The Story of an African Farm

by Olive Schreiner

  Chapter 2.XI. An Unfinished Letter.

  Gregory Rose had been gone seven months. Em sat alone on a whitesheepskin before the fire.

  The August night-wind, weird and shrill, howled round the chimneys andthrough the crannies, and in walls and doors, and uttered a long low cryas it forced its way among the clefts of the stones on the kopje. It wasa wild night. The prickly-pear tree, stiff and upright as it heldits arms, felt the wind's might, and knocked its flat leaves heavilytogether, till great branches broke off. The Kaffers, as they slept intheir straw huts, whispered one to another that before morning therewould not be an armful of thatch left on the roofs; and the beams of thewagon-house creaked and groaned as if it were heavy work to resist theimportunity of the wind.

  Em had not gone to bed. Who could sleep on a night like this? So in thedining room she had lighted a fire, and sat on the ground before it,turning the roaster-cakes that lay on the coals to bake. It would savework in the morning; and she blew out the light because the wind throughthe window-chinks made it flicker and run; and she sat singing toherself as she watched the cakes. They lay at one end of the widehearth on a bed of coals, and at the other end a fire burnt up steadily,casting its amber glow over Em's light hair and black dress, withthe ruffle of crepe about the neck, and over the white curls of thesheepskin on which she sat.

  Louder and more fiercely yet howled the storm; but Em sang on, andheard nothing but the words of her song, and heard them only faintly, assomething restful. It was an old, childish song she had often heard hermother sing long ago:

  Where the reeds dance by the river, Where the willow's song is said, Onthe face of the morning water, Is reflected a white flower's head.

  She folded her hands and sang the next verse dreamily:

  Where the reeds shake by the river, Where the moonlight's sheen is shed, On the face of the sleeping water, Two leaves of a white flower float dead. Dead, Dead, Dead!

  She echoed the refrain softly till it died away, and then repeated it.It was as if, unknown to herself, it harmonized with the pictures andthoughts that sat with her there alone in the firelight. She turned thecakes over, while the wind hurled down a row of bricks from the gable,and made the walls tremble.

  Presently she paused and listened; there was a sound as of somethingknocking at the back-doorway. But the wind had raised its level higher,and she went on with her work. At last the sound was repeated. Thenshe rose, lit the candle and the fire, and went to see. Only to satisfyherself, she said, that nothing could be out on such a night.

  She opened the door a little way, and held the light behind her todefend it from the wind. The figure of a tall man stood there, andbefore she could speak he had pushed his way in, and was forcing thedoor to close behind him.

  "Waldo!" she cried in astonishment.

  He had been gone more than a year and a half.

  "You did not expect to see me," he answered, as he turned toward her;"I should have slept in the outhouse, and not troubled you tonight; butthrough the shutter I saw glimmerings of a light."

  "Come in to the fire," she said; "it is a terrific night for anycreature to be out. Shall we not go and fetch your things in first?" sheadded.

  "I have nothing but this," he said, motioning to the little bundle inhis hand.

  "Your horse?"

  "Is dead."

  He sat down on the bench before the fire.

  "The cakes are almost ready," she said; "I will get you something toeat. Where have you been wandering all this while?"

  "Up and down, up and down," he answered wearily; "and now the whim hasseized me to come back here. Em," he said, putting his hand on her armas she passed him, "have you heard from Lyndall lately?"

  "Yes," said Em, turning quickly from him.

  "Where is she? I had one letter from her, but that is almost a year agonow--just when she left. Where is she?"

  "In the Transvaal. I will go and get you some supper; we can talkafterward."

  "Can you give me her exact address? I want to write to her."

  But Em had gone into the next room.

  When food was on the table she knelt down before the fire, turning thecakes, babbling restlessly, eagerly, now of this, now of that. Shewas glad to see him--Tant Sannie was coming soon to show her her newbaby--he must stay on the farm now, and help her. And Waldo himself waswell content to eat his meal in silence, asking no more questions.

  "Gregory is coming back next week," she said; "he will have beengone just a hundred and three days tomorrow. I had a letter from himyesterday."

  "Where has he been?"

  But his companion stooped to lift a cake from the fire.

  "How the wind blows! One can hardly hear one's own voice," she said."Take this warm cake; no one's cakes are like mine. Why, you have eatennothing!"

  "I am a little weary," he said; "the wind was mad tonight."

  He folded his arms, and rested his head against the fireplace, whilstshe removed the dishes from the table. On the mantelpiece stood aninkpot and some sheets of paper. Presently he took them down and turnedup the corner of the tablecloth.

  "I will write a few lines," he said; "till you are ready to sit down andtalk."

  Em, as she shook out the tablecloth, watched him bending intently overhis paper. He had changed much. His face had grown thinner; his cheekswere almost hollow, though they were covered by a dark growth of beard.

  She sat down on the skin beside him, and felt the little bundle on thebench; it was painfully small and soft. Perhaps it held a shirt and abook, but nothing more. The old black hat had a piece of unhemmed muslintwisted round it, and on his elbow was a large patch so fixed on withyellow thread that her heart ached. Only his hair was not changed, andhung in silky beautiful waves almost to his shoulders.

  Tomorrow she would take the ragged edge off his collar, and put a newband round his hat. She did not interrupt him, but she wondered how itwas that he sat to write so intently after his long weary walk. He wasnot tired now; his pen hurried quickly and restlessly over the paper,and his eye was bright. Presently Em raised her hand to her breast,where lay the letter yesterday had brought her. Soon she had forgottenhim, as entirely as he had forgotten her; each was in his own world withhis own. He was writing to Lyndall. He would tell her all he had seen,all he had done, though it were nothing worth relating. He seemed tohave come back to her, and to be talking to her now he sat there in theold house.

  "--and then I got to the next town, and my horse was tired, so I couldgo no further, and looked for work. A shopkeeper agreed to hire me assalesman. He made me sign a promise to remain six months, and he gaveme a little empty room at the back of the store to sleep in. I had stillthree pounds of my own, and when you just come from the country threepounds seems a great deal.

  "When I had been in the shop three days I wanted to go away again. Aclerk in a shop has the lowest work to do of all the people. It is muchbetter to break stones; you have the blue sky above you, and only thestones to bend to. I asked my master to let me go, and I offered to givehim my two pounds, and the bag of mealies I had bought with the otherpound; but he would not.

  "I found out afterward he was only giving me half as much as he gave tothe others--that was why. I had fear when I looked at the other clerksthat I would at last become like them. All day they were bowing andsmirking to the women who came in; smiling, when all they wanted was toget their money from them. They used to run and fetch the dresses andribbons to show them, and they seemed to me like worms with oil on.There was one respectable thing in that store--it was the Kafferstoreman. His work was to load and unload, and he never needed to smileexcept when he liked, and he never told lies.

  "The other clerks gave me the name of Old Salvation; but there was oneperson I liked very much. He was clerk in another store. He often wentpast the door. He seemed to me not like others--his face was bright andfresh like a little child's. When he came to the shop I felt I likedhim. One day I saw a book in his pocket, and that made me feel
near him.I asked him if he was fond of reading, and he said, yes, when there wasnothing else to do. The next day he came to me, and asked me if I didnot feel lonely; he never saw me going out with the other fellows; hewould come and see me that evening, he said.

  "I was glad, and bought some meat and flour, because the grey mare and Ialways ate mealies; it is the cheapest thing; when you boil it hard youcan't eat much of it. I made some cakes, and I folded my great coat onthe box to make it softer for him; and at last he came.

  "'You've got a rummy place here,' he said.

  "You see there was nothing in it but packing-cases for furniture, and itwas rather empty. While I was putting the food on the box he looked atmy books; he read their names out aloud. 'Elementary Physiology,' 'FirstPrinciples.'

  "'Golly!' he said; 'I've got a lot of dry stuff like that at home I gotfor Sunday-school prizes; but I only keep them to light my pipe withnow; they come in handy for that.' Then he asked me if I had ever reada book called the 'Black-eyed Creole.' 'That is the style for me,' hesaid; 'there where the fellow takes the nigger-girl by the arm, and theother fellow cuts it off! That's what I like.'

  "But what he said after that I don't remember, only it made me feel asif I were having a bad dream, and I wanted to be far away.

  "When he had finished eating he did not stay long; he had to go and seesome girls home from a prayer-meeting; and he asked how it was he neversaw me walking out with any on Sunday afternoons. He said he had lots ofsweethearts, and he was going to see one the next Wednesday on a farm,and he asked me to lend my mare. I told him she was very old. But hesaid it didn't matter; he would come the next day to fetch her.

  "After he was gone my little room got back to its old look. I lovedit so; I was so glad to get into it at night, and it seemed to bereproaching me for bringing him there. The next day he took the greymare. On Thursday he did not bring her back, and on Friday I found thesaddle and bridle standing at my door.

  "In the afternoon he looked into the shop, and called out: 'Hope you gotyour saddle, Farber? Your bag-of-bones kicked out six miles from here.I'll send you a couple of shillings tomorrow, though the old hide wasn'tworth it. Good morning.'

  "But I sprung over the counter, and got him by his throat. My father wasso gentle with her; he never would ride her up hill, and now this fellowhad murdered her! I asked him where he had killed her, and I shook himtill he slipped out of my hand. He stood in the door grinning.

  "'It didn't take much to kill that bag-of-bones, whose master sleepsin a packing-case, and waits till his company's finished to eat on theplate. Shouldn't wonder if you fed her on sugar-bags,' he said; 'andif you think I've jumped her, you'd better go and look yourself. You'llfind her along the road by the aasvogels that are eating her.'

  "I caught him by his collar, and I lifted him from the ground, andI threw him out into the street, half-way across it. I heard thebookkeeper say to the clerk that there was always the devil in those mumfellows; but they never called me Salvation after that.

  "I am writing to you of very small things, but there is nothing else totell; it has been all small and you will like it. Whenever anything hashappened I have always thought I would tell it to you. The back thoughtin my mind is always you. After that only one old man came to visit me.I had seen him in the streets often; he always wore very dirty blackclothes, and a hat with crepe round it, and he had one eye, so Inoticed him. One day he came to my room with a subscription-list fora minister's salary. When I said I had nothing to give he looked at mewith his one eye.

  "'Young man,' he said, 'how is it I never see you in the house of theLord?' I thought he was trying to do good, so I felt sorry for him, andI told him I never went to chapel. 'Young man,' he said, 'it grieves meto hear such godless words from the lips of one so young--so far gone inthe paths of destruction. Young man, if you forget God, God will forgetyou. There is a seat on the right-hand side as you go at the bottom doorthat you may get. If you are given over to the enjoyment and frivolitiesof this world, what will become of your never dying soul?'

  "He would not go till I gave him half a crown for the minister's salary.Afterward I heard he was the man who collected the pew rents and got apercentage. I didn't get to know any one else.

  "When my time in that shop was done I hired myself to drive one of atransport-rider's wagons.

  "That first morning, when I sat in the front and called to my oxen, andsaw nothing about me but the hills, with the blue coming down to them,and the karoo bushes, I was drunk; I laughed; my heart was beating tillit hurt me. I shut my eyes tight, that when I opened them I might seethere were no shelves about me. There must be a beauty in buying andselling, if there is beauty in everything: but it is very ugly to me. Mylife as transport-rider would have been the best life in the world if Ihad had only one wagon to drive. My master told me he would drive one, Ithe other, and he would hire another person to drive the third. But thefirst day I drove two to help him, and after that he let me drive allthree. Whenever we came to an hotel he stopped behind to get a drink,and when he rode up to the wagons he could never stand; the Hottentotand I used to lift him up. We always travelled all night, and used tooutspan for five or six hours in the heat of the day to rest. I plannedthat I would lie under a wagon and read for an hour or two every daybefore I went to sleep, and I did for the first two or three; but afterthat I only wanted to sleep, like the rest, and I packed my books away.

  "When you have three wagons to look after all night, you are sometimesso tired you can hardly stand. At first when I walked along drivingmy wagons in the night it was glorious; the stars had never looked sobeautiful to me; and on the dark nights when we rode through the bushthere were will-o'-the-wisps dancing on each side of the road. I foundout that even the damp and dark are beautiful. But I soon changed, andsaw nothing but the road and my oxen. I only wished for a smooth pieceof road, so that I might sit at the front and doze. At the places wherewe outspanned there were sometimes rare plants and flowers, the festoonshanging from the bush-trees, and nuts and insects, such as we never seehere; but after a little while I never looked at them--I was too tired.

  "I ate as much as I could, and then lay down on my face under the wagontill the boy came to wake me to inspan, and then we drove on again allnight; so it went, so it went. I think sometimes when I walked by myoxen I called to them in my sleep, for I know I thought of nothing; Iwas like an animal. My body was strong and well to work, but my brainwas dead. If you have not felt it, Lyndall, you cannot understand it.You may work, and work, and work, till you are only a body, not asoul. Now, when I see one of those evil-looking men that come fromEurope--navvies, with the beast-like, sunken face, different from anyKaffer's--I know what brought that look into their eyes; and if Ihave only one inch of tobacco I give them half. It is work, grinding,mechanical work, that they or their ancestors have done, that has madethem into beasts. You may work a man's body so that his soul dies. Workis good. I have worked at the old farm from the sun's rising till itssetting, but I have had time to think, and time to feel. You may work aman so that all but the animal in him is gone; and that grows strongerwith physical labour.

  "You may work a man till he is a devil. I know it, because I have feltit. You will never understand the change that came over me. No one but Iwill ever know how great it was. But I was never miserable; when I couldkeep my oxen from sticking fast, and when I could find a place to liedown in, I had all I wanted. After I had driven eight months a rainyseason came. For eighteen hours out of the twenty-four we worked inthe wet. The mud went up to the axles sometimes, and we had to dig thewheels out, and we never went far in a day. My master swore at me morethan ever, but when he had done he always offered me his brandy-flask.When I first came he had offered it me, and I had always refused; butnow I drank as my oxen did when I gave them water--without thinking. Atlast I bought brandy for myself whenever we passed an hotel.

  "One Sunday we outspanned on the banks of a swollen river to wait forits going down. It was drizzling still, so I lay under th
e wagon on themud. There was no dry place anywhere; and all the dung was wet, so therewas no fire to cook food. My little flask was filled with brandy, and Idrank some and went to sleep. When I woke it was drizzling still, soI drank some more. I was stiff and cold; and my master, who lay by me,offered me his flask, because mine was empty. I drank some, and then Ithought I would go and see if the river was going down. I remember thatI walked to the road, and it seemed to be going away from me. When Iwoke up I was lying by a little bush on the bank of the river. It wasafternoon; all the clouds had gone, and the sky was deep blue. TheBushman boy was grilling ribs at the fire. He looked at me and grinnedfrom ear to ear. 'Master was a little nice,' he said, 'and lay down inthe road. Something might ride over master, so I carried him there.' Hegrinned at me again. It was as though he said, 'You and I are comrades.I have lain in a road, too. I know all about it.'

  "When I turned my head from him I saw the earth, so pure after therain, so green, so fresh, so blue; and I was a drunken carrier, whom hisleader had picked up in the mud, and laid at the roadside to sleep outhis drink. I remember my old life, and I remember you. I saw how,one day, you would read in the papers: 'A German carrier, named WaldoFarber, was killed through falling from his wagon, being instantlycrushed under the wheel. Deceased was supposed to have been drunk at thetime of the accident.' There are those notices in the paper every month.I sat up, and I took the brandy-flask out of my pocket, and I flung itas far as I could into the dark water. The Hottentot boy ran down to seeif he could catch it; it had sunk to the bottom. I never drank again.But, Lyndall, sin looks much more terrible to those who look at it thanto those who do it. A convict, or a man who drinks, seems something sofar off and horrible when we see him; but to himself he seems quite nearto us, and like us. We wonder what kind of a creature he is; but he isjust we, ourselves. We are only the wood, the knife that carves on us isthe circumstance.

  "I do not know why I kept on working so hard for that master. I think itwas as the oxen come every day and stand by the yokes; they do not knowwhy. Perhaps I would have been with him still; but one day we startedwith loads for the Diamond Fields. The oxen were very thin now, andthey had been standing about in the yoke all day without food, while thewagons were being loaded. Not far from the town was a hill. When we cameto the foot the first wagon stuck fast. I tried for a little while tourge the oxen, but I soon saw the one span could never pull it up. Iwent to the other wagon to loosen that span to join them on in front,but the transport-rider, who was lying at the back of the wagon, jumpedout.

  "'They shall bring it up the hill; and if half of them die for it theyshall do it alone,' he said.

  "He was not drunk, but in bad temper, for he had been drunk the nightbefore. He swore at me, and told me to take the whip and help him. Wetried for a little time, then I told him it was no use, they could neverdo it. He swore louder and called to the leaders to come on with theirwhips, and together they lashed. There was one ox, a black ox, so thinthat the ridge of his backbone almost cut through his flesh.

  "'It is you, devil, is it, that will not pull?' the transport-ridersaid. 'I will show you something.' He looked like a devil.

  "He told the boys to leave off flogging, and he held the ox by the horn,and took up a round stone and knocked its nose with it till the bloodcame. When he had done they called to the oxen and took up their whipsagain, and the oxen strained with their backs bent, but the wagon didnot move an inch.

  "'So you won't, won't you?' he said. I'll help you.'

  "He took out his clasp-knife, and ran it into the leg of the tremblingox three times, up to the hilt. Then he put the knife in his pocket, andthey took their whips. The oxen's flanks quivered, and they foamed atthe mouth. Straining, they moved the wagon a few feet forward, thenstood with bent backs to keep it from sliding back. From the black ox'snostrils foam and blood were streaming on to the ground. It turned itshead in its anguish and looked at me with its great starting eyes. Itwas praying for help in its agony and weakness, and they took theirwhips again. The creature bellowed aloud. If there is a God, it wascalling to its Maker for help. Then a stream of clear blood burst fromboth nostrils; it fell on to the ground, and the wagon slipped back. Theman walked up to it.

  "'You are going to lie down, devil, are you? We'll see you don't take ittoo easy.'

  "The thing was just dying. He opened his clasp-knife and stooped downover it. I do not know what I did then. But afterward I know I had himon the stones, and I was kneeling on him. The boys dragged me off. Iwish they had not. I left him standing in the sand in the road, shakinghimself, and I walked back to the town. I took nothing from thataccursed wagon, so I had only two shillings. But it did not matter. Thenext day I got work at a wholesale store. My work was to pack and unpackgoods, and to carry boxes, and I had to work from six in the morning tosix in the evening; so I had plenty of time.

  "I hired a little room, and subscribed to a library, so I had everythingI needed; and in the week of Christmas holidays I went to see the sea.I walked all night, Lyndall, to escape the heat, and a little aftersunrise I got to the top of a high hill. Before me was a long, low,blue, monotonous mountain. I walked looking at it, but I was thinking ofthe sea I wanted to see. At last I wondered what that curious blue thingmight be; then it struck me it was the sea! I would have turned backagain, only I was too tired. I wonder if all the things we long tosee--the churches, the pictures, the men in Europe--will disappointus so! You see I had dreamed of it so long. When I was a little boy,minding sheep behind the kopje, I used to see the waves stretchingout as far as the eye could reach in the sunlight. My sea! Is the ideaalways more beautiful than the real?

  "I got to the beach that afternoon, and I saw the water run up and downon the sand, and I saw the white foam breakers; they were pretty, but Ithought I would go back the next day. It was not my sea.

  "But I began to like it when I sat by it that night in the moonlight;and the next day I liked it better; and before I left I loved it. It wasnot like the sky and stars, that talk of what has no beginning and noend; but it is so human. Of all the things I have ever seen, only thesea is like a human being; the sky is not, nor the earth. But the sea isalways moving, always something deep in itself is stirring it. It neverrests. It is always wanting, wanting, wanting. It hurries on; and thenit creeps back slowly without having reached, moaning. It is alwaysasking a question, and it never gets the answer. I can hear it in theday and in the night; the white foam breakers are saying that which Ithink. I walk alone with them when there is no one to see me, and I singwith them. I lie down on the sand and watch them with my eyes half shut.The sky is better, but it is so high above our heads. I love thesea. Sometimes we must look down too. After five days I went back toGrahamstown.

  "I had glorious books, and in the night I could sit in my little roomand read them; but I was lonely. Books are not the same things when youare living among people. I cannot tell why, but they are dead. On thefarm they would have been living beings to me; but here, where therewere so many people about me, I wanted some one to belong to me. I waslonely. I wanted something that was flesh and blood. Once on this farmthere came a stranger; I did not ask his name, but he sat among thekaroo and talked with me. Now, wherever I have travelled I have lookedfor him--in hotels, in streets, in passenger wagons as they rushed in,through the open windows of houses I have looked for him, but I have notfound him--never heard a voice like his. One day I went to the BotanicGardens. It was a half-holiday, and the band was to play. I stood in thelong raised avenue and looked down. There were many flowers, and ladiesand children were walking about beautifully dressed. At last the musicbegan. I had not heard such music before.

  "At first it was slow and even, like the everyday life, when we walkthrough it without thought or feeling; then it grew faster, then itpaused, hesitated, then it was quite still for an instant, and then itburst out. Lyndall, they made heaven right when they made it all music.It takes you up and carries you away, away, till you have the thingsyou longed for, you are up close to
them. You have got out into a large,free, open place. I could not see anything while it was playing; I stoodwith my head against my tree; but, when it was done, I saw that therewere ladies sitting close to me on a wooden bench, and the stranger whohad talked to me that day in the karoo was sitting between them. Theladies were very pretty, and their dresses beautiful. I do not thinkthey had been listening to the music, for they were talking and laughingvery softly. I heard all they said, and could even smell the rose on thebreast of one. I was afraid he would see me; so I went to the other sideof the tree, and soon they got up and began to pace up and down in theavenue.

  "All the time the music played they chatted, and he carried on his armthe scarf of the prettiest lady. I did not hear the music; I tried tocatch the sound of his voice each time he went by. When I was listeningto the music I did not know I was badly dressed; now I felt so ashamedof myself. I never knew before what a low, horrible thing I was, dressedin tancord. That day on the farm, when we sat on the ground under thethorn-trees, I thought he quite belonged to me; now, I saw he was notmine. But he was still as beautiful. His brown eyes are more beautifulthan any one's eyes, except yours.

  "At last they turned to go, and I walked after them. When they got outof the gate he helped the ladies into a phaeton, and stood for a momentwith his foot on the step talking to them. He had a little cane in hishand, and an Italian greyhound ran after him. Just when they drove awayone of the ladies dropped her whip.

  "'Pick it up, fellow,' she said; and when I brought it her she threwsixpence on the ground. I might have gone back to the garden then; but Idid not want music; I wanted clothes, and to be fashionable and fine. Ifelt that my hands were coarse, and that I was vulgar. I never tried tosee him again.

  "I stayed in my situation four months after that, but I was not happy.I had no rest. The people about me pressed on me, and made medissatisfied. I could not forget them. Even when I did not see them theypressed on me, and made me miserable. I did not love books; I wantedpeople. When I walked home under the shady trees in the street I couldnot be happy, for when I passed the houses I heard music, and saw facesbetween the curtains. I did not want any of them, but I wanted some onefor mine, for me. I could not help it. I wanted a finer life.

  "Only one day something made me happy. A nurse came to the store with alittle girl belonging to one of our clerks. While the maid went into theoffice to give a message to its father, the little child stood lookingat me. Presently she came close to me and peeped up into my face.

  "'Nice curls, pretty curls,' she said; 'I like curls.'

  "She felt my hair all over, with her little hands. When I put out my armshe let me take her and sit her on my knee. She kissed me with her softmouth. We were happy till the nurse-girl came and shook her, and askedher if she was not ashamed to sit on the knee of that strange man. But Ido not think my little one minded. She laughed at me as she went out.

  "If the world was all children I could like it; but men and women drawme so strangely, and then press me away, till I am in agony. I was notmeant to live among people. Perhaps some day, when I am grown older, Iwill be able to go and live among them and look at them as I look at therocks, and bushes, without letting them disturb me, and take myself fromme; but not now. So I grew miserable; a kind of fever seemed to eat me;I could not rest, or read, or think; so I came back here. I knew youwere not here but it seemed as though I should be nearer you; and it isyou I want--you that the other people suggest to me, but cannot give."

  He had filled all the sheets he had taken, and now lifted down thelast from the mantelpiece. Em had dropped asleep, and lay slumberingpeacefully on the skin before the fire. Out of doors the storm stillraged; but in a fitful manner, as though growing half weary of itself.He bent over his paper again, with eager flushed cheek, and wrote on.

  "It has been a delightful journey, this journey home. I have walked onfoot. The evening before last, when it was just sunset, I was a littlefootsore and thirsty, and went out of the road to look for water. I wentdown into a deep little kloof. Some trees ran along the bottom, and Ithought I should find water there. The sun had quite set when I got tothe bottom of it. It was very still--not a leaf was stirring anywhere.In the bed of the mountain torrent I thought I might find water. I cameto the bank, and leaped down into the dry bed. The floor on which Istood was of fine white sand, and the banks rose on every side like thewalls of a room.

  "Above there was a precipice of rocks, and a tiny stream of water oozedfrom them and fell slowly on to the flat stone below. Each drop youcould hear fall like a little silver bell. There was one among the treeson the bank that stood cut out against the white sky. All the othertrees were silent; but this one shook and trembled against the sky.Everything else was still; but those leaves were quivering, quivering. Istood on the sand; I could not go away. When it was quite dark, and thestars had come, I crept out. Does it seem strange to you that it shouldhave made me so happy? It is because I cannot tell you how near I feltto things that we cannot see but we always feel. Tonight has been awild, stormy night. I have been walking across the plain for hours inthe dark. I have liked the wind, because I have seemed forcing my waythrough to you. I knew you were not here, but I would hear of you. WhenI used to sit on the transport wagon half-sleeping, I used to startawake because your hands were on me. In my lodgings, many nights I haveblown the light out, and sat in the dark, that I might see your facestart out more distinctly. Sometimes it was the little girl's face whoused to come to me behind the kopje when I minded sheep, and sit by mein her blue pinafore; sometimes it was older. I love both. I am veryhelpless; I shall never do anything; but you will work, and I will takeyour work for mine. Sometimes such a sudden gladness seizes me when Iremember that somewhere in the world you are living and working. You aremy very own; nothing else is my own so. When I have finished I am goingto look at your room door--"

  He wrote; and the wind, which had spent its fury, moaned round and roundthe house, most like a tired child weary with crying.

  Em woke up, and sat before the fire, rubbing her eyes, and listening, asit sobbed about the gables, and wandered away over the long stone walls.

  "How quiet it has grown now," she said, and sighed herself, partlyfrom weariness and partly from sympathy with the tired wind. He did notanswer her; he was lost in his letter.

  She rose slowly after a time, and rested her hand on his shoulder.

  "You have many letters to write," she said.

  "No," he answered; "it is only one to Lyndall."

  She turned away, and stood long before the fire looking into it. If youhave a deadly fruit to give, it will not grow sweeter by keeping.

  "Waldo, dear," she said, putting her hand on his, "leave off writing."

  He threw back the dark hair from his forehead and looked at her.

  "It is no use writing any more," she said.

  "Why not?" he asked.

  She put her hand over the papers he had written.

  "Waldo," she said, "Lyndall is dead."