The Fire Trumpet: A Romance of the Cape Frontier

by Bertram Mitford

  VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER THREE.

  THE FRIEND IN NEED.

  George Payne and his newly-found friend--a veritable friend in need uponthis occasion even as on a former one--kept on their way, winding alongthe picturesque heights overlooking the Kei, and exchanging many areminiscence of their past acquaintance.

  "To think of your turning up like this," said the former. "Why, Ithought you were still away up in the interior and never meant to comenear these parts again."

  "Well, I don't know. Fact is, after a few years of wandering, one haspretty well done this not too interesting continent, at least thesouthern part of it; and now I'm thinking of going somewhere else."

  "And you've come straight down country, now?"

  "Yes; ridden all the way. It would be inconvenient in some ways were itnot that one is indifferent to the exigencies of civilisation after sucha spell of savagery as I've been having. One can't carry much baggage,for instance."

  "Is that all you've got?" said Payne, glancing at the valise strappedacross the other's saddle.

  "Yes; I had the rest sent to Komgha. It's a good way from your place,but we might pick it up if it was wanted."

  "Better leave it there at present."

  "Why?"

  "Well, it's an even chance that we may all have to trek into laagerthere or somewhere, any day; and it's safe there, at any rate."

  "Are things as fishy as that?"

  "They are," replied Payne. "A lot of the Dutchmen down towards thecoast are already in laager; but they're a white-livered lot, when all'ssaid and done, so that doesn't mean much. Still, from one or two thingsI heard to-day, I should say that we shall have some tall rifle practicebefore long. I'm no alarmist; on the contrary, I've more than once beenadvised to send the wife and kids away to the town, but I don't thinkthere's any occasion for that just yet."

  "No, perhaps not. And it's as well to keep straight as long as you can.Directly one begins to trek, another does--then another--and soonthere's a regular panic."

  "Rather. Now there was a scare on in the year of the big flood, and alot of fellows round here began laagering, and one heard such a lot ofwar shop talked, that one almost wished there was some reason for it.Well, I remained through it all. I had only just come up here then, anddidn't see the fun of leaving my place to run to wrack and ruin just asI had got it a little square and shipshape, so I stuck to it, and otherfellows did the same; and we had the laugh of those who ran away in afunk."

  "That was a bad scare, though."

  "It was," said Payne. "The niggers were quite as cheeky then as theyare now, and you've just had a specimen of what that is. By the way,don't mention that little scrimmage to the wife; she's very susceptibleto scare, as it is, and once she heard of that, life would be a burdento her whenever I was away from home. Lately, she's done nothing butpredict that I should come to grief."

  "All right. I'll keep dark."

  "Here we are at last," said Payne, as they entered a narrow gorgebetween two high hills, and emerging upon a sort of basin-like hollow,beheld a substantial-looking farmhouse. In front, a sweep of smoothsward sloping down to the dam, in whose still surface a cluster ofwillows lay mirrored, as they drooped their boughs to the water's edge;around this a few strips of enclosed and cultivated land, and afruit-garden bordered by high quince hedges. On either side of thehollow, just far enough apart for the place not to be "shut in," rosegreen lofty heights, with here and there a clump of dark bush in theirrifts and chasms; and two little streams of clear water met in thevalley and dashed along past the homestead, sparkling as they joinedtheir forces in a leaping, rushing rivulet--an invaluable boon in thatland of drought. But it was not until one reached the house, which wassituated on a slight eminence in the hollow, that the full charm of thesituation became appreciable. Then, standing on the _stoep_, which ranround two sides of the building, on the one hand the Kei hills boundedthe limit of vision; while on the other, focussed, as through a glass,between the double range of green heights narrowing as they stretchedfurther and further away, a panorama of rolling bush country, with hereand there a purple ridge rising in the sunny air, found its limit on thedistant horizon. The house itself was a good specimen of theold-fashioned frontier abode, with its thatched roof and canvasceilings. It had been added to by the present owner, and was fairlyroomy and comfortable. A passage intersected it, on either side ofwhich, a door opened into a sitting-room and dining-room respectively,while another door from the latter communicated with the continuation ofthe _stoep_, which ran round that side of the building. Such wasPayne's home--Fountain's Gap--so called from the two streams which metand flowed through the beautiful hollow, at either end of which onelooked out upon the country beyond as through a gap.

  "So this is your crib," remarked our new acquaintance, glancingcritically around, as if to take in all the capabilities of thesituation. "It strikes me as an uncommonly good one. Why, that streamalone ought to be a fortune to you."

  "Yes; it's a good all-round place," assented Payne, perceptiblygratified. "You see, I've got a good deal of land under cultivationhere round the dam. I'm going to break up any amount more, and go instrong for agriculture, as soon as this confounded scare, or war,whichever it's to be (and I don't care which), is over. It's of no usemaking a lot of improvements, only to be ravaged by these black devils--is it?"

  "Not in the least."

  They were now skirting the stream, which here flowed past the dam,communicating with it by a runnel cut with spades.

  "Let's dismount here," said Payne, "unless you're tired, and wouldrather go in. You're not? Well then, look. Here's where I wasthinking I might run up a mill one of these days; with this water powerone might do anything. Higher up it's even better. Wait, we'll get ridof our horses and stroll along a bit," and a stentorian call brought ayoung Kafir running down from the out-buildings, as also three or fourrough, fierce-looking dogs in open-mouthed clamour. The latter weresoon pacified, and leaped around their master in boisterous glee,wagging their tails and whining joyously as he patted them, or bestoweda playful punch upon some shaggy hide, while a precautionary sniffhaving satisfied them as to the stranger's respectability, theyforthwith took him into their confidence in a less mirthful and moredignified manner.

  "Here, Booi," went on Payne. "Take the horses up to the stable, andoff-saddle them. Is the missis in?"

  "Don't know, Baas," answered the Kafir, grinning.

  "Don't you? When did one of you fellows ever know anything? Now hookit," and as the boy led away their steeds, the two strolled on, Paynepointing out the capabilities of his water advantages, and enlarging onhis schemes of improvement; for this farm of his was his hobby, and inhis heart of hearts he hoped some day to make it a model in the way ofprogress, as showing what might be done even there by a fellow with alittle "go" in him.

  They crossed the stream by a plank bridge, and now stood looking downit, scarcely, a hundred yards from the house, Payne still expatiating.

  "Yes, with a place like this," he said, "one ought to be able to doanything. It's splendid pasturage, well situated, any amount of water,in fact, everything. And now comes this confounded war to upset thewhole coach--Hullo!"

  The exclamation is one of surprise and alarm as he turns round. Hiscompanion is standing rigid and motionless. Every particle of blood hasfled from his face, leaving the sun-browned cheeks sallow and livid.His eyes are fixed and dilated, and one hand nervously grips the rail ofthe bridge against which he is leaning.

  "Man alive--what's up?" cried Payne, anxiously. "You look as if you hadseen a ghost."

  "Nothing--nothing at all," replied the other, with a faint smile. "I'mall right again now; don't make a fuss, it's nothing. I think it's aremnant of that infernal up-country fever which I can't thoroughly shakeoff. It left me as weak as a rat, and even yet I feel the effects nowand then, as you see," and again he made a ghastly attempt at a laugh.

  "By Jove!" cried Payne, in alarm. "Did you get hit i
n that shindy justnow?"

  "No; don't be afraid--I'm all right. It was only a slight seizure," andhis hand, as he removed it from the rail, still trembled a little, butthe colour returned to his cheek.

  What should have so violently moved this man, who looked as if nothingcould disturb his placid equanimity for an instant? It could not bethat he was in a weak state of health or of nerve, for had he not justengaged, single-handed, in an encounter with three daring ruffians, andcome off victorious? And his weather-tanned features betokened healthand strength as clearly as if he had not known a day's illness foryears. The heat was not overpowering; he had not been riding fast, orin any way exerting himself, nor was he subject to attacks of faintness.No, there was nothing. Unless it was that through the quiet air ofthat sunlit valley came the sound of a woman's voice--a rich, full,sweet voice, distant but clear--singing a pathetic ballad.

  "Are you sure?" went on Payne, looking at him concernedly. "Well, let'sgo up to the house and have some brandy and water, you'll want it, afterthat, and the sooner the better."

  "Payne," said the other, with a sort of sternness, laying his hand onhis arm. "I don't want anything just now. If you make a fraction offuss about me or my idiotic attack, I'll ascend that horse of mine andsay good-bye this very evening."

  "Eccentric as ever!" replied Payne, with a laugh. "My dear fellow, youshall do nothing of the sort, and I'll promise not to bother you in anyway. Come along, let's go in."

  They walked towards the house, and as they approached it the song ended.Had that man been afflicted with heart disease he would assuredly havedropped down dead on the threshold, for a mist was before his eyes andhis heart was beating as if it would burst.

  "This way," said Payne, ushering his guest into the empty sitting-room."I'll tell the wife you're here," and, closing the door, he left himalone.

  Alone? Payne, while he stood holding the door open, could not see thepiano at the far end of the room, and now as he closed it, the gracefulfigure of a lady, who had apparently been occupied in looking through apile of music in the corner, rose to greet the new arrival. His backwas to the light as she first saw him.

  "Have you ridden far to-day?" she began, in a pleasant conversationalvoice. Then with a faint, gasping cry as if she had been stabbed, shereeled back and leaned against the piano, her face ashy white, andtrembling in every limb.

  "Arthur!"

  "Lilian!"

  He made three steps towards her, and stopped short. No, he dared noteven touch her. She belonged to another, now. She was the wife of hishost and friend, the man whose life he had just saved. Why had _he_, ofall others, been sent there only just in time to rescue that life, andthen have been brought on to this house to witness what the saving ofthat life involved? What power of evil had sent him to this fierytorment--this pang which was worse than hell--as he stood there lookingupon the woman who possessed the love of his whole nature, and whosepure-souled, beautiful face had ever been before his mental gaze, nightand day, during three years and a half of lonely wanderings? What hadhe done to deserve this torture? Like a lightning flash thesereflections pierced through his brain as he stood gazing, with aterrible agonised stare, upon the delicate beauty of face and form whichhad taken all the sunshine and gladness out of his existence, and nowstood before him owned by another, and that other the man whose life hehad just saved.

  Something in his look froze her where she stood. Was she thinking muchthe same as himself? With hands clasped tightly before her, and eyesfixed upon his with a despairing fear, she whispered hoarsely:

  "I thought I should never see you again. I thought--Oh, God--Ithought--that you were--dead!"

  The last ray of the sinking son shot from over the western hills,entering the window and flooding with a golden and then a ruddy halo thepale, anguish-stricken face and the wealth of dusky hair. And therethey stood, those two who had been parted three long weary years andtwice that number of months. There they stood--suddenly throwntogether, as it were, by the hand of Fate--facing each other, yetspeechless. Three years and a half of parting, and now to meet again--thus.

  "I knew it must be you," he said at length, slowly. "When I heard thosewords I knew they could be sung by no one else--like that."

  For it was the same ballad which she had sung on that night at SeringaVale, when he was betrayed into the first avowal of his love, nearlyfour years ago; and the first words which had thrilled upon his ear now,as he recovered from his sudden attack of faintness, was the conclusionof the sad and mournful refrain.

  And then this man, whose death she had mourned long and in secret,suddenly stood before her.

  When last we saw Claverton lying fever-racked in the Matabili hut, hewas certainly as near to death's door as ever man was without actuallypassing that grim portal; and when the uncivilised bystanders, withbated breath, whispered their verdict, it was only the one which wouldhave been returned by any onlooker. Falling back, he had lain to allappearance dead; but that very swoon had been the means of saving hislife, at least, such was the unhesitating opinion of one or two to whomhe afterwards told the circumstances, though of course not what hadcaused the swoon, and who, from their training and practice, werequalified to judge. His life must have been saved by a miracle, saidthey. What that miracle was he did not feel called upon to tell them.The sight--sudden and vivid in its distinctness--of a face the dying manhad longed, with a terrible hopeless longing, to see; death had noterrors for him, his whole soul was concentrated on this one agonisingdesire, and it had been fulfilled. The sight of that loved face,momentary as it was, had calmed him into a peaceful, death-like sleep,and the crisis was past. Had it been that in some mysterious manner,triumphing over nature, spirit had gone to meet spirit on that darkwinter night? Who can tell? The end effected would have sufficed tojustify such a departure from the law of nature, for it is certain thatthe apparition, whether due to the imagination of a fever-distortedbrain, or to whatever cause, was the saving of Claverton's life.

  Then, almost too soon after his recovery, he had wandered on. He hadcome through the Transvaal, and past the gold fields of the great DutchRepublic, and now he pushed on beyond the haunts of man striving aftergain, farther and farther into the interior, where the gnu and quaggaroamed the vast plains in countless herds; where the giraffe browsed inthe green mimosa dales, and the elephant and rhinoceros crushed throughthe tangled jungle--at night terrific with the resounding roar of theforest king. On--ever on--alone, save for three or four nativefollowers to look after his waggon and aid in the chase.

  And he had borne a charmed life. He it was who had shot the huge lionin mid-air as it leaped right over him to seize one of the oxen tiedfast for the night in the strong brushwood enclosure, the mighty framefalling nearly upon him as it bit and ramped in the agonies of death.He it was who had confronted the hostile Matabili chief and his sixhundred men, when that truculent potentate had demanded the person ofone of his followers in satisfaction for some trifling larceny committedby the hapless lad upon their mealie gardens, and dared the barbarianand his armed warriors so much as to lay a finger upon him or his; andthe fierce savage, in admiring awe of his sublime indifference to deathor danger, had suddenly become his fast friend, though a moment before,the chances were a hundred to one against his leaving the spot alive.He it was who had swum out into the river swarming with crocodiles, andrescued this very follower, none other than the same, the Natal boy,Sam--who had watched him through his illness at the Matabili kraal--who,carried off his feet by the force of the current, was being borne awaydown the river, and the other natives had given him up as lost. Andmany and many a hair-breadth escape had he, by field and flood, untilthe natives began to look upon him as a sort of god, and his own bodyservants felt safer in his service from danger or sickness than theywould have done surrounded by British regiments in the formercontingency, or protected by all the "charms" of their most renowned_izanusi_ [wizards] in the latter. For he was absolutely indifferent todeath, and co
nsequently death was indifferent to him.

  And ever before him, whether amid all the rapturous excitement of thechase, in the glowing noonday, or in the awesome solitude of themidnight camp far in the heart of the wilderness, hundreds of miles fromthe nearest haunt of civilised man, with the roar of the lion and thehowl of the hyaena echoing along the reedy bank of some turbid lagoon;while he watched the scintillating eyes of savage beasts glowing likelive coals out of the surrounding gloom as they prowled around hisencampment, haply waiting for the sinking watch-fire to fadealtogether--amid all this, and ever before him, there was one beautifulface present to his mind's eye, as he had seen it, looking smilingly athim in the soft moonlight, or set and despairing as he had last gazedupon it that day in the golden noontide, beneath the old pear-tree. Andas years went on they brought with them no solace, and now he hadreturned to civilisation, intending shortly to leave for ever the landwhich had made only to mar the successes of his life.

  He had changed slightly--and changed for the better--for his years ofwandering in the wilderness. He was in splendid condition, broader ofchest and firmer-looking, though not one whit less active than in theold days; but the impatient, restless expression had departed from hiseyes, leaving one of settled calm, the imperturbability of a man whofeels that he has lived his life, and that his past is a far-awaystate--a vista, fair and lovely, perhaps, to look back upon, as thetraveller looks back in memory upon some beautiful tract he has leftbehind--but still another and a different state of being. Such wasArthur Claverton, as brought there by a marvellous freak of the hand ofFate, he stood once more face to face with his first and only love.

  Suddenly the voice of his host on the _stoep_ recalled him to himself;recalled both of them, and, with a sigh, Lilian turned round as if toresume what she had been doing, in reality to collect herself, and Payneentered.

  "Hallo," he said. "You here, Miss Strange? Let me introduce my friend;or have you already been making acquaintance?"

  Claverton started as if he had been shot, and the room seemed to goround with him. "Miss Strange!" She was not this man's wife, then, oranybody's. He hardly heard what was said after that; though outwardlycool and collected. Then the revulsion of feeling was succeeded by arelapse almost as overwhelming as the first. For was it likely, heargued, that she would listen to him now, any more than that morningthree years and a half ago--when for the second time she refused hislove? And his reason answered, No. Still it was a weight lifted, thediscovery that she was not married to his host, as he had at firstthought. He had never seen Payne's wife, nor had that genial-heartedsoul ever touched upon the subject of his spouse in such way as toenable him to form any idea of her personal appearance. Nor had Paynementioned the fact of there being a guest in his house. And thenLilian's own words--"_I_ thought that I should never see you again--Ithought that you were dead," spoken as if in explanation of her owncircumstances. No wonder he had jumped to that conclusion. Well, itdid not matter either way, he told himself. He would importune her nomore--he could follow the only course open to him--he would go. Shemight tolerate his presence just this one evening, and on the morrow hecould depart before any of the household were astir, even as he had doneonce before.

  It may be wondered what Payne had been about all this time, afterunconsciously leaving these two together. On going to the back of thehouse, the first sight that met his gaze was a troop of young cattleplunging over a fence and careering madly about one of his cultivatedstrips destined to become a model kitchen garden. To dash off then andthere, and eject the intruders before damage, widespread and sore, wasdone, became at once the object of his life, and forgetting for themoment the very existence of his guest--or, indeed, of anybody--away hestarted; but the work of reparation was also one of time, and not untilall possibility of a recurrence of the damage had been practicallyguarded against, did he so much as begin to think of returning to thehouse.

  Fortunately the darkness of the room, as the shades of evening deepened,kept Payne from noticing Lilian's deathly paleness, and he chatted on inhigh good-humour, till the sound of voices and laughter in the passageproclaimed the advent of his wife and olive-branches--the latter,Lilian's charges; for she was still plying that delightfullyremunerative and much appreciated craft--teaching the young idea.

  "Well, Lilian," cried Mrs Payne, a bright, cheery little woman of abouther own age, or perhaps a year or two older. "You'd much better havecome out with me instead of moping indoors, on this lovely afternoon,over that wretched music. Why, who's this?" Then a due introductionhaving been effected, she shook hands cordially with the new arrival."Ah, Mr Claverton, I'm so glad to see you. I'm always at that dear,stupid old George for not bringing you here, after saving his life thattime; but I'm so glad you've found us out at last."

  "That dear, stupid old George," the while, was winking at Claverton overhis spouse's shoulder, his satirical nature hugely tickled by theflutter which the news of the other's opportune aid a second timerendered would cast her into. He would tell her some day, but not justyet.

  Claverton laughed. "Well, you see, Mrs Payne, he could hardly havedone that, because I was bound in the opposite direction, but I've takenadvantage of my opportunity as soon as I fell in with it, and here Iam."

  "What! Do you mean to say you've been wandering about up the countryever since?"

  "Of course he has," struck in Payne. "But hadn't we better get all snugfor the evening? It's about feeding-time! Here, Claverton, come thisway, I dare say you'll like to put your head into cold water. And,Annie, just tell those kids to shut up that infernal clatter," he added,as the uproar of juvenile romping, mingled with many a shrill laugh,came rather too distinctly from an inner room.

  And how comes it that Lilian Strange, whom we last saw at Seringa Vale,should be quietly installed in this Kaffrarian border dwelling? It willbe necessary to glance back.

  Not long after we saw her, hopeless and heartbroken, more than threeyears back, an event happened which caused her to forget for a time herown grief in the sore affliction of others, of her dearest and truestfriends. One day Mr Brathwaite started for his accustomed ride roundthe farm, but the afternoon slipped by and then evening came, and he didnot return. His horse, however, did; for just as Mrs Brathwaite, inanxiety and alarm, was about to send forth in search of him, thatquadruped put in an appearance, with the rein still on its neck, andlimping up to the stable-door as if it had been injured. Then theystarted in search, leaving Mrs Brathwaite a prey to the most terribleforebodings, which were realised only too soon. The old settler wasfound lying in the _veldt_, unable to move. His horse, he said, had putits foot in a hole, stumbled and rolled over with him, falling upon him;no bones were broken, but he feared he had received some internal injuryas he could not move without great pain. Carefully they carried himhome, and he was put to bed. Tenderly did his wife and Lilian watchbeside him the night through, while Hicks was riding at a hand-gallop tofetch a doctor from the district town. An errand, alas, which was onlytoo futile; for as the clear dawn quivered glowing and chill over thehomestead at Seringa Vale the sufferer's spirit passed slowly away, andthe beams of the rising sun, darting in at the window, lighted upon theface of a corpse and two watchers weeping by a bedside.

  Thus died Walter Brathwaite--the staunch, persevering settler, thepioneer of industry and advancement in a new and far-away land, and,above all, the genial, noble-hearted gentleman. One who had neverturned his back on friend or foe, a man who had never been guilty of amean action or reaped advantage from the misfortune of his fellows; openof hand, kindly of heart and firm of head, he died as he had lived,regretted, loved, and respected by all who knew him. And that countryis fortunate which can show many of his like.

  And in the dark and rayless days that followed, it was Lilian's task towhisper words of consolation and hope to the sorrowing widow, crushed tothe very earth in her sudden and comfortless grief; and in no betterhands could it have devolved. But within the year Mrs Brathwaite had
followed her husband, and Lilian, who, up to then, had tended her withmore than all the loving care of a daughter, watched over her to thelast.

  "God bless you, dearie," had been the dying woman's parting words toher. "You have given yourself up to the comfort and happiness ofothers; some day it will return to you a hundredfold. Only be patient."

  They buried her beside her husband; and in one disastrous day, sadindeed had been the change wrought in that peaceful, happy home. Andthen Lilian, craving for work and diversion, had gone back to her oldline of life, which, involving a constant tax on her energies, wouldafford her both the one and the other. So here she was, after a lapseof years, installed at Fountain's Gap, ostensibly as the preceptress ofMrs Payne's children, in reality as companion to that good-heartedlittle woman herself, who had taken an immense fancy to her, and,moreover, hated being left alone, as must, otherwise, inevitably befrequently the case from the very nature of her husband's pursuits.

  "Did you hear anything fresh in Komgha to-day, George?" asked his wife,when they were seated at the table. The curtains were drawn and theroom looked snug and homelike.

  "Two more troops of Police ordered over the Kei."

  "Oh, dear. That looks bad. We are in a dreadful state of scare now,Mr Claverton," she explained. "I can hardly sleep at night forthinking of it--and right in the middle of those wretches, too."

  "_We_ are!" rejoined Payne, good-humouredly. "Say, rather, you are.The fact is, Claverton, my wife thinks of nothing but fire and sword,morning, noon, and night, till she's worked herself up to such a pitchthat every time a drunken nigger howls in the _veldt_ she vows they areraising the war-cry."

  "Well, but you know there is reason for it," retorted she. "And if itgets any worse, Lilian and I will go away with the children toGrahamstown or somewhere. I really am frightened."

  "That's a long way," said Payne, banteringly. "I also heard that thenew Governor was coming up to the frontier."

  "Ah, we're getting the news by degrees," exclaimed his wife. "What elsedid you hear?"

  "That a policeman rode in from the Transkei this morning."

  "What news did he bring?"

  "I don't know."

  "There now. You never find out anything. Some day we shall all betaken by surprise and murdered in our beds."

  "Ha, ha, ha?" laughed Payne. "Well, at any rate, you're no worse thanthe people at Komgha. If an express rides in, they jump to theconclusion that Kreli is marching on their precious town at the head oftwenty thousand men. For my part I don't believe there'll be a shindyat all. It's only another case of scare."

  But he did believe it, only he thought a pious fraud justifiable toreassure the womenkind.

  "When I'm big," remarked Harry Payne, aged seven, "I'll have a gun andshoot a great _schelm_ Kafir."

  "But, Harry, he may shoot you first," said Lilian, during the laugh thatfollowed upon this interruption.

  "No he won't," persisted the embryo warrior. "I'll shoot him."

  It was the first time Lilian had spoken, and Claverton, who was sittingopposite her and almost as silent, heard with a thrill that low, sweetvoice which had haunted his dreams and his waking thoughts during thelong years of solitude. He had been furtively watching her, notingevery turn of the beautifully poised head, striving to catch a glancefrom the sweet, serious eyes, which somehow were never suffered to meethis. And he likewise noted that Lilian Strange at twenty-seven was, ifpossible, even more lovely and winning to behold than on that day justfour years ago, when he had first gazed upon the vision which hadcompletely altered the course of his life. Not even the most spitefulof critics could say of her that she had "gone off." A trifle graverperhaps, but it was a gravity that suited well her soft, dark beauty;and the smile, when it did come, lit up the serene, exquisite face asthe ripple of a sunbeam on a sleeping pool. And it was just such asmile as this which caused a tug of pain at Claverton's heart, when theurchin uttered his bellicose aspiration.

  "By the time you're big enough for that, sonny, there may be occasionfor it, not before," said Payne, as he wheeled back his chair. "Comeand have a smoke on the _stoep_, Claverton. What! Did you say, `No'?"

  "That's what I said."

  "Well! Here's a transformation! Why, you haven't given up the onlysociable habit--Ah, I see. Ladies, you may score a triumph; you havetamed this savage. He is going to give up the soothing weed in favourof your more soothing society. But I am not, therefore for thepresent--so long," and with a laugh the light-hearted fellow went out,cramming his pipe as he went.

  "Now, Mr Claverton, we shall expect you to tell us some most thrillingadventures," said his hostess. "You must have a great stock of them."

  "I assure you I have none," he began.

  "Oh, that won't do. But tell me the ins and outs of that affair whenyou first met George."

  Claverton started. His wits were, in popular phraseology,wool-gathering; and at first he thought of to-day's row. Then heremembered.

  "That affair at De Klerk? It wasn't much of a thing. Payne was holdinghis own gallantly against four big Dutchmen, and I came up in time toturn the scale. You said something about his life just now, but hislife wasn't in danger; the most they'd have done would have been to havegiven him rather a mauling."

  "What was it about?" asked Lilian.

  "The right of outspan, usual bone of contention in Dutch neighbourhoods.And just then the Boers were rather sore about the Gold Fields, andmade themselves very nasty to any one coming from or going to that shamEl Dorado."

  "Sham! Yes, it is a sham; George did no good by going," said MrsPayne, rising. "Now, children, bed-time," and with the reluctantjuveniles she left the room; and again those two were alone together.

  Claverton, who had hoped for such a moment, now that it had come, feltutterly tongue-tied. He felt that he had no right to rake up the past.She herself had buried it, and now that they were unexpectedly throwntogether again, he felt that it would be unfair to her, not to sayobtrusive, to revert to the forbidden subject. And yet what was he tosay to her? Every topic they had in common was inextricably interwovenwith that terribly painful past, which was as fresh and unhealed in hisheart as on the morning when she had bidden him leave her.

  "Do you know, I had not the remotest idea I should find you hereto-day?" he began, rather lamely.

  "Hadn't you? I suppose not," she answered, speaking quickly, and herfingers busy at some needlework, trembled ever so slightly.

  "How long have you known the Paynes?"

  "Nearly three years. Just before Mrs Brathwaite's death."

  "What! Is Mrs Brathwaite dead?" he asked, in astonishment.

  "Didn't you know?" she replied. And then she gave him the history ofthe sad events which had followed so soon upon his leaving Seringa Vale,and he listened in amazement, for he had only just returned straightfrom the interior, and thus, as it were, into the world again.

  "I am very grieved to hear this," he said, when she had finished. "Theywere the truest, kindest friends that ever man had. I little thought Ishould never see them again. And I suppose Jim reigns in the old place,now?"

  "Yes," she answered sadly, and then there was silence for a few moments.The conversation was taking a decidedly dangerous turn, and Lilianbegan to feel embarrassed. Perhaps it was as well that Mrs Paynereturned, having disposed of her offspring in their various couches, andalmost immediately her lord entered from the _stoep_, bringing in awhiff of fresh night air not guiltless of tobacco smoke.

  "Grand night!" he exclaimed, flinging down his hat in high good-humour."We'll have a ride over the place to-morrow, eh, Claverton?"

  Claverton assented mechanically, thinking the while how he might be farenough away by that time. Then a little more conversation, and a movewas made to retire. How narrowly he scanned Lilian's face, while heheld her fingers in ever so lingering a clasp as he bade her good-night!He could read nothing there. And then, mechanically again, he followedhis host to the room prepared for him,
and once more he was alone.

  Then what a rush of recollections swept over his mind, as he sat at theopen window looking out upon the still night! All the years ofwandering, of peril, and of hardship, were bridged over as by a singlenight, and once more it seemed as if he had just heard his doom only afew hours since, in the garden at Seringa Vale. And now Fate had thrownhim beneath the same roof with this woman, whom he had never expectednor dared hope to see again. He had once more looked into her eyes, anddrank in the sound of her voice--once more had held her hand in his, andnow the old wound, never even so much as cicatrised over, was laceratedafresh, and gaped open and bleeding. Could he have been brought herefor the mere sport of circumstances, or was it with a purpose--a deeperimport? And with the superstition in small things which often, and inspite of himself, clings to a man who has travelled much and insolitude, he grasped the idea. Yet he dared not hope. Hope and he hadparted company long since, he told himself. But he made up his mindthat, at any rate, he would not leave his friend's hospitable roof thenext day; and having arrived at that conclusion he fell asleep, andslept soundly.