"Well, Musgrave, old boy, I'm glad to see you back again," cried genial
Peter Van Stolz, wringing his subordinate's hand, as the latter entered
the office just before Court time on the morning following the events
last detailed. "There are two or three drunk cases to polish off; they
won't take ten minutes, and then I want to hear all your adventures."
So Sannje Pretorius, and Carolus Dirksen, and two or three other worthy
specimens of the noble Hottentot, having been fined five or ten
shillings apiece, with the alternative of seven days hard, the
administrator of Doppersdorp justice lost no time in returning to be put
in possession of such more or less stirring facts as the reader is
already familiar with. Not altogether, however, for the narrator had a
strange repugnance to chronicling his own deeds of slaughter, which, in
fact, he so slurred over as to make it appear rather that they had been
done by Darrell--a vicarious distinction from which that worthy, at any
rate, would in no wise have shrunk. Nor, we hardly need say, did he
reveal his meeting with Tom. On that point his lips were sealed, even
to his friend. His word, once passed, was inviolable.
It happened that he had come straight into Doppersdorp, abandoning the
projected _detour_ by Suffield's farm, for a sort of nervous exhaustion,
supervening on the strain and hardships of that terrible and trying
night, had compelled him to take some hours' rest beneath the first
sheltering roof which he came across after his rescue by Darrell and his
party, who had escorted him on his road until beyond further risk,
returning then to the Main Camp. Hence, reckoning he had been away long
enough, he made up his mind to reach Doppersdorp in time for Court. He
would ride over to Quaggasfontein in the evening.
Then, at the midday recess, Roden found himself carried off to dine, in
order that Mrs Van Stolz might hear his adventures. At that point of
his narrative which touched upon the villainous behaviour of the
defaulting steed, they all laughed again and again, while recognising
that it was no laughing matter at the time.
"What will Miss Ridsdale say when she hears all about it?" said Mrs Van
Stolz mischievously. "I suppose you haven't seen her yet, Mr
Musgrave?"
Roden answered that he had not, and then a little more sly fun was poked
at him. Finally, it became time to return.
"You see, it's post day, Musgrave, old boy," said Mr Van Stolz, as they
walked back to the office together, "or I would say, Clear out. I know
you are dying to go up to Suffield's. But it may be in early, and
there's sure to be nothing of much importance. After it's in, you can
clear out as soon as you like. Hark! there's the horn now. The cart's
just coming over the neck."
It was. About a mile or so up the road they could make out the rising
dust, which should soon resolve itself into a weather-beaten,
two-wheeled cart, laden with mail-sacks, and driven by a yellow-skinned
Hottentot, tootling on a battered trumpet. Nor was it much longer
before a portion of its contents was duly transferred to the public
offices.
"Congratulate me, Musgrave!" cried Mr Van Stolz, skipping into his
subordinate's room, with an open official letter in his hand.
"Congratulate me! I'm promoted!"
But the beaming and joyous expression of his countenance found no
reflection in that of Roden, who said--
"As far as you are the better for it, I do most heartily. Speaking
selfishly, however, it's the worst news I've heard for many a long day."
The other stared for a moment, then his face softened. No
congratulations could have conveyed a more direct tribute to the esteem
in which he was held by the speaker.
"Thanks, old fellow," he said, "I know what you mean. We've always got
on right well together, I really believe."
"Got on? I should rather think we had. The man who couldn't get on
with you could get on with nobody."
Still more did the other stare. This habitually cold, reserved cynic!
To hear him now, would be to think the man was full of heart.
"I'm afraid my congratulation is of a rueful order at best," said Roden,
with a smile. "And now, where is the transfer to, and what increase
does it carry?"
"Barabastadt. It's just such another hole as Doppersdorp--poor old
Doppersdorp isn't such a bad little place though. It's away in the
Karroo at the foot of the Rooi Ruggensbergen. Good springbok shooting,
I believe. And it means 100 pounds a year more, which is a
consideration when a man's hat doesn't cover all his family. Look;
there's the letter."
Roden ran his eye down the sheet, which set forth in official rigmarole
that His Excellency the Governor, with the advice of the Executive
Council, had been pleased to appoint Mr Peter Van Stolz to be Civil
Commissioner and Resident Magistrate of Barabastadt, at a salary of so
much per annum, in the room of Mr Somebody Else transferred.
"And your successor, what sort of man is he?" he said at length.
"Shaston? Frederick Romsey Shaston. A devil of a name that, Musgrave.
Well, he's rather like his name, rather a pompous sort of chap. I
remember him four years ago, when he was `acting' at Maraisburg. He was
always getting his judgments reversed. He's not a bad sort of fellow
though; not at all a bad sort of fellow at bottom."
This is a species of eulogy which is of the faintly exculpatory order,
and from both the words and the tone none knew better than Roden
Musgrave that his new chief would be almost certain to prove a direct
antithesis to his old one.
"No, he isn't a bad sort of fellow, Musgrave, if you take him the right
way. You'll get on all right."
In his heart of hearts the speaker knew as surely as he could know
anything that the two would _not_ get on all right; however, he was not
going to say so.
"It isn't the `getting on' part of it I'm thinking of, Mr Van Stolz,"
said Roden. "Can't you credit me with realising that true friends are
scarce, and not feeling overjoyed at the prospect of losing a firm
specimen of the article?"
"Of course, of course. I understand. But, Musgrave, old boy, you
mustn't talk about losing a friend, hope we shall not have seen the last
of each other because I have left this. Why, we have had plenty of good
times together, and will have plenty more. The wife likes you so much,
too. No, no. Of one thing we may be sure. You have always firm
friends in us, no matter what happens."
"Thank you. I am sure of it," said Roden, on whom the words struck with
something like a presentiment. And the time was coming when he was
destined to remember them.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Cantering over the grassy flats in the slant of the golden sun-gleam,
Roden's mind dwelt more and more on that mysterious midnight warning
which had startled him from a slumber destined otherwise to end in the
slumber of death. So signal had been its result, that the anxiety which
had at first beset him, lest evil hovered over its utterer, was quite
dispelled, giving place to a strange, sweet awe so foreign to his nature
that he could hardly recognise his very self. Now, as he drew near
Suffield's house, he smiled curiously at his own eagerness, and made
believe to check it. There stood the homestead against its background
of green willows, away over the flat, then, as the track dipped into a
slight depression, he saw it no more.
All the way out, all that day, he had been trying to picture his
reception, and very alluring had that occupation proved. He had never,
as we have said, been away from Mona before, not away beyond reach, that
is. How would she receive him? He thought he knew. Then, as the house
again came into view, he strained his eyes for the first glimpse of that
supple, exquisitely modelled form, for the first flutter of a dress.
Yet no such glimpse rewarded him.
He was in a fanciful vein, and the circumstance of this dejection struck
him with a sort of chill. He rode up to the door amid the clamour of
the yelling pack, which, ever aggressive, charged him open-mouthed, a
demeanour which speedily subsided into much jumping and tail-wagging as
his identity became manifest. Then a gleam of light drapery down among
the willows caught his eye. Ah, there she was, but not alone; for both
Suffield and his wife were there, and the trio seemed to be indulging in
the most prosaic of evening strolls. This then was to be that
often-dwelt-on first meeting--a conventional hand-shake, a mere
platitude of a "How d'you do?" In which especial particular the irony
of circumstances manifests itself more often than not.
"Hallo, Musgrave! We were expecting you to-night or to-morrow," sang
out Suffield. "Glad it's to-night. Well, how are you? How many Gaikas
did you bowl over, and all the rest of it?"
There was no mistaking the cordiality of their greetings, anyway. And
the swift glad flash of intense joy in Mona's eyes, and the pressure of
her fingers told all that could have been told had their meeting taken
place alone.
"Come in and have a glass of grog, Musgrave," went on Suffield, "and
tell us the news from the front. Though, by the way, that'll keep till
after I've counted in. There's Booi's flock nearly here already, I see.
Never mind. We'll have our _sobje_ anyhow."
There was something in the situation that reminded Roden of his first
visit here; for Suffield soon departed to look after his sheep, and his
wife did likewise to see to her lambs--i.e. her nursery; leaving him
alone with Mona. How well he remembered it; the same sunset glow, the
same attitude, the easy, subtle, sensuous grace of that splendid figure
standing there by the open window outlined against the roseate sky.
Even now that the moment he had been thirsting for was come, he
hesitated to break the witchery of the spell, to disturb the unrivalled
beauty of the picture.
She turned from the window and came to him. For an instant they stood
gazing into each other's eyes, and then--the promise of the oft-pictured
meeting was fulfilled.
"Darling, darling!" she murmured in thrilling tenderness, after that
first long sweet embrace, locking her fingers in his with a grip that
was almost convulsive. "I hold you now again. I did not believe it was
in me to think so much, to suffer so much, on account of any one--any
one. Oh, Heaven! how I have suffered! One night--the night before
last--I had such a frightful dream. I dreamt you were threatened with
the most appalling danger. I could see you, and you were lying asleep
in a dim and shadowy place, and I could not warn you, could not raise my
voice, could not utter a word. Hideous shapes, horrors untold were
creeping up, crowding about you; still I could not speak. Then the
spell was broken, and I called aloud, and woke up to find myself at the
open window, and Grace standing there in the doorway looking the very
picture of scare. For I really did call out."
A strange, eerie sensation crept over her listener. What sort of power
was this--of separating soul from body during the mere ordinary
unconsciousness produced by slumber?
"And that dream of yours, if it was a dream, was literally the saving of
my life, Mona. Listen, now." And then he told exactly how he had lain
asleep in the deserted house, and how, thrilled by the startling accents
of her anguished voice in the midnight silence, the vision of her
troubled countenance, he had awakened barely in time to escape certain
death. The hour coincided exactly.
"How was I dressed?" whispered Mona, a strong awe subduing her voice, as
she gazed at him with startled eyes, and trembling somewhat.
"The vision was more or less indefinite, all but the face. Yet you were
in white, with flowing hair, as on that night when you braved everything
to try and make me forget my bruised and battered condition in sleep."
"It is--is rather awful," she whispered, with a shudder. "But in every
detail the--the picture corresponds--time, place, appearance,
everything. Oh, darling, surely your life is mine, that it has been
given me to save twice."
He was thinking the same thing. And then, running like a strand through
the entrancement of this first meeting, came the thought of what such a
consideration meant. Nothing lasts; love vulgarised by a commonplace
legal tie least of all. This was one thing; but love united, with its
hundred and one petty, uphill struggles and hardships, its familiarity
breeding contempt, its daily friction of temper and will--that was
another. He was not young enough to see only the enchantment of the
moment, all deliriously sweet as this was. The other side of the
picture would obtrude itself--disillusion, life soured. Nothing lasts;
nothing which is real, that is. Such moments as this, such transitory
blissful moments of a fool's paradise, came as near to happiness as
anything this life could afford; yet even they were dashed by the
consciousness, the certainty, that they were nothing more. They
constituted life no more than the five large beads constitute the whole
rosary; happy indeed were it, if the proportionate parallel held good,
and that one great joy were allowed for every decade of sorrow, and
disillusionment, and deadness and pain.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Greatly concerned was the household on learning the approaching transfer
of Mr Van Stolz, of whom Suffield declared that the Lord might have
been pleased to create a more thoroughly good sort, but that He hadn't.
"So he's going to Barabastadt, you say, Mr Musgrave?" said Grace. "We
may see him again, then. There are some relations of ours living up
there, the Rendleshams. We go and stay with them sometimes."
"Up there! Why, they're about sixty miles from the town," said
Suffield. "They've got a place called Kameelsfontein, and the springbok
shooting is heavenly."
"And the second family is the reverse," said Mona. Then, for Roden's
benefit. "There's a second wife and two unutterably detestable
step-daughters, and between the three they've managed to oust poor Ida,
who is dear old John's only child. She was sent to England to be
educated. We were great friends when I was over there last, though I am
a good deal older than she is."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
To the credit of Doppersdorp be it said, it likewise was greatly
concerned over the departure of Mr Van Stolz; and if that genial
official had ever felt doubts as to his widespread popularity, no
further room for such existed now, if the expressions of regret which
met him on all sides counted for anything. And by way of giving public
expression to this, a banquet on such a scale was organised at the
Barkly Hotel, as to inspire in the commercial mind of Jones regrets that
a paternal government did not furnish a perennial supply of highly
popular officials to Doppersdorp, providing at the same time for their
transfer at least every three months. And how the champagne corks which
popped during that historic entertainment constituted a great multitude
which no man could number; and how Sonnenberg was of deliberate purpose,
and of malice aforethought, set down to carve a roasted sucking-pig; and
now he not only cheerfully performed that function, but likewise partook
largely of the infantile porker, in direct defiance of his tormentors
and of the law of Moses; and how the thunders of applause which greeted
the toast of the guest of the evening, caused Jones to tremble lest his
property should be engulphed in a fate similar to that which overtook
the temple of Dagon; and how Roden Musgrave, responding for The Civil
Service, waxed so eloquent upon the virtues of his departing chief, as
to draw from the latter the stage-whispered remark, that "butter seemed
cheap just then";--are not all these things graven in the annals of
Doppersdorp, which is the Centre of the Earth? How, too, many of the
assembled worthies, those who ate peas with their knives, and those who
did not, finished up the evening by getting gloriously drunk, the
anxiety of whom to "chair" home the said guest of the evening being only
defeated by those whose regard for that official's valuable existence,
even though it should thenceforward be spent elsewhere, was of a
practical nature;--this, too, we regret to say, is likewise faithfully
recorded among the archives aforesaid. But the enthusiasm of
Doppersdorp, if highly demonstrative, not to say uproarious, was, for
once in a way, very real.