THE SACRIFICE
The sound of water, splashing, welling, overflowing, was
everywhere. It was difficult to keep the track, but Diamond trod
warily. He knew the _veldt_ by heart. Passing the _kopje_, the
rush of the water was like the spouting of a thousand springs. It
gurgled and raced over its scarred sides. The prickly pear bushes
hung flattened over the rocks. By the fitful gleam of the
lightning Burke saw these things. The storm was passing, though
the rain still beat down mercilessly. It would probably rain for
many hours; but a faint vague light far down on the unseen horizon
told of a rising moon. It would not be completely dark again.
They splashed their way past the _kopje_, and immediately a loud
roaring filled his ears. As he had guessed the dry watercourse had
become a foaming torrent. Again a sharp anxiety assailed him. He
spoke to Diamond, and they turned off the track.
The animal was nervous. He started and quivered at the
unaccustomed sound. But in a moment or two he responded to Burke's
insistence, and went down the sloping ground that led to the
seething water.
Burke guided him with an unerring hand, holding him up firmly, for
the way was difficult and uneven. A vivid flash of lightning gave
him his direction, and by it he saw a marvellous picture. The
spruit had become a wide, dashing river. The swirl and rush of the
current sounded like a sea at high tide. The flood spread like an
estuary over the _veldt_ on the farther side, and he saw that the
bank nearest to him was brimming.
The picture was gone in a moment, but it was registered indelibly
upon his brain. And the hut--Guy's hut--was scarcely more than
twenty yards from that swirling river which was rising with every
second.
"He can't be there," he said aloud. But yet he knew that he could
not turn back till he had satisfied himself on this point. So,
with a word of encouragement to Diamond, he splashed onwards.
Again the lightning flared torchlike through the gloom, but the
thunder of the torrent drowned the thunder overhead. He was
nearing the hut now, and found that in places the rain had so
beaten down the sandy surface of the ground that it sank and
yielded like a quagmire. He knew that it was only a matter of
minutes--possibly seconds--before the crumbling bank above the
stream gave way.
He was close to the hut now, though still he assured himself that
the place was empty. The roar of the water was deafening, seeming
to numb the senses. He never knew afterwards whether a light
suddenly kindled as he drew near behind the canvas that screened
the hut-window, or if it had been there all along and the leaping
elusive lightning had blinded him to it. But the light was there
before him as he reached the place, and in a moment the knowledge
flashed upon him beyond all questioning that he had not come upon a
vain quest.
He knew also with that menacing roar below him and the streaming
rain around that there was not a moment to be lost. He swung
himself from Diamond's back and secured the bridle to a projecting
piece of wood at the back of the hut. Then, floundering and
slipping at every step, he made his way round to the door.
He groped for some seconds before he found it. It was closed and
he knew that there was no handle on the outside. He battered upon
it with his fist, shouting Guy's name.
There came no answer to his summons, but the sound of the water
seemed to swell in volume, filling the night. It drove him to a
fierce impatience. If he had not seen the light he would scarcely
have taken the risk. None but a fool would have remained in such a
death-trap. But the presence of the light forced him on. He could
not leave without satisfying himself. He set his shoulder against
the closed door and flung the full weight of his body into one
stupendous effort to force an entrance.
The wood cracked and splintered with the shock. He felt himself
pitching forward and grabbed at the post to save himself. The door
swung back upon its hinges, and he burst into the hut headlong.
The flame of a candle glimmered in his eyes, momentarily dazzling
him. Then he heard a cry. A figure sprang towards him--a woman's
figure with outstretched arms waving him back! Was he dreaming?
Was he mad? It was Sylvia's face, white and agonized, that
confronted him--Sylvia's voice, but so strained that he hardly
recognized it, broken and beseeching, imploring him for mercy.
"Oh, Burke--for God's sake--don't kill him! Don't kill him! I
will kill myself--I swear--if you do."
He caught the outflung hands, gripping them hard, assuring himself
that this thing was no illusion. He looked into her eyes of wild
appeal.
She attempted no, further entreaty, but she flung herself against
him, impeding him, holding him back. Over her shoulder he looked
for Guy; and found him.
He was sitting crouched on a low trestle-bed at the further end of
the hut with his head in his hands. Burke turned to the girl who
stood palpitating, pressed against him, still seeking with all her
strength to oppose his advance.
Her wide eyes met his. They were filled with a desperate fear.
"He is ill," she said.
The roar of the rising water filled the place. The ground under
their feet seemed to be shaking.
Burke looked down at the woman he held, and a deadly sensation
arose and possessed him. For the moment he felt sick with an
overpowering longing. The temptation to take her just as she was
and go was almost more than human endurance could bear. He had
undergone so much for her sake. He had suffered so fiery a
torture. The evil impulse gripped and tore him like a living thing.
And then--was it the purity of those eyes upraised to his?--he was
conscious of a change within him. It was as if a quieting touch
had been laid upon him. He knew--quite suddenly he knew--what he
would do. The temptation and the anguish went out together like an
extinguished fire. He was his own master.
He bent to her and spoke, his words clear above the tumult: "Help
me to save him! There is just a chance!"
He saw the swift change in her eyes. She bent with a sharp
movement, and before he could stop her he felt her lips upon his
hand. They thrilled him with a strange exaltation. The memory of
that kiss would go with him to the very Gate of Death.
Then he had reached Guy, was bending over him, raising him with
urgent hands. He saw the boy's face for a moment, ashen in the
flickering candlelight, and he knew that the task before him was
one which it would take his utmost strength to accomplish. But he
exerted it and dragged him to his feet, half-supporting,
half-carrying, him towards the open door, Sylvia helping on the
other side. The thought went through him that this was the last
act that they would perform in partnership. And somehow he knew
that she would remember it later in the same way.
They reached the threshold. Guy was stumbling blindly. He seemed
to be dazed, scarcely conscious of his surroundings. The turmoil
of the water was terrific through the ceaseless rush of the rain.
With heads bent to the storm they forced their way out into the
tumult.
They found Diamond tramping and snorting with fright at the back of
the hut, but to Burke's brief command and Sylvia's touch he stood
still.
"Get up!" Burke said to the girl.
But she started and drew back. "Oh no--no!" she cried back to him.
"I will go on foot."
He said no more, merely turned and hoisted Guy upwards. He landed
in the saddle, instinctively gripping with his knees while Burke on
one side, Sylvia on the other, set his feet in the stirrups.
Then still in that utter silence Burke went back to Sylvia. He had
lifted her before she was aware, and for one breathless moment he
held her. Then she also was up on the horse's back. He thrust her
hands away from him, pushing them into Guy's belt with a mastery
that would brook no resistance.
"Wake up!" he yelled to Guy, and smote him on the thigh as he
dragged the bridle free.
Then, slipping and sliding on the yielding ground, he pulled the
horse round, gave the rein, into Guy's clutching hand, and struck
the animal smartly on the flank. Diamond squealed and sprang
forward bearing his double burden, and in a moment he was off,
making for the higher ground and the track that led to the farm,
terrified yet blindly following the instinct that does not err.
The sound of the scrambling, struggling hoofs was lost in the
strife of waters, the swaying figures disappeared in the gloom, and
the man who was left behind turned grimly and went back into the
empty hut.
The candle still cast a flickering light over table and bed. He
stood with his back to the raging night and stared at the unsteady
flame. It was screened from extinction in the draught by a
standing photograph-frame. The picture this contained was turned
away from him. After a moment it caught his attention. He moved
round the table. Though Death were swooping towards him, swift and
certain, on the wings of the rising current, he was drawn as a
needle to the magnet. Like a dying man, he reached for the last
draught that should slake his thirst and give him peace in dying.
He leaned upon the table, that creaked and shook beneath his
weight. He stretched forth his arms on each side of the candle,
and drew the portrait close to the flame. Sylvia's face laughed at
him through the shifting, uncertain light. She was standing on a
wind-blown open space. Her lips were parted. He thought he heard
her voice, calling him. And the love in her eyes--the love that
shone through the laughter! It held him like a spell--even though
it was not for him.
He gazed earnestly upon this thing that had been another man's
treasure long before he had even seen her, and as he gazed, he
forgot all beside. By that supreme sacrifice of self, he had wiped
out all but his exceeding love for her. The spirit had triumphed
over the flesh. Love the Immortal to which Death is but a small
thing had lifted him up above the world. . . .
What was it that suddenly pierced him as he leaned there? No sound
above that mighty tumult could possibly have reached him. No
movement beyond that single flickering flame could have caught his
vision. No touch was laid upon him. Yet suddenly he jerked
upright with every nerve a-quiver--and beheld her!
She stood in the doorway, gasping for breath, clinging to the
woodwork for support, with Death behind her, but no fear of Death
in her eyes. They held instead a glory which he had never seen
before.
He stood and gazed upon her, unbelieving, afraid to move. His lips
formed her name. And, as one who springs from tempest into safe
shelter, Sylvia sprang to him. Her arms were all about him before
he knew that she was not a dream.
He clasped her then with such a rush of wonder and joy as nearly
deprived him of the power to think. And in that moment their lips
met in a kiss that was close and sacred, uniting each to each
beyond all severance--a soul communion.
Burke was trembling as she had never known him tremble before.
"Why--have you come back?" he said, as speech returned.
She answered him swiftly and passionately, clinging faster with the
words: "Because--God knows--I would rather die with you--than--than
live without you! I love you so! Oh, don't you understand?"
Yes, he understood, though all else were beyond his comprehension.
Never again would he question that amazing truth that had burst
upon him here at the very Gate of Death, changing the whole world.
He looked down upon her as he held her, the light from the candle
shining through her hair, her vivid face uplifted to his, her eyes
wide and glowing, seeing him alone. No, he needed no words to tell
him that.
And then suddenly the roar without increased a hundredfold. A
shrieking wind tore past, and in a moment the flickering light went
out. They stood in darkness.
Her arms clasped his neck more closely. He felt the coming agony
in her hold. She spoke again, her lips against his own. "Through
the grave--and Gate of Death--" she said.
That aroused him. A strength that was titanic entered into him.
Why should they wait here for Death? At least they would make a
fight for it, however small their chance. He suddenly realized
that mortal life had become desirable again--a thing worth fighting
for--a precious gift.
He bent, as he had bent on that first night at the farm--how long
ago!--and gathered her up into his arms.
A rush of water swirled about his knees as he made for the dim
opening. The bank had gone. Yet the rise in the ground would give
them a few seconds. He counted upon the chance. Out into the open
he stumbled.
The water was up to his waist here. He floundered on the yielding
ground.
"Don't carry me!" she said. "I can wade too. Let me hold your
hand!"
But he would not let her go out of his arms. His strength in that
moment was as the strength of ten. He knew that unless the flood
actually overwhelmed him, it would not fail.
So, slipping, struggling, fighting, he forced his way, and, like
Diamond, he was guided by an instinct that could not err. Thirty
seconds after they left it, the hut on the sand was swept away by
the hungry waters, but those thirty seconds had been their
salvation. They had reached the point where the ground began to
rise towards the _kopje_, and though the water still washed around
them the force of it was decreasing at every step,
As they reached the foot of the _kopje_ itself, a stream of
moonlight suddenly rushed down through the racing clouds, revealing
the whole great waste of water like a picture flung upon a screen.
Burke's breath came thick and laboured; yet he spoke. "We are
saved!" he said.
"Put me down now!" she urged. "Please put me down!"
But still he would not, till he had climbed above the seething
flood, and could set her feet upon firm ground. And even then he
clasped her still, as if he feared to let her go.
They stood in silence, holding fast to one another while the
moonlight flickered in and out, and Burke's heart gradually
steadied again after the terrific struggle. The rain had almost
ceased. Only the sound of the flood below and the gurgle of a
hundred rivulets around filled the night.
Sylvia's arm pressed upon Burke's neck. "Shall we go--right to the
top?" she said.
"The top of what?" He turned and looked into her eyes as she stood
above him.
She bent to him swiftly, throbbing, human, alive. She held his
face between her hands, looking straight back for a space. Then
with a little quivering laugh, she bent lower and kissed him.
"I think you're right, partner," she said. "We don't need to
go--any farther than this. We've--got there."
He caught her to him with a mastery that was dearer to her in that
moment than any tenderness, swaying her to his will. "Yes--we've
got there!" he said, and kissed her again with lips that trembled
even while they compelled. "But oh, my soul--what a journey!"
She clung to him more closely, giving of her all in full and sweet
surrender. "And oh, my soul," she laughed back softly--"what an
arrival!"
And at that they laughed together, triumphant as those who have the
world at their feet.