CHAPTER EIGHT.
THE PARTING OF THE WAYS.
John Ames was seated beneath the verandah at Cogill's Hotel with a blueofficial document in his hand and a very disgusted look upon his face.
The former accounted for the latter inasmuch as it was the direct causethereof. In cold official terminology it regretted the necessity ofabridging the period of his leave, and in terse official terminologyrequested that he would be good enough to return to his post with allpossible dispatch.
He looked up from his third reading of this abominable document, and hisbrows were knitted in a frown. He looked at the thick plumbago hedgeopposite, spangled with its pale blue blossoms, at the smooth red stemsof the tall firs, up again at the deep blue of the cloudless skyoverhead, then down once more upon the detestable missive, and said:--
"Damn!"
John Ames was not addicted to the use of strong language. Now, however,he reckoned the occasion justified it.
"With all possible dispatch." That would mean taking his departure thatnight--that very night. And here he was, ready and waiting to do theusual escort duty, this time for a long day out on the bicycle. If hewere to start that night it would mean exactly halving that long day.With a savage closing of the hand he crushed the official letter into ablue ball, and once more ejaculated--
"Damn!"
"Sssh!"
Thereat he started. Nidia Commerell was standing in the doorway rightbeside him, drawing on a pair of suede gloves, her blue eyes dancingwith mirth. She was clad in a bicycle skirt and light blouse, and worea plain white sailor hat.
"Sssh! _You_ using naughty swear words? I _am_ surprised at you!"
The smile which rippled brightly from the mobile lips showed, however,that the surprise, if any, was not of a derogatory nature. John Ameslaughed ruefully.
"I'm sorry. But really it was under great provocation. I've receivedmarching orders."
"No? Not really? Oh, how disgusting!"
The utterance was quick. His eyes were full upon her face. How wouldshe receive the communication? Was that really a flash ofconsternation, of regret, that swept over it?
"When must you go?" she continued, still, it seemed to him, speakingrather quickly.
"I ought to start by to-night's train"--then, breaking off--"Where isMrs Bateman? Is she ready?"
"We shall have to go without her. She can't come--says she's gettingheadachy."
"Oh, I'm so sorry!"
Nidia had to turn away her head to avoid a splutter outright. Never hadshe heard words intended to be sympathetic uttered in tones of morejubilant relief. To herself she said: "You are a sad tarradiddler, JohnAmes." To him she said, "Yes; it's a pity, isn't it?" He, for hispart, was thinking that this time the official order need not beinterpreted too literally. It had plainly intimated that a state ofthings had transpired which necessitated the presence of every officialat his post, but this time the state of things could dispense with hisadjusting hand for twenty-four hours longer. "With all possibledispatch." Well, to start that night under the circumstances would notbe possible, under others it would. Throughout the whole day Nidiawould be alone with him, and he meant that day to be one that he shouldremember.
They started. At first the exhilarating spin along the smoothfir-shaded road, together with the consciousness that the day was onlybeginning, caused him partly to forget that most unwelcome recall. Theyhad arranged to use by-roads where the riding was good, and, taking thetrain at Mowbray, proceed to Cape Town, and ride out thence as farbeyond Camp's Bay as they felt inclined. Now, as they spun alongthrough the sunlit air, between leafy gardens radiant with brightflowers and the piping of gladsome birds, the noble mountain wall awayon the left towering majestic though not stern and forbidding, itscliffs softened in the summer haze, its slopes silvered with thebeautiful wattle, and great seas of verdure--the bright green of oakfoliage throwing out in relief the darker pine and blue eucalyptus--surging up against its mighty base, the very contrast afforded by thisglorious scene of well-nigh Paradisical beauty, and the mental vision ofa hot steamy wilderness, not unpicturesque, but depressing in the senseof remote loneliness conveyed, was borne forcibly home to the mind ofone of them. It was a question of hours, and all would have fled. Hegrew silent. Depression had reasserted itself.
Yet, was it merely a sense of the external contrast which was afflictinghim? He had traversed this very scene before, and not once or eventwice only. He had always admired it, but listlessly. But now? Themagic wand had been waved over the whole. But why transform theordinary and mundane into a paradise for one who was to be suffered butone glimpse therein, and now was to be cast forth? A paradise--ah yes;but a fool's paradise, he told himself bitterly.
"Well?"
He started. The query had come from Nidia, and was uttered artlessly,innocently, but with a spice of mischief.
"Yes? I was wondering?" she went on.
"What were you wondering?"
"Oh, nothing! Only--er--as it is rather--er--slow for me, don't youthink so--supposing you give me an inkling of the problem that isabsorbing you so profoundly? You haven't said a word for at least tenminutes. And I like talking."
"I am so sorry. Yes; I might have remembered that. How shall I earnforgiveness?"
"By telling me exactly what you were thinking about, absolutely andwithout reservations. On no other conditions, mind."
"Oh, only what a nuisance it is being called away just now."
The tone was meant to be offhand, but the quick ear of Nidia was not soeasy to deceive. When John Ames did look down into the bright laughingface it had taken an expression of sympathy, that with a quick bound ofthe heart he read for one that was almost tender.
"Yes. It is horrid!" she agreed. "You had a long time to run yet,hadn't you?"
"Nearly a month."
"I call it perfectly abominable. Can't you tell them it is absolutelyimpossible to come back just now, that--er--in short, on no account canyou?"
He looked at her. "Do _you_ wish it?" was on his lips; but he left thewords unsaid. He shook his head sadly.
"I'm afraid it can't be done. You see, I am entirely at their beck andcall. And then, from what they say, I believe they really do want me."
"Yes; I was forgetting that. It is something, after all, to be of someuse, as I was telling you the other night; do you remember?"
Did he remember? Was there one word she had ever said to him--one lookshe had ever given him--that he did not remember, that he had notthought of, and weighed, and pondered over, in the dark silent hours ofthe night, and in the fresh, but far from silent, hours of earlymorning? No, indeed; not one.
"I remember every single word you have ever said to me," he answeredgravely, with his full straight glance meeting hers. And then it wasNidia Commerell's turn to subside into silence, for there struck acrossher mind, in all its force, the badinage she had exchanged with herfriend in the privacy of their chamber. If he had never before, as shedefined it, "hung out the signals," John Ames was beginning to do sonow--of that she felt very sure; yet somehow the thought, unlike inother cases, inspired in her no derision, but a quickened beating of theheart, and even a little pain, though why the latter she could not havetold.
"Come," she said suddenly, consulting her watch, "we must put on somepace or we shall miss the train. We have some way to go yet."
On over the breezy flat of the Rondebosch camp-ground and between longrows of cool firs meeting overhead; then a sharp turn and a spin ofstraight road; and in spite of the recurring impediments of a stupidlydriven van drawn right across the way, and a long double file ofkhaki-clad mounted infantry crossing at right angles and a foot's pace,they reached the station in time, but only just. Then, as Nidia,laughing and panting with the hurry of exertion she had been subjectedto, flung herself down upon the cushion of the compartment, and herescort, having seen the bicycles safely stowed, at considerable risk tolife and limb, thanks to a now fast-moving train
, clambered in afterher, both felt that the spell which had been moving them to grave andserious talk was broken between them--for the present.
But later--when the midday glow had somewhat lost its force, when thegolden lights of afternoon were painting with an even more vivid greenthe vernal slopes piling up to the great crags overhanging Camp's Bay,the same seriousness would recur, would somehow intrude and force itsway in. They had left their bicycles at the inn where they had lunched,and had half strolled, half scrambled down to the place they now werein--a snug resting-place indeed, if somewhat hard, being an immenserock, flat-topped and solid. Overhead, two other boulders meeting,formed a sort of cave, affording a welcome shelter from the yetoppressive sun. Beneath, the ocean swell was raving with hoarse sullenmurmur among the iron rocks, dark with trailing masses of seaweed, whichseemed as a setting designed to throw into more gorgeous relief thevivid, dazzling blue of each little inlet. Before, the vast sheenyocean plain, billowing to the ruffle of the soft south wind.
"Really, you are incorrigible," said Nidia at last, breaking thesilence. "What shall I do to make you talk?"
"Yes; I am very slow to-day--I sorrowfully admit it," he answered, witha laugh which somehow or other lacked the ring of merriment.
"I know," went on Nidia. "I must start discussing the Raid. There!You will have to be interesting then."
"That's ruled out," he replied, the point being that from the very firstdays of their acquaintance the Raid was a topic he had resolutelydeclined to argue or to express any opinion upon. "Besides, it's such athreadbare subject. You are right, though. I am treating you verybadly. In fact, it is not fair, and I am haunted by a shrivellingconviction that you are sorry you came out to-day, and at this momentare heartily wishing yourself at home. Am I not right?"
"No; quite wrong. I have, you know, a great respect for yourconvictions--at times, but for this last one I have nothing butcontempt; yes, contempt--profound contempt. There! Will that satisfyyou?"
Her tone was decisive, without being vehement. In it--in the glance ofher eyes--he detected a ring of sympathy, of feeling. Could she readhis inner thoughts, he wondered, that each hour of this day as it woreaway did but tighten the grip of the bitter desolating pain that hadclosed around his heart? He watched her as she reclined there, the veryembodiment of dainty and graceful ease. He noted the stirring of eachlittle wave of gold-brown hair as it caressed her forehead to the breathof the soft sea wind; the quick lifting of the lashes revealing the deepblue of the soulful eyes, so free and frank and fearless as they methis; the rich tint of the smooth skin, glowing with the kiss of the airand sun; every curve, too, of the mobile expressive lips; and theself-restraint he was forced to put upon himself became somethingsuperhuman. And it was their last day together! She, for her part, wasthinking, "John Ames is a fool, but the most self-controlled fool I evermet. How I shall miss him! Yes, indeed, how I shall miss him!" Aloudshe said--
"I wonder when _we_ shall be going up-country?"
"Never, I predict," was the somewhat decisive rejoinder.
Nidia raised herself on one elbow. "You seem pretty certain as tothat," she said, "so certain that I begin to think the wish is father tothe thought."
"Thank you."
"There, there, don't be cross. I am only teasing you. I can be anawful tease at times, can't I? Ask Susie if I can't--if you haven'tfound it out already, that is."
The mischief had all left her voice, the laughing eyes were soft andsympathetic again. He laughed, too, but somewhat sadly.
"Because things up there are not over bright, and are likely to be lessso. The cattle is all dying off from this new disease--rinderpest. Thenatives have never been thoroughly conquered, and there are still plentyof them. The loss of their cattle will make them desperate, andtherefore dangerous. The outlook is gloomy all round."
"Oh, but you will be able to put things right when you get back."
John Ames stared, as well he might. Either she meant what she said orshe did not. In the first event, she had a higher opinion of him thanever he had dreamed; in the second, the remark was silly to the lastdegree; and silliness was a fault, any trace of which he had not as yetdiscovered in Nidia Commerell.
"You cannot really mean that," he said. "If so, you must be under anentire misconception as to my position. I am only one of several. Weeach of us try to do our best, but none of us can do anything verygreat."
Listening intently, Nidia was saying to herself, "How true he rings!Note. The swagger and egotism of the up-to-date Apollo is conspicuouslyabsent here." Then, aloud--
"No; I was not chaffing. I believe you can do a great deal. Remember,we have been very much together of late, and I rather pride myself upona faculty for character reading."
The delicate insinuation of flattery in her tone constituted the laststraw. John Ames felt his resolution growing very weak. Passionatewords of adoration rose to his lips--when--
A screech and chatter of child voices and scurrying feet, right behindthe rock under whose shadow the two were resting, then the sound ofscrambling, and their resting-place was theirs no more. A roundhalf-dozen uproarious infants were spreading themselves over the rockslabs around, their shrill shrieks of glee hardly arrested, as with astart they discovered the presence of others upon their new playground.And that they were there to stay they speedily made known by dint ofyelling response to the calls of the parent-bird, whose own voice drewnearer around the rock.
The spell was broken. At that moment John Ames would have givenanything to have seen the rocks below swept by a sudden tidal wave. Thespell was broken. The moment had come and gone, and he was aware, as byan intuitive flash, that it would not come again.
Nidia rose. Did she welcome the fortuitous relief or not? he wondered,as he glanced at her keenly.
"Let us stroll quietly back," she said. "We shall get no more peacewith that nursery romping round us. Besides, it's time we thought ofbeginning the return ride.
"What an ideal day it has been!" resumed Nidia, when the ground becameeven enough to carry on conversation with any degree of facility."Hasn't it?"
"M'yes. Very `ideal,' in that like other ideals it doesn't last. Anideal is like a wine-glass, sooner or later destined to be shattered."
"That's quite true. I wonder are there any exceptions to the rule?"
"Safely, no. People set one up for themselves and adore it; thencrash--bang! some fine day they knock it down, and it shatters intosmithereens. Then there is a pedestal empty--a pedestal to let."
"And up goes another image, with like result," laughed the girl.
"Precisely. But how cynical we are becoming. By the way, to go back towhat I was saying a little while ago, you will probably not be comingup-country at all. Then we shall never see each other again."
"Even then, why should we not?"
"Why? Why, because the chance that--that made us meet now is not likelyto recur. That sort of blessed luck is not apt to duplicate in thisvale of woe. Not much."
She smiled, softly, tenderly. The self-contained John Ames was waxingvehement. His words were tumbling over each other. He could hardly getthem out quick enough.
"And would you mind so very much if it did not?"
"Yes."
"So would I."
Then silence for a few moments. They were walking along a high-road.At very short intervals the ubiquitous cyclist--singly or in pairs--shotnoiselessly by, or here and there a coloured pedestrian, seated by theroadside, eyed them indifferently.
"Why should we lose sight of each other?" said John Ames at length. "Doyou know--this time we have had together has been--has been one that Icould never have dreamed of as within the bounds of possibility."
"We have had a good time, haven't we?" assented Nidia, demurely, thoughconscious of a quickening pulse. "And now, I don't mind telling yousomething--because I have failed to discover one atom of conceit in yourcomposition--so I don't mind telling you--"
&n
bsp; "What?"
The interruption was startling. The voice was dry, the face stony. Hadhe but known it the interrupter was going up many degrees in thespeaker's estimation.
"Only that I shall miss you dreadfully--when you are gone."
Nidia's mischievous demureness simply bubbled with enjoyment at the lookof relief which came over the other's features. She continued--
"As you say, why _should_ we lose sight of each other? You may write tome occasionally--when you can spare the time required for the saving ofyour country from all the ills that threaten it. But--let's see, I--oh,well, never mind--I was going to say something, but I won't. And now--we must not be serious any more. We have had a lovely day, theloveliest day we could possibly have had, and we are going to have alovely ride back. Here we are at the hotel again."
The significance of the tone, the veiled emphasis which underlay theremark, was not lost upon the listener. John Ames was one who knew whento let well alone. Patience, tact, a judicious mind, were all among hisqualifications for his responsible and difficult post. Should they failhim in a matter where private feeling, however deep, was concerned? Sohe acquiesced.
Nidia, for her part, was conscious of mingled feelings. She did notknow whether to be glad or not that they had been summarily interrupted;on the whole, she thought she was glad. On the other hand, she had notexaggerated in saying she would miss him dreadfully, and already she hadsome idea as to how she would miss him. Here was a man who was outsideher experience, who represented an entirely new phase of character.With her, too, this time that they had spent so much together stoodforth.
But although no more was said during their homeward ride of a nature totrench on grave matters, the tone between both of them was one thatseemed unconsciously to breathe of confidence and rest. The deep murmurof the ocean swell had sunk its hoarse raving as it lapped the rocksbelow the skirting road; the golden glory of the heaving waters hadturned to a deeper sapphire blue suffused with pink as the sun sankbehind the rampart crags, and already two or three stars, twinklingforth, seemed to rest upon, then hover over, the rock crest of the greatLion Mountain, heaving up, a majestic sentinel, over the liquid plain.Yes; both were content, for in the hearts of both still rang thegladness and the quietude of a very conscious refrain:--"We shall meetagain, soon."
Thus the parting of the ways. But before they should meet again--what?In that surrounding of peace and evening calm, small wonder that nosuggestion should find place as to a very different surrounding, where,far to the north, from the drear mountain wilderness, even at thatmoment, thundered forth--as another Voice from Sinai of old--a dire andterrible voice telling of scourge and of war--a voice, indeed, of woeand of wrath, sounding its dread tocsin o'er an entire land.
"Burned is the earth, Gloom in the skies Nation's new birth--Manhoodarise!"
John Ames, Native Commissioner: A Romance of the Matabele Rising Page 8
