Chapter Eight.“You are in Love with her.”Bright and clear and cold, the morning arose. There had been a touch of frost in the night, and the house, lying back in its enclosure of aloe fence, looked as though roofed with a sheeting of silver in the sparkle of the rising sun. The spreading veldt, too, in the flash of its dewy sheen, seemed to lend a deeper blue to the dazzling, unclouded vault above. The metallic clatter of milk-pails in the cattle-kraal hard by mingled with the deep-toned hum of Kaffir voices; a troop of young ostriches turned loose were darting to and fro, or waltzing, and playfully kicking at each other; and so still and clear was the air, that the whistling call of partridges down in an old mealie land nearly a mile away was plainly audible.“Where’s West?” Bayfield was saying, as three out of the four men were standing by the gate, finishing their early coffee.“Oh, he’s a lazy beggar,” answered Earle, putting down his cup on a stone. “He don’t like turning out much before breakfast-time.”“I believe you’ll miss some of your fowls this morning, Earle,” said Blachland. “There was a cat or something after them last night. They were kicking up the devil’s own row outside our window. Percy wanted to try a shot at it, whatever it was, but I choked him off that lay because I thought it’d scare the house.”“Might have been a two-legged cat,” rejoined Earle. “And it isn’t worthwhile shooting even a poor devil of a thieving nigger for the sake of a chicken or two.”“Who are you wanting to shoot, Mr Earle?”“Ah! Good morning, Mrs Fenham. Blachland was saying there was a cat or something after the fowls last night, and it was all he could do to keep West from blazing off a gun at it. I suggested it might have been a two-legged cat—ha—ha!”“Possibly,” she answered with a smile. “I’m going to take a little stroll. It’s such a lovely morning. Will you go with me, Mr Blachland?”“Delighted,” was the answer.The two left behind nudged each other.“Old Blachland’s got it too,” quoth Earle, with a knowing wink. “I say, though, the young ’un ’ll be ready to cut his throat when he finds he’s been stolen a march on. They all seem to tumble when she comes along. I say, Bayfield, you’ll be the next.”“When I am I’ll tell you,” was the placid reply. “Let’s go round to the kraals.”“Well, Hilary, and how am I looking? Rather well, don’t you think?”She was dressed quite simply, but prettily, and wore a plain but very becoming hat. The brisk, clear cold suited her dark style, and had lent colour to her cheeks and a sparkle to her eyes—and the expression of the latter now, as she turned them upon her companion, was very soft.“Yes. Rather well,” he answered, not flinching from her gaze, yet not responding to it.“More than ‘rather’ well, you ought to say,” she smiled. “And now, Hilary, what have you been doing since we parted? Tell me all about yourself.”Most men would have waxed indignant over her cool effrontery in putting things this way. This one, she knew, would do nothing of the sort. If anything, it rather amused him.“Doing? Well, I began by nearly dying of fever. Would have quite, if Sybrandt hadn’t tumbled in by accident and pulled me through it.”“Poor old Hilary!—What are you laughing at?”“Nothing much. Something funny struck me, that’s all. But you were always deficient in a sense of the ridiculous, Hermia, so it’s not worth repeating. You wouldn’t see it. By-the-way, when I was lying ill, a squad of Matabele came around, under that swab Muntusi, and looted a little, and assegai-ed the two piccaninnies.”“What? Tickey and Primrose? Oh, poor little beasts!”“I couldn’t move a finger, of course—weak as a cat. In fact, I didn’t know what had happened till afterwards.”Again the humour of the situation struck him irresistibly. The matter-of-course way in which she was asking and receiving the news just as though they had parted quite in ordinary fashion and merely temporarily, was funny. But it was Hermia all over.“I’d become sick of it by that time,” he went on. “So I sold out everything, and came down country.”“To think of your being at the Bayfields’ all this while, Hilary. And you didn’t know I was here?”“Hadn’t the ghost of a notion. Of course I had heard you were here, but there was nothing to lead me to locate you as ‘Mrs Fenham.’ By the way, Hermia, what on earth made you strike out in the line of instructor of youth? No. It’s really too funny.”“Isn’t it?” she said ingenuously. “It often amuses me too. I did it for a freak—and—a reason.”“But why ‘Fenham’? You haven’t really married any—er—fool of that name?”“Not a bit. Thanks for the implied compliment all the same. The name did as well as any other. That’s all.”“What has become of Spence?”“I don’t know, and don’t care. He turned out rather a cur,” she answered with a light laugh, showing no more confusion or restraint in alluding to the circumstance, than he had done when first she broached the subject of their parting. “I had more than enough of him in three months, and couldn’t stand the sight of him in five. He had just succeeded to a lot of money, you know, and became afflicted with swelled head there and then; in fact, became intolerably bumptious.”“Yes, I heard that from Skelsey, just when I was wondering hard how Spence was in a sudden position to undertake a—well, not inexpensive liability.”She gave him a little punch on the arm—not ill-naturedly, for she was rather amused.“It’s mean of you to say that, Hilary. Come now, you can’t sayyoufound it an ‘expensive liability.’”“Well, I’ll concede I didn’t, Hermia—not pecuniarily, that is. But it isn’t to say that Spence would not have. I thought you were going to make a serious business of it that time. Why didn’t you? You had hooked your fish, and seemed to be playing him all right. Then, just when you ought to have gaffed him—up goes the top joint, whipping aloft, and the fish is off.”“He was a cur, and I’m well rid of him,” she returned, and there was a hard, vindictive gleam in her dark eyes. “I did mean serious business, and so did he—very much so. Do you know what choked him off, Hilary? It was when he learned there was no necessity for you to set me free—that I was free as air already. While he thought I was beyond his reach, he declared he was only living for the day when I was no longer so. But, directly he found I was quite within it, and had been all along, he cooled off with a sort of magical rapidity.”“Yes. Human nature is that way—and here too, there was an additional psychological motive. The knowledge would be likely to make a difference, you know. Knock a few chips out of your—er—prestige.”She burst out laughing. “You have a neat, but rather horrid way of putting things, Hilary. Yes. I quite see what you mean.”He made no reply, and for some moments they strolled on in silence. He could not refuse to entertain a certain amount of admiration for the consummate and practical coolness of this woman. She would make an ideal adventuress. Nor did he in the very least believe that she was destined to come to grief—as by all the rules of morality he ought to have believed. That was not the way of life. She would probably end by entrapping some fool—either very old, or very young—endowed with infinitely more bullion or valuable scrip than gumption or self-control, and flashing out into a very shining light of pattern respectability.“What are you thinking about, Hilary?” she said at last, stealing a side look at him. “Are you still the least little bit angry with me about—er—about things?”“Not in the least. I never was. You had had enough of me—we had had enough of each other. The only thing to do was to separate. You may remember I told you so not long before?”“I remember. And, Hilary—You would not—stand in my way if—”“Certainly not. If you can humbug, to your advantage, any fool worth humbugging, that’s no business on earth of mine—”“Ah, that’s just what I thought of you, Hilary,” she said, her whole face lighting up with animation. “You were always a head and shoulders above any other man I ever knew.””—But—” he resumed, lifting a warning hand as he stopped and faced her. “There is one and one only I must warn you off, and that most uncompromisingly.”“Who is it?”The very tone was hard and rasping, and her face had gone pale. All the light and animation had died out of her eyes as she raised them to his.“That unspeakable young ass of a cousin of mine—Percy West.”“But—why?”“Hermia, think. How on earth can you ask such a question? The boy is like a younger brother to me, and on no consideration whatever will I stand by and allow his life to be utterly spoiled, wrecked and ruined at the very outset.”“Why should his life be wrecked or ruined?” she said sullenly, but with averted gaze. “I could make him very happy.”“For how long? And what then? No. Knowing what we know, it could not be. The thing is impossible—utterly impossible, I tell you. You must simply give up all idea or thought of it.”“And if I refuse?”“But you won’t refuse. Good Heavens! haven’t you got the whole world to pick and choose from, but you must needs come here and make a fool of this boy?”“I didn’t come here and ‘make a fool of him.’ I was here already when he came. I told you I had a reason for stopping here. Well—that is it.”“It was to tell me this that you arranged to meet me alone,” went on Blachland. “I conclude it wasn’t merely for the pleasure of having a talk over old times. Am I right?”“Perfectly.”“Well, then, Hermia, I can’t agree to it. Do be reasonable. You have the whole world to choose from, and you may rely upon it that in any other connection I will never stand in your way by word or act. But in this I will. Why are you so bent on winning this boy? He isn’t wealthy, and never will be, except by his own exertions, i.e. the development of some potential but hitherto undiscovered vein of rascality in his nature. He is much younger than you, too.”“So you were careful enough to tell him last night,” she flashed. “That was mean of you.”“Last night!” echoed the other, for the moment taken aback, for Percival had certainly had no opportunity of communicating with her at all that morning.“Why, yes. I heard you. Remember the ‘bushcat’ that was disturbing the fowls? I was the ‘bushcat’!” And again she broke into a ringing peal of laughter.“Eh?”“I was the ‘bushcat,’ I tell you,” she repeated. “That window of yours is very convenient. I heard every word you said to each other. It was very mean of you, Hilary, to try and set him against me.”“Well, if you heard every word, you must admit that I might have set him against you a great deal more than I did. Moreover, Hermia, I believe I was the unconscious means of saving your life by refusing to open the window and let him shoot. So you owe me a little gratitude after all.”“No, I don’t,” came the prompt response. “You don’t suppose I’d have waited there to be shot at, do you? Why, directly you touched the window to open it. I’d have made myself scarce. You don’t catch this weasel asleep.”“Evidently not,” he answered dryly. As a matter of fact she had heard very little indeed of their conversation, only a scrap here and there. For the rest, she had been drawing a bow at a venture.“Now, Hermia,” he went on, “Let’s have the motive—there’s always a motive, you know. You can’t really care for this youngster—let alone love him—”“Oh, as for love—You know, Hilary, I never loved any one but you—” she broke off, almost passionately—“never—before or since.”“Well then, if in that case you couldn’t stick to me, how are you going to stick to this one when you don’t even love him? You know you never would. And he’s got nothing of his own to speak of, and never will have more when you have estranged him from the only relative he has who can help him.”“But I needn’t estrange him from anybody. Nothing need ever be known.”“Let’s turn back,” said Hilary. “We have gone far enough. And now, Hermia, I’ll tell you straight. If you don’t give Percy to understand this very morning that you have changed your mind, and will on no account consent to marry him, I shall put him in possession of all the facts concerning ourselves.”“You will?” she said. “You will do that?”She had stopped short, and with eyes burning from her pale face, and breast heaving, she stood defiant, facing him, with a very blast of hate and fury in her look.“Certainly I will,” he returned sternly, and absolutely undaunted. “I forbid this thing—forbid it utterly.”“He won’t believe you,” she jeered. “Even if he does, he won’t care, he loves me too well. It’ll make no difference to him.”“I think it will though. In fact I’m sure it will. There was young Spence. He loved you just as well, but it made a good deal of difference to him.”“Very well, Hilary. Play your hand by all means. Throw your best card, but I can trump it. I have a better hand than you. I hold all the honours, and you shan’t even take the odd trick.”“Explain,” he said shortly, with, however, more than an inkling as to her meaning.“Well, I will then. You give me away. I give you away. See?”“Oh, perfectly. But it’ll make no difference. You can’t injure me, and I wouldn’t for the world injure you—but—I won’t allow this scandalous affair to go any further, no, not at any cost!”“I can’t injure you, can’t I?” she said, dropping out her words slowly, a sneer of deadly malice spreading over her face. “No? What will the Bayfields say when they hear what you and I have been to each other?”With infinite self-control, he commanded his features, trusting they did not betray any inkling of the direful sinking of heart with which he grasped the import of her words. He was not altogether taken by surprise, for he had taken such a possibility into account—as a possibility, not a probability.“That can’t be helped. At any cost I told you I should prevent this. At any cost mind, and at a far greater loss to myself than even that would be. And—I will.”“Ha-ha-ha!” and the jeering laughter, shrill in its hate and vengeful malevolence, rang out clear on the sweet morning air. “Ha-ha-ha! But I don’t think you’ve altogether counted the cost, my Hilary. How about Lyn—your sweet, pure, innocent Lyn? What will she say when she knows? What will her father say when they both know—that you have allowed her to be under the same roof with—to grasp in ordinary social friendship the hand of your—for years—most devoted and affectionate... housekeeper?”Well was it for the speaker, well for both of them, that the words were uttered here, and not in the far-away scene of the life to which she referred. For a second, just one brief second, the man’s eyes flashed the murder in his soul. With marvellous self-restraint, but with dry lips and face a shade pale, he answered:“That would be a regrettable thing to happen. But, it doesn’t shake my determination. I don’t see, either, how the outraging of other people’s finer feelings is going to benefit you, or, to any appreciable extent, injure me.”“Don’t you? Why, in that event, the sweet, pure, and beautiful Lyn—yes, she is beautiful—I’d concede that and more—will bid you an extremely cold and curt farewell—even if she condescends to speak to you again at all for the remainder of your natural life.”“That too, would be regrettable, and would pain me. But we should have to say good-bye sooner or later.”“No, Hilary. You never intended to say anything of the sort. You can’t fool me, you see.”“What on earth are you talking about?”Again the jeering laugh rang out. “What am I talking about?” she echoed, quite undaunted by the curt, stern tones. “You know perfectly well. You are over head and ears in love with her.”“That’s not true.”“Isn’t it? It is though,” she answered, her eyes fixed full upon his and rippling into mischievous laughter. “Why, you have grown quite pale at the bare mention of it! Shall I say it again? You are over head and ears in love with her. And—I wonder if she is with you?”“Oh, hold your scandalous tongue, woman,” he rejoined wearily, knowing better than to delight her by exhibiting what must necessarily be impotent anger. “Really, you are rendering yourself absolutely and uncompromisingly loathsome. Again I say you must give up this scheme. I will prevent it at any cost.”“Well, you know what the cost is—and if you don’t, it isn’t for want of warning. Keep quiet and so will I. Interfere with my plans and I’ll wreck all yours. Give me away and I’ll give you away, and then we’ll see which comes out best. Now we are nearly back at the house again, so you’d better be civil, or, what is more important still, look it.”
Bright and clear and cold, the morning arose. There had been a touch of frost in the night, and the house, lying back in its enclosure of aloe fence, looked as though roofed with a sheeting of silver in the sparkle of the rising sun. The spreading veldt, too, in the flash of its dewy sheen, seemed to lend a deeper blue to the dazzling, unclouded vault above. The metallic clatter of milk-pails in the cattle-kraal hard by mingled with the deep-toned hum of Kaffir voices; a troop of young ostriches turned loose were darting to and fro, or waltzing, and playfully kicking at each other; and so still and clear was the air, that the whistling call of partridges down in an old mealie land nearly a mile away was plainly audible.
“Where’s West?” Bayfield was saying, as three out of the four men were standing by the gate, finishing their early coffee.
“Oh, he’s a lazy beggar,” answered Earle, putting down his cup on a stone. “He don’t like turning out much before breakfast-time.”
“I believe you’ll miss some of your fowls this morning, Earle,” said Blachland. “There was a cat or something after them last night. They were kicking up the devil’s own row outside our window. Percy wanted to try a shot at it, whatever it was, but I choked him off that lay because I thought it’d scare the house.”
“Might have been a two-legged cat,” rejoined Earle. “And it isn’t worthwhile shooting even a poor devil of a thieving nigger for the sake of a chicken or two.”
“Who are you wanting to shoot, Mr Earle?”
“Ah! Good morning, Mrs Fenham. Blachland was saying there was a cat or something after the fowls last night, and it was all he could do to keep West from blazing off a gun at it. I suggested it might have been a two-legged cat—ha—ha!”
“Possibly,” she answered with a smile. “I’m going to take a little stroll. It’s such a lovely morning. Will you go with me, Mr Blachland?”
“Delighted,” was the answer.
The two left behind nudged each other.
“Old Blachland’s got it too,” quoth Earle, with a knowing wink. “I say, though, the young ’un ’ll be ready to cut his throat when he finds he’s been stolen a march on. They all seem to tumble when she comes along. I say, Bayfield, you’ll be the next.”
“When I am I’ll tell you,” was the placid reply. “Let’s go round to the kraals.”
“Well, Hilary, and how am I looking? Rather well, don’t you think?”
She was dressed quite simply, but prettily, and wore a plain but very becoming hat. The brisk, clear cold suited her dark style, and had lent colour to her cheeks and a sparkle to her eyes—and the expression of the latter now, as she turned them upon her companion, was very soft.
“Yes. Rather well,” he answered, not flinching from her gaze, yet not responding to it.
“More than ‘rather’ well, you ought to say,” she smiled. “And now, Hilary, what have you been doing since we parted? Tell me all about yourself.”
Most men would have waxed indignant over her cool effrontery in putting things this way. This one, she knew, would do nothing of the sort. If anything, it rather amused him.
“Doing? Well, I began by nearly dying of fever. Would have quite, if Sybrandt hadn’t tumbled in by accident and pulled me through it.”
“Poor old Hilary!—What are you laughing at?”
“Nothing much. Something funny struck me, that’s all. But you were always deficient in a sense of the ridiculous, Hermia, so it’s not worth repeating. You wouldn’t see it. By-the-way, when I was lying ill, a squad of Matabele came around, under that swab Muntusi, and looted a little, and assegai-ed the two piccaninnies.”
“What? Tickey and Primrose? Oh, poor little beasts!”
“I couldn’t move a finger, of course—weak as a cat. In fact, I didn’t know what had happened till afterwards.”
Again the humour of the situation struck him irresistibly. The matter-of-course way in which she was asking and receiving the news just as though they had parted quite in ordinary fashion and merely temporarily, was funny. But it was Hermia all over.
“I’d become sick of it by that time,” he went on. “So I sold out everything, and came down country.”
“To think of your being at the Bayfields’ all this while, Hilary. And you didn’t know I was here?”
“Hadn’t the ghost of a notion. Of course I had heard you were here, but there was nothing to lead me to locate you as ‘Mrs Fenham.’ By the way, Hermia, what on earth made you strike out in the line of instructor of youth? No. It’s really too funny.”
“Isn’t it?” she said ingenuously. “It often amuses me too. I did it for a freak—and—a reason.”
“But why ‘Fenham’? You haven’t really married any—er—fool of that name?”
“Not a bit. Thanks for the implied compliment all the same. The name did as well as any other. That’s all.”
“What has become of Spence?”
“I don’t know, and don’t care. He turned out rather a cur,” she answered with a light laugh, showing no more confusion or restraint in alluding to the circumstance, than he had done when first she broached the subject of their parting. “I had more than enough of him in three months, and couldn’t stand the sight of him in five. He had just succeeded to a lot of money, you know, and became afflicted with swelled head there and then; in fact, became intolerably bumptious.”
“Yes, I heard that from Skelsey, just when I was wondering hard how Spence was in a sudden position to undertake a—well, not inexpensive liability.”
She gave him a little punch on the arm—not ill-naturedly, for she was rather amused.
“It’s mean of you to say that, Hilary. Come now, you can’t sayyoufound it an ‘expensive liability.’”
“Well, I’ll concede I didn’t, Hermia—not pecuniarily, that is. But it isn’t to say that Spence would not have. I thought you were going to make a serious business of it that time. Why didn’t you? You had hooked your fish, and seemed to be playing him all right. Then, just when you ought to have gaffed him—up goes the top joint, whipping aloft, and the fish is off.”
“He was a cur, and I’m well rid of him,” she returned, and there was a hard, vindictive gleam in her dark eyes. “I did mean serious business, and so did he—very much so. Do you know what choked him off, Hilary? It was when he learned there was no necessity for you to set me free—that I was free as air already. While he thought I was beyond his reach, he declared he was only living for the day when I was no longer so. But, directly he found I was quite within it, and had been all along, he cooled off with a sort of magical rapidity.”
“Yes. Human nature is that way—and here too, there was an additional psychological motive. The knowledge would be likely to make a difference, you know. Knock a few chips out of your—er—prestige.”
She burst out laughing. “You have a neat, but rather horrid way of putting things, Hilary. Yes. I quite see what you mean.”
He made no reply, and for some moments they strolled on in silence. He could not refuse to entertain a certain amount of admiration for the consummate and practical coolness of this woman. She would make an ideal adventuress. Nor did he in the very least believe that she was destined to come to grief—as by all the rules of morality he ought to have believed. That was not the way of life. She would probably end by entrapping some fool—either very old, or very young—endowed with infinitely more bullion or valuable scrip than gumption or self-control, and flashing out into a very shining light of pattern respectability.
“What are you thinking about, Hilary?” she said at last, stealing a side look at him. “Are you still the least little bit angry with me about—er—about things?”
“Not in the least. I never was. You had had enough of me—we had had enough of each other. The only thing to do was to separate. You may remember I told you so not long before?”
“I remember. And, Hilary—You would not—stand in my way if—”
“Certainly not. If you can humbug, to your advantage, any fool worth humbugging, that’s no business on earth of mine—”
“Ah, that’s just what I thought of you, Hilary,” she said, her whole face lighting up with animation. “You were always a head and shoulders above any other man I ever knew.”
”—But—” he resumed, lifting a warning hand as he stopped and faced her. “There is one and one only I must warn you off, and that most uncompromisingly.”
“Who is it?”
The very tone was hard and rasping, and her face had gone pale. All the light and animation had died out of her eyes as she raised them to his.
“That unspeakable young ass of a cousin of mine—Percy West.”
“But—why?”
“Hermia, think. How on earth can you ask such a question? The boy is like a younger brother to me, and on no consideration whatever will I stand by and allow his life to be utterly spoiled, wrecked and ruined at the very outset.”
“Why should his life be wrecked or ruined?” she said sullenly, but with averted gaze. “I could make him very happy.”
“For how long? And what then? No. Knowing what we know, it could not be. The thing is impossible—utterly impossible, I tell you. You must simply give up all idea or thought of it.”
“And if I refuse?”
“But you won’t refuse. Good Heavens! haven’t you got the whole world to pick and choose from, but you must needs come here and make a fool of this boy?”
“I didn’t come here and ‘make a fool of him.’ I was here already when he came. I told you I had a reason for stopping here. Well—that is it.”
“It was to tell me this that you arranged to meet me alone,” went on Blachland. “I conclude it wasn’t merely for the pleasure of having a talk over old times. Am I right?”
“Perfectly.”
“Well, then, Hermia, I can’t agree to it. Do be reasonable. You have the whole world to choose from, and you may rely upon it that in any other connection I will never stand in your way by word or act. But in this I will. Why are you so bent on winning this boy? He isn’t wealthy, and never will be, except by his own exertions, i.e. the development of some potential but hitherto undiscovered vein of rascality in his nature. He is much younger than you, too.”
“So you were careful enough to tell him last night,” she flashed. “That was mean of you.”
“Last night!” echoed the other, for the moment taken aback, for Percival had certainly had no opportunity of communicating with her at all that morning.
“Why, yes. I heard you. Remember the ‘bushcat’ that was disturbing the fowls? I was the ‘bushcat’!” And again she broke into a ringing peal of laughter.
“Eh?”
“I was the ‘bushcat,’ I tell you,” she repeated. “That window of yours is very convenient. I heard every word you said to each other. It was very mean of you, Hilary, to try and set him against me.”
“Well, if you heard every word, you must admit that I might have set him against you a great deal more than I did. Moreover, Hermia, I believe I was the unconscious means of saving your life by refusing to open the window and let him shoot. So you owe me a little gratitude after all.”
“No, I don’t,” came the prompt response. “You don’t suppose I’d have waited there to be shot at, do you? Why, directly you touched the window to open it. I’d have made myself scarce. You don’t catch this weasel asleep.”
“Evidently not,” he answered dryly. As a matter of fact she had heard very little indeed of their conversation, only a scrap here and there. For the rest, she had been drawing a bow at a venture.
“Now, Hermia,” he went on, “Let’s have the motive—there’s always a motive, you know. You can’t really care for this youngster—let alone love him—”
“Oh, as for love—You know, Hilary, I never loved any one but you—” she broke off, almost passionately—“never—before or since.”
“Well then, if in that case you couldn’t stick to me, how are you going to stick to this one when you don’t even love him? You know you never would. And he’s got nothing of his own to speak of, and never will have more when you have estranged him from the only relative he has who can help him.”
“But I needn’t estrange him from anybody. Nothing need ever be known.”
“Let’s turn back,” said Hilary. “We have gone far enough. And now, Hermia, I’ll tell you straight. If you don’t give Percy to understand this very morning that you have changed your mind, and will on no account consent to marry him, I shall put him in possession of all the facts concerning ourselves.”
“You will?” she said. “You will do that?”
She had stopped short, and with eyes burning from her pale face, and breast heaving, she stood defiant, facing him, with a very blast of hate and fury in her look.
“Certainly I will,” he returned sternly, and absolutely undaunted. “I forbid this thing—forbid it utterly.”
“He won’t believe you,” she jeered. “Even if he does, he won’t care, he loves me too well. It’ll make no difference to him.”
“I think it will though. In fact I’m sure it will. There was young Spence. He loved you just as well, but it made a good deal of difference to him.”
“Very well, Hilary. Play your hand by all means. Throw your best card, but I can trump it. I have a better hand than you. I hold all the honours, and you shan’t even take the odd trick.”
“Explain,” he said shortly, with, however, more than an inkling as to her meaning.
“Well, I will then. You give me away. I give you away. See?”
“Oh, perfectly. But it’ll make no difference. You can’t injure me, and I wouldn’t for the world injure you—but—I won’t allow this scandalous affair to go any further, no, not at any cost!”
“I can’t injure you, can’t I?” she said, dropping out her words slowly, a sneer of deadly malice spreading over her face. “No? What will the Bayfields say when they hear what you and I have been to each other?”
With infinite self-control, he commanded his features, trusting they did not betray any inkling of the direful sinking of heart with which he grasped the import of her words. He was not altogether taken by surprise, for he had taken such a possibility into account—as a possibility, not a probability.
“That can’t be helped. At any cost I told you I should prevent this. At any cost mind, and at a far greater loss to myself than even that would be. And—I will.”
“Ha-ha-ha!” and the jeering laughter, shrill in its hate and vengeful malevolence, rang out clear on the sweet morning air. “Ha-ha-ha! But I don’t think you’ve altogether counted the cost, my Hilary. How about Lyn—your sweet, pure, innocent Lyn? What will she say when she knows? What will her father say when they both know—that you have allowed her to be under the same roof with—to grasp in ordinary social friendship the hand of your—for years—most devoted and affectionate... housekeeper?”
Well was it for the speaker, well for both of them, that the words were uttered here, and not in the far-away scene of the life to which she referred. For a second, just one brief second, the man’s eyes flashed the murder in his soul. With marvellous self-restraint, but with dry lips and face a shade pale, he answered:
“That would be a regrettable thing to happen. But, it doesn’t shake my determination. I don’t see, either, how the outraging of other people’s finer feelings is going to benefit you, or, to any appreciable extent, injure me.”
“Don’t you? Why, in that event, the sweet, pure, and beautiful Lyn—yes, she is beautiful—I’d concede that and more—will bid you an extremely cold and curt farewell—even if she condescends to speak to you again at all for the remainder of your natural life.”
“That too, would be regrettable, and would pain me. But we should have to say good-bye sooner or later.”
“No, Hilary. You never intended to say anything of the sort. You can’t fool me, you see.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
Again the jeering laugh rang out. “What am I talking about?” she echoed, quite undaunted by the curt, stern tones. “You know perfectly well. You are over head and ears in love with her.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it? It is though,” she answered, her eyes fixed full upon his and rippling into mischievous laughter. “Why, you have grown quite pale at the bare mention of it! Shall I say it again? You are over head and ears in love with her. And—I wonder if she is with you?”
“Oh, hold your scandalous tongue, woman,” he rejoined wearily, knowing better than to delight her by exhibiting what must necessarily be impotent anger. “Really, you are rendering yourself absolutely and uncompromisingly loathsome. Again I say you must give up this scheme. I will prevent it at any cost.”
“Well, you know what the cost is—and if you don’t, it isn’t for want of warning. Keep quiet and so will I. Interfere with my plans and I’ll wreck all yours. Give me away and I’ll give you away, and then we’ll see which comes out best. Now we are nearly back at the house again, so you’d better be civil, or, what is more important still, look it.”
Chapter Nine.“What a Man Soweth.”“Percy, I want you to ride part of the way back with me.”“Delighted, old chap. But—”“There’s no ‘but’ in the case at all. To be plain, you must.”“It isn’t to talk any more about—er—what we were on to last night, is it? Because that’s settled.”“Well, it concerns that, for it concerns her, and you’ve got to hear it.”“But I don’t want to. And I shan’t believe it if I do,” was the reply, shortly made.The two were standing by the cattle-kraal, which contained a troop of horses just driven in from the veldt. In the thick of them, armed with halters andreims, two Kaffir servants and a Hottentot were catching out those required. In front of the house Bayfield’s spider was being inspanned.“Now it’s of no use turning restive, Percy. You’ve got to hear what I’ve got to tell you. It’s about—her. You can take your choice. Either you hear it from me—in which case it need go no farther, or—you’ll hear it from anybody and everybody—for then I shall be obliged to make it public.”“Do you mean to say you’ll spread abroad your infernal slanders, Hilary!” The young fellow’s face was as white as a sheet, and he could hardly speak for the extent of his agitation.“Not unless you force me to. Look. There’s your gee in the kraal now. Tell one of them to catch it and come along with me. You’ll live to thank me till your dying day.”The stronger will prevailed—even apart from the fell significance of the alternative held out. By the time the inspanning was complete, and good-byes were in progress, Percival was on the scene with his horse saddled up and ready.“Aren’t you coming in the spider with us, Mr Blachland?” said Lyn, noticing that he, too, was preparing to mount.“Not the first part of the way,” he answered. “There’s a home matter Percy and I want to talk over, so he’s going to ride an hour or two on the road with me. Good-bye again, Earle. Had a ripping good shoot. Good-bye, Mrs Fenham,” for the latter had now appeared for the first time. She looked quite unruffled, but there was that in her face which told one, at any rate, there, that she was prepared to begin the war.“Good-bye, Hilary—er—Mr Blachland,” she responded sweetly, contriving that the words and tone should be distinctly audible to Lyn, who, already seated in the spider, could not possibly avoid hearing them. But had Hermia only known it the shaft had fallen harmless.“Did you hear that, father?” Lyn began, as they drove off. “That woman actually called Mr Blachland by his Christian name?”Bayfield burst out laughing. Then after a precautionary look behind—“I expect she reckons him her brother-in-law—no, cousin-in-law already,” he said. “Young West seems to have brought things to a head in that quarter. She and Blachland had a long talk together this morning. I expect they were sort of arranging family matters.”“Very likely. But I don’t think I ever saw any woman I detested so thoroughly and instinctively. Every time I see her I dislike her more.”“Hallo, little one! You’re quite fierce on the subject,” laughed her father. “Why do you hate her so? Has she been uncivil to my little girlie?”“No, quite the contrary. But she’s utterly false somehow. I wouldn’t believe any statement that woman made—even if she were dying. But what a silly boy that young West must be. Why, she’s years older than himself!”Bayfield laughed again, but he more than half thought Lyn’s estimate was very likely a true one.Some little way behind, the two men had pulled their horses into a walk.“Steer ahead,” said Percival doggedly. “Let’s get it over.”“Yes. I think we might now. So you haven’t found out anything more about—Mrs Fenham, beyond what you told me last night?”“No. Her husband died about a year ago. That was up-country. I wonder you never ran against him, Hilary.”“But I know him intimately, only—he isn’t her husband.”“The deuce! But he’s dead.”“No, he isn’t. He’s very much alive and kicking—and his name isn’t Fenham either, never was.”“Well, what is it then?” and his voice was hard and desperate.“Hilary Blachland.”“Eh?”It was all he could say. He could only stare. He seemed to be stricken speechless with the shock, utterly speechless.“I’m very sorry for you, Percy, very sorry. But you’ll thank me for it bye-and-bye,” went on Blachland concernedly. “That woman has told you a tissue of lies. I can account for her time for nearly half a dozen years, for the simple reason that it has been spent with me—the last two years of it in Mashunaland. She left me though, not much more than half a year ago—cleared out with another Johnny, just such a young ass as yourself, who thought her a goddess, but they got sick of each other in no time. Why, she was telling me all about that herself only this morning, before you were up.”Percival said nothing. For some little while he rode on in silence, gazing straight between his horse’s ears. The thing had come upon him as a terrible shock, and he sat, half dazed. It never occurred to him for one moment to refuse to believe his kinsman’s statement, nor any part of it. Suddenly he looked up.“Who is she then?” he asked.“Hermia Saint Clair. You remember?”“Yes. Good God!”“So you see, Percy, you can go no further in this,” went on the other after another interval of silence. “You must break it off—now, absolutely and at once. You quite see that, don’t you?”“Of course. Great Heavens, Hilary—how I have been fooled!”“You have certainly, but if it’s any consolation to you, so have others—so will others be—as long as Hermia is about. It isn’t pleasant to be obliged to give her away as I have done—and if it had concerned anybody other than yourself, anybody in whom I had no interest, I should have let the matter rigidly alone, as no business of mine, and kept a strict silence. But I couldn’t stand by and see your life utterly ruined at the start, and there are of course, circumstances in this particular case which rendered it ten times more necessary that you should be warned. I gave her the straight chance though. I told her if she broke off this engagement with you, I wouldn’t breathe a word as to her real identity, and she defied me. So now you know. And now you do know, there’s not the slightest chance of her getting you into the toils again, eh?”“Good Heavens, no,” he answered emphatically, and in strong disgust. “What a fool I’ve been. What shall I do, Hilary? I don’t feel as if I could ever see her again. Do you think Bayfield would take me in for a few days if I went on now with you?”“Take my advice, and go straight back. We don’t want to give her away further, and if you clear out abruptly now, it’ll likely have that effect. Besides it has rather a cowardly look. No, give her to understand that you know everything now, and of course there’s nothing more to be thought of between you.”“I will. But—what an escape I’ve had. Still do you know, Hilary— Oh, dash it all, I was—er—beastly fond of her. Don’t you understand?”“Well, rather—considering it’s a stage I’ve gone through myself,” answered the other, kindly. “You’ll get over it though. And, look here, Percy, I shall be leaving Bayfield’s myself in a day or two. How would you like to join me? We might go up-country together, and I could show you some real wild life. You see, I know my way about in those parts, and it would be a first-rate opportunity for you to see something of them. What do you say?”“That’s a real splendid idea, Hilary.”“Very well. Now go back and get this business over. Get it clean behind you mind, thoroughly and entirely. I’ll send you word in a couple of days at the outside where to join me, then roll up your traps and come straight along. How is that?”“The very thing.”“Right. Now, Percy. Seriously, mind. There must be no more dallying. You know what I mean?”“Not likely, knowing what I know now.”“Then you’d better go and get it over at once. I’ll say good-bye to the Bayfields for you. You turn round right here. Good-bye now—and one of these days you’ll bless your stars for this lucky escape.”“Then you’ll let me hear soon, Hilary?”“In a couple of days at the outside. Good-bye.”A staunch handgrip, and the older man sat there, looking after the receding form of the younger.“It strikes me,” he said to himself as he turned his horse’s head along the track again. “It strikes me that I’ve been only just in time to get that young fool out of a most deadly mess. Heavens! what a ghastly complication it would have been. Moreover, I believe he was sent out here to find out about me, and what I was doing. Well, instead of him reclaiming me, it has befallen that I have been the one marked out to reclaim him.”Then as he sent his horse along at a brisk canter to make up the time lost during their talk, his mind reverted to himself and his own affairs. What a series of surprises had been contained within the last twenty-four hours. Could it have been only yesterday that he came along this road, serene, content, with no forewarning of what lay in store? Why, it seemed that half a lifetime’s drama had been played out within that brief space—and now, as he pressed on to overtake Bayfield’s conveyance, the tilt of which was visible some distance ahead moving through the bushes, it seemed that with every stride of his horse he was advancing into a purer atmosphere. He felt as one, who, having struck upon strange and unwelcome surprises in the foul nauseous air of some long, underground cavern, was drawing nearer and nearer again to the free, wholesome, open light of day.Well, he had saved his young kinsman, and now he was called upon to face the payment of the price. The time he had spent here, the bright, beautiful, purifying time, was at an end. The past, of which, looking back upon, he sickened, was not to be so easily buried after all. Had it not risen up when least expected, to haunt him, to exact its retribution? Hermia would certainly keep her word; caring nothing in her vindictive spite, to what extent she blackened herself so long as she could sufficiently besmirch him. Still he would do all he could, if not to defeat her intentions, at any rate to draw half their sting. One, at all events, should remain unsullied by the mire which he well knew she would relentlessly spatter in all directions. That he resolved.Then a faint, vague, straw of a hope, beset him. What if she had been playing a game of bluff? What if she was by no means so ready to give herself away as she had affected to be? What if—when she found there was nothing to be gained by it—she were to adopt the more prudent course, and maintain silence? It was just a chance, but knowing so well, her narrow, soulless nature, he knew it to be a slender one.Even then, what? Even did it hold—it would not affect the main fact. In the consummate purifying of this man’s nature which the past few weeks had effected, he looked backward thence with unutterable abasement and loathing. As he had sown, so must he reap. The re-appearance of the past personified had but emphasised that—had not altered it. He would be the one to suffer, and he only, he thought, with a dull, anguished kind of feeling which he strove hard to think was that of consolation.“Oh, it is good to be at home again,” said Lyn. “I don’t care much for going over to the Earles’ at any time, but this time somehow or other, I detested it. But—oh, I beg your pardon, Mr Blachland. And you found your cousin there! How awkward and tactless you must think me!”“You could never be either awkward or tactless, Lyn,” he answered. “Only thoroughly natural. Always be that, child. It is such a charm.”The girl smiled softly, half shyly. “Really, you are flattering me. You spoil me as much as father does, and that’s saying a great deal, you know,” gaily.The two were standing on the stoep together, about an hour after their return. Bayfield was down at the kraals, counting in, and looking after things in general, and, helping him, small Fred, who, however, was cracking his long whip in such wise as to be rather less of a help than a hindrance with the flocks. The unearthly beauty of the sunset glow was already merging into the shade of the twilightless evening.“I wish you were going to stay with us always, Mr Blachland,” she went on. “It would be so nice. If you and father were partners, for instance, like Mr Barter and Mr Smith—only they squabble—why, then you’d always be here.”He looked at her—mentally with a great start—but only for a second. The frank, ingenuous, friendly affection of a child! That was what the words, the tone, the straight glance of the sweet blue eyes expressed! There was a tinge of melancholy in his voice as he replied:“Now you flatter me, little Lyn. You would soon find a battered old fogey like me can be a desperate bore.” Then he proceeded to the prosaic and homely occupation of filling and lighting his pipe, smiling to himself sadly over her indignant disclaimer.
“Percy, I want you to ride part of the way back with me.”
“Delighted, old chap. But—”
“There’s no ‘but’ in the case at all. To be plain, you must.”
“It isn’t to talk any more about—er—what we were on to last night, is it? Because that’s settled.”
“Well, it concerns that, for it concerns her, and you’ve got to hear it.”
“But I don’t want to. And I shan’t believe it if I do,” was the reply, shortly made.
The two were standing by the cattle-kraal, which contained a troop of horses just driven in from the veldt. In the thick of them, armed with halters andreims, two Kaffir servants and a Hottentot were catching out those required. In front of the house Bayfield’s spider was being inspanned.
“Now it’s of no use turning restive, Percy. You’ve got to hear what I’ve got to tell you. It’s about—her. You can take your choice. Either you hear it from me—in which case it need go no farther, or—you’ll hear it from anybody and everybody—for then I shall be obliged to make it public.”
“Do you mean to say you’ll spread abroad your infernal slanders, Hilary!” The young fellow’s face was as white as a sheet, and he could hardly speak for the extent of his agitation.
“Not unless you force me to. Look. There’s your gee in the kraal now. Tell one of them to catch it and come along with me. You’ll live to thank me till your dying day.”
The stronger will prevailed—even apart from the fell significance of the alternative held out. By the time the inspanning was complete, and good-byes were in progress, Percival was on the scene with his horse saddled up and ready.
“Aren’t you coming in the spider with us, Mr Blachland?” said Lyn, noticing that he, too, was preparing to mount.
“Not the first part of the way,” he answered. “There’s a home matter Percy and I want to talk over, so he’s going to ride an hour or two on the road with me. Good-bye again, Earle. Had a ripping good shoot. Good-bye, Mrs Fenham,” for the latter had now appeared for the first time. She looked quite unruffled, but there was that in her face which told one, at any rate, there, that she was prepared to begin the war.
“Good-bye, Hilary—er—Mr Blachland,” she responded sweetly, contriving that the words and tone should be distinctly audible to Lyn, who, already seated in the spider, could not possibly avoid hearing them. But had Hermia only known it the shaft had fallen harmless.
“Did you hear that, father?” Lyn began, as they drove off. “That woman actually called Mr Blachland by his Christian name?”
Bayfield burst out laughing. Then after a precautionary look behind—
“I expect she reckons him her brother-in-law—no, cousin-in-law already,” he said. “Young West seems to have brought things to a head in that quarter. She and Blachland had a long talk together this morning. I expect they were sort of arranging family matters.”
“Very likely. But I don’t think I ever saw any woman I detested so thoroughly and instinctively. Every time I see her I dislike her more.”
“Hallo, little one! You’re quite fierce on the subject,” laughed her father. “Why do you hate her so? Has she been uncivil to my little girlie?”
“No, quite the contrary. But she’s utterly false somehow. I wouldn’t believe any statement that woman made—even if she were dying. But what a silly boy that young West must be. Why, she’s years older than himself!”
Bayfield laughed again, but he more than half thought Lyn’s estimate was very likely a true one.
Some little way behind, the two men had pulled their horses into a walk.
“Steer ahead,” said Percival doggedly. “Let’s get it over.”
“Yes. I think we might now. So you haven’t found out anything more about—Mrs Fenham, beyond what you told me last night?”
“No. Her husband died about a year ago. That was up-country. I wonder you never ran against him, Hilary.”
“But I know him intimately, only—he isn’t her husband.”
“The deuce! But he’s dead.”
“No, he isn’t. He’s very much alive and kicking—and his name isn’t Fenham either, never was.”
“Well, what is it then?” and his voice was hard and desperate.
“Hilary Blachland.”
“Eh?”
It was all he could say. He could only stare. He seemed to be stricken speechless with the shock, utterly speechless.
“I’m very sorry for you, Percy, very sorry. But you’ll thank me for it bye-and-bye,” went on Blachland concernedly. “That woman has told you a tissue of lies. I can account for her time for nearly half a dozen years, for the simple reason that it has been spent with me—the last two years of it in Mashunaland. She left me though, not much more than half a year ago—cleared out with another Johnny, just such a young ass as yourself, who thought her a goddess, but they got sick of each other in no time. Why, she was telling me all about that herself only this morning, before you were up.”
Percival said nothing. For some little while he rode on in silence, gazing straight between his horse’s ears. The thing had come upon him as a terrible shock, and he sat, half dazed. It never occurred to him for one moment to refuse to believe his kinsman’s statement, nor any part of it. Suddenly he looked up.
“Who is she then?” he asked.
“Hermia Saint Clair. You remember?”
“Yes. Good God!”
“So you see, Percy, you can go no further in this,” went on the other after another interval of silence. “You must break it off—now, absolutely and at once. You quite see that, don’t you?”
“Of course. Great Heavens, Hilary—how I have been fooled!”
“You have certainly, but if it’s any consolation to you, so have others—so will others be—as long as Hermia is about. It isn’t pleasant to be obliged to give her away as I have done—and if it had concerned anybody other than yourself, anybody in whom I had no interest, I should have let the matter rigidly alone, as no business of mine, and kept a strict silence. But I couldn’t stand by and see your life utterly ruined at the start, and there are of course, circumstances in this particular case which rendered it ten times more necessary that you should be warned. I gave her the straight chance though. I told her if she broke off this engagement with you, I wouldn’t breathe a word as to her real identity, and she defied me. So now you know. And now you do know, there’s not the slightest chance of her getting you into the toils again, eh?”
“Good Heavens, no,” he answered emphatically, and in strong disgust. “What a fool I’ve been. What shall I do, Hilary? I don’t feel as if I could ever see her again. Do you think Bayfield would take me in for a few days if I went on now with you?”
“Take my advice, and go straight back. We don’t want to give her away further, and if you clear out abruptly now, it’ll likely have that effect. Besides it has rather a cowardly look. No, give her to understand that you know everything now, and of course there’s nothing more to be thought of between you.”
“I will. But—what an escape I’ve had. Still do you know, Hilary— Oh, dash it all, I was—er—beastly fond of her. Don’t you understand?”
“Well, rather—considering it’s a stage I’ve gone through myself,” answered the other, kindly. “You’ll get over it though. And, look here, Percy, I shall be leaving Bayfield’s myself in a day or two. How would you like to join me? We might go up-country together, and I could show you some real wild life. You see, I know my way about in those parts, and it would be a first-rate opportunity for you to see something of them. What do you say?”
“That’s a real splendid idea, Hilary.”
“Very well. Now go back and get this business over. Get it clean behind you mind, thoroughly and entirely. I’ll send you word in a couple of days at the outside where to join me, then roll up your traps and come straight along. How is that?”
“The very thing.”
“Right. Now, Percy. Seriously, mind. There must be no more dallying. You know what I mean?”
“Not likely, knowing what I know now.”
“Then you’d better go and get it over at once. I’ll say good-bye to the Bayfields for you. You turn round right here. Good-bye now—and one of these days you’ll bless your stars for this lucky escape.”
“Then you’ll let me hear soon, Hilary?”
“In a couple of days at the outside. Good-bye.”
A staunch handgrip, and the older man sat there, looking after the receding form of the younger.
“It strikes me,” he said to himself as he turned his horse’s head along the track again. “It strikes me that I’ve been only just in time to get that young fool out of a most deadly mess. Heavens! what a ghastly complication it would have been. Moreover, I believe he was sent out here to find out about me, and what I was doing. Well, instead of him reclaiming me, it has befallen that I have been the one marked out to reclaim him.”
Then as he sent his horse along at a brisk canter to make up the time lost during their talk, his mind reverted to himself and his own affairs. What a series of surprises had been contained within the last twenty-four hours. Could it have been only yesterday that he came along this road, serene, content, with no forewarning of what lay in store? Why, it seemed that half a lifetime’s drama had been played out within that brief space—and now, as he pressed on to overtake Bayfield’s conveyance, the tilt of which was visible some distance ahead moving through the bushes, it seemed that with every stride of his horse he was advancing into a purer atmosphere. He felt as one, who, having struck upon strange and unwelcome surprises in the foul nauseous air of some long, underground cavern, was drawing nearer and nearer again to the free, wholesome, open light of day.
Well, he had saved his young kinsman, and now he was called upon to face the payment of the price. The time he had spent here, the bright, beautiful, purifying time, was at an end. The past, of which, looking back upon, he sickened, was not to be so easily buried after all. Had it not risen up when least expected, to haunt him, to exact its retribution? Hermia would certainly keep her word; caring nothing in her vindictive spite, to what extent she blackened herself so long as she could sufficiently besmirch him. Still he would do all he could, if not to defeat her intentions, at any rate to draw half their sting. One, at all events, should remain unsullied by the mire which he well knew she would relentlessly spatter in all directions. That he resolved.
Then a faint, vague, straw of a hope, beset him. What if she had been playing a game of bluff? What if she was by no means so ready to give herself away as she had affected to be? What if—when she found there was nothing to be gained by it—she were to adopt the more prudent course, and maintain silence? It was just a chance, but knowing so well, her narrow, soulless nature, he knew it to be a slender one.
Even then, what? Even did it hold—it would not affect the main fact. In the consummate purifying of this man’s nature which the past few weeks had effected, he looked backward thence with unutterable abasement and loathing. As he had sown, so must he reap. The re-appearance of the past personified had but emphasised that—had not altered it. He would be the one to suffer, and he only, he thought, with a dull, anguished kind of feeling which he strove hard to think was that of consolation.
“Oh, it is good to be at home again,” said Lyn. “I don’t care much for going over to the Earles’ at any time, but this time somehow or other, I detested it. But—oh, I beg your pardon, Mr Blachland. And you found your cousin there! How awkward and tactless you must think me!”
“You could never be either awkward or tactless, Lyn,” he answered. “Only thoroughly natural. Always be that, child. It is such a charm.”
The girl smiled softly, half shyly. “Really, you are flattering me. You spoil me as much as father does, and that’s saying a great deal, you know,” gaily.
The two were standing on the stoep together, about an hour after their return. Bayfield was down at the kraals, counting in, and looking after things in general, and, helping him, small Fred, who, however, was cracking his long whip in such wise as to be rather less of a help than a hindrance with the flocks. The unearthly beauty of the sunset glow was already merging into the shade of the twilightless evening.
“I wish you were going to stay with us always, Mr Blachland,” she went on. “It would be so nice. If you and father were partners, for instance, like Mr Barter and Mr Smith—only they squabble—why, then you’d always be here.”
He looked at her—mentally with a great start—but only for a second. The frank, ingenuous, friendly affection of a child! That was what the words, the tone, the straight glance of the sweet blue eyes expressed! There was a tinge of melancholy in his voice as he replied:
“Now you flatter me, little Lyn. You would soon find a battered old fogey like me can be a desperate bore.” Then he proceeded to the prosaic and homely occupation of filling and lighting his pipe, smiling to himself sadly over her indignant disclaimer.
Chapter Ten.As Good as her Word.It was post day at Lannercost, and whereas the delivery of Her Majesty’s mails was only of weekly occurrence, the fact constituted a small event. Such delivery was effected by the usual harmless necessary native, who conveyed the mail bag by field and flood from the adjacent Field-cornet’s—in this instance from Earle’s.“It’s just possible, Bayfield, I may hear something by this post which may necessitate my leaving you almost immediately.”“Oh, hang it, Blachland! Are you at that game again? Where do you think of moving to next, if not an impertinent question?”“Up-country again. I’ve interests there still. And things are beginning to look dickey. Lo Ben’s crowd is turning restive again. We’ve most of us thought all along that they were bound to force the old man’s hand. It’s only a question of time.”“So?” And then they fell to talking over that and kindred questions, until finally a moving object, away down the valley, but rapidly drawing nearer, resolved itself into a mounted native.The two men were sitting in the shade at the bottom of one of the gardens, where Bayfield had been doing an odd job or two with a spade—cutting out a water furrow here, or clearing one there and so forth—pausing every now and then for a smoke and a desultory chat.“Hey, September! Bring the bag here,” he called out in Dutch, as the postboy was about to pass.The boy swung himself from his pony, and handed over the leathern bag to his master.“Great Scott, here’s a nuisance!” exclaimed the latter, fumbling in his pockets. “I believe I haven’t got the key. It’s up at the house. We’ll have to send September for it—or go up ourselves and open the bag there.”The last thing that Blachland desired was either of these courses. If they sent up for the key, Lyn would be sure to come down with it herself. If they went themselves, the bag would be opened in her presence, and this, for good reasons of his own, he did not wish. In fact he had deftly manoeuvred Bayfield down here with the object of intercepting it.“Ah, here it is!” cried the latter, disentangling a bunch of keys from the recesses of a pocket. “Got into the lining.”In a trice the bag was unlocked and its contents extracted by the simple process of turning them out on to the ground.“Here you are, Blachland,” handing him two. “Miss Bayfield, Miss Bayfield,” he read out, “that’s all for Lyn.Illustrated London News—George Bayfield—George Bayfield. Here’s another, that’s for you—no, it isn’t, it’s me. Looked like Blachland at first. That’s all. Here you are, September. Take that on to Miss Lyn,” replacing the latter’s correspondence in the bag.“Ja, Baas.” And the Kaffir jogged off.Blachland stood there, outwardly calm, but, in reality, stirred through and through. The blow had fallen. The writing on the enclosure which his friend had so nearly handed to him, how well he knew it; could it be, he thought, in a flash of sardonic irony—there had once been a time when it was the most welcome sight his glance could rest upon? The blow had fallen. Hermia had been as good as her word, but even then there were mitigating circumstances, for a ghastly idea had occurred to him that she might, in the plenitude of her malice, have written direct to Lyn, whereas the addresses on the girl’s correspondence were in different hands, and which in fact he had seen before. Indeed had it been otherwise he intended to warn Bayfield on no account to pass on the letter until that worthy had satisfied himself as to its contents.“Just as I thought. I’ve got to clear, and rather sharp too. In fact, to-morrow,” running his eyes over his letters.“Have you, old chap? What a beastly nuisance,” answered Bayfield, looking up. “We shall miss you no end.”Would he? Why on earth didn’t the man get on with his correspondence, thought Blachland, for the tension was getting upon his nerves. But the other went chatting on—partly regrets over his own departure—partly about some stock sale of which he had just had news.“Hallo! Who’s this from?” he said at last. “I don’t know that writing a hang. Well, it’s soon settled,” tearing the envelope open, with a laugh.But in a moment the laugh died. George Bayfield was grave enough now. A whistle of amazement escaped him, and more than one smothered exclamation of disgust. Blachland, without appearing to, watched him narrowly. Would he never get to the end of that closely written sheet and a half?“Have you any idea what this is about?”The tone was short. All the old cordiality seemed to have left it.“Very much of an idea, Bayfield. I expected something of the kind, and for that very reason, to be quite candid with you, I manoeuvred we should get the post out here away from the house.”“I didn’t think you’d have done that to us, Blachland. To think of this—this person, under the same roof with—even shaking hands with—my Lyn. Faugh! Good Heavens! man, you might have spared us this!”“Wouldn’t I—if it had been possible? But it was not. I give you my word of honour I had no more idea of that woman’s presence at Earle’s, or indeed in the neighbourhood, or even in this country, than you had yourself. You’ll do me the credit of believing that, won’t you?”“Why, yes, Blachland. Anything you give me your word for I believe implicitly.”“Thanks. You are a true friend, Bayfield. You may believe another thing—and that is that had I known of her presence in the neighbourhood, I should have kept away from it. Why, she didn’t even know of mine either. Each was about as surprised as the other when we met, yesterday morning. What could I do then, Bayfield? Raise a scene on the spot, and expose her—and kick up a horrible scandal, with the result of simply bespattering the air with mire, around the very one we intend to keep from any such contact? No good purpose could be served by acting otherwise than as I acted. Could it now?”“No. I suppose not. In fact, I quite see the force of all you say. Still, it’s horrible, revolting.”“Yes. Believe me, Bayfield, I am as distressed about it as you are. But there is this consolation. Not an atom of real harm has been done so far. Lyn is in blissful ignorance as to who it was she met, and there is no reason on earth why she should ever know.”Even while he spoke there occurred to him another aspect of the case—and the probability that this had not been overlooked by Lyn’s father occurred to him too. Would not the latter regard him as upon much the same plane as Hermia herself?“You see,” he went on, “I shall be clearing out the first thing in the morning, so she,” with a jerk of the thumb in the direction of far-away Earle’s, “is not likely to give you any further trouble. Besides, after giving herself away like this, she will have to go her way as well. If she doesn’t, I advise you to let Earle into the story. She won’t be long there after that. By the way, would you mind letting me see exactly what she has said? We shall know better where we are then.”“Yes, I think so,” said the other.Blachland took the letter and read it through carefully and deliberately from end to end. It was a narrative of theirliaison, and that only. But the blame of its initiation the writer ascribed to himself. This he pointed out to Bayfield.“The boot was, if anything on the other foot,” he said. “But let that pass. Now, why do you suppose she has given all this away?”“To revenge herself upon you for leaving her.”“But I didn’t leave her. She left me—cleared with a young ass of a prospector, during one of my necessary absences, of which I notice, she’s careful not to say one word. Clearly she never bargained for my seeing this at all.”“By Jove! You don’t say so?”“It’s hard fact. Well, her motive is to revenge herself upon me, but not for that. It is because she had entangled that young fool Percy West—had made him engage himself to her. He told me this the night we were at Earle’s, and I put my foot down on it at once. I gave her the chance of drawing out of it, of releasing him, and she refused it.—I put the alternative before her, and she simply defied me. ‘If you give me away, I’ll give you away,’ those were her words. I couldn’t allow the youngster to enter into any such contract as that, could I?”“Of course not. Go on.”“So I told him the whole thing on our way out the other morning. It choked him clean off her—of course. I was as good as my word, and she was as good as hers. That’s the whole yarn in a nutshell.”Bayfield nodded. He seemed to be thinking deeply, as he filled his pipe meditatively, and passed the pouch over to Blachland. There was one thing for which the latter felt profoundly thankful. Remembering the more than insinuation Hermia had thrown out, he had noticed with unspeakable relief that there was no reference whatever to Lyn throughout the communication. Even she had shrunk from such an outrage as that, and for this he felt almost grateful to her.“This Mrs Fenham, or St. Clair, or whatever her name is,” said Bayfield, glancing at the subscription of the letter, “seems to be a bad egg all round. Seems to be omnivorous, by Jove!”“She has an abnormal capacity for making fools of the blunder-headed sex, as I can testify,” was the answer, given dryly. “Well Bayfield, I don’t want to whitewash myself, let alone trot out the old Adamite excuse—I don’t set up to be better than other people, and have been a good deal worse than some. You know, as a man of the world, that there is a certain kind of trap laid throughout our earlier life to catch us at every turn. Well, I’ve fallen into a good many such traps, but I can, with perfect honesty, say I’ve never set one. Do you follow?”“Perfectly,” replied Bayfield, who thought that such was more than likely the case. He was mentally passing in review Blachland’s demeanour towards Lyn, during the weeks they had been fellow inmates, and he pronounced it to be absolutely flawless. The pleasant, unrestrained, easy friendship between the two had been exactly all it should be—on the part of the one, all that was sympathetic, courteous and considerate, with almost a dash of the paternal, for the girl was nearly young enough to be his daughter—on that of the other, a liking, utterly open and undisguised, for Lyn liked him exceedingly, and made no secret of it—and if hers was not a true instinct, whose was? Bayfield was not a man to adjudge another a blackguard because he had sown some wild oats, and this one he acquitted entirely—and he said something to that effect.“Thanks,” was the reply. “I don’t care a rap for other people’s opinions about myself, good, bad, or indifferent, as a rule, but I’m rather glad you don’t judge me too hardly, on account of this infernalcontretemps?”“Oh, I don’t judge you at all, old chap, so don’t run away with that idea. We ain’t any of us silver-gilt saints if the truth were known, or if we are, it’s generally for want of opportunity to become the other thing, at any rate, that’s my belief. And Lyn likes you so much, Blachland, and her instinct’s never at fault.”“God bless her!” was the fervent reply. “I don’t wonder, Bayfield, that you almost worship that child. I know if she were my child I should rather more than entirely.”“Would you?” said the other, his whole face softening. “Well, that’s about what I do. Come along up to the house, Blachland, and let’s forget all about this rotten affair. I’ll take jolly good care I keep it away from her by hook or by crook, anyhow. It’s a beastly bore you’ve got to clear to-morrow, but you know your own business best, and it never does to let business slide. You’ll roll up again next time you’re down this way of course. I say though, you mustn’t go getting any more fever.”As a matter of fact, Blachland’s presence was no more needed up-country, either in his own interests or anybody else’s, than was that of the Shah of Persia. But, it would simplify matters to leave then, besides affording Bayfield a freer hand: and for another thing, it would enable him to make sure of getting his young kinsman out of the toils.Something of a gloom lay upon that household of three that evening, by reason of the impending departure of this one who had been so long an inmate in their midst, and had identified himself so completely with their daily life.“Mr Blachland, but I wish I was big enough to go with you,” announced small Fred. “Man, but I’d like to see those Matabele chaps, and have a shot at a lion.”“Some day, when you are big enough, perhaps you shall, Fred. And, look here, when your father thinks you are big enough to begin to shoot—and that’ll be pretty soon now—I’m to give you your first gun. That’s a bargain, eh, Bayfield?”“Magtig! but you’re spoiling the nipper, Blachland,” was the reply. “You’re a lucky chap, Fred, I can tell you.”Somehow, Lyn was not in prime voice for the old songs in the course of the evening, in fact she shut down the concert with suspicious abruptness. When it became time to say good night, she thrust into Blachland’s hand a small, flat, oblong packet:“A few of my poor little drawings,” she said, rather shyly. “You said you would like to have one or two, and these will remind you perhaps a little of old Lannercost, when you are far away.”“Why, Lyn, how awfully good of you. I can’t tell you how I shall value them. They will seem to bring back all the good times we have had together here. And, now, good night. I suppose it’s good-bye too.”“Oh no, it isn’t. I shall be up to see you off.”“But think what an ungodly hour I’m going to start at.”“That doesn’t matter. Of course I’m going to see you off.”“Why, rather,” struck in small Fred.Morning dawned, frosty and clear, and the intending traveller appreciated the thick warmth of his heavy ulster to the full, as he prepared to mount to the seat of Bayfield’s buggy, beside the native boy who was to bring back the vehicle after depositing him at the district town, nearly fifty miles away. There was no apparent gloom about the trio now. They were there to give him a cheery send off.“Well, good-bye, old chap,” cried Bayfield, as they gripped hands. “I think there’s everything in the buggy you’ll want on the way.”“Good-bye, Bayfield, old pal,” was the hearty reply. “Good-bye, Lyn,” holding the girl’s hands in both of his, and gazing down affectionately into the sweet, pure face. “God bless you, child, and don’t forget your true and sincere old friend in too great a hurry. Fred—good-bye, old chappie.” And he climbed into his seat and was gone.The trio stood looking after the receding vehicle until it disappeared over the roll of the hill—waving an occasional hat or a handkerchief as its occupant looked back. Then Fred broke forth:“Man—Lyn, but Mr Blachland’s a fine chap!Tis waar, I’m sorry he’s gone—ain’t you?”He had pretty well voiced the general sense. They felt somehow, that a vacant place had been set up in their midst.Later that morning Bayfield chanced to return to the house from his work outside. It seemed empty. Small Fred was away at the bottom of the garden with a catapult, keeping down the swarming numbers of predatory mouse-birds and the wilier spreuw. But where was Lyn? Just then a sound striking upon the silence brought him to a standstill, amazement and consternation personified, so utterly strange and unwonted was such a sound in that household, and it proceeded from the girl’s room. Gently, noiselessly, he opened the door.She was seated by her bed, her back towards him. Her face was buried in her hands, and her whole form was heaving with low convulsive sobs.“Lyn! Great Heaven! What’s the matter? Lyn—My little Lyn!”She rose at her father’s voice and came straight into his arms. Then she looked up at him, through her tears, forcing a smile.“My little one, what is it? There, there, tell your old father,” he pleaded, a whirlwind of tenderness and concern shaking his voice as he held her to him. “Tell me, sweetheart.”“It’s nothing, dearest,” she answered but quaveringly, and still forcing herself to smile. “Only— No, it’s nothing. But—when people are here a long time, and you get to like them a lot and they go away—why it’s—oh, it’s beastly. That’s all, old father—” dashing away her tears, and forcing herself to smile in real earnest. “And I’m a little fool, that’s all. But I won’t be any more. See, I’m all right now.”“My little Lyn! My own little one!” he repeated, kissing her tenderly, now rather more moved than she was.And Lyn was as good as her word. All his solicitous but furtive watching, failed to detect any sign or symptom that her outburst of grief was anything more than a perfectly natural and childlike manifestation of her warm little heart.And yet, there were times, when, recurring to it in his own mind, honest George Bayfield would grow grave and shake his head and ejaculate softly to himself:“My little Lyn! No—it can’t be. Oh, Great Scot!”End of Book II.
It was post day at Lannercost, and whereas the delivery of Her Majesty’s mails was only of weekly occurrence, the fact constituted a small event. Such delivery was effected by the usual harmless necessary native, who conveyed the mail bag by field and flood from the adjacent Field-cornet’s—in this instance from Earle’s.
“It’s just possible, Bayfield, I may hear something by this post which may necessitate my leaving you almost immediately.”
“Oh, hang it, Blachland! Are you at that game again? Where do you think of moving to next, if not an impertinent question?”
“Up-country again. I’ve interests there still. And things are beginning to look dickey. Lo Ben’s crowd is turning restive again. We’ve most of us thought all along that they were bound to force the old man’s hand. It’s only a question of time.”
“So?” And then they fell to talking over that and kindred questions, until finally a moving object, away down the valley, but rapidly drawing nearer, resolved itself into a mounted native.
The two men were sitting in the shade at the bottom of one of the gardens, where Bayfield had been doing an odd job or two with a spade—cutting out a water furrow here, or clearing one there and so forth—pausing every now and then for a smoke and a desultory chat.
“Hey, September! Bring the bag here,” he called out in Dutch, as the postboy was about to pass.
The boy swung himself from his pony, and handed over the leathern bag to his master.
“Great Scott, here’s a nuisance!” exclaimed the latter, fumbling in his pockets. “I believe I haven’t got the key. It’s up at the house. We’ll have to send September for it—or go up ourselves and open the bag there.”
The last thing that Blachland desired was either of these courses. If they sent up for the key, Lyn would be sure to come down with it herself. If they went themselves, the bag would be opened in her presence, and this, for good reasons of his own, he did not wish. In fact he had deftly manoeuvred Bayfield down here with the object of intercepting it.
“Ah, here it is!” cried the latter, disentangling a bunch of keys from the recesses of a pocket. “Got into the lining.”
In a trice the bag was unlocked and its contents extracted by the simple process of turning them out on to the ground.
“Here you are, Blachland,” handing him two. “Miss Bayfield, Miss Bayfield,” he read out, “that’s all for Lyn.Illustrated London News—George Bayfield—George Bayfield. Here’s another, that’s for you—no, it isn’t, it’s me. Looked like Blachland at first. That’s all. Here you are, September. Take that on to Miss Lyn,” replacing the latter’s correspondence in the bag.
“Ja, Baas.” And the Kaffir jogged off.
Blachland stood there, outwardly calm, but, in reality, stirred through and through. The blow had fallen. The writing on the enclosure which his friend had so nearly handed to him, how well he knew it; could it be, he thought, in a flash of sardonic irony—there had once been a time when it was the most welcome sight his glance could rest upon? The blow had fallen. Hermia had been as good as her word, but even then there were mitigating circumstances, for a ghastly idea had occurred to him that she might, in the plenitude of her malice, have written direct to Lyn, whereas the addresses on the girl’s correspondence were in different hands, and which in fact he had seen before. Indeed had it been otherwise he intended to warn Bayfield on no account to pass on the letter until that worthy had satisfied himself as to its contents.
“Just as I thought. I’ve got to clear, and rather sharp too. In fact, to-morrow,” running his eyes over his letters.
“Have you, old chap? What a beastly nuisance,” answered Bayfield, looking up. “We shall miss you no end.”
Would he? Why on earth didn’t the man get on with his correspondence, thought Blachland, for the tension was getting upon his nerves. But the other went chatting on—partly regrets over his own departure—partly about some stock sale of which he had just had news.
“Hallo! Who’s this from?” he said at last. “I don’t know that writing a hang. Well, it’s soon settled,” tearing the envelope open, with a laugh.
But in a moment the laugh died. George Bayfield was grave enough now. A whistle of amazement escaped him, and more than one smothered exclamation of disgust. Blachland, without appearing to, watched him narrowly. Would he never get to the end of that closely written sheet and a half?
“Have you any idea what this is about?”
The tone was short. All the old cordiality seemed to have left it.
“Very much of an idea, Bayfield. I expected something of the kind, and for that very reason, to be quite candid with you, I manoeuvred we should get the post out here away from the house.”
“I didn’t think you’d have done that to us, Blachland. To think of this—this person, under the same roof with—even shaking hands with—my Lyn. Faugh! Good Heavens! man, you might have spared us this!”
“Wouldn’t I—if it had been possible? But it was not. I give you my word of honour I had no more idea of that woman’s presence at Earle’s, or indeed in the neighbourhood, or even in this country, than you had yourself. You’ll do me the credit of believing that, won’t you?”
“Why, yes, Blachland. Anything you give me your word for I believe implicitly.”
“Thanks. You are a true friend, Bayfield. You may believe another thing—and that is that had I known of her presence in the neighbourhood, I should have kept away from it. Why, she didn’t even know of mine either. Each was about as surprised as the other when we met, yesterday morning. What could I do then, Bayfield? Raise a scene on the spot, and expose her—and kick up a horrible scandal, with the result of simply bespattering the air with mire, around the very one we intend to keep from any such contact? No good purpose could be served by acting otherwise than as I acted. Could it now?”
“No. I suppose not. In fact, I quite see the force of all you say. Still, it’s horrible, revolting.”
“Yes. Believe me, Bayfield, I am as distressed about it as you are. But there is this consolation. Not an atom of real harm has been done so far. Lyn is in blissful ignorance as to who it was she met, and there is no reason on earth why she should ever know.”
Even while he spoke there occurred to him another aspect of the case—and the probability that this had not been overlooked by Lyn’s father occurred to him too. Would not the latter regard him as upon much the same plane as Hermia herself?
“You see,” he went on, “I shall be clearing out the first thing in the morning, so she,” with a jerk of the thumb in the direction of far-away Earle’s, “is not likely to give you any further trouble. Besides, after giving herself away like this, she will have to go her way as well. If she doesn’t, I advise you to let Earle into the story. She won’t be long there after that. By the way, would you mind letting me see exactly what she has said? We shall know better where we are then.”
“Yes, I think so,” said the other.
Blachland took the letter and read it through carefully and deliberately from end to end. It was a narrative of theirliaison, and that only. But the blame of its initiation the writer ascribed to himself. This he pointed out to Bayfield.
“The boot was, if anything on the other foot,” he said. “But let that pass. Now, why do you suppose she has given all this away?”
“To revenge herself upon you for leaving her.”
“But I didn’t leave her. She left me—cleared with a young ass of a prospector, during one of my necessary absences, of which I notice, she’s careful not to say one word. Clearly she never bargained for my seeing this at all.”
“By Jove! You don’t say so?”
“It’s hard fact. Well, her motive is to revenge herself upon me, but not for that. It is because she had entangled that young fool Percy West—had made him engage himself to her. He told me this the night we were at Earle’s, and I put my foot down on it at once. I gave her the chance of drawing out of it, of releasing him, and she refused it.—I put the alternative before her, and she simply defied me. ‘If you give me away, I’ll give you away,’ those were her words. I couldn’t allow the youngster to enter into any such contract as that, could I?”
“Of course not. Go on.”
“So I told him the whole thing on our way out the other morning. It choked him clean off her—of course. I was as good as my word, and she was as good as hers. That’s the whole yarn in a nutshell.”
Bayfield nodded. He seemed to be thinking deeply, as he filled his pipe meditatively, and passed the pouch over to Blachland. There was one thing for which the latter felt profoundly thankful. Remembering the more than insinuation Hermia had thrown out, he had noticed with unspeakable relief that there was no reference whatever to Lyn throughout the communication. Even she had shrunk from such an outrage as that, and for this he felt almost grateful to her.
“This Mrs Fenham, or St. Clair, or whatever her name is,” said Bayfield, glancing at the subscription of the letter, “seems to be a bad egg all round. Seems to be omnivorous, by Jove!”
“She has an abnormal capacity for making fools of the blunder-headed sex, as I can testify,” was the answer, given dryly. “Well Bayfield, I don’t want to whitewash myself, let alone trot out the old Adamite excuse—I don’t set up to be better than other people, and have been a good deal worse than some. You know, as a man of the world, that there is a certain kind of trap laid throughout our earlier life to catch us at every turn. Well, I’ve fallen into a good many such traps, but I can, with perfect honesty, say I’ve never set one. Do you follow?”
“Perfectly,” replied Bayfield, who thought that such was more than likely the case. He was mentally passing in review Blachland’s demeanour towards Lyn, during the weeks they had been fellow inmates, and he pronounced it to be absolutely flawless. The pleasant, unrestrained, easy friendship between the two had been exactly all it should be—on the part of the one, all that was sympathetic, courteous and considerate, with almost a dash of the paternal, for the girl was nearly young enough to be his daughter—on that of the other, a liking, utterly open and undisguised, for Lyn liked him exceedingly, and made no secret of it—and if hers was not a true instinct, whose was? Bayfield was not a man to adjudge another a blackguard because he had sown some wild oats, and this one he acquitted entirely—and he said something to that effect.
“Thanks,” was the reply. “I don’t care a rap for other people’s opinions about myself, good, bad, or indifferent, as a rule, but I’m rather glad you don’t judge me too hardly, on account of this infernalcontretemps?”
“Oh, I don’t judge you at all, old chap, so don’t run away with that idea. We ain’t any of us silver-gilt saints if the truth were known, or if we are, it’s generally for want of opportunity to become the other thing, at any rate, that’s my belief. And Lyn likes you so much, Blachland, and her instinct’s never at fault.”
“God bless her!” was the fervent reply. “I don’t wonder, Bayfield, that you almost worship that child. I know if she were my child I should rather more than entirely.”
“Would you?” said the other, his whole face softening. “Well, that’s about what I do. Come along up to the house, Blachland, and let’s forget all about this rotten affair. I’ll take jolly good care I keep it away from her by hook or by crook, anyhow. It’s a beastly bore you’ve got to clear to-morrow, but you know your own business best, and it never does to let business slide. You’ll roll up again next time you’re down this way of course. I say though, you mustn’t go getting any more fever.”
As a matter of fact, Blachland’s presence was no more needed up-country, either in his own interests or anybody else’s, than was that of the Shah of Persia. But, it would simplify matters to leave then, besides affording Bayfield a freer hand: and for another thing, it would enable him to make sure of getting his young kinsman out of the toils.
Something of a gloom lay upon that household of three that evening, by reason of the impending departure of this one who had been so long an inmate in their midst, and had identified himself so completely with their daily life.
“Mr Blachland, but I wish I was big enough to go with you,” announced small Fred. “Man, but I’d like to see those Matabele chaps, and have a shot at a lion.”
“Some day, when you are big enough, perhaps you shall, Fred. And, look here, when your father thinks you are big enough to begin to shoot—and that’ll be pretty soon now—I’m to give you your first gun. That’s a bargain, eh, Bayfield?”
“Magtig! but you’re spoiling the nipper, Blachland,” was the reply. “You’re a lucky chap, Fred, I can tell you.”
Somehow, Lyn was not in prime voice for the old songs in the course of the evening, in fact she shut down the concert with suspicious abruptness. When it became time to say good night, she thrust into Blachland’s hand a small, flat, oblong packet:
“A few of my poor little drawings,” she said, rather shyly. “You said you would like to have one or two, and these will remind you perhaps a little of old Lannercost, when you are far away.”
“Why, Lyn, how awfully good of you. I can’t tell you how I shall value them. They will seem to bring back all the good times we have had together here. And, now, good night. I suppose it’s good-bye too.”
“Oh no, it isn’t. I shall be up to see you off.”
“But think what an ungodly hour I’m going to start at.”
“That doesn’t matter. Of course I’m going to see you off.”
“Why, rather,” struck in small Fred.
Morning dawned, frosty and clear, and the intending traveller appreciated the thick warmth of his heavy ulster to the full, as he prepared to mount to the seat of Bayfield’s buggy, beside the native boy who was to bring back the vehicle after depositing him at the district town, nearly fifty miles away. There was no apparent gloom about the trio now. They were there to give him a cheery send off.
“Well, good-bye, old chap,” cried Bayfield, as they gripped hands. “I think there’s everything in the buggy you’ll want on the way.”
“Good-bye, Bayfield, old pal,” was the hearty reply. “Good-bye, Lyn,” holding the girl’s hands in both of his, and gazing down affectionately into the sweet, pure face. “God bless you, child, and don’t forget your true and sincere old friend in too great a hurry. Fred—good-bye, old chappie.” And he climbed into his seat and was gone.
The trio stood looking after the receding vehicle until it disappeared over the roll of the hill—waving an occasional hat or a handkerchief as its occupant looked back. Then Fred broke forth:
“Man—Lyn, but Mr Blachland’s a fine chap!Tis waar, I’m sorry he’s gone—ain’t you?”
He had pretty well voiced the general sense. They felt somehow, that a vacant place had been set up in their midst.
Later that morning Bayfield chanced to return to the house from his work outside. It seemed empty. Small Fred was away at the bottom of the garden with a catapult, keeping down the swarming numbers of predatory mouse-birds and the wilier spreuw. But where was Lyn? Just then a sound striking upon the silence brought him to a standstill, amazement and consternation personified, so utterly strange and unwonted was such a sound in that household, and it proceeded from the girl’s room. Gently, noiselessly, he opened the door.
She was seated by her bed, her back towards him. Her face was buried in her hands, and her whole form was heaving with low convulsive sobs.
“Lyn! Great Heaven! What’s the matter? Lyn—My little Lyn!”
She rose at her father’s voice and came straight into his arms. Then she looked up at him, through her tears, forcing a smile.
“My little one, what is it? There, there, tell your old father,” he pleaded, a whirlwind of tenderness and concern shaking his voice as he held her to him. “Tell me, sweetheart.”
“It’s nothing, dearest,” she answered but quaveringly, and still forcing herself to smile. “Only— No, it’s nothing. But—when people are here a long time, and you get to like them a lot and they go away—why it’s—oh, it’s beastly. That’s all, old father—” dashing away her tears, and forcing herself to smile in real earnest. “And I’m a little fool, that’s all. But I won’t be any more. See, I’m all right now.”
“My little Lyn! My own little one!” he repeated, kissing her tenderly, now rather more moved than she was.
And Lyn was as good as her word. All his solicitous but furtive watching, failed to detect any sign or symptom that her outburst of grief was anything more than a perfectly natural and childlike manifestation of her warm little heart.
And yet, there were times, when, recurring to it in his own mind, honest George Bayfield would grow grave and shake his head and ejaculate softly to himself:
“My little Lyn! No—it can’t be. Oh, Great Scot!”
End of Book II.
Chapter One.“Woz’ubone, kiti kwazulu.”Lo Bengula sat within theesibayaneni—the sacred enclosure wherein none dare intrude—at his great kraal, Bulawayo.The occupation on which the King was then engaged, was the homely and prosaic one of eating his breakfast. This consisted of a huge dish ofbubende, being certain ingredients of the internal mechanism of the bullock, all boiled up with the blood, to the civilised palate an appalling article of diet, but highly favoured by the Matabele. Yet, while devouring this delicacy with vast appetite, the royal countenance was overcast and gloomy in the extreme.Lo Bengula sat alone. From without a continuous roar of many voices reached him. It was never hushed, the night through it had hardly been hushed, and this was early morning. Song after song, some improvised, others the old war-songs of the nation, interluded with longpaeansof his own praises, rising from the untiring throats of thousands of his warriors—yet the King, in his heart of hearts, was tired of the lot.He looked around upon his sheep and goats—for the sacred enclosure included the kraal which contained his private and particular flock—and he loved them, for he was by nature a born farmer, called by accident, and even then, reluctantly, to rule this nation of fierce and turbulent fighters. He looked upon the flocks surrounding him and wondered how much longer they would be his—how much longer anything would be his—for war was not merely in the air but was actually at his gates; war with the whites, with whom he had ever striven to live on friendly and peaceful terms. But, as had long been foreseen, his people had forced his hand at last.Unwillingly he had bowed to the inevitable, he the despot, he, before whose frown those ferocious and bloodthirsty human beasts trembled, he the dark-skinned savage, whose word was law, whose ire conveyed terror over a region as wide-spreading and vast as that under the sway of any one of the greater Powers in Europe. But as long as the nation was a nation and he was alive, he intended to remain its King, however reluctant he had been to assume the supreme reins of government, and consistently with this it had been out of his power to check the aggressive ebullitions of his fiery adherents. And now war was within the land, and hourly, runners were bringing in tidings of the advance—straight, fell, unswerving of purpose—of a strong and compact expedition of whites—their goal his capital.Yes, day by day these were drawing nearer. The intelligence brought by innumerable spies and runners was unvarying. The approaching force in numbers was such that a couple of his best regiments should be able to eat it up at a mouthful. But it was splendidly armed, and its organisation and discipline were perfect. Its leaders seemed to take no risks, and at the smallest alarm all those waggons could be turned into a complete and defensive fort almost as quickly as a man might clap his hands twice. And then, from each corner, from every face of this unscaleable wall, peeped forth a small, insignificant thing, a little shining tube that could be placed on the back of a horse—yet this contemptible-looking toy could rain down bullets into the ranks of his warriors at a rate which would leave none to return to him with the tale. Nay more, even the cover of rocks and bushes would not help them, for other deadly machines had these whites, which could throw great bags of bullets into the air to fall and scatter wherever they chose, and that at well-nigh any distance. All of this Lo Bengula knew and appreciated, but his people did not, and now from without, ever and increasing upon his ears, fell the din and thunder of their boasting songs of war.“Au! They are poor, lean dogs!” he growled to himself. “They will be even as dogs who snarl and run away, when they get up to these whites. They bark loudly now and show their teeth. Will they be able to bite?”Personally, too, he liked the English. He had been on very friendly terms with several of them. They were always bringing him presents, things that it was good to have, and of which now he owned considerable store. He liked conversing with them too, for these were men who had travelled far and had seen things—and could tell him wonders about other lands, inhabited by other whites, away beyond the great sea. They were not fools, these English. And their bravery! Who among dark races would go and place themselves in the power of a mighty and warrior race as these did? What three or four men of such would dare to stand before him here—at this very place, calm, smiling, unmoved, while thousands of his warriors were standing around, howling and clamouring for their blood? Not one. Then, too, their knowledge was wonderful. Had not several of them, from time to time, done that which had eased him of his gout, and of the shooting pains which afflicted his eyes, and threatened to deprive him of his sight? No, of a truth he desired not to quarrel with such. Well, it might be, that when these dogs of his had been whipped back—when they had thought to hunt bucks and found that they had assailed instead, a herd of fierce and fearless buffalo bulls—that then he might order them to lie down, and that peace between himself and the whites might again prevail.Having arrived at this conclusion, and also at that of his repast, the King gave utterance to a call, and immediately there appeared twoizinceku, or personal attendants of the royal household. These ran forward in a crouching attitude, with bodies bent low, and while one removed the utensils and traces of the feast, the other produced a great bowl of baked clay, nearly filled with fresh water. Into this the King plunged his hands, throwing the cold water over his face and head with great apparent enjoyment, then, having dried himself with a towel of genuine civilisation, he rose, strode over to his waggon—the two attendants lying prostrate in the dust before him as he moved—and lifting the canvas flap, disappeared from mortal ken: for this waggon was the place of his most sacred seclusion, and woe indeed to the luckless wight who should presume to disturb him in that retreat.Without, the aspect of the mighty circle was stirring and tumultuous to the last degree. The huge radius of grass roofs lay yellow and shining in the fierce sunlight, alive too, with dark forms ever on the move, these however, being those of innumerable women, and glistening, rotund brats, chattering in wide-eyed excitement; for the more important spot, the great open space in front of the King’s enclosure, was given over to the warriors.With these it was nearly filled. Regiment upon regiment was mustered there: each drafted according to the standing of those who composed its ranks, from the Ingubu, which enjoyed the high privilege of attending as bodyguard upon the King, hence its name—the Blanket, i.e. the King’s—ever around the royal person—the fighting Imbizo, and the Induba—down to the slave regiments such as the Umcityu, composed of slaves and the descendants of conquered and therefore inferior races. All these were in full war array. The higher of them wore theintye, a combination of cape and headpiece made of the jetty plumage of the male ostrich, others were crowned with theisiqoba, a ball of feathers nodding over the forehead, and supporting the tall, pointed wing feather of the vulture, or the blue crane. Mútyas of monkey-skin and cat-tails, in some few instances leopard’s skin, fantastic bunches of white cowhair at elbow and knee and ankle, with bead necklaces, varying in shape and colour, completed the adornment. But all were fully armed. The national weapon, the traditional implement of Zulu intrepidity and conquest, the broad-bladed, short-handled, close-quarter assegai—of such each warrior carried two or three: a murderous-looking battle-axe with its sickle-like blade: a heavy-headed, short-handled knob-kerrie, and the great war-shield, black, with its facings of white, a proportion white entirely—others red—others again, streaked, variegated, and surmounted by its tuft of fur or jackal’s tail, or cowhair—this array, chanting in fierce strophes, stamping in unison, and clashing time with weapon-haft upon hard hide shield, amid the streaming dust, made up a picture—as terrific as it was formidable—of the ferocious and pent-up savagery of a hitherto unconquered, and in its own estimation, unconquerable race.A musky, foetid effluvium hung in the air, the mingled result of all this gathering of perspiring, moving humanity, and vast heaps of decaying bones, already decomposing in the fierce sunlight there on the killing place just outside the huge kraal at its eastern end, where a great number of the King’s cattle had been slaughtered on the previous day in order to feast the regiments mustered for war—while myriads of buzzing flies combined to render the surcharged atmosphere doubly pestilential. Seated together, in a group apart, the principal indunas of the nation were gathered in earnest conference, while, further on, the whole company ofizanusi, or war-doctors, arrayed in the hideous and disgusting trappings of their order, were giving a final eye to the removal of hugemuttbowls, containing some concoction equally hideous and disgusting, from the secluded and mysterious precincts wherein such had been brewed: for the whole army was about to be doctored for war.Now a fresh stir arose among the excited armed multitude gathered there, and all eyes were turned to the eastward. Away over the rolling plain, from the direction of the flat-topped Intaba-’Zinduna, a moving mass was approaching, and as it drew nearer the gleam of spears and the sheen of hide shields flickered above the dark cloud. It was the Insukamini regiment, for whose presence those here had been waiting in order to render the master complete. As it swung up the slope, an old war-song of Umalikazi came volleying through the air to those here gathered:“YaingahlabiLeyo’mkonzi!Yai ukúfa!”(Note: “That Bull did not gore (merely). It was death!”)With full-throated roar the vast gathering took it up, re-echoing the fell chorus until it became indescribable in its strength of volume, and soon, the newly arrived regiment, over a thousand strong, filed in, and fell into line, amid the thunder of its vociferous welcome.Then the company ofixanuricame forward, and for some time these were busy as they went along the lines, administering to each warrior a morsel of the horrible hotch-potch they had been concocting, and which was designed to render him, if not quite impervious to the enemy’s missiles, at any rate to lessen his chances of being struck, and to make him a very lion of strength and courage in the day of battle.This over, yet one ceremony remained, to sing the war-song in the presence of the King, and depart. A silence had fallen upon all after the doctoring was concluded. Soon, however, it was broken by the “praisers” shouting the King’s titles.As Lo Bengula appeared in front of his warriors, the whole immense crescent fell forward like mown corn, and from every throat went up in one single, deep-voiced, booming roar, the royal greeting:Kumalo!The King did not seat himself. With head erect and kindling eyes, he paced up and down slowly, surveying the whole martial might of his nation. He, too, was arrayed in full war costume, crowned with the toweringintye, and wearing a mútya of splendid leopard skin. He was attended by his shield-bearer, holding aloft the great white shield of state, but in his hand he carried another and a smaller shield, also white, and a long-hafted, slender, casting assegai.Long and loud were the shouts ofsibongawhich rent the air as the warriors fell back into a squatting posture, their shields lying flat in front of them. They hailed him by every imaginable title of power and of might—as their father, as their divinity, as the source of all that was good and beneficial which they possessed. They called the lightnings of the clouds, the thunders of the air—everything—into requisition to testify as to his immensity—till at last, as though in obedience to some sudden and mysterious signal, they subsided into silence. Then Lo Bengula spoke:“Children of Matyobane, the enemy is already in your land. These Amakiwa, who came to me few and poor, and begging, are now many and rich, and proud. They begged for a little land wherein to dig gold, and I gave it them, but, lo, they want more. Like devouring locusts, these few whites who came begging, and sat down here so humbly before me, were but the advance-guard of a swarm. I gave them meat, and now they require a whole ox. I gave them an ox, and now they require the whole herd. I gave them the little land they craved for, and now, nothing will satisfy them but to devour the whole land. Soon they will be here.“There are dogs who bark and turn away, and there are dogs who bite. There are dogs who are brave when it is a matter of pulling down an antelope, but who put down their tails and slink away when it is a lion who fronts them. Of which are ye?“Lo, the spirit of the Great Great One who founded this nation is still alive. His serpent still watches over those whom he made great in the art of war. Shall you shame his name, his memory? Of a truth, no.“Yonder comes the white army—nearer, nearer day by day. Soon it will be here. But first it will have to pass over the bodies of the lions of Matyobane. Shall it do so? Of a truth, no!”The King ceased. And upon the silence arose mighty shouts. To the death they would oppose this invasion. The King, their father, might sit safe, since his children, his fighting dogs were at large. They would eat up these whites—ha—ha! a mere mouthful, and the race of Matyobane should be greater than ever among the great nations of the world.Then again a silence fell suddenly, and immediately from a score of points along the lines, voices began to lead off the war-song:“Woz’ubone!Woz’ubone, kiti kwazulu!Woz’ubone! Nantz’indaba.Indaba yemkonto.Jjí-jjí! Jjí-jjí!“Nantz’indaba? Indaba yezizwe?Akwasimuntu.Jjí-jjí! Jjí-jjí!“Woz’ubone! Nantz’indaba.Indaba ka Matyobane.”(See Note 1.)Louder and louder, in its full-throated cadence, the national war-song rolled forth, thundrous in its wild weird strophes, to the accompaniment of stamping feet and clashing of shields—the effect of the deep humming hiss of the death chorus alone appalling in its fiendlike intensity. The vast crescent of bedizened warriors swayed and waved in its uncontrollable excitement, and the dust clouds streamed overhead as an earnest of the smoke of burning and pillage, which was wont to mark the fiery path of this terrible race in its conquering progress. Louder, louder, the song roared forth, and then, when excitement had reached its highest pitch, silence fell with a suddenness as startling as the mighty outburst which had preceded it.For the King had advanced from where he had been standing. Facing eastward he now stood. Poising the long, slender, casting assegai in his hand with a nervous quiver, he hurled it far out over the stockade.“Go now, children of Matyobane!” he cried in tones of thunder.It was the signal. Rank upon rank the armed legions filed forth from the gates of the great kraal. In perfect silence now they marched, their faces set eastward—a fell, vast, unsparing host upon destruction bent. Woe to the invading force if it should fail to repel the might of these!Note 1.“Come behold come behold at the High Place!That is the tale - the tale of the spears.That is the tale? The tale of the nations?Nobody knows.Come behold. That is the tale.The tale of Matyobane.”“Jjí-jjí!” is the cry uttered on closing in battle.
Lo Bengula sat within theesibayaneni—the sacred enclosure wherein none dare intrude—at his great kraal, Bulawayo.
The occupation on which the King was then engaged, was the homely and prosaic one of eating his breakfast. This consisted of a huge dish ofbubende, being certain ingredients of the internal mechanism of the bullock, all boiled up with the blood, to the civilised palate an appalling article of diet, but highly favoured by the Matabele. Yet, while devouring this delicacy with vast appetite, the royal countenance was overcast and gloomy in the extreme.
Lo Bengula sat alone. From without a continuous roar of many voices reached him. It was never hushed, the night through it had hardly been hushed, and this was early morning. Song after song, some improvised, others the old war-songs of the nation, interluded with longpaeansof his own praises, rising from the untiring throats of thousands of his warriors—yet the King, in his heart of hearts, was tired of the lot.
He looked around upon his sheep and goats—for the sacred enclosure included the kraal which contained his private and particular flock—and he loved them, for he was by nature a born farmer, called by accident, and even then, reluctantly, to rule this nation of fierce and turbulent fighters. He looked upon the flocks surrounding him and wondered how much longer they would be his—how much longer anything would be his—for war was not merely in the air but was actually at his gates; war with the whites, with whom he had ever striven to live on friendly and peaceful terms. But, as had long been foreseen, his people had forced his hand at last.
Unwillingly he had bowed to the inevitable, he the despot, he, before whose frown those ferocious and bloodthirsty human beasts trembled, he the dark-skinned savage, whose word was law, whose ire conveyed terror over a region as wide-spreading and vast as that under the sway of any one of the greater Powers in Europe. But as long as the nation was a nation and he was alive, he intended to remain its King, however reluctant he had been to assume the supreme reins of government, and consistently with this it had been out of his power to check the aggressive ebullitions of his fiery adherents. And now war was within the land, and hourly, runners were bringing in tidings of the advance—straight, fell, unswerving of purpose—of a strong and compact expedition of whites—their goal his capital.
Yes, day by day these were drawing nearer. The intelligence brought by innumerable spies and runners was unvarying. The approaching force in numbers was such that a couple of his best regiments should be able to eat it up at a mouthful. But it was splendidly armed, and its organisation and discipline were perfect. Its leaders seemed to take no risks, and at the smallest alarm all those waggons could be turned into a complete and defensive fort almost as quickly as a man might clap his hands twice. And then, from each corner, from every face of this unscaleable wall, peeped forth a small, insignificant thing, a little shining tube that could be placed on the back of a horse—yet this contemptible-looking toy could rain down bullets into the ranks of his warriors at a rate which would leave none to return to him with the tale. Nay more, even the cover of rocks and bushes would not help them, for other deadly machines had these whites, which could throw great bags of bullets into the air to fall and scatter wherever they chose, and that at well-nigh any distance. All of this Lo Bengula knew and appreciated, but his people did not, and now from without, ever and increasing upon his ears, fell the din and thunder of their boasting songs of war.
“Au! They are poor, lean dogs!” he growled to himself. “They will be even as dogs who snarl and run away, when they get up to these whites. They bark loudly now and show their teeth. Will they be able to bite?”
Personally, too, he liked the English. He had been on very friendly terms with several of them. They were always bringing him presents, things that it was good to have, and of which now he owned considerable store. He liked conversing with them too, for these were men who had travelled far and had seen things—and could tell him wonders about other lands, inhabited by other whites, away beyond the great sea. They were not fools, these English. And their bravery! Who among dark races would go and place themselves in the power of a mighty and warrior race as these did? What three or four men of such would dare to stand before him here—at this very place, calm, smiling, unmoved, while thousands of his warriors were standing around, howling and clamouring for their blood? Not one. Then, too, their knowledge was wonderful. Had not several of them, from time to time, done that which had eased him of his gout, and of the shooting pains which afflicted his eyes, and threatened to deprive him of his sight? No, of a truth he desired not to quarrel with such. Well, it might be, that when these dogs of his had been whipped back—when they had thought to hunt bucks and found that they had assailed instead, a herd of fierce and fearless buffalo bulls—that then he might order them to lie down, and that peace between himself and the whites might again prevail.
Having arrived at this conclusion, and also at that of his repast, the King gave utterance to a call, and immediately there appeared twoizinceku, or personal attendants of the royal household. These ran forward in a crouching attitude, with bodies bent low, and while one removed the utensils and traces of the feast, the other produced a great bowl of baked clay, nearly filled with fresh water. Into this the King plunged his hands, throwing the cold water over his face and head with great apparent enjoyment, then, having dried himself with a towel of genuine civilisation, he rose, strode over to his waggon—the two attendants lying prostrate in the dust before him as he moved—and lifting the canvas flap, disappeared from mortal ken: for this waggon was the place of his most sacred seclusion, and woe indeed to the luckless wight who should presume to disturb him in that retreat.
Without, the aspect of the mighty circle was stirring and tumultuous to the last degree. The huge radius of grass roofs lay yellow and shining in the fierce sunlight, alive too, with dark forms ever on the move, these however, being those of innumerable women, and glistening, rotund brats, chattering in wide-eyed excitement; for the more important spot, the great open space in front of the King’s enclosure, was given over to the warriors.
With these it was nearly filled. Regiment upon regiment was mustered there: each drafted according to the standing of those who composed its ranks, from the Ingubu, which enjoyed the high privilege of attending as bodyguard upon the King, hence its name—the Blanket, i.e. the King’s—ever around the royal person—the fighting Imbizo, and the Induba—down to the slave regiments such as the Umcityu, composed of slaves and the descendants of conquered and therefore inferior races. All these were in full war array. The higher of them wore theintye, a combination of cape and headpiece made of the jetty plumage of the male ostrich, others were crowned with theisiqoba, a ball of feathers nodding over the forehead, and supporting the tall, pointed wing feather of the vulture, or the blue crane. Mútyas of monkey-skin and cat-tails, in some few instances leopard’s skin, fantastic bunches of white cowhair at elbow and knee and ankle, with bead necklaces, varying in shape and colour, completed the adornment. But all were fully armed. The national weapon, the traditional implement of Zulu intrepidity and conquest, the broad-bladed, short-handled, close-quarter assegai—of such each warrior carried two or three: a murderous-looking battle-axe with its sickle-like blade: a heavy-headed, short-handled knob-kerrie, and the great war-shield, black, with its facings of white, a proportion white entirely—others red—others again, streaked, variegated, and surmounted by its tuft of fur or jackal’s tail, or cowhair—this array, chanting in fierce strophes, stamping in unison, and clashing time with weapon-haft upon hard hide shield, amid the streaming dust, made up a picture—as terrific as it was formidable—of the ferocious and pent-up savagery of a hitherto unconquered, and in its own estimation, unconquerable race.
A musky, foetid effluvium hung in the air, the mingled result of all this gathering of perspiring, moving humanity, and vast heaps of decaying bones, already decomposing in the fierce sunlight there on the killing place just outside the huge kraal at its eastern end, where a great number of the King’s cattle had been slaughtered on the previous day in order to feast the regiments mustered for war—while myriads of buzzing flies combined to render the surcharged atmosphere doubly pestilential. Seated together, in a group apart, the principal indunas of the nation were gathered in earnest conference, while, further on, the whole company ofizanusi, or war-doctors, arrayed in the hideous and disgusting trappings of their order, were giving a final eye to the removal of hugemuttbowls, containing some concoction equally hideous and disgusting, from the secluded and mysterious precincts wherein such had been brewed: for the whole army was about to be doctored for war.
Now a fresh stir arose among the excited armed multitude gathered there, and all eyes were turned to the eastward. Away over the rolling plain, from the direction of the flat-topped Intaba-’Zinduna, a moving mass was approaching, and as it drew nearer the gleam of spears and the sheen of hide shields flickered above the dark cloud. It was the Insukamini regiment, for whose presence those here had been waiting in order to render the master complete. As it swung up the slope, an old war-song of Umalikazi came volleying through the air to those here gathered:
“YaingahlabiLeyo’mkonzi!Yai ukúfa!”
“YaingahlabiLeyo’mkonzi!Yai ukúfa!”
(Note: “That Bull did not gore (merely). It was death!”)
With full-throated roar the vast gathering took it up, re-echoing the fell chorus until it became indescribable in its strength of volume, and soon, the newly arrived regiment, over a thousand strong, filed in, and fell into line, amid the thunder of its vociferous welcome.
Then the company ofixanuricame forward, and for some time these were busy as they went along the lines, administering to each warrior a morsel of the horrible hotch-potch they had been concocting, and which was designed to render him, if not quite impervious to the enemy’s missiles, at any rate to lessen his chances of being struck, and to make him a very lion of strength and courage in the day of battle.
This over, yet one ceremony remained, to sing the war-song in the presence of the King, and depart. A silence had fallen upon all after the doctoring was concluded. Soon, however, it was broken by the “praisers” shouting the King’s titles.
As Lo Bengula appeared in front of his warriors, the whole immense crescent fell forward like mown corn, and from every throat went up in one single, deep-voiced, booming roar, the royal greeting:
Kumalo!
The King did not seat himself. With head erect and kindling eyes, he paced up and down slowly, surveying the whole martial might of his nation. He, too, was arrayed in full war costume, crowned with the toweringintye, and wearing a mútya of splendid leopard skin. He was attended by his shield-bearer, holding aloft the great white shield of state, but in his hand he carried another and a smaller shield, also white, and a long-hafted, slender, casting assegai.
Long and loud were the shouts ofsibongawhich rent the air as the warriors fell back into a squatting posture, their shields lying flat in front of them. They hailed him by every imaginable title of power and of might—as their father, as their divinity, as the source of all that was good and beneficial which they possessed. They called the lightnings of the clouds, the thunders of the air—everything—into requisition to testify as to his immensity—till at last, as though in obedience to some sudden and mysterious signal, they subsided into silence. Then Lo Bengula spoke:
“Children of Matyobane, the enemy is already in your land. These Amakiwa, who came to me few and poor, and begging, are now many and rich, and proud. They begged for a little land wherein to dig gold, and I gave it them, but, lo, they want more. Like devouring locusts, these few whites who came begging, and sat down here so humbly before me, were but the advance-guard of a swarm. I gave them meat, and now they require a whole ox. I gave them an ox, and now they require the whole herd. I gave them the little land they craved for, and now, nothing will satisfy them but to devour the whole land. Soon they will be here.
“There are dogs who bark and turn away, and there are dogs who bite. There are dogs who are brave when it is a matter of pulling down an antelope, but who put down their tails and slink away when it is a lion who fronts them. Of which are ye?
“Lo, the spirit of the Great Great One who founded this nation is still alive. His serpent still watches over those whom he made great in the art of war. Shall you shame his name, his memory? Of a truth, no.
“Yonder comes the white army—nearer, nearer day by day. Soon it will be here. But first it will have to pass over the bodies of the lions of Matyobane. Shall it do so? Of a truth, no!”
The King ceased. And upon the silence arose mighty shouts. To the death they would oppose this invasion. The King, their father, might sit safe, since his children, his fighting dogs were at large. They would eat up these whites—ha—ha! a mere mouthful, and the race of Matyobane should be greater than ever among the great nations of the world.
Then again a silence fell suddenly, and immediately from a score of points along the lines, voices began to lead off the war-song:
“Woz’ubone!Woz’ubone, kiti kwazulu!Woz’ubone! Nantz’indaba.Indaba yemkonto.Jjí-jjí! Jjí-jjí!“Nantz’indaba? Indaba yezizwe?Akwasimuntu.Jjí-jjí! Jjí-jjí!“Woz’ubone! Nantz’indaba.Indaba ka Matyobane.”
“Woz’ubone!Woz’ubone, kiti kwazulu!Woz’ubone! Nantz’indaba.Indaba yemkonto.Jjí-jjí! Jjí-jjí!“Nantz’indaba? Indaba yezizwe?Akwasimuntu.Jjí-jjí! Jjí-jjí!“Woz’ubone! Nantz’indaba.Indaba ka Matyobane.”
(See Note 1.)
Louder and louder, in its full-throated cadence, the national war-song rolled forth, thundrous in its wild weird strophes, to the accompaniment of stamping feet and clashing of shields—the effect of the deep humming hiss of the death chorus alone appalling in its fiendlike intensity. The vast crescent of bedizened warriors swayed and waved in its uncontrollable excitement, and the dust clouds streamed overhead as an earnest of the smoke of burning and pillage, which was wont to mark the fiery path of this terrible race in its conquering progress. Louder, louder, the song roared forth, and then, when excitement had reached its highest pitch, silence fell with a suddenness as startling as the mighty outburst which had preceded it.
For the King had advanced from where he had been standing. Facing eastward he now stood. Poising the long, slender, casting assegai in his hand with a nervous quiver, he hurled it far out over the stockade.
“Go now, children of Matyobane!” he cried in tones of thunder.
It was the signal. Rank upon rank the armed legions filed forth from the gates of the great kraal. In perfect silence now they marched, their faces set eastward—a fell, vast, unsparing host upon destruction bent. Woe to the invading force if it should fail to repel the might of these!
Note 1.
“Come behold come behold at the High Place!That is the tale - the tale of the spears.That is the tale? The tale of the nations?Nobody knows.Come behold. That is the tale.The tale of Matyobane.”“Jjí-jjí!” is the cry uttered on closing in battle.
“Come behold come behold at the High Place!That is the tale - the tale of the spears.That is the tale? The tale of the nations?Nobody knows.Come behold. That is the tale.The tale of Matyobane.”“Jjí-jjí!” is the cry uttered on closing in battle.