty she made him know his mistress; ordering him to meet her at a particular spot, she hurried on.Rapidly passing to the Kafir location, where she felt she should find the Fingo, she walked fearlessly into the first hut. Hut after hut was visited, and inquiries, made of one and another inmate in her awakened savage mood, and in the native language, as to where the boy lay.As she shook each sleeping body, the very manner of her action, and the tone of frenzy in which she addressed them, so impressed them, that they answered whether they would or not. She walked on and on, until the last hut, the farthest from probable detection was reached, and there, lying between two other Kafirs, she found him.With superhuman strength she dragged him out. By this time her fury had reached such a pitch that, to be rid of her clutch was like shaking off the claws of a wild cat.Hurrying him forward in breathless haste, she reached the place where the cart stood waiting. Hustling him into it, she held him with her woman’s hands while the driver tied him securely down. Then, seizing the reins, she ordered her servant to wait her return, and drove swiftly away.She pierced the dark with savage instinct for there was no road to guide her. The dangerous holes with which the veldt is studded did not lie in her path.Her anger rose as the horses sped along. To her excited nerves their rapid pace was too slow, and she whipped them into a wild galop all the way, for she must be home before sun up.Her fury was intense, and she would turn to the Fingo cowering in the corner of the seat, in a sort of mad way, that made him shrink with terror. Every time she looked at him she would urge her horses to additional speed by lashings of the whip, until they were nearly as mad as their mistress.
At dinner that evening, Donald’s mind was fortunately too preoccupied to note the haggard face of the little woman sitting opposite. They were scarcely seated, when from the window she saw two men come into the yard and enter the kitchen. Turning she whispered one word:
“Detectives!”
Dainty had no suspicion of his having diamonds on his person, until he dropped his knife, and sat pale and nerveless. Leaping from her seat, she flew to his side, thrust her hand into one pocket and another, until she drew forth a large diamond. In another second she was standing in the middle of the room. What should she do with it? Where should she hide it, from those sharp-eyed hunters? There was no spot in the room that would not be searched.
There was a rent in the wall paper through which she felt tempted to slip it! The seconds were flying. In another moment those men would open that door and all would be lost! She could almost have annihilated time and space, so greatly was her mentality strained and quickened. In turning to look once more, with a sickening despair striking her vitals, her glance fell on Bela, standing perfectly rigid with terror.
Quick as thought she flew to the Bushman, and placing her finger on his eye, lifted the lid, took out that glass eye, slipped the diamond in, and returned the eye to its place. Then turning to her husband, panting, she whispered:
“Where did you get that diamond?” He collected his scattered senses and feebly answered:
“The Fingo boy.” She sank on her chair a seemingly indifferent, indolent houri, as the door flew open and the detectives entered.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” said Dainty in a steady voice, but with a questioning look, as if she wondered at the strange hour and abrupt entrance of visitors.
“Sorry to disturb your dinner, madam,” said one of the men, “but we have traced a marked diamond here; and must search for it.”
“Why do you search here?” said Donald, haughtily.
“Hush, Donald! I suppose nothing we could say would hinder them,” said Dainty, calmly.
Her coolness and her smile won the evident admiration of the men for a moment; but yet brusquely spoke one of them:
“Nothing, madam,” and immediately the search began. Again Donald spoke:
“Gentlemen, I have no diamonds about me.”
“Perhaps not, sir! But it is our business to make sure of it,” said one detective as he deftly began a personal search.
Nothing coming to light, they seemed puzzled, for they had bribed the Fingo boy that day to sell the diamond to Donald, and knowing he had bought it within the hour, thought to find it on him. Then they ransacked the house. Carpets were torn up and furniture ripped open.
They even thrust their hands through the rent in the wall paper and felt on the ground below; but their search was fruitless.
They next closely inspected Dainty, her hair was combed, and her clothing handled unceremoniously by one man, while the other took Donald into custody. So sure were they that he had the diamond, that when the gem could not be found on the man or the premises, they had no hesitation in arresting him, and stationing the police to watch the house. But it was not so well watched, as to prevent that keen bright woman from eluding their vigilance.
Bela stood like a stone image with his one eye fastened on his mistress, and the other eye holding the honour or disgrace of her husband. Nothing could have made him disclose the secret.
As the officers left the house with Donald, her every sense was alert, and ready to spring to action.
What to do next? The diamond was safe. She must find that Fingo boy who had sold Donald the diamond, and put him out of the way. With the keener sense which she possessed as a birth right, with that black blood in her veins, her woman’s wit came to her assistance, and she resolved to foil the bloodhounds of the law.
She remembered a suit she had prepared as a gift to a favourite Malay boy. It hung in her closet, not yet bestowed upon its future owner. With feverish haste she secured it, and dressed herself in it. The soft gay handkerchief she tied around her head, and over this placed the hat. She had smiled at the odd costume when she had first made it ready, but she did not smile now, nor at her appearance in it. She only felt joy in the disguise.
Now—how to pass the guards!
It was desperate business. She called Bela—trusty fellow! He must help. The Bushman started at sight of her, and only the voice assured him it was really she.
“Bela,” said she, “I must get away for a while and you must help me. Do you go out to the gate, and when the guards stop you, keep them as long as you can. I will run another way and try to get out of sight. They will send you back, of course.”
The Bushman started on his mission. Dainty watched him concealed in the shadow of the house. The guards stopped him as she had thought. It was growing rapidly dark. She heard the authoritative voices of the guards, and the stupid answers of Bela. Dashing at right angles from the scene, she scaled the fence unobserved, and rapidly left the unsuspecting guards trying to convince Bela that it would not do. When he finally submitted, the outwitted officers congratulated themselves on their vigilance. So was the first step accomplished!
Now to find her stalwart driver and order her cart and horses. She had gone scarce one hundred yards when, to her unspeakable joy and surprise, she found the servant going toward home. It was with difficulty she made him know his mistress; ordering him to meet her at a particular spot, she hurried on.
Rapidly passing to the Kafir location, where she felt she should find the Fingo, she walked fearlessly into the first hut. Hut after hut was visited, and inquiries, made of one and another inmate in her awakened savage mood, and in the native language, as to where the boy lay.
As she shook each sleeping body, the very manner of her action, and the tone of frenzy in which she addressed them, so impressed them, that they answered whether they would or not. She walked on and on, until the last hut, the farthest from probable detection was reached, and there, lying between two other Kafirs, she found him.
With superhuman strength she dragged him out. By this time her fury had reached such a pitch that, to be rid of her clutch was like shaking off the claws of a wild cat.
Hurrying him forward in breathless haste, she reached the place where the cart stood waiting. Hustling him into it, she held him with her woman’s hands while the driver tied him securely down. Then, seizing the reins, she ordered her servant to wait her return, and drove swiftly away.
She pierced the dark with savage instinct for there was no road to guide her. The dangerous holes with which the veldt is studded did not lie in her path.
Her anger rose as the horses sped along. To her excited nerves their rapid pace was too slow, and she whipped them into a wild galop all the way, for she must be home before sun up.
Her fury was intense, and she would turn to the Fingo cowering in the corner of the seat, in a sort of mad way, that made him shrink with terror. Every time she looked at him she would urge her horses to additional speed by lashings of the whip, until they were nearly as mad as their mistress.
Chapter Twenty.One of Eve’s Daughters.At last, in the dead of night, she reached the house of an Afrikander whom she had once befriended, and on whom she could rely. Him she awakened by blowing a bugle which had lain at her feet.—He came out to her, and listened to the strange tale which she hastily repeated, with the usual unmoved countenance of the Afrikander. He was ready enough to help her to dispose of her terror-stricken prisoner. These Cape people have a way of their own of disposing of anything disagreeable, which strikes the stranger as peculiar, but effective.Obeying her orders, he took him to a lonely hut, and chained him fast. It was the Fingo’s fate to remain there until danger to Donald was past. When she saw that the captive was where he could do her husband no harm, she handed a purse to the Afrikander and turned her horses’ heads homeward, with a sense of relief.Her fury had abated, but not her courage. Alone, and fearless, she returned over the veldt, until, exhausted, she arrived on the outskirts of the town, just as the day was dawning, and descended from her cart, leaving it in the hands of her tireless waiting servant. She then turned homeward, now on foot. The fatigue of the watch had relaxed the vigilance of the guard, and they expected nothing from beyond the premises. So by care she was able to regain the shadow of the house and to make safe entrance.Closing the door, the graceful Malay became transformed into a tearful, trembling, exhausted woman. She doffed her male attire, donned a soft, silken, clinging robe, and sunk on a couch with a feeling of utter weakness. Fate, she thought, had overtaken her, and she felt herself hopelessly entangled in the intricacies of Donald’s possible disaster. But she had shown her devotion as a wife, in her wild and dangerous midnight ride. Why had she ever met Donald? Why had she not been left to live her uneventful life? “Oh,” she sighed, “to hide in the depths of some great forest and there lie down in peace to die.” Then her thoughts reverted to Schwatka, who was seldom out of her mind. Donald with his hidden secret had estranged her. When we are no longer worthy of confidence, we lose confidence in others.A remnant of the old self that had been Donald’s—her pride in his good name was still left. In secreting the diamond, she sought to shield her husband’s name from disgrace. Beyond this pride, the rest was indifference, and nothing henceforth could kindle any warmer flame, while the new fires of another love burned at such a white heat, that they threatened to consume the temple in which their altars stood.The mental strain of the last twenty-four hours had completely prostrated her. Soon all became a blank, and she lay for hours unconscious; when she awoke her brain slowly resumed its action. She passed her hand wearily over her head. Where was she? What was it? Ah, yes. She remembered, and rang for Bela. He did not answer the call. Calling a second time, and receiving no response, she sat up, lost in thought.What was the immediate work before her? To find Bela must be her first act, for he had the diamond! She ran out of the room into the next and searched everywhere, thinking he must be in hiding. Calling again, and receiving no answer, she realised that there was not a servant on the place.Action was now a luxury. Real danger was in the air. If nothing could be proved against her husband, when would he return?With all these thoughts surging through her brain, it seemed as if her head would burst. As she tottered back toward the bedroom, the door opened, and she swooned in Donald’s arms.Donald saw that she had been passing through some terrible agony. He groaned and covered her face with kisses, as he laid her gently on the couch and applied restoratives. When she regained consciousness, her eyes fell on Donald. She turned her head away from him with a weary motion. Here were two people chained to each other by the bond of marriage, but whose ways lay far apart. Love held Donald captive, while fate bound Dainty to Donald.Suddenly she rose from her couch, and began to tell him of her night ride. As she continued, he looked at her in amazement. Her self sufficiency, her fearlessness, under the utterly listless manner in which she told it all, made her seem like a new being to him.Woman needs but to taste the fruit of the tree of knowledge, to become an epicure. Dainty had been wandering in the fields of Paradise with an Adam who was not Donald, and Donald would no more be her companion, though he might stay by her side.“If Bela does not return to-day, we must leave the country, unless you are willing to work in convict dress.”He sank lower in his chair, before replying in a scarce audible voice:“Where shall we go?”She looked at him in amazement as she said:“To England, of course. Where else should you go?” He kept his hand over his eyes as he replied:“I had thought we might wish to go to Australia.”“Australia! Why there, instead of England? Do you not care to see your native land?”“Oh, yes,” said Donald, hurriedly, “only I did not know as you—you cared to go to England in winter.”This seemed to satisfy Dainty, who wearily closed her eyes and said:“It matters little to me whether it is summer or winter, so long as I get away from here.” She said no more, but lay unmoved with eyes closed. Donald moodily watched her. Presently he saw that she slept the sleep of exhaustion.
At last, in the dead of night, she reached the house of an Afrikander whom she had once befriended, and on whom she could rely. Him she awakened by blowing a bugle which had lain at her feet.—He came out to her, and listened to the strange tale which she hastily repeated, with the usual unmoved countenance of the Afrikander. He was ready enough to help her to dispose of her terror-stricken prisoner. These Cape people have a way of their own of disposing of anything disagreeable, which strikes the stranger as peculiar, but effective.
Obeying her orders, he took him to a lonely hut, and chained him fast. It was the Fingo’s fate to remain there until danger to Donald was past. When she saw that the captive was where he could do her husband no harm, she handed a purse to the Afrikander and turned her horses’ heads homeward, with a sense of relief.
Her fury had abated, but not her courage. Alone, and fearless, she returned over the veldt, until, exhausted, she arrived on the outskirts of the town, just as the day was dawning, and descended from her cart, leaving it in the hands of her tireless waiting servant. She then turned homeward, now on foot. The fatigue of the watch had relaxed the vigilance of the guard, and they expected nothing from beyond the premises. So by care she was able to regain the shadow of the house and to make safe entrance.
Closing the door, the graceful Malay became transformed into a tearful, trembling, exhausted woman. She doffed her male attire, donned a soft, silken, clinging robe, and sunk on a couch with a feeling of utter weakness. Fate, she thought, had overtaken her, and she felt herself hopelessly entangled in the intricacies of Donald’s possible disaster. But she had shown her devotion as a wife, in her wild and dangerous midnight ride. Why had she ever met Donald? Why had she not been left to live her uneventful life? “Oh,” she sighed, “to hide in the depths of some great forest and there lie down in peace to die.” Then her thoughts reverted to Schwatka, who was seldom out of her mind. Donald with his hidden secret had estranged her. When we are no longer worthy of confidence, we lose confidence in others.
A remnant of the old self that had been Donald’s—her pride in his good name was still left. In secreting the diamond, she sought to shield her husband’s name from disgrace. Beyond this pride, the rest was indifference, and nothing henceforth could kindle any warmer flame, while the new fires of another love burned at such a white heat, that they threatened to consume the temple in which their altars stood.
The mental strain of the last twenty-four hours had completely prostrated her. Soon all became a blank, and she lay for hours unconscious; when she awoke her brain slowly resumed its action. She passed her hand wearily over her head. Where was she? What was it? Ah, yes. She remembered, and rang for Bela. He did not answer the call. Calling a second time, and receiving no response, she sat up, lost in thought.
What was the immediate work before her? To find Bela must be her first act, for he had the diamond! She ran out of the room into the next and searched everywhere, thinking he must be in hiding. Calling again, and receiving no answer, she realised that there was not a servant on the place.
Action was now a luxury. Real danger was in the air. If nothing could be proved against her husband, when would he return?
With all these thoughts surging through her brain, it seemed as if her head would burst. As she tottered back toward the bedroom, the door opened, and she swooned in Donald’s arms.
Donald saw that she had been passing through some terrible agony. He groaned and covered her face with kisses, as he laid her gently on the couch and applied restoratives. When she regained consciousness, her eyes fell on Donald. She turned her head away from him with a weary motion. Here were two people chained to each other by the bond of marriage, but whose ways lay far apart. Love held Donald captive, while fate bound Dainty to Donald.
Suddenly she rose from her couch, and began to tell him of her night ride. As she continued, he looked at her in amazement. Her self sufficiency, her fearlessness, under the utterly listless manner in which she told it all, made her seem like a new being to him.
Woman needs but to taste the fruit of the tree of knowledge, to become an epicure. Dainty had been wandering in the fields of Paradise with an Adam who was not Donald, and Donald would no more be her companion, though he might stay by her side.
“If Bela does not return to-day, we must leave the country, unless you are willing to work in convict dress.”
He sank lower in his chair, before replying in a scarce audible voice:
“Where shall we go?”
She looked at him in amazement as she said:
“To England, of course. Where else should you go?” He kept his hand over his eyes as he replied:
“I had thought we might wish to go to Australia.”
“Australia! Why there, instead of England? Do you not care to see your native land?”
“Oh, yes,” said Donald, hurriedly, “only I did not know as you—you cared to go to England in winter.”
This seemed to satisfy Dainty, who wearily closed her eyes and said:
“It matters little to me whether it is summer or winter, so long as I get away from here.” She said no more, but lay unmoved with eyes closed. Donald moodily watched her. Presently he saw that she slept the sleep of exhaustion.
Chapter Twenty One.On the Heights.Bloemfontein, the beautiful. Have you seen Bloemfontein? No? Well you must do so before you leave Africa. In this lovely place, its streets shaded by trees, whose luxurious foliage is kept in perennial verdure by purling streams, had Kate Darcy chosen a resting-place. What a change from the dirty, dusty, noisy Fields, with streets filled with hungry worshippers of Mammon, to this crystallised mirage, for one would scarcely realise that so beautiful a garden could rise out of a desert, except in imagination.Here in the midst of a garden of roses, encircled by a hedge of cactus, stood the house in which Kate Darcy had chosen to make her home for the nonce. Its owner, a wealthy Hollander, who had come out as a missionary, and availed himself of the opportunities of trade with great success, was now visiting Europe with his family. The house was luxuriously furnished, and a Scotchwoman, as housekeeper, watched over all the barbaric creatures—servants on the place.One morning, a few weeks after her arrival, Kate was listlessly swinging in a hammock shaded by a fig-tree, when Margaret appeared, saying:“A gentleman to see you, Miss Darcy.”“Who is it, Margaret?”“Here is his card.”As Kate read the name of C.A. Fox—Kimberley, she said:“Show him the way to the garden, Margaret. I will receive him here.”When the doctor reached the veranda that overlooked this charming spot, he stood lost in admiration. Before him was the woman he had dreamed of, thought of, loved—since the hour he first met her. Never before had he seen so beautiful, so idyllic a picture. She looked sweet and restful under the trees, with the sunlight striking the trembling leaves which threw playful shadows over her face.At his approach, she rose from her hammock to greet him. Taking both her hands in his, and looking into her eyes, as if he would read her inmost thoughts, he said: “I hope that you are glad to see me?”“Indeed I am,” said Kate, heartily. “I was beginning to feel a little secret restlessness, and a desire for the society of a congenial soul. What good angel has brought you to Bloemfontein? Ah, I know,” she continued, for the doctor seemed for once in his life at a loss for words; “the angel of mercy. Some poor stricken sufferer has heard of your skill and sent for you. Is it a case for the surgeon, or physician?”“I have not fully diagnosed the case.”“It is not a hopeless one, I trust?” said Kate.“I fear it is.”“Let us hope that with your skill, aided by kind Providence, all will be well.”“I will say Amen, to that, but, as it is a case for the metaphysician, I fear I shall lose the patient.”“Ah, Doctor! and you whose happy cures are so frequently the result of mental action. By the way, is the patient one of your own sex?”“Yes; and therein lies the danger.”With one accord they began to walk slowly over the grounds. As they walked, they talked, and in the midst of their talk, they would cease to walk; standing still to enjoy some thought of the moment, and then begin to pace over the green sward.“I thought, Miss Darcy, that I would leave the Fields during the hot Christmas season, and visit you.”“You have done quite right. We will try to entertain you as best we know how. Instead of the usual Christmas turkey with its accompanying cranberry sauce, we will serve up to you some of those delightful dishes our Coolie cook knows so well how to prepare, with a feast of rare fruit, such as I think you have never tasted.”“I see you think of the inner man?”“Why, certainly! You, like the rest of your brothers, love to be well fed. You see that I wish you to be amiable while you are here. Experience has taught me that a good dinner makes a man much better company than he would be without it.”“Miss Darcy, I think your presence would always make a man feel at his best.”“Tut! Tut! what nonsense. I am more of a philosopher than you. There is nothing equal to a good dinner to make a man feel at peace with all the world.”“How are you off for servants?”“I have not the slightest idea how many Margaret has on her staff. When meal time comes around, there will be a quorum or more Kafirs around the kitchen door. Always enough to come to a decision on the merits of the cook, cuisine, and condiments. They are an amusing study. They come in all sorts of garbs: in blankets, old military jackets once owned by some brave Englishman, and a variety of garments too absurd to mention. One Kafir came with a stovepipe hat turned upside down, so that he could have carried all his worldly possessions in it if he had wished to do so. The hat was held on his head by fastening a string to each side of the rim, and tying them under his chin. In addition to that he had on a paper collar, and a pair of old pantaloons half way up to his knees. He had a knob-kerrie in his hand, and walked much as a Broadway dandy would walk.”“Miss Darcy,” said the doctor, laughingly, “you should fill a sketch-book with all these strange characters you see. Your powers of observation are so developed that you perceive things which others would pass blindly over.”“I have not the slightest talent for sketching. These scenes will have to remain imprinted on the photographic tablet of my memory.”“I trust your housekeeper suits you?”“Margaret is all one could ask for, and such an honest body. I know she doesn’t ‘pretty much’!”“One could not truthfully say that she is handsome! You are perfectly safe while she is your body-guard. Has she raised that moustache since you met her?”Kate laughed merrily, for Margaret always reminded her of an old mouser. It seemed as if she never could have been young, and her clothes had a home-made-in-a-hurry sort of look about them. But Margaret filled her niche in the world.“Let us take a drive before dinner,” said Kate, “and let me show you through this beautiful little town of ours, which we think compares favourably with those havens of rest around Cape Town. You must have seen at the hotel the Englishmen, who are enjoying poor health, and losing their old dreaded belief in consumption.”“I did, and found them agreeable company. You have pleasant neighbours?”“I don’t know. I should be sorry to find that I have not, so I do not try to gratify any curiosity I may have on the subject.”They had reached the house, and Kate, having given orders for the horses to be harnessed to the Victoria, excused herself for a few moments. When she returned she wore a plain cream-coloured cashmere dress. A wide-brimmed Leghorn hat, with drooping feathers, sat gracefully on her head.After driving through the miniature city, with its imposing banks, churches, House of Parliament, and handsome residences, they struck the road leading along the edge of a line of hills that overshadowed the town, passing several neatly-kept vineyards. For an hour they kept up a running fire of conversation on every topic except the one nearest their hearts; then the doctor turned the horses, and the spirited creatures put their noses down and enjoyed the run home over the hard, smooth road, as much as did the occupants of the carriage behind them. Dinner was ready when they reached the house, and they sat a long time chatting over the viands before them, unmindful of everything outside those four walls. After dinner the garden was again visited, and Kate swung idly in her hammock, while the doctor sat near by and told her the news of the Kimberley world. A cool breeze sprang up at sunset, and the moon rose in all her silvery glory.They were both content. The day had brought its full amount of happiness, and was one to be kept in memory.
Bloemfontein, the beautiful. Have you seen Bloemfontein? No? Well you must do so before you leave Africa. In this lovely place, its streets shaded by trees, whose luxurious foliage is kept in perennial verdure by purling streams, had Kate Darcy chosen a resting-place. What a change from the dirty, dusty, noisy Fields, with streets filled with hungry worshippers of Mammon, to this crystallised mirage, for one would scarcely realise that so beautiful a garden could rise out of a desert, except in imagination.
Here in the midst of a garden of roses, encircled by a hedge of cactus, stood the house in which Kate Darcy had chosen to make her home for the nonce. Its owner, a wealthy Hollander, who had come out as a missionary, and availed himself of the opportunities of trade with great success, was now visiting Europe with his family. The house was luxuriously furnished, and a Scotchwoman, as housekeeper, watched over all the barbaric creatures—servants on the place.
One morning, a few weeks after her arrival, Kate was listlessly swinging in a hammock shaded by a fig-tree, when Margaret appeared, saying:
“A gentleman to see you, Miss Darcy.”
“Who is it, Margaret?”
“Here is his card.”
As Kate read the name of C.A. Fox—Kimberley, she said:
“Show him the way to the garden, Margaret. I will receive him here.”
When the doctor reached the veranda that overlooked this charming spot, he stood lost in admiration. Before him was the woman he had dreamed of, thought of, loved—since the hour he first met her. Never before had he seen so beautiful, so idyllic a picture. She looked sweet and restful under the trees, with the sunlight striking the trembling leaves which threw playful shadows over her face.
At his approach, she rose from her hammock to greet him. Taking both her hands in his, and looking into her eyes, as if he would read her inmost thoughts, he said: “I hope that you are glad to see me?”
“Indeed I am,” said Kate, heartily. “I was beginning to feel a little secret restlessness, and a desire for the society of a congenial soul. What good angel has brought you to Bloemfontein? Ah, I know,” she continued, for the doctor seemed for once in his life at a loss for words; “the angel of mercy. Some poor stricken sufferer has heard of your skill and sent for you. Is it a case for the surgeon, or physician?”
“I have not fully diagnosed the case.”
“It is not a hopeless one, I trust?” said Kate.
“I fear it is.”
“Let us hope that with your skill, aided by kind Providence, all will be well.”
“I will say Amen, to that, but, as it is a case for the metaphysician, I fear I shall lose the patient.”
“Ah, Doctor! and you whose happy cures are so frequently the result of mental action. By the way, is the patient one of your own sex?”
“Yes; and therein lies the danger.”
With one accord they began to walk slowly over the grounds. As they walked, they talked, and in the midst of their talk, they would cease to walk; standing still to enjoy some thought of the moment, and then begin to pace over the green sward.
“I thought, Miss Darcy, that I would leave the Fields during the hot Christmas season, and visit you.”
“You have done quite right. We will try to entertain you as best we know how. Instead of the usual Christmas turkey with its accompanying cranberry sauce, we will serve up to you some of those delightful dishes our Coolie cook knows so well how to prepare, with a feast of rare fruit, such as I think you have never tasted.”
“I see you think of the inner man?”
“Why, certainly! You, like the rest of your brothers, love to be well fed. You see that I wish you to be amiable while you are here. Experience has taught me that a good dinner makes a man much better company than he would be without it.”
“Miss Darcy, I think your presence would always make a man feel at his best.”
“Tut! Tut! what nonsense. I am more of a philosopher than you. There is nothing equal to a good dinner to make a man feel at peace with all the world.”
“How are you off for servants?”
“I have not the slightest idea how many Margaret has on her staff. When meal time comes around, there will be a quorum or more Kafirs around the kitchen door. Always enough to come to a decision on the merits of the cook, cuisine, and condiments. They are an amusing study. They come in all sorts of garbs: in blankets, old military jackets once owned by some brave Englishman, and a variety of garments too absurd to mention. One Kafir came with a stovepipe hat turned upside down, so that he could have carried all his worldly possessions in it if he had wished to do so. The hat was held on his head by fastening a string to each side of the rim, and tying them under his chin. In addition to that he had on a paper collar, and a pair of old pantaloons half way up to his knees. He had a knob-kerrie in his hand, and walked much as a Broadway dandy would walk.”
“Miss Darcy,” said the doctor, laughingly, “you should fill a sketch-book with all these strange characters you see. Your powers of observation are so developed that you perceive things which others would pass blindly over.”
“I have not the slightest talent for sketching. These scenes will have to remain imprinted on the photographic tablet of my memory.”
“I trust your housekeeper suits you?”
“Margaret is all one could ask for, and such an honest body. I know she doesn’t ‘pretty much’!”
“One could not truthfully say that she is handsome! You are perfectly safe while she is your body-guard. Has she raised that moustache since you met her?”
Kate laughed merrily, for Margaret always reminded her of an old mouser. It seemed as if she never could have been young, and her clothes had a home-made-in-a-hurry sort of look about them. But Margaret filled her niche in the world.
“Let us take a drive before dinner,” said Kate, “and let me show you through this beautiful little town of ours, which we think compares favourably with those havens of rest around Cape Town. You must have seen at the hotel the Englishmen, who are enjoying poor health, and losing their old dreaded belief in consumption.”
“I did, and found them agreeable company. You have pleasant neighbours?”
“I don’t know. I should be sorry to find that I have not, so I do not try to gratify any curiosity I may have on the subject.”
They had reached the house, and Kate, having given orders for the horses to be harnessed to the Victoria, excused herself for a few moments. When she returned she wore a plain cream-coloured cashmere dress. A wide-brimmed Leghorn hat, with drooping feathers, sat gracefully on her head.
After driving through the miniature city, with its imposing banks, churches, House of Parliament, and handsome residences, they struck the road leading along the edge of a line of hills that overshadowed the town, passing several neatly-kept vineyards. For an hour they kept up a running fire of conversation on every topic except the one nearest their hearts; then the doctor turned the horses, and the spirited creatures put their noses down and enjoyed the run home over the hard, smooth road, as much as did the occupants of the carriage behind them. Dinner was ready when they reached the house, and they sat a long time chatting over the viands before them, unmindful of everything outside those four walls. After dinner the garden was again visited, and Kate swung idly in her hammock, while the doctor sat near by and told her the news of the Kimberley world. A cool breeze sprang up at sunset, and the moon rose in all her silvery glory.
They were both content. The day had brought its full amount of happiness, and was one to be kept in memory.
Chapter Twenty Two.Pinning Leaves Together.“I have been thinking that you have found that home of loveliness and utter delight, which you so charmingly described during our last ride together in Kimberley.”“And have you not forgotten what I said?” asked Kate, looking up at the sky.“I remember every word I ever heard you utter.”“I shall be very careful what I say after this.”“Not on my account, I beg? I like to hear you think aloud as you do, for your words have so stirred my own thoughts, Miss Darcy, that I have been anxious to hear you talk again.”Kate swung more and more slowly with eyes half closed, like one indulging in a dream.“Tell me,” continued the doctor, looking down into her face, “are you perfectly happy within yourself. Have you no longing for the society of others, and is this idle life of yours all that you wish for?”Kate could not answer this man lightly, she felt that if she were false to him in the slightest degree, she would become less womanly in her own, as well as his eyes. Avoiding his glance, she answered:“The idle life I am leading is a life full of thought. My mind is constantly absorbing everything I see. All these strange creatures around me are a study. I have not been as idle as you think during my stay in Bloemfontein. I have been pinning some leaves together.”“Pinning leaves together! Am I among those leaves?”“Yes, but I have turned your particular leaf, with a few others, down for future reference.”“What will you do with the remaining leaves?”“They will be left pinned. I do not wish to re-read the past. I need all my strength and thought for the ever-present now.”“Do you mean to say, that you do not intend giving any backward glances?”“All that is not pleasant I have shut away in those leaves.”“Then I may infer that the leaf you have turned down for reference, has something agreeable written there?”Kate made no reply.“To be but a leaf in your book, brings a sense of delight to me. Pray let me know if I am fast in the binding, or whether I am liable to become lost, strayed, or stolen. Sometimes I feel as if I were all three,” said the doctor, with an earnestness in his voice, that made the blood fly to Kate’s cheeks. Yet evading his real meaning, she said, with mock pity:“Poor fellow! That is homesickness. Homesickness is a very unpleasant feeling.”“Especially if you have no home, but are merely existing?”“Don’t you call Kimberley home?”“Did you ever meet anyone there who did?” asked the doctor.“Now that I think of it I never did. Why is it?”“Because to live simply to make money, is only existence. I do not think I shall remain there much longer. I expect to sail for England shortly.”“To remain there?”“That depends!” and the doctor watched her face with its varying expression. Kate covered her face with her hand, for a few moments. When she looked up again the doctor asked:“Of what were you thinking?”“Of something in the past. Of course it was a pleasant thought.”“I wish that I were woven in that past life of yours.”“I don’t think we would have been as good friends as we are now.”“Why do you think that?”“Well,” said Kate, slowly, “I glided over the surface of life then, and did not appreciate half there was to be found in it. I realise now, that it is a great, a grand thing to live.”“And you make others think the same thought when they come near you.”“Ah! if I could have that power, what a rich woman I would be. What knowledge I would have, and what good I could do.”“Don’t say ‘if,’” Kate felt the doctor’s eyes looking down upon her, as he spoke, and knew that he was deeply moved as he continued:“I think I am a nobler man since I first met you. Your thoughts have been a refreshing draught to my thirsty soul. The divine womanhood in you has at last awakened my true self.”“Then my coming has done some good; I am content.”The doctor stood with his hand behind him. Attitude and form expressing the nobility of manhood, as he looked at this queen of his heart. Drawing a long breath he said: “I am not in a mood to talk platitudes, for my life has now become an earnest endeavour. I would rather you would wound me, than to endure another day of suspense such as I have passed through since you left me. Words are but clumsy vehicles to bear the expression of my feelings for you. You seem to be a part of myself—my spirit-mate. Kate, my beloved, come to me; let me call you—wife!”As he said this he made a step forward, and grasped the hammock, trembling from head to foot. Kate remained silent, while the doctor stood with his hand still on the hammock patiently waiting her reply.Kate was pale to her lips, as she replied: “My friend, I will be as truthful to you, as one soul can be to another; and I think you will understand me. I am happier now than I have ever been, in my life. I am at peace with myself. To say that I am perfectly happy, would be to say what no one yet has said truly; but it is a question, a very serious one with me, whether marriage would bring me greater happiness than I now know.”“Would not this love I bear for you make you happier? God did not place you in my pathway without a purpose.”“That is true. But let us be sure that this love is not a fancy!”“A fancy! Have you no feeling for me deeper than you give to a mere friend?”“Yes.”“Thank God!” and the doctor raised his eyes, then let them fall upon her face with an adoring look.“But I cannot make you understand, that I would spare you suffering later on. Let me tell you. Love, to me, means perfect trust. I could never stoop to find out if you ever deceived me. If I did, love would die out of me that instant, and then how dreary my life would be. I don’t want to be wretched through any mistaken fancy. When I surrender, it must bring me what I long for—Contentment.”“Come to me, Kate, and trust me! I am not here without being certain that our lives can be made of use and joy to each other, for I love you. I love you. I have been smothering my feelings so long, that it is now a relief to tell you of it,” and the doctor took one of her hands in his, and held it firmly.“Tell me, Kate, is marriage distasteful to you?”“Not my ideal of the true married state. When I look at my married friends, and see among them so many lovely women wretched, and unable to solve the problem of happiness, I pray that my life may escape like miserable failure.”
“I have been thinking that you have found that home of loveliness and utter delight, which you so charmingly described during our last ride together in Kimberley.”
“And have you not forgotten what I said?” asked Kate, looking up at the sky.
“I remember every word I ever heard you utter.”
“I shall be very careful what I say after this.”
“Not on my account, I beg? I like to hear you think aloud as you do, for your words have so stirred my own thoughts, Miss Darcy, that I have been anxious to hear you talk again.”
Kate swung more and more slowly with eyes half closed, like one indulging in a dream.
“Tell me,” continued the doctor, looking down into her face, “are you perfectly happy within yourself. Have you no longing for the society of others, and is this idle life of yours all that you wish for?”
Kate could not answer this man lightly, she felt that if she were false to him in the slightest degree, she would become less womanly in her own, as well as his eyes. Avoiding his glance, she answered:
“The idle life I am leading is a life full of thought. My mind is constantly absorbing everything I see. All these strange creatures around me are a study. I have not been as idle as you think during my stay in Bloemfontein. I have been pinning some leaves together.”
“Pinning leaves together! Am I among those leaves?”
“Yes, but I have turned your particular leaf, with a few others, down for future reference.”
“What will you do with the remaining leaves?”
“They will be left pinned. I do not wish to re-read the past. I need all my strength and thought for the ever-present now.”
“Do you mean to say, that you do not intend giving any backward glances?”
“All that is not pleasant I have shut away in those leaves.”
“Then I may infer that the leaf you have turned down for reference, has something agreeable written there?”
Kate made no reply.
“To be but a leaf in your book, brings a sense of delight to me. Pray let me know if I am fast in the binding, or whether I am liable to become lost, strayed, or stolen. Sometimes I feel as if I were all three,” said the doctor, with an earnestness in his voice, that made the blood fly to Kate’s cheeks. Yet evading his real meaning, she said, with mock pity:
“Poor fellow! That is homesickness. Homesickness is a very unpleasant feeling.”
“Especially if you have no home, but are merely existing?”
“Don’t you call Kimberley home?”
“Did you ever meet anyone there who did?” asked the doctor.
“Now that I think of it I never did. Why is it?”
“Because to live simply to make money, is only existence. I do not think I shall remain there much longer. I expect to sail for England shortly.”
“To remain there?”
“That depends!” and the doctor watched her face with its varying expression. Kate covered her face with her hand, for a few moments. When she looked up again the doctor asked:
“Of what were you thinking?”
“Of something in the past. Of course it was a pleasant thought.”
“I wish that I were woven in that past life of yours.”
“I don’t think we would have been as good friends as we are now.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Well,” said Kate, slowly, “I glided over the surface of life then, and did not appreciate half there was to be found in it. I realise now, that it is a great, a grand thing to live.”
“And you make others think the same thought when they come near you.”
“Ah! if I could have that power, what a rich woman I would be. What knowledge I would have, and what good I could do.”
“Don’t say ‘if,’” Kate felt the doctor’s eyes looking down upon her, as he spoke, and knew that he was deeply moved as he continued:
“I think I am a nobler man since I first met you. Your thoughts have been a refreshing draught to my thirsty soul. The divine womanhood in you has at last awakened my true self.”
“Then my coming has done some good; I am content.”
The doctor stood with his hand behind him. Attitude and form expressing the nobility of manhood, as he looked at this queen of his heart. Drawing a long breath he said: “I am not in a mood to talk platitudes, for my life has now become an earnest endeavour. I would rather you would wound me, than to endure another day of suspense such as I have passed through since you left me. Words are but clumsy vehicles to bear the expression of my feelings for you. You seem to be a part of myself—my spirit-mate. Kate, my beloved, come to me; let me call you—wife!”
As he said this he made a step forward, and grasped the hammock, trembling from head to foot. Kate remained silent, while the doctor stood with his hand still on the hammock patiently waiting her reply.
Kate was pale to her lips, as she replied: “My friend, I will be as truthful to you, as one soul can be to another; and I think you will understand me. I am happier now than I have ever been, in my life. I am at peace with myself. To say that I am perfectly happy, would be to say what no one yet has said truly; but it is a question, a very serious one with me, whether marriage would bring me greater happiness than I now know.”
“Would not this love I bear for you make you happier? God did not place you in my pathway without a purpose.”
“That is true. But let us be sure that this love is not a fancy!”
“A fancy! Have you no feeling for me deeper than you give to a mere friend?”
“Yes.”
“Thank God!” and the doctor raised his eyes, then let them fall upon her face with an adoring look.
“But I cannot make you understand, that I would spare you suffering later on. Let me tell you. Love, to me, means perfect trust. I could never stoop to find out if you ever deceived me. If I did, love would die out of me that instant, and then how dreary my life would be. I don’t want to be wretched through any mistaken fancy. When I surrender, it must bring me what I long for—Contentment.”
“Come to me, Kate, and trust me! I am not here without being certain that our lives can be made of use and joy to each other, for I love you. I love you. I have been smothering my feelings so long, that it is now a relief to tell you of it,” and the doctor took one of her hands in his, and held it firmly.
“Tell me, Kate, is marriage distasteful to you?”
“Not my ideal of the true married state. When I look at my married friends, and see among them so many lovely women wretched, and unable to solve the problem of happiness, I pray that my life may escape like miserable failure.”