"OF GREAT PRICE."
That visit to the Wenlocks had been productive of result in more
directions than one; still, why should it have affected Aletta De la Rey
of all people? Yet affect her it did, inasmuch as, after it, she became
more happy and light-hearted than ever.
Little had she thought at the time of carelessly suggesting the idea to
her mother that such could possibly be the result. But weeks had gone
by since the suggestion was made, and the lapse of weeks has sometimes a
curious way of bringing about changes and developments by no means to be
foreseen by those most concerned therein; which for present purposes may
be taken to mean that she and Colvin Kershaw had by this time seen a
great deal of each other. And this period Aletta, for her part, looked
back upon with vivid and unalloyed pleasure.
He had been a great deal at Ratels Hoek during that time, so much so as
to lay her open to considerable chaff at the hands of her sisters,
notably at those of Condaas, who declared that it was "a case," in that
he had never been known to favour them with anything like so much of his
company before. Even old Tant' Plessis had remarked upon it, appending
by way of rider the query as to when he was going to marry Wenlock's
sister, "the only English girl" and so forth, which joke had become a
standing one by then. But Aletta could afford to laugh at it now, in
the most whole-souled manner, which development was among the results of
that memorable visit.
All their talks together--now grave, now semi-serious, now wholly gay--
she delighted to dwell upon. This man was entirely outside her previous
experience. Nothing he said ever jarred, even in the slightest degree.
There was no question they discussed together to which he could not find
a perfectly intelligible side, even if differing; no show of impatience
or of humouring her; everything treated from a philosophical,
well-thought-out point of view. Or, if the topic were of lighter
import, the exact point where the humour came in would somehow strike
them simultaneously. There was a subtle vein of sympathy between them,
and to dwell upon it thrilled her with a blissful and exquisite delight.
Other considerations apart, it was intensely flattering, the more so as
she realised that the attitude was genuine. She had met with plenty of
attention during her absence from home, but her head had not been in the
least turned thereby. But of all the attention she had met, none had
been so grateful, so satisfying, and indeed so sweet as this.
Sometimes, in fact, she would wonder if she were not over-estimating its
burden, but the momentary misgiving would be quenched. Tone, glance,
everything told her that such was not the case.
Yet what could he see in her, to take so much pleasure in talking with
her, he who had seen so much of the world what time she herself was
running about in short frocks, not so very long able to talk distinctly?
How could he give so much consideration to her crude ideas--acquired
and fostered, she supposed, during a not very long sojourn in a
fifth-rate capital--he who had seen all the mighty capitals of both
worlds, and knew some of them intimately? Personally, too, where did
the attraction lie? She was not even pretty, like her sister Andrina,
or May Wenlock. Yet, comparing herself with the latter, a smile spread
over her face, rippling out into a low, whole-hearted laugh, all alone
as she was.
Now the above reflections constituted just about as full and complete a
tribute as Aletta De la Rey could have given to any man. She had no
poorer an opinion of herself than had other girls of her quality and
circumstance. She was aware--normally, that is--that what she lacked in
attractiveness in one direction was counterbalanced by different
advantages in another. Yet now she found herself magnifying her
defects, and almost entirely losing sight of their compensations. Of a
truth here too were "symptoms."
Thus meditating, not quite for the first time, Aletta strolled along
through the willows by the river bed--much more bed than "river" now,
although a faint trickle had kept some of the deeper reaches fairly
supplied. She was given to an occasional solitary stroll. It was good
for the individual to retire sometimes into private life, was her
explanation. But the other girls put--or pretended to put--a different
construction upon it. They declared mischievously that there was
something on between her and somebody in Cape Town, and she wanted to go
and have a good think about him. She, for her part, only laughed, and
let them think so if they wanted to. But they humoured her and her
inclinations all the same, for, as we said elsewhere, Aletta occupied a
sort of metaphorical pedestal within her own family circle.
It was a lovely morning--blue and golden and cloudless. A mirage-like
shimmer arose from the veldt, and the sunlight slanted upon the facets
of near rock-walls engirdling turret-shaped cone, or flat-topped mount,
as though sweeping over patches of gems. A "kok-a-viek," the yellow
African thrush, was calling to his mate in his melodious triple hoot
among the willows hard by, and the sounds of workaday life--mellowed by
distance--the lowing of cattle, and the shout of native voices, were
borne to the girl's ears as she stood there, revelling, though half
unconsciously, in the glow of her youth and vitality, in the sheer joy
and delight of living.
Suddenly an old koorhaan concealed somewhere among the thorns on the
opposite river bank opened his head, and emitted his long, strident
crowing. Another answered further off, then another, and presently the
whole veldt was alive with the shrill barkings of the clamourous little
bustards. Then the first offender rose with an uproarious suddenness
that startled Aletta, and put up about ten more, which could be seen
winging their way, far and near, adding their alarmed cacklings to his.
Something had scared the bird--something or somebody. Who could it be?
Aletta's face flushed. Was it Adrian back again? He had been there
that morning and had ridden off, very moody and sullen. Had he thought
better of it and returned? Was it Adrian--or--And then the flush which
had spread over her cheeks and throat deepened, and her eyes shone with
a glad light, for there was a hoof-stroke or two hard by--on this side,
not on the opposite bank where she had expected the new-comer, whoever
it might be, first to show, and then the identity of the latter was
exactly as she could have wished.
"I am in luck's way this morning," said Colvin, dismounting. "Are you
indulging in a solitary meditation, Miss De la Rey?"
She answered in the affirmative. The while he had taken in at a glance
the whole picture: the tall, graceful figure against the background of
trees, the lighting up of the hazel eyes, the flush of colour which
rendered the face, framed within an ample white "kapje," wonderfully
soft and winning, as its owner stood, with her head thrown ever so
slightly back, there before him. Something or other--perhaps it was the
"kapje" she was wearing--recalled to his mind a somewhat similar meeting
in which May Wenlock constituted the other party to the transaction;
but, if so, it was only to think what a long time ago that seemed, and
what a change had come into and over his life since.
Then, as her glance fell upon his horse, and some birds dangling from
the saddle:
"Why, you have been shooting already. Tell me, do you even go to bed
with a cartridge-belt on? How many birds have you got?"
"Brace of partridges and two koorhaan. One is a _vaal_ koorhaan, and a
fine one too. It took an astonishingly long shot to bring him down. I
could have brought along a blekbok, but thought I'd let him go."
"Why?"
"Oh, I didn't want the bother of loading him up--and the rest of it. He
got up right under Punch's feet just after I turned into the gate of the
third camp. It was impossible to have missed him, for Punch is as
steady as a rock. So he stood, or rather ran, reprieved. No. I
couldn't be bothered with him to-day."
"Why--to-day?"
But with the words she dropped her eyes. Was it before something in his
glance? Immediately, however, she raised them again and met his fully,
bravely.
"Listen, Aletta. I have something to tell you, and it strikes me first
as a splendid augury that I should have found you like this all alone.
It is of no use beating about the bush, but--give me your hand, dear,
then perhaps I shall be able to tell you better."
Without removing her eyes from his, she put forth her hand. Augury
Number 2, he thought, as the long, soft tapering fingers slipped into
his. She, for her part, thought how firm, and tender, and speaking was
that gaze which she met; and it was of a piece with the manner. No
exuberant over-confidence which would have jarred, none of the
self-effacing, stuttering diffidence, which would have sapped ever so
little, even if but momentarily, the high estimation in which she held
this man. Could she herself be as self-possessed?
"I love you, darling," he said. "I have come over this morning on
purpose to tell you so. We have not known each other very long, but I
have learnt to love you as I never thought it possible to love. Have
you not seen it?"
"I don't know," she whispered. But the hand that was within his seemed
to close around it with a perceptible pressure.
"Listen now, Aletta"; and there was a softened tenderness about the mere
sounding of her name that sent a thrill of delight through her whole
being. "I am rather a weather-worn hulk, I fear some people might say,
for you in your sweet, bright youth to condemn yourself to go through
life with. Yet, if you could bring yourself to face that ordeal, I
believe we should make each other very happy. Tell me, now, do you
think you can bring yourself to face it--to love an old fogey like me?"
Her eyes answered him. They had never left his, and now the love-light
that beamed from them was not to be mistaken.
"Yes, Colvin," she said softly. "I think I can. But--don't call
yourself names." And with the words she was gathered to him while they
exchanged their first kiss. "Can I love you?" she murmured unsteadily,
yielding in his embrace. "Can I love you, did you say? Can I help it?
My darling one, you are made to be loved," she uttered, in a very
abandonment of passionate tenderness. "But I--why should you love me--
you who have seen so much of the world? I am so inexperienced, so
ignorant. I am not even decent-looking. How can I ever make you
happy?"
"Ignorant? Inexperienced? My Aletta, you would more than hold your own
anywhere--perhaps will some day," he added, as though to himself. "Not
even decent-looking!" he echoed banteringly, and, holding her from him
at arm's length, he affected to scan her up and down. "No. No
presence, no grace, supremely awkward--hands like the sails of a
fishing-smack."
"There, that will do," laughed the girl, giving him a playful tap with
one of the libelled hands, a hand which would have served as a model in
a sculpture of Iseult of Brittany. "You are only _beginning_ to sum up
my imperfections, and I am frightened already. No, really; I feel
hardly inclined for a joke even. I am far, far too happy."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Kwaa-kwak-kwak! Kwaa-kwak-kwak!"
Both started, then laughed. The old koorhaan, first disturbed across
the river bed, was returning, as though some instinct notified him that
the fell destroyer was harmless to-day. Right overhead he came, an easy
twenty-five yards' shot. Instinctively Colvin reached for the gun,
which he had rested against an adjoining bush; but as quickly he
recovered himself.
"We'll grant the old squawker an amnesty to-day," he said with a laugh.
"I don't think I could have missed that shot either."
"Kwaa-kwak-kwak! Kwaa-kwak-kwak!" yelled the bird, as, hovering for a
moment, it dropped down among the thorns on the very spot whence it had
been first roused. Then they talked on, those two, happy in the
happiness which cannot often come in a lifetime--happy in the golden
sunshine and the glowing summer of their lives--happy amid the rejoicing
surroundings of Nature, in their vastness and peace and calm. Yet, away
there to the North--what? The gathering cloud, black as night, sweeping
down, steadily, surely--whirled along on the spreading demon-wings of
war--the cloud which, bursting into lurid thunders, should overwhelm all
with its blasting breath in a vortex of hideous hate and red slaughter,
and woe and destitution. No; for the contemplation of this they had no
mind.
Suddenly Aletta gave a start, uttering a little cry of consternation.
"There's the dinner-bell, and you haven't even off-saddled. How late we
shall be!"
"We shall, rather. But what does it matter? Good Lord, though, how the
last hour has flown?"
Was it a suspicion born of the fact that these two shared a momentous
secret that made them think Stephanus exchanged more than one
significant glance with his wife while they sat at dinner? He began to
talk about his nephew Adrian. The latter never came near them now. He
had changed entirely, and seemed to have run patriotism mad. Moreover,
he had taken to associating with certain Boers of a particularly low and
disreputable type, such as Hermanus Delport, Gideon Roux, and others.
The while Condaas and Andrina were kicking each other under the table,
and Aletta was feeling supremely uncomfortable. Then the worthy
Stephanus, suddenly becoming aware that he was romping gaily over mined
ground, abruptly changed the subject.
But thereafter was surprise in store for him, when Colvin took him aside
and imparted the events of the morning. Stephanus was delighted, and an
additional fact, not at present to be divulged, which the other imparted
to him, did not lessen his satisfaction.
"_Maagtig_! Colvin. You are a _slim kerel_," he cried, shaking his
son-in-law-elect warmly by the hand. "Why, you have kept it dark
between you. Well, I don't know anybody I would rather give my little
girl to. Besides, she is almost English in her ways. But, say; it
seems a strange thing that you, with ample means to live where you like,
should prefer to bury yourself in an out-of-the-way place like this. Of
course, for us who are born to it, why it's different. We couldn't get
on anywhere else."
"Oh, I like the life, Stephanus. Since I have known Aletta, I have
liked it more. By the way, I am under no sort of a cloud at home, if
that is what you are thinking about. I could go and set up in London
to-morrow if I wanted."
"I was not thinking otherwise, _ou' maat_," said Stephanus heartily.
"Let us go in and tell the wife."
Mrs De la Rey gave both of them a good-humoured scolding. She ought to
have been told first, not Stephanus. Girls belonged first of all to
their mother. She, too, was delighted. But the cream of the joke came
when they broke the news to old Tant' Plessis.
"Colvin going to marry Aletta?" cried the latter sharply. "What
nonsense are you telling me, Gertruida? Why, Colvin is going to marry
Wenlock's sister. She is the only English girl here, and he is the only
Englishman, so of course he is going to marry her. I have heard
Mynheer--no, I mean everybody--say so."
"But it isn't true, Tanta, I tell you," explained Mrs De la Rey. "It
is Aletta--our Aletta."
"Aletta?" ejaculated the old woman, upon whom it began to dawn.
"Aletta! _Oh, mijn Vaterland_! Why, he is nearly old enough to be her
father!"
"That's a nasty one!" whispered Colvin to Stephanus, who was nearly
losing his life in his superhuman efforts to repress a great roar. It
was too much for Andrina and Condaas, who at the other end of the room
were pretending to work. They precipitately fled, and, in a moment,
splutters and squeals, muffled by a closed door, became faintly audible
to those who remained. Aletta had made herself scarce long before.
"Nearly old enough to be her father, and an Englishman!" repeated Tant'
Plessis, wagging her head. "An Englishman! _Oh, goeije_! Was not one
of her father's people good enough for her? There, Gertruida. See what
comes of sending her among the English to learn their ways. She comes
home, and wants to marry an Englishman."
The air, half of horror, half of resignation, wherewith the old woman
uttered these words was irresistibly comic.
"Well, Tanta, he isn't a bad sort of an Englishman, as Englishmen go,"
cut in Stephanus, winking the while at his wife. "Besides, remember
whom he is descended from, and shake hands and congratulate him,"
shoving Colvin forward as he spoke.
"_Ja_, that is true," replied Tant' Plessis, somewhat mollified. "After
all, his grandfather was the great and good Calvinus. Well, nephew,
follow in his footsteps, and you will be happy. But--Aletta! _Oh, mijn
lieve Heer_! who would have thought it--Aletta!"