LILIAN.

"There. I'm quite ready now. I'm so sorry if I have delayed you, and I

fear I have."

"Not at all. We are starting in very good time as it is, and have the

whole day before us."

The place is the drawing-room of an hotel in Grahamstown; the time,

rather early in the morning; and the first of the two speakers, a tall,

beautiful girl, who has just finished fastening together two or three

articles of light hand-baggage as the second enters to tell her that the

conveyance is all ready at the door. She wears a close-fitting dress of

cool white, which, though making her appear taller, sets off to the

fullest advantage a graceful, undulating figure. Waves of dark hair,

touched, as it were, with a glint of bronze, half conceal the smooth

brow, and the beautiful oval face, with its straight,

delicately-chiselled features, is most killingly and becomingly framed

in a large garden hat, lined with soft lace. The eyes are of that

difficult-to-determine hue which is best defined as green hazel, and a

sensitive curve about the lips imparts to the whole face a tinge of

melancholy when in repose. In fact, there is a trifle of coldness about

its normal expression. But when it lights up--when its owner smiles--as

she now does very sweetly upon him, who is to be her travelling

companion and escort throughout that day--then its charm becomes

dangerous, so inexpressibly captivating is it.

"_Is sweetly pretty, and has the loveliest eyes I ever saw_," had been

Mrs Brathwaite's dictum. And Claverton there and then mentally

acquitted the old lady of one jot of exaggeration as his glance rested

for the first time upon Lilian Strange when she entered the room

prepared for the journey--fresh, cool, and in all the composure of her

stately beauty. She greeted him perfectly naturally and unaffectedly,

and apologised for delay, real or imaginary, as we have seen.

He had called at the hotel the evening before, to deliver a note from

Mrs Brathwaite, and to inform Miss Strange in person about her journey.

In the latter object he was disappointed. Miss Strange sent down a

message, apologising for being unable to see him, on the ground of

fatigue. She would, however, be quite ready to start at the hour named.

And Claverton, beyond a slight curiosity to inspect one who would be

for a considerable time an inmate of the same household as himself,

didn't care one way or another. Miss Strange would be there all right

on the morrow, and he meanwhile would go and look up a friend at the

very poor attempt at a club which the city boasted.

He had expected to see a pretty girl, possibly a very pretty girl, but

nothing like this. As it has been said, he was not a susceptible man.

In point of fact, he rather looked down on the fair sex, a few

individual members of it excepted. Yet now, as he handed his charge

into the light buggy which stood waiting at the door, he was conscious

of an unwonted quickening of the pulse. Not then was he able to analyse

the subtle fascination of her beauty and of her manner, the

extraordinary charm of her voice--such a voice as it was, too; low,

rich, musical; the kind of voice that could not by any possibility have

belonged to a plain woman.

"Thanks; they are not in my way in the least," said that bewildering

voice as Claverton was making impossible efforts to move certain parcels

in the bottom of the trap--impossible, because of the very limited space

afforded by the confines of a buggy--at the same time keeping a firm

hand on the rather fresh pair of horses which were bowling down the

street at a fine pace. Early as it was, the streets were filling with

traffic; huge loads of wool on buck-waggons from up the country crawling

in behind their long spans of oxen; farmers' carts and buggies;

horsemen; and everywhere the inevitable native, male and female.

"The worst of it is that the bare fact of coming to the town entails

upon one multifold commissions, utterly regardless of space or carrying

power," he answered. "Look at those bundles, for instance. Not a third

of what I was to have fetched, and shall catch it for not bringing out."

Lilian laughed.

"Never mind. I'll bear witness in your favour. And now tell me, when

do we reach Seringa Vale?"

"Not before sundown. I'm afraid you'll be dreadfully done up. It's

very spirited of you to travel two days running like this. I wonder you

didn't allow yourself a day here to rest after coming up all the way

from Port Elizabeth yesterday."

"It was tiring, certainly. But I've had a good night's rest, and this

sort of travelling is quite luxurious after the passenger-cart. Is it

going to be very hot?"

"I'm afraid it'll be warm, but not dusty, which is something to be

thankful for. The heavy shower in the night has done that much for us.

Look! Grahamstown shows well from here."

A curve in the road brought the city into full view, lying beneath,

embowered in its bosky gardens.

"Yes. But I don't see anything to admire in these colonial towns. They

are not even picturesque. Frightfully dusty, oppressively hot, and

streets and buildings absolutely hideous."

"I agree with you. Look at this one, for instance. That mound of baked

clay, plastered up wet and left to dry, which we passed at starting and

which can hardly be distinguished now, doesn't look much like a

cathedral, does it? Yet it is. Then that fifth-rate mongrel Corn

Exchange you see--there--is the Eastern Districts Court, second temple

of Justice in the land. That square barn-like wool-store, beyond the

clay cathedral, is a Methodist chapel with a truly appalling front. It

is the prize barracoon of that connexion, and its habitues fondly

cherish the conviction that it is a second Milan. The building away

there against the hill is to be admired, isn't it? Built for a barrack

it remains a barrack, though it is now a public hospital. The town is

pretty, thanks to its situation and trees, but there isn't a

decent-looking building in it."

"I want to see something of the country," went on Lilian. "It ought to

be lovely, judging from what I saw of it coming along in the post-cart

yesterday. And I've seen nothing of it as yet."

"Here we are, then. What do you think of that?" said her companion, as,

having crested the hill which shut the city from view, he whipped up his

horses and they sped merrily along an elevated flat, dashing aside the

dewdrops which lay thickly studding the short grass like a field of

diamonds. The sun was not long up, and a white morning mist hung here

and there among the sprays of the bush, but overhead all was dazzling

blue. The view was extensive. Wooded ridges melted away afar in the

soft morning light, and in the distant background the crescent range of

the Great Winterberg rose purple and dim.

"Oh, but this is lovely!" cried Lilian. "Don't laugh at me, Mr

Claverton, but it is like drinking in new life after being pent up in a

dusty town."

"I'd rather be shot than laugh at you," he answered, with an earnestness

very unwonted in him. "I am only too glad you should find anything to

enjoy in what I feared would be to you a very tedious journey. Still

more glad am I that it has been my luck to escort you."

It was about the first genuine compliment he had ever paid to a woman in

his life, and yet he seemed totally unconscious of intending any

compliment at all. He could hardly take his glance off the beautiful,

animated face beside him. And how was it that this same escort duty had

fallen to his lot? When Lilian Strange found out at nearly the last

moment that the opportunity on which she relied of getting to Seringa

Vale had fallen through, Mr Brathwaite had made arrangements to go to

Grahamstown and fetch her himself. But a sharp attack of rheumatism

precluded this, and Hicks, who otherwise would have been told off on

this mission, and who had his own reasons for not wishing to be away

from home two days, easily prevailed on his friend to go instead of him.

On they sped, now ascending a hill at a foot's pace, now bowling briskly

down the next declivity, as the road wound over the rolling country. To

Lilian the journey, so far from being a tedious one, was wholly

delightful. She was vividly interested in everything. Even the little

meercats, which sat upright on their hind legs a few yards from the road

and then bolted into their burrows at the approach of the horses, came

in for a share of her notice and admiration. A solitary secretary bird,

stalking away down in the hollow, became the subject of numerous

inquiries, and she gazed with awe upon a cloud of great white vultures

soaring overhead bound for some defunct horse or sheep, appearing from

nowhere and disappearing as mysteriously. To the English girl, with her

keen love of Nature, even these insignificant representatives of wild

African animal life were full of interest.

They passed a large ostrich farm lying beneath them on the slope, and

she could hardly believe her companion's statement that the distant

black specks at the farther ends of their respective enclosures were as

formidable as the traditional mad bull, until a large troop of

ten-months-old ostriches, under charge of herds, swept past, and he drew

her attention to their size, and the strength of those long legs

terminating in a sharp, horny toe, capable of ripping a man up. But the

birds looked very handsome, very picturesque as they careered by, their

snowy plumes extended and waving, and she was delighted with the picture

they made, though her enjoyment was tempered with alarm as the horses

showed signs of restiveness. But Claverton reassured her, and the

ostriches and their keepers were soon left far behind.

"You live at Seringa Vale, do you not, Mr Claverton?"

"Well, yes; I do at present. I am jackarooing there, as they say in

Australia, which is to say that I am imbibing instruction in the craft

in consideration of my valuable services."

"And are you going to settle out here, then?"

"To settle! H'm! How do you know I wasn't born and bred out here?"

"I suppose because there's some sort of secret sign by which one

importation can detect another," answered Lilian. "I don't believe you

have been out here as long as I have."

"Do I look so thoroughly the `new chum,' then? Point out the

conspicuous sign of `rawness,' that I may at once eradicate it, if it is

worth eradicating, that is."

"No. I refuse to reveal my masonic sign," she answered, gaily; "but I

know I am right in my conjecture. I could tell the moment I saw you.

Am I not right? Now confess!"

"Yes and no. That is to say, it is only three months since I left

England this time; but before that I was out here in South Africa for

several years."

"Then I cannot claim seniority of standing, after all. Are there any

more `importations' at Seringa Vale?"

"Yes. Hicks. But he's so thoroughly acclimatised that he don't count.

You and I are exiles and sojourners in a far country. I foresee we

shall be talking British `shop' to a grievous extent," said Claverton,

not that he cared a rush about England, or had any great reason to, for

the matter of that, but it would establish an _entente_ with his

beautiful travelling companion, a something quite between themselves.

He was surprised to notice a wearied and even pained expression flit

across the lovely face, like the shadow of a cloud passing over the

bright smooth surface of a mountain lake.

"I don't know. I think I would rather forget all about England," she

replied, sadly. "It is a subject with no fascination for me. As I'm

here in this country I want to like it, and it is highly probable that I

shall, at any rate during the next two months. By-the-bye, what dear

old people Mr and Mrs Brathwaite are!"

"That they are," assented the other, heartily. And then for the life of

him he could not help subsiding into silence. She had a history, then.

She would fain forget the land of her birth. It was not wholly the

stern law of necessity that had banished her to a distant land to fight

the rough, hard battle of life. There was another cause, and glancing

at her as she sat beside him, Claverton thought he could in a measure

guess at the nature of that cause. His pulses were strangely stirred,

and even then he was conscious of a longing to comfort her, of a wild,

unreasoning resentment against some person unknown. Remarkable, wasn't

it, considering he had only seen her for the first time in his life that

morning, and that now it was still far short of midday?

But two persons of opposite sexes, both young, both goodly to look upon,

and under circumstances situated such as these two, will, I trow, find

it difficult to preserve silence for long--seated side by side in the

circumscribed space of a buggy. Lilian was the first to break it.

"What was that?" she asked, eagerly, as a loud resounding bark echoed

forth from the hillside above them.

"Only a baboon. Look, there he is--that black speck up there; and the

others are not far off."

They were driving through a wild and narrow pass. High overhead great

masses of rock cut the skyline in fantastic piles, castellated here,

riven there, and apparently about to crumble in pieces, and hurl

themselves down upon the road. Thick bush grew right down to the road

winding along the side of the hill, which here and there fell straight

away from it in rather an alarming and precipitous manner.

It was just at the most alarming of these places that a few puffs of

dust and a crack or two of a whip betokened the approach of waggons, and

the next moment the foremost of them appeared round a jutting corner of

rock. Claverton muttered an imprecation as he noted that the oxen were

without a leader, straggling across the very narrow road at their own

sweet will, and bearing down upon him and his charge a great deal faster

than he liked. The waggon, loaded sky high with wool bales, was still a

couple of hundred yards off, but the road from it to the buggy was a

brisk declivity; there seemed very insufficient brake on, and no sign of

any one in charge. One of two things was likely to happen: either the

buggy would be splintered into matchwood against the inner side of the

road, or hurled into perdition over the outer one, by the ponderous mass

now bearing down uncontrolled upon it. Claverton reined in his horses

and hallooed angrily.

An ugly, mud-coloured head rose from the apex of the pile; then

apparently subsided.

"Where's your `leader,' you _schepsel_?" he shouted in Dutch. "Get off

and stop your fore oxen, or, by God, I'll shoot them dead on the spot."

The situation was critical, it must be remembered. A sooty imp of a boy

glided to the front of the span, and succeeded in bringing them up just

in time. The huge, unwieldy machine rolled creaking past the buggy,

narrowly grazing it with the wool bales. The Hottentot driver raised

his ugly head and leered insolently.

"Hey, you, Engelschman! Don't you know how to pass a waggon yet?" he

shouted.

Quickly Claverton stood up, and by dint of a dexterous "flick," cut the

fellow with his driving-whip in such wise as to chip a weal of skin out

of his face, and then the pace of the passing vehicles carried him out

of reach.

The Hottentot yelled and cursed with rage and pain; but there was

something so threatening in Claverton's face and the sudden movement he

made as if to descend and make a further example of him that the fellow

thought better of it, and dropped the empty grog bottle which he had

been about to shy after the trap. He solaced himself, however, with a

shower of parting curses.

"Lord, Lord! To think that I should have to sit still and be cheeked by

a dirty drunken Tottie," said Claverton to himself yet aloud, as if

oblivious of his companion. Yet he had to. He could hardly drop the

reins and leave her there in the middle of an excessively narrow and

dangerous bit of road, with a pair of very fresh and somewhat restive

horses on hand, while he went to wreak further vengeance on the impudent

rascal whose carelessness might have been productive of a serious

catastrophe. He was handicapped altogether.

It was an earnest of real life. By himself, with only himself to think

of, he could take care of himself. In charge of another, would he not

have to swallow tons and tons over and above the traditional peck of

"matter in the wrong place" without a murmur? He would be handicapped

altogether. Philosopher as he was, it was hardly likely that such a

consideration should obtrude at this moment.

The other waggon was engineered by a couple of quiet-looking and civil

Kafirs, who gave them plenty of roadway and the good-morning as they

passed.

Claverton stole a glance at his companion's face. She had been not a

little startled, he could see that, yet she kept her composure, and the

fact pleased him. Most women under the circumstances would have let fly

exclamations of alarm, perhaps shrieked, possibly even might have

grabbed convulsively at the reins--that most blindly idiotic and utterly

exasperating phase of feminine scare upon wheels. This one, however,

only changed colour ever so little, but did and said nothing.

"Here we are at an `hotel,' as they call it in this country," he

remarked, pointing out a seedy-looking domicile, like unto a fifth-rate

Dutch farmhouse, which hove in sight before them. "We can either stop

there, or drive on a little farther and outspan in the _veldt_,

whichever you prefer."

"Oh, do let us outspan in the _veldt_," answered Lilian, gleefully.

"The drive is lovely, and a picnic in the middle of it will be quite the

right thing."

"Of course it will--or rather two picnics, for we shall have to outspan

again. Look, we don't lose much by giving that barracoon the go-by," he

went on, as they passed the edifice in question. "Goat chops very

tough, pumpkin and rice, and Cape sherry, are about the only items in

its bill of fare, I venture to predict."

"Horrible!" declared Lilian, with a laughing grimace.

They drove on a little farther, and halted in a beautiful spot, by a

pool of clear, but brackish water, thickly overhung with bush and

trailing plants, where Lilian was delighted with the colony of pendulous

finks' nests swaying to and fro as their startled occupants dashed in

and out, chirping volubly. Claverton took the horses to the water, then

knee-haltered and allowed them to roll while he placed on the ground one

of the couple of bundles of oat-hay which were carried in the buggy for

their benefit. Then he returned to his charge.

"I must apologise, Miss Strange. The rule of the _veldt_ is not that of

society. Here it is, `horses first.'"

He spread the wraps, which kind, thoughtful Mrs Brathwaite had sent for

Lilian's use, under a shady tree, making her a comfortable seat. Then

he unearthed the commissariat, of which the staple articles were a

chicken and a bottle of Moselle.

"But this is far too luxurious," protested Lilian, her beautiful face

sparkling with animation. She was thoroughly enjoying the

unconventionally of the whole thing. "I declare it does not seem like

camping in the bush if we are to revel in luxury."

"Take it easy while you can. That's the secret of true philosophy. The

goat chops and pumpkin and rice will come, all in good time."

She laughed gaily. Then she threw off her large straw hat, and pushed

up her dark hair as if to ease it of the weight. Not a detail of the

movement or its effect escaped her companion. He had not yet seen her

without her hat. It is surprising what a difference this outdoor

appendage makes in the appearance of some women. He noted, without

surprise, that Lilian Strange looked equally beautiful either way.

"Mr Claverton, why don't you smoke?" she asked, as, having lunched,

there was a dreamy pause in the conversation.

"I thought you might object. But--how do you know I indulge in the

chimney trick?"

"Object? No, I'm not so selfish as that. And as for how I knew, I

might answer all men do, but I won't. The fact is, you made a quite

unconscious and mechanical dive at your pocket, and brought out half a

pipe. I'll give you credit that the move _was_ quite unconscious."

"It was, upon my honour. What a magician you are--you notice

everything."

It has been stated that Lilian Strange possessed an extraordinarily

dangerous and captivating smile. She was in one of her softest moods

now, thoroughly enjoying the fresh air and wild, extensive scenery; and

the drive, the impromptu picnic _a deux_, and above all her late

emancipation from distasteful drudgery amid uncongenial surroundings,

and the prospect of two months' rest from the same. Then she had taken

a great liking to her travelling escort; short as had been the period of

their acquaintance. So that now as she lay back, laughing over the

quaint dryness of the said escort's remarks, it could not be but that

her winning and attractive spell should weave itself around him to the

full. This girl was something quite new in Claverton's experience. The

soft, sweet tones of her voice, her glorious beauty, her very ways and

movements, seemed to cast a glamour over him such as he had never known

before in the course of his life. Bright, teasing Ethel Brathwaite,

blue-eyed, sunny, impulsive, seemed poor clay when contrasted with this

new arrival with the lovely, expressive face and the undulating,

sensuous form--so stately and yet so unaffected and appreciative--so

cold of demeanour, at times, and withal so sweet and considerate. Yet

nineteen men out of twenty would have given the preference to Ethel; but

then it may be that this other one would have favoured the nineteen with

the coldness devoid of the consideration.

Be this as it may, Claverton was certainly the twentieth in both senses,

and, as they sat there, resting in the golden sunshine, the drowsy air

around them made musical by the whistling of spreuws and the hum of

summer insects, he, at any rate, found himself wishing that that hour

might last throughout an eternity.

And the curious part of it was that he had not known her for hours

enough to make a double figure.

But time cannot be trifled with, and they were due at Seringa Vale

before dark. So the horses were put to in a trice.

"Can't I help you in any way?" said Lilian. "It seems so hard that you

should have all the trouble while I sit still and look on."

"It's no trouble at all," answered the other, tugging vigorously at a

refractory strap. "I wouldn't let you bother about this sort of thing

for the world. In fact, I am only too glad that you are not tired to

death with the long, hot ride. And I think we'll put the hood up, for

there's no shade between this and the next outspan."

Now came the hottest stage of the journey. The full glare of the sun

focussed down into the broad valley, beat fiercely upon the tent of the

buggy, and, but for the rapid movement creating its own draught, there

was not a breath of air. Lilian began to feel drowsy and could have

pleaded guilty to an incipient headache, but she did not complain. Her

companion, however, detected the tired look in her eyes, and was greatly

concerned; but she laughed it off. She would be all right again when it

got cooler, she said. It was really very silly of her, but she was just

a trifle below par.

On this point he rather vehemently reassured her. Why, he himself often

felt as if about to get a sunstroke riding through these long, hot

valleys, just in the middle of the day--and he was a tolerably

well-seasoned traveller. But it is to be feared that, for once in his

life, he forgot to spare the horses in his anxiety to reach the end of

that stage.

Lilian, however, forgot her fatigue, as after the next outspan they

wended up the rugged, but picturesque bush-road, in the golden light of

the waning afternoon. They were in shade for the most part now, and the

air grew cooler as they ascended gradually out of the stifling valley,

where the river they had crossed a little while ago, flowed sparkling in

the sun like a silver thread. Opposite, a row of stiff euphorbia reared

their plumed heads, their stems, straight and regular as a line of

organ-pipes, standing out from the darksome, rocky glen behind them like

the bars of a gloomy cage enclosing some ferocious beast. There, a

great cliff, overhung with lichens and monkey ropes, starting

capriciously from among the greenness, and everywhere a shining sea of

bush; not silent, either, but resounding with evidence of animal and

insect life. Far away, almost inaudible, the harsh bark of the sentinel

baboon; close at hand, oppressive in its vociferation, the shrill

chirrup of crickets. Hoopoes were softly calling to each other from the

tangled recesses of some cool and shady nook; and a bright louri, in all

the pride of his crimson wings and glossy plumage, darted across the

road.

When they arrived at Seringa Vale, all its inmates were at the door to

welcome Lilian.

"I hope Arthur took great care of you, my dear," said Mrs Brathwaite,

the first genial greetings over.

"I have to thank Mr Claverton for taking the greatest possible care of

me," answered Lilian, flashing at him one of her sweetest smiles.

For a brief second their eyes met. One standing there noted both those

glances and read them like an open book--read in one, possibility; in

the other, certainty. And Ethel was forced to admit that her aunt's

description of their visitor's attractions was not one whit exaggerated.

And it had all come about in a single day.