The clouds were parting and revealing patches of blue through their
rifts as Claverton reached home, and with the returning sunshine his
spirits revived. It was going to be a lovely day, and he would have
Lilian all to himself for two whole hours that morning, for he was to
take her over to Thirlestane, Naylor's place, and return with the rest
of the party in the afternoon.
It was just breakfast-time, and Lilian entered at the same time as
himself. Her face looked worn and anxious, as if not much sleep had
fallen to her lot, and though he would have cut off his right hand to
spare her the lightest anxiety, yet he could not feel guiltless of a
sense of consolation that she should have sorrowed with him and for him.
The voice of Mr Brathwaite recalled him to himself with a start.
"Well, Arthur; where did you go this morning?"
"Down to Umgiswe's."
"Was his count all right?"
"Yes. Which is extraordinary, seeing that he had been entertaining
visitors," and he narrated the presence there of the three strange
Kafirs.
"Did you find out the big fellow's name?" asked Mr Brathwaite.
"Yes. It was Nxabahlana. Do you know him? He looked as if he held the
right of succession to the paramount chieftainship of Kafirland."
"Nxabahlana? Oh, yes, I know him," replied the old man. "He's a kind
of sub-chief, and a relation of Sandili's. One of the greatest
blackguards that ever stepped. Good thing you turned them out; they
were up to no good, that much is certain."
"A chief!" exclaimed Lilian, raising her eyes, "I _should_ like to see a
real Kafir chief."
"Would you?" said Claverton. "I wish I had known that; you should have
seen him. I'd have brought him here."
The others laughed, thinking he was joking, but Lilian knew that he
meant it, every word.
"Ah, but," she said in a repentant tone, "you couldn't have captured
him, there were three of them; at least I mean--it would not have been
worth the risk."
Claverton laughed quietly.
"No such severe measures would have been necessary. If I had promised
his chieftainship a glass of grog and an old hat, he would have come
trundling up here with an alacrity that would surprise you."
"Really? That quite takes away from the poetry of the idea. I thought
these savage chiefs were very proud."
"They are proud enough just as far as it suits them to be so--inasmuch
as they affect to look upon us as dust beneath their feet; but they will
condescend to accept anything we may think proper to give them, whether
it be a `tickey' (threepence) or a pair of old boots. In fact Jack
Kafir, of whatever degree, has the bump of acquisitiveness very highly
developed, I assure you. Hullo! who's this?"
For the door opened and a Dutchman entered--the same who witnessed poor
Allen's immersion at the taking out of the bees' nest. A good-humoured
grin was on his stolid countenance, which looked suggestively warm, and
perhaps not too clean, and his beady black eyes sparkled at the prospect
of a good feed. His corduroy trousers were tucked into a pair of top
boots, and a _sjambok_, or raw-hide whip, dangled from his wrist. Not
until he had gone all round, extending a limp, moist paw to each, did it
occur to him to remove his hat.
"_Autre pays, autre moeurs_," murmured Claverton in response to a
charming little grimace of amusement which Lilian flashed at him from
across the table, in reference to the new arrival.
A seat was found for the Dutchman, and a well-garnished plate, and being
provided with a knife and fork he began to make voracious play with the
same. Then having removed the edge of a very exuberant appetite, he
raised his head from the platter and waxed talkative.
"Oom Walter is well?"
"Ja. Pretty so so."
"And Mrs Brathwaite?"
"Also."
"_Det is goed_," and then having given a like satisfactory account of
his _vrouw_ and _kinders_ the Boer informed them that he was on his way
to Thirlestane, with the object of purchasing some oxen from Naylor.
"Claverton's going over there this morning," said Mr Brathwaite,
unthinkingly. "You can go over with him."
"So," said the Dutchman with a nod of approval. "We will ride
together."
This didn't meet Claverton's wishes at all.
"I'm afraid not," he said. "Sticks is rather lame, and I shall have to
send for my other horse. They'll hardly find him till the afternoon--if
then. It won't be worth Botha's while to wait."
"No. I don't think it will," said good-natured Mrs Brathwaite, who had
taken in the situation at a glance. Lilian, not understanding the Boer
dialect, was an unconscious auditor of what was going on.
Breakfast over, the Dutchman sat for about half an hour outside, smoking
his pipe and talking over the usual subjects with his host--sheep,
ostriches, the state of the country, how much longer they could do
without rain, and so on. Then, saddling up his small, rough-looking
nag, he shook hands all round and departed, thoroughly content with
himself and all the world.
"What a queer fellow!" said Lilian, gazing after the awkward, receding
figure of their late guest, who, with his feet jammed to the heels in
the stirrups, was shuffling leisurely along, pipe in mouth.
"Yes, isn't he?" answered Claverton. "But he's a fair specimen of the
typical Boer. Washes three times a year, sleeps in his clothes, and
wears his hat in the house."
"Lilian, dear; hadn't you better get ready to start?" suggested Mrs
Brathwaite.
"I was just thinking the same," said Claverton; "but," he added, in a
lower tone, "I couldn't find it in my conscience to hasten even such a
temporary separation, and yet I was racked with apprehension lest some
other wayfarer should turn up and make a third."
She gave him a bright smile as she flitted indoors; then he, having got
into his riding-gear, went round to the stable and simply made Jan the
Hottentot groom's life a burden to him over the caparisoning of Lilian's
steed. This bit was too sharp--that too soft--those reins were too hard
for the hands--and what the devil did he mean by leaving those two
specks of rust on the stirrup-iron? Jan and his deputy--an
impish-looking little bushman--couldn't make it out at all; Baas
Clav'ton was usually so easy-going, and now here he was fidgeting worse
than the "sir" in the long boots (Allen).
Then Lilian came out, looking lovely in her well-fitting blue habit.
There was just a little air of timidity about her which was
inexpressibly charming, as Claverton put her into the saddle. She was
not a bold horsewoman, she confessed. She was ashamed to say that if
anything she was just a wee bit afraid every time she mounted a horse.
Nevertheless she sat beautifully, and the somewhat timid hand held the
reins as gracefully if not quite as firmly as that of any hard-riding
Amazon. To-day she was mounted on a handsome old bay horse of Mr
Brathwaite's, who carried his head well, had a firm, easy walk, and was
as safe as a church, while Claverton rode a dark chestnut just flecked
with white, a fine, spirited animal which he had bought to supplement
the faithful "Sticks," using the latter for the rougher kinds of work.
"Do you know, nothing but my unblushing mendacity kept that seedy
Dutchman from inflicting himself upon our ride?" remarked Claverton,
when they had started; and he told her of his little subterfuge.
"Shocking! You had no right to tell such a story," she answered, with a
laugh.
"Hadn't I? Which would have been best--the lie or the Dutchman? `Of
the two evils,' you know, and I thought the lie the least. Perhaps you
would have preferred the Dutchman?"
"No, I would not. But I think--well, I think--you did about the very
best thing you could have done," she replied, breaking into a silvery
laugh. "But don't take that as any encouragement to persevere in the
art. It's a dangerous one, and I believe you are quite an adept in it
already. In fact, I've heard you tell one or two shocking fibs myself."
"All's fair in love and war." Then noting the look which stole over her
face he wished the quotation unsaid. "But I promise you I won't indulge
in mendacity any more than I can help."
"You must not do it at all. Seriously, it isn't right."
"Except as a choice of evils. How would society get on without its
mendacities?"
"Never mind about society," retorted Lilian, brushing aside an
inconvenient argument in right womanly fashion. "And now promise you'll
do what I'm going to ask you."
"Oh, cheerfully."
"I'm going to set you a penance."
"Consider it performed. But what is it?"
"Well, the next time a choice of evils is offered you, you are to choose
the one which does not involve romancing."
"That must depend upon its nature."
"Oh, you promised!"
"So I did, and so did Herod, and look what came of it."
"Never mind about Herod," was the laughing reply. "I have got you at a
disadvantage, and I mean to keep you at it. Look, are not those Kafirs
picturesque, in their red blankets, filing through the dark green of the
bush?" she broke off, pointing out half-a-dozen ochre-painted beings who
were crossing the valley some distance from them. They were walking in
single file, and every now and then one would half stop and throw a
remark over his shoulder in a deep bass tone. Their necklaces of
jackals' teeth showed white against their red bodies, which glistened in
the sun, and as they marched along, head erect and with their kerries
over their shoulders, they certainly did look picturesque.
"Yes, and do you notice how clear the air is? I can make out nearly
every word those fellows are saying," answered Claverton.
"Can you really? What are they talking about?"
"What are they talking about? Now look at them. The noble savage on
his native heath, looking too, as if it actually did belong to him,
striding with free and independent bearing, proud and scornful in mien.
You think they are talking of war and tribal greatness, and the
extermination of the hated white man, and such-like lofty and ambitious
schemes? Nothing of the sort. One fellow is narrating how he got a
thorn in his right heel, and how badly his brother extracted it for him,
while three of the others are all trying to say at once what a fool the
brother was, and that they could have done it much better."
Lilian broke into a peal of laughter. "How absurd you are! You have
quite taken the poetry out of them, and now they look like a very
commonplace lot of beings. But is that really what they were saying?"
"It is, upon my word. To see a lot of Kafirs talking you would think
they were letting off a stream of oratory, what with all their
gesticulation and modulation of voice. In nine cases out of ten they
are discussing the veriest trivialities."
"I'm not sure that I'm glad I know that. It spoils the romance of the
thing. I shan't look at them with the same interest."
"You are given to idealisation, I see," he said. "It is a delightful
pastime, and I must not do anything to shock it. But, look! That, at
all events, is entirely free from the commonplace."
They had reached the brow of an eminence, and before them lay unfolded a
panorama which brought a flush of delight to Lilian's face. Upland and
valley lay sleeping in the golden sunshine, a rolling expanse of
verdure, now open and grassy, now covered with thick bush, or dotted
here and there with feathery mimosas. Wave upon wave of rise and swell,
there seemed no end to the wide beautiful plains; and the eye wandered
on, over and over it, drinking in a new delight in the far-seeing
vision, then turning to refresh itself in the grand mountain chain which
bounded its range in front. Stretching afar, in a hundred and fifty
miles of stately crescent, rose those lofty mountains with their sunny
slopes and beetling cliffs, and black forest-clad sides seen through the
dim uncertainty of the summer haze; while, towering above the rest, the
Great Winterberg raised his weather-beaten crest to the cloudless bine.
The thatch and white walls of a farmhouse or two, visible here and there
in the distance, redeemed the spectacle from the utter wildness of a
newly-trodden land, but on the other hand added to the peaceful
solemnity of the scene. Hard by, the air resounded with the low hum of
bees busily gathering their stores from the blossoming sprays of a
neighbouring clump of bush; spreuws whistled, and a dainty little
sugar-bird--the humming-bird of Southern Africa--flitted across the
path, his painted plumage glittering in the sun. Down in the valley two
or three pairs of blue cranes roamed about picking in the grass, and
every now and then their strange rasping note floated not unmelodiously
through the calm.
Lilian, in her intense love of the beautiful, could not restrain a cry
of delight as she gazed upon the splendid panorama before them. The
exhilarating exercise and the warm balminess of the air had brought the
loveliest flush into her clear olive cheeks, and as she sat there
lightly reining in her horse, while the sweet eyes sparkled and dilated
and a witching smile carved the usually sad mouth, her companion thought
he had never seen such a picture in his life.
"A lovely background with a lovelier central figure," he murmured.
"Look at it well," he added. "Take it all in thoroughly, now; it will
never look the same again. Nothing ever strikes us as it does the first
time."