'Tween Snow and Fire: A Tale of the Last Kafir War

by Bertram Mitford

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

  "A MADNESS OF FAREWELLS."

  One afternoon Eanswyth managed to steal away for a solitary rambleunperceived. In the joy of having actually succeeded, she had wanderedsome little distance from the settlement. She felt not the slightestfear. No Kafirs would be in the least likely to molest her so near astrongly garrisoned post, even if the tribes in the immediateneighbourhood had been in a state of open hostility, which was not atpresent the case. As for solitude, it was not complete enough, for thecountry was open and sweeping and there were always horsemen in sight,coming and going in the distance, along the main road.

  Half unconsciously she walked in the direction of her deserted home. Itwas a lovely, cloudless afternoon and the sun was already beginning toslant towards his western bed, darting long rays of gleaming gold uponthe wide, rolling plains, throwing out with photographic clearness theblue outlines of the distant hills. Crickets chirruped gleefully in thegrass, and away down in the hollow a pair of blue cranes were stalkingmincingly along, uttering their metallic, but not unmelodious, cry.

  Suddenly the clink of a horse's hoof smote upon her ear. It wasadvancing along the roadway in front. A flush of vexation spread overher face. It might be somebody she knew--and who would insist uponaccompanying her back on the score of the disturbed state of thecountry, if not upon that of politeness. She had not stolen away, torejoice like a schoolgirl in her sense of freedom, for that. It wasvery annoying.

  The horseman topped the rise. She gave a little cry, and stood rootedto the ground as though her limbs were turned to stone. Could it be--?Yes--it was!

  In a moment he had sprung to the ground beside her. She could not movenow if she had desired to, for she was held fast in a strong embrace. Arain of warm kisses was falling upon her lips--her face.

  "Eanswyth--my darling--my love! Did you come to meet me?"

  "O Eustace! I had begun to think you were never coming back to me! Ah,you little know what I have gone through. Dear one, I never knew tillnow how my very life was wrapped up in you!" she gasped, her voicethrilling with a very volcano of tenderness and passion as she clung tohim, returning his kisses again and again, as if she could never let himgo.

  She did not look unhappy and worn now. Her eyes shone with the light oflove--the beautiful lips wreathed into smiles--her whole face wastransfigured with her great happiness.

  "Dear love, you have grown more beautiful than ever; and all for me," hemurmured in that peculiar tone of his which bound her to him with amagnetic force that was almost intoxicating. "It is all for me--isn'tit?"

  "Yes," she answered without hesitation; looking him straightly,fearlessly in the eyes. Heaven help her!

  "And yet you doubted me!"

  "Eustace, darling, why did you never write to me? At least, why did youonly write in that ordinary, formal and matter-of-fact way?"

  "Because it would have been the height of insanity, under existingcircumstances, to have done otherwise. And so you doubted me? Youthought that I had only been playing with you? Or that even otherwise Ihad only to be away from you two or three weeks and I could forget?"

  His tone, low and quiet, was just tinged with reproach. But itcontained a subtle consciousness of power. And to her ears it soundedinexpressibly sweet, for it was this very sense of power thatconstituted the magnetism which drew her to him.

  "Yes, I will confess. I did think that," she answered. "I can hidenothing from you. You have read my thoughts exactly. Ah, my own--myown! What have I not gone through! But you are with me again. Lifeseems too good altogether."

  "It was our first parting, and a longish one," he said musingly as hewalked beside her towards the settlement--his horse, with the bridleover its neck, following behind with the docility of a dog. "It wasgood for both of us, Eanswyth, my life. Now, do you think it wasexactly delightful to me."

  "N-no," she replied plaintively, pressing to her side the arm which hehad passed through hers as they walked. "Though, of late, I haven'tknown what to think."

  "They will know what to think if you go on looking so ridiculouslyhappy," he said meaningly. "The gossip-loving soul of mother Hoste willbe mighty quick at putting two and two together. And then?"

  "And then? And then--I don't care--I've got _you_ again," she answeredwith a gleeful laugh. "You--do you hear? You--you--_you_."

  He looked rather grave. A struggle seemed to be going on within him.

  "But you won't have me very long, my dear one. I am on my way to thefront. In fact, I start this very night. I, and Hoste, and Payne."

  No fear of her too happy look betraying her now. It faded from her eyeslike the sunlight from the surface of a pool when the blackthunder-cloud sweeps over it. It gave place to a stricken, despairingexpression, which went to his heart.

  "You have come back to me only to leave me again? O Eustace--Eustace!I am a very wicked woman, and this is my punishment. But how can I bearit!"

  Then he calmed her. Strong as he was, his voice shook a little as hereasoned with her, pointing out how this course was in every way thebest. He could not remain away down in the Colony, he said, and he hadabsolutely no pretext for staying on at Komgha. Besides, in a small,crowded and gossipy place, it would be downright madness to attempt it.Their secret would be common property in a day. He was too restless andunhappy away from her, and at present it was impossible to remain nearher. The chances and excitement of the campaign offered the only wayout of it. After that, brighter times were in store--brighter times,perhaps, than they dared dream of.

  He calmed her--by the force of his reasoning--by the very magnetism ofhis influence; most of all, perhaps, by the power and certainty of hislove. Never again could she doubt this--never--come what might. Andshe was to that extent happy amid her grief.

  Though they were at all times the best of friends, the welcome Eustacemet with at the hands of Mrs Hoste on this occasion was of doubtfulcordiality. And the reason for this was twofold. First, the fact ofhis arrival in company with Eanswyth went to confirm her rapidlydeveloping suspicions. Of course, it was a preconcerted arrangement.Narrowly, she scrutinised the pair, and failed not to discern traces ofagitation and anxiety in the demeanour and appearance of, at any rate,one of them. Then, again, she had just learned, to her dismay, theintention of her husband to proceed to the front in a few hours. Withthis defection she did not hesitate to connect Eustace, and she wasright. Wherefore, she regarded him as a treacherous friend at best andscrupled not to tell him as much.

  "It's all very well for you, Mr Milne," she said. "You have only gotyourself to please. But others haven't, and you ought to have moresense than to aid and abet a couple of responsible fathers of familieslike Mr Payne there and my stupid husband in any such folly."

  "Ought he?" guffawed the stupid husband aforesaid, from another roomwhere he was cleaning a gun. "But I say, Ada? How is he to get to thefront by himself? It wouldn't be altogether safe. So, you see, he'sabsolutely dependent on our escort. Eh, Payne?"

  "_Ja_," replied that worthy, laconically.

  "You should be more patriotic, Mrs Hoste," murmured Eustace. "You see,you give us precious poor encouragement to die for our country--whichprocess is defined by the poet as a sweet and decorous one."

  "Die for your fiddlestick!" was the half-laughing, half-angry reply."But, as I said before, it's all very well for you. Nobody is dependenton you. Nobody cares what becomes of you."

  Did they not? There was one in that room to whom his safety was dearerthan a hundred lives, whose heart was well-nigh bursting with unspokenagony at the prospect of the parting which was drawing so near--thatparting which should send him forth for weeks, for months perhaps, withperil and privation for daily companions. Yet she must keep upappearances--must maintain a smooth and untroubled aspect. Nobody caredfor him!

  The three men were to start an hour before midnight, and with two morewhom they were to meet just outside the settlement, reckoned themselvesstro
ng enough to cross the hostile ground in comparative safety--reckoning rather on evading the enemy than on meeting him in battle withsuch small numbers. And this would be easier, for the Gcaleka countryhad been swept from end to end and its inhabitants driven beyond theBashi--for a time. In which process the Kaffrarian Rangers hadgallantly borne their part.

  As the hour for starting drew near, prodigious was the fussinessdisplayed by Hoste over the preparations. He couldn't find this, and hecouldn't find that--he wanted this done and that done--in short madehimself a signal nuisance. Now all this was done in accordance with acrafty idea of Payne's. "The women will be bound to turn on thewaterworks. Therefore, give them plenty to do. Fuss them out of theirvery lives so that they won't have time so much as to think ofsnivelling--until we're gone, and then it won't matter," had enjoinedthat unprincipled philosopher--who had sent his own family down to KingWilliamstown some days previously.

  "Do you mind taking a quarter of an hour's stroll, Eanswyth?" saidEustace in his most matter-of-fact way, shortly before they were due tostart. "You see, neither Tom nor I can tell how long we may be away,and there are two or three things in connection with our jointpossessions which I should like to discuss with you."

  Eanswyth's heart gave a bound. The time of parting was drawing verynear, and it seemed as if no opportunity would be offered them of seeingeach other alone; that their farewell must be made, even as that otherfarewell, in the presence of half a dozen people. But his readiness ofresource had hit upon a way, while she, all unnerved as she was, couldthink of nothing.

  It was a lovely night. The thin sickle of a new moon hung in theheavens, and the zenith was ablaze with stars. Behind, the lights ofthe village, the sound of voices and laughter; in front, the darkness ofthe silent _veldt_. Far away against the blackness of the hills glowedforth a red fire.

  Thus they stood--alone--and the time seemed all too short. Thus theystood--alone beneath the stars, and heart was opened to heart in theterrible poignancy of that parting hour.

  "Oh, my darling, what if I were never to see you again! What if youwere never to come back to me!" burst forth Eanswyth in a wail ofanguish. "You are going into all kinds of danger, but oh, my loved one,think of me through it all--think of me if you are tempted to doanything foolhardy. My heart is almost broken at parting with you likethis. Anything--anything more, would break it quite."

  "I wish to Heaven mere danger was the only thing we had to troubleabout," he said, rather bitterly. "But let this cheer you, my sweet--cheer us both. You doubted me before--you cannot again. We are both sostrong in each other's love that beside such a possession the wholeworld is a trifle. And better and brighter times may be--must be,before us--"

  "Hallo, Milne," shouted the voice of Hoste in the distance. "Where areyou, man? Time's up!"

  Both started--in each other's embrace--at this horribly jarring andunwelcome reminder. "The fellow needn't bawl like all the bulls ofBashan, confound him!" muttered Eustace with a frown.

  "Eustace--dearest--must we really part now?" she murmured in a brokensob, clinging to him more closely. "First of all, take this," slippinga small, flat, oblong packet into his hand. "Open it--read it--when youare on your way. I got it ready, thinking we should have no opportunityof being alone together again. And now, love--dear, dear love--good-bye. Heaven bless you--no, I must not say that, I am too wicked.It would be of no avail coming from me--"

  "I say, Milne! Are you coming along with us or are you not?" roaredHoste again from his front door. "Because if not, just kindly say so."

  "You are under no precise necessity to cause the dead to rise, are you,Hoste?" said Eustace tranquilly, a couple of minutes later, as theystepped within the light of the windows. "Because, if you had whisperedI should have heard you just as well. As it is, you have about woke upthe whole of British Kaffraria, and we shall have the sentries openingfire upon the _veldt_ at large in a minute. There--there goes thePolice bugle already."

  "Don't care a hang. We are waiting to start. Here come the horses.Now--Good-bye, everyone, and hurrah for old Kreli!"

  A couple of native stable-hands appeared, leading three horses, saddledand bridled. Then there was a good deal of tumultuous leave-takingbetween Hoste and his family circle, mingled with sniffling andhandkerchiefs, and of quieter farewells as concerned the rest of theparty. But the torn heart of one in that group suffered in silence.Eanswyth's sweet, proud face was marvellously self-possessed.

  "Extraordinary creatures, women," said Payne, as the three men rode outof the settlement. "I believe they positively enjoy the fun of a goodsnivel. It's just the same with my own crowd. When I left home I wasobliged to send a note by a boy to say `ta-ta' to escape it all, don'tyou know."

  Hoste guffawed. It was just the sort of thing that George Payne,philosopher and cynic, would do.

  "Some few of them are sensible, though," went on the latter, flaring upa vesuvian to light his pipe. "Mrs Carhayes, for instance. She don'tmake any fuss, or turn on the hose. Takes things as they come--as arational person should."

  Hoste guffawed again.

  "Now, George, who the very deuce should she make a fuss over or turn onthe hose for?" he said. "You or me, for instance. Eh?"

  "N-no, I suppose not. Milne, perhaps. He's a sort of brother or cousinor something, isn't he?"

  If Eustace had felt disposed to resent this kind of free-and-easiness heforebore, and that for two reasons. He liked the speaker, who, withal,was something of an original, and therefore a privileged person, andagain the very carelessness of the remark of either man showed that nosuspicion as to his secret had found place in their minds--a matter asto which he had not been without a misgiving a few minutes back.

  On opening the packet which Eanswyth had put into his hand at parting,Eustace found it to consist of a little antique silver tobacco-box,beautifully chased. This contained a photograph of herself, and aletter; the last a short, hurriedly penned note, which, perused therealone, with all the desolation of the recent parting fresh upon him, waseffectual to thrill his heart to the very core.

  "And now," it ended--"And now, oh, my precious one, good-bye--I dare notsay `God bless you.' Coming from me it would entail a curse rather thana blessing. I am too wicked. Yet, is our love so wicked? Could it beso divinely, so beautifully sweet if it were? Ah, I neither know norcare. I only know that were anything to befall you--were you never tocome back to me--my heart would be broken. Yes, broken. And yet, itwould be only just that I should suffer through you. Good-bye, mydearest one--my only love. We may not meet again alone before youstart, but I want you, in all your dangers and hardships, to have alwayswith you these poor little lines, coming, as they do, warm from my handand heart--"

  The writing broke off abruptly and there were signs that more than onetear had fallen upon the silent, but oh, so eloquent paper.