"Delaying _me_? Good heavens!" is all the reply he can make just then.
Often in the time to come will he remember this day, this moment. Often
will he stand in imagination as he does now with one arm over the pommel
of his saddle, watching the radiant face of this girl in its almost
divine beauty, set in entranced contemplation of the glorious landscape
all gleaming with purple and gold in the flooding sunshine. And
remembering it he will feel as though he had lost Heaven. A dull,
gnawing pain tugs at his heart as a forecast of the future runs darkly
through him, but with a great effort he thrusts it aside; he will live
in the present, and sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.
"What are those, down there?" cried Lilian. "Bucks of some sort?"
"Yes. Springbok. There are a few on this side of the place."
Some two dozen of the graceful creatures were trotting leisurely along
on the slope below them. They were near enough for the dark stripe upon
their shining sides to be plainly discernible, as also the rings on
their black curved horns, as they kept turning their heads to gaze
inquiringly at their human observers.
"How pretty they are!" said Lilian. "We are seeing ever so many queer
things to-day, and this beautiful country. Do you know, I am thoroughly
enjoying this ride."
"Are you? I wish it might last for ever."
His face wears the same look of longing desperation which it wore in the
starlight, while they stood by the pool. Quickly the gladness fades
from hers as a light that has gone out. She thinks how selfish she is
to throw her joyousness at him thus, while his heart is aching for love
of her.
"Hush!" she says, in a low compassionate tone. "Remember our compact."
Claverton dare not trust himself to look at her. His eyes are fixed on
the hazy slopes of the far-off mountains, whose green and purple sides
he scarcely so much as sees. For some minutes neither speaks. Then
with a quick restless sigh he throws himself into the saddle.
"You are right," he says, huskily. "It is I who am weak; weak as water.
Only this once. I will not transgress again."
They resumed their way. The springboks, startled by the sudden move
forward, bounded off. On the brow of the rise, several of them began
leaping high into the air, with all four feet off the ground together,
and their bodies in the form of a semicircle. Being in relief against
the sky, the effect was not a little bizarre.
"What ridiculous creatures!" said Lilian, watching them. "I never saw
such contortions."
"Yes, they are vindicating their name," said her companion, tranquilly.
He had recovered his composure, and was thankful for this diversion.
Cresting the next ridge they came suddenly upon a couple of advancing
horsemen, heavy-faced, lumbering-looking fellows, their complexions
tanned to the colour of brickdust, and it needed but a glance at their
general untidiness, and seedy get-up, to pronounce upon their
nationality.
They stopped and shook hands with Claverton, doffing their greasy hats
to his companion, at sight of whom even their wooden countenances showed
signs of animation. A few commonplace questions and answers were
exchanged, then one of the Boers, glancing at Lilian, asked with the
freedom of speech customary among that delightfully primitive people:
"Is that your wife?"
He answered without moving a muscle, and enlightened them. They were
only ignorant brutes, he reasoned, half savages almost; yet just then,
the question had come upon him with a kind of shock. He was thankful
that Lilian had not understood the conversation.
"I really must learn Dutch," she said. "It isn't nearly such an
inviting tongue as the full melodious flow of the Kafir language; but
far more useful, I should think. Everybody seems to speak it."
"Yes, it's the regular go-between jargon here. Very few even of the
frontier people speak Kafir, and not one Kafir in five hundred can talk
English, hence the necessity of a go-between. Look! There's our
destination."
They had reached the brow of one of those long rolling undulations which
formed a leading feature in the landscape, and on the rise opposite
stood a large single-storeyed house, with an iron roof and deep
verandah. A block of out-buildings adjoined, and several spacious
enclosures sloped down into the hollow; but save for a few tall blue
gums overshadowing the house, the surroundings were destitute of trees.
"Ah, you've found your way over to us at last," said Emily Naylor, who
with Laura Brathwaite had come out on the stoep to meet Lilian. "So
glad to see you. Was it very hot, riding? You must be tired."
"Oh, no," answered Lilian, "the air was delightful, and the view--I
never saw anything so perfect;" and she turned to look again at the
wide, sweeping landscape stretching away in front.
"Yes; it's very pretty," said her hostess. "It is not so pretty here as
at Seringa Vale, because we have no trees, but the look-out is much
wider. But come inside and sit down, or shall we sit out here? You
must be tired after your ride."
"I'm not though, really. And you must not make me out an invalid,"
answered Lilian, with a smile. "I'm far from that."
"Then come and see the young ostriches."
Lilian readily assented, and the whole party moved thither accordingly.
"Well, Miss Laura, you're looking all the better for your change of air;
in fact, blooming," remarked Claverton, who was walking beside her. "By
the way, where's the twin?"
"Ethel? Oh, she's down at the ostrich enclosure, where we are going.
Mr Allen is there, too, and Will Jeffreys."
"_Alias_ Scowling Will. So he's here, is he?"
"Yes. But I can't return you the compliment you just paid me. You look
as if you had been up all night for a week," answered Laura, with a
spice of demure malice.
"Oh, don't make personal remarks; it's rude," murmured Claverton,
languidly.
"Ha--ha," struck in Naylor. "Claverton's been getting on the spree, I
expect, now that you two are not there to keep him in order. And now
here we are," he went on, as they arrived at an improvised yard some
twenty feet square, wherein a number of little oval-shaped woolly things
were running about. "They are strong little beggars, not a seedy one
among the lot."
They had not been long hatched, and as they scuttled about, stopping
occasionally to peck at the chopped lucerne strewn on the ground, they
were just the size and shape of the parent egg, plus legs and a neck.
Naylor picked one of them up.
"You'd never think that this little chap in less than a year's time
would be able to kick a fellow into the middle of next week, would you?"
he said, showing it to Lilian.
"No, indeed," replied she, stroking the little creature's glossy brown
neck, and passing her fingers through the thick coating of hair-like
feathers like the soft quills of the porcupine, which covered its back.
"What dear little things they are. They ought always to keep small."
"Oho!" laughed Naylor. "Bad look out for those who farm them, if they
did. You wouldn't get much for a plucking off this little beggar, for
instance."
"Of course I didn't mean that," she explained. "I meant that it was a
pity such pretty little things should grow up big, and ugly, and
vicious."
"It's a good thing sometimes that they are vicious," said Naylor. "It
keeps the niggers from going into the enclosures and stealing the eggs,
and even plucking the birds. They are taking to that already."
"Are they not too much afraid of them?"
"Not always. Look at those two black chaps in yonder camp. They are
four-year-old birds, and the nigger isn't born who'd go in and pluck
them. Look, you can see them both now," added Naylor, pointing out a
couple of black moving balls, many hundred yards off, in the middle of
their enclosures.
"It is all very interesting," exclaimed Lilian, half to herself, gazing
around. Far away on the sunlit plains a herd of cattle was lazily
moving; down by the dam in the hollow, whose glassy waters shone like
burnished silver in the midday heat, stood a few horses, recently turned
out of the kraal, swishing the flies with their tails, or scratching
each other's backs with their teeth, while in the ostrich "camps," whose
long, low walls ran up the slope, the great bipeds stalked majestically
about, pecking at the herbage on the ground, or, with head erect and
neck distended, looked and listened suspiciously, equally ready for a
feed of corn or for an intruder. All seemed to tell of peace, and
sunshine, and prosperity.
"How you must enjoy your life in this beautiful country!" she went on.
Naylor was hugely gratified. Subsequently he took occasion to remark to
his wife that Lilian Strange was the nicest and the most sensible girl
he had ever seen. "Why doesn't Claverton cut in for her?" added the
blunt, jovial fellow, in his free-and-easy way. "Then they could get
hold of one of these places round here. He's a fool if he doesn't." To
which his wife answered, with a provoking smile of superior knowledge,
that she supposed most people knew their own business best.
Now, however, he looked pleased. "Well, yes; we've been brought up in
it, you see, and shouldn't be happy in any other. But I should have
thought that you, coming out from England, would have found it rather
slow. Perhaps you haven't had time to, though, as yet."
"You mean that the novelty hasn't worn off yet? No more it has; but
even when it did, that would make but little difference. There is a
charm about this beautiful country, with its solitudes, its grand
mountains, and rolling plains, and wild associations, which, so far from
becoming tame, would grow upon one. And the climate, too, is perfect."
Naylor laughed diffidently. "Yes; but there's another side to that
picture. How about bad seasons, and drought, and war, and locusts, and
stock-lifting, and so on? It isn't all fun here on the frontier."
"Now, I won't be disenchanted," she retorted, with a bright smile. "You
must not try and spoil the picture I have drawn."
"Then I won't. Hallo, Ethel! We've been looking for you," he added,
turning as he, for the first time, discovered she had joined them.
"Here's Miss Strange prepared to swear by the frontier--in fact, she has
done so already."
"Yes?" said Ethel, coming forward to greet Lilian; and Claverton could
not help contrasting the two as they stood together: the one with her
soft, dark, winning beauty, the lovely eyes never losing for a moment
their serene composure; the other, bright, laughing, and golden, the
full red lips ever ready to curl in mischief-loving jest or mocking
retort, and hair like a rippling sunbeam. Yet nine men out of ten would
probably have awarded the palm to Ethel. "Yes?" she said, and, in her
heart of hearts, added, "and with her own reasons." She did not feel
very cordially towards Lilian just then.
"She says it's perfect, all round," went on Naylor--"a young Paradise."
"I don't know," said Ethel. "I shouldn't like to stay on the frontier
all the year round. One would miss the balls and theatre in Cape Town."
"Aha!" laughed Emily, "Ethel is still intent on slaughter. She made
such havoc last session; ever so many poor fellows threw themselves off
the cliffs on Table Mountain on her account; how many was it, Ethel--
twenty-five?--that she had to be spirited away in the night for fear of
the vengeance of their bereaved mammas."
"Call it fifty while you're about it," she answered. "How awfully hot
it has become!"
This served as a pretext for a move indoors, which was made accordingly.
"So you're all determined to go back this evening," said Naylor, as they
sat in the verandah after dinner.
"I think we must," answered Ethel; "aunt will think we are never coming
back."
Hicks, who at the other end of the verandah was "assisting" Laura to
play with the children--these having finished their morning's lessons,
had invaded the party--pricked up his ears and looked rueful in advance.
If they were persuaded to stay, he would have to go anyhow; but Ethel
was firm, and he breathed freely again.
"But, Claverton, you and Miss Strange might stop--to-night, at any
rate," persisted Naylor.
It was Ethel's turn to feel apprehensive. She had schooled herself into
accepting the situation, and accepting it patiently. The strife had
been a hard one, and she had suffered in it--suffered acutely, but she
had conquered. Yet the struggle had not been won in a moment, and it
had left its traces; but she seemed not to show them; she was a trifle
graver, and more subdued in manner, that was all. A few days ago she
had longed, with an intense longing, to get away--away from the sound of
his voice, from the glance of his eyes; yet now that it is a question as
to whether they shall return without him, her heart beats quick, and she
seems to hang upon the verdict which they are all discussing so calmly.
"I don't think we can to-day, Naylor," answered Claverton, a glance at
Lilian having satisfied him that she did not favour the scheme.
"But look here," Naylor was beginning, when his wife cut him short.
"Why shouldn't we inspan and go back with them, Ned? We can leave
Seringa Vale again before breakfast if you like, and there's something I
want to see mother about."
"All right, we'll do that. Don't you think Seringa Vale is rather a
good name for a place, Miss Strange?"
"Yes--so pretty," answered Lilian; "it's a poem in itself."
"How do you like Thirlestane?"
"I like it, too. Did you name it?"
"Yes," replied Naylor, "it's called after a small place my grandfather
had in England. Its original name is a Dutch one--_Uitkyk_, a look-out;
but Thirlestane's better than _Uitkyk_, isn't it?"
"Jack Armitage calls it `Oatcake' even to this day," put in Claverton.
Suddenly, a loud booming noise came from one of the enclosures. All
looked in that direction. The great ostrich was plainly visible, his
neck inflated to six times its size as he emitted his deep call,
volleying it out in heavy booms, three at a time.
"Fancy an ostrich making such a row as that! You wouldn't have thought
it possible, would you, Miss Strange?" said Gough, the tutor. He had
joined the party at dinner-time, when school was over.
"I don't think I should," answered Lilian. "The first time I heard it,
I was so frightened. It was at Seringa Vale. I was lying awake at
night, and this great booming sounded so awful in the dead of night. I
hadn't a notion what it was; the first thing I thought of was some wild
beast."
"A lion, I suppose," said Naylor.
"I think the whole of the Zoological Gardens ran through my vivid
imagination. How Mr Brathwaite laughed when I told him about it next
morning! Yet I was terribly frightened."
"No wonder," said Claverton. "It's a precious uncanny sort of row to
strike up in the middle of the night, especially when you don't know
where it comes from, or what it's all about."
It was now voted time to be getting the horses in. This served as a
signal for a general break-up, the masculine element of the party making
towards the stable, or the enclosure, where some manoeuvring was needed,
as we have seen, to obtain possession of the requisite steeds without
exciting the wrath of the autocratic biped who reigned there.
Claverton having, as before, submitted Lilian's steed and its gear to a
rigid examination, now whisking a speck of dust off the saddle, or
letting down a link of the curb-chain and readjusting it, assisted her
to mount.
"Wish that fool would go on," he muttered savagely, referring to Allen,
whose ancient screw was mooning along with a kind of crop-the-grass
gait. The rest of the party were on ahead. "He needn't wait for us,"
and flinging himself on his spirited chestnut he bade the groom let go
the reins. The fine animal tossed his head and sidled and champed his
bit as he felt himself free; free yet not free, for his rider was a
consummate horseman and had him perfectly in hand.
Lilian laughed. "Poor fellow," she said. "Do you know, I sometimes
feel so sorry for him. You all chaff him dreadfully and--Oh!"
The last exclamation is one of alarm, for at that moment a troop of
ostriches--young ten-month-old birds--having deserted its herd in one of
those stampedes to which these idiotic bipeds are so liable, whirls past
them, with wings outstretched and snowy plumes sparkling in the sun, and
Lilian's steed, which has not yet become quite accustomed to the
gigantic fowls, shows signs of restiveness.
"Don't be frightened--darling. You're quite safe," says her escort,
noting the scared look in her face, as the old horse tugs at his bridle
and snorts and plunges a little. "He'll be perfectly quiet in half a
minute."
He is so close beside her all the time, and speaks in such a reassuring
tone that her alarm subsides, and the old steed drops into his normal
steadiness as though half ashamed of himself.
"Are you not utterly disgusted with such a coward?" says she, with a
faint apologetic laugh. "I ought to have enjoyed the affair as a good
opportunity for showing off, oughtn't I?"
"One must show on before showing off. I wouldn't have you anything but
timid on board a horse for the world, except for your own sake. It
suits you to perfection."
He is in earnest. These oft-recurring little alarms of hers are so
captivating in their pure unaffectedness, so womanly; and, withal, the
sense of protection imparted to himself is delicious. And if she is at
times somewhat shrinking, as at present, even that lends an additional
attraction to her delicate refinement.
"Every one is not an Amazon, thank heaven," he continued, "and you will
soon be as much at home on horseback as in a chair. We will have a lot
of practice. Besides, you know, lately you have not been very well, and
that is calculated to unnerve you. We will do our best to set you up
thoroughly--while--you are here." He tried to speak firmly, but it was
of no use, that tell-tale tremor shook his voice over the last four
words, for they conjured up a picture of when she should be no longer
"here," and he dared not think of it. At present he would thrust the
thought far from him.
They had now overtaken Allen, and were obliged to shape the conversation
accordingly. "Shall we canter on a little?" suggested Claverton. "The
rest are a good way ahead."
Lilian acquiesced, and their steeds bounded along the grassy slopes at
an easy elastic canter, but Allen's sorry screw finding a difficulty in
keeping pace with the long stride of the well-bred horses, that
disconsolate youth soon dropped behind.
"Here is our panorama again," said Claverton, reining in on the top of
the hill, whence they had enjoyed the view that morning.
"It looks different already. This golden light sheds a rare
peacefulness--an evening repose--upon it, which is perfectly enchanting.
It is hard to determine, but of the two I think I preferred it this
morning. There was an exhilaration in the very air that made one feel
the pleasure of merely living."
"I liked it best this morning, too," he answered gravely. Then all the
day was before him--so many hours with _her_. Now they had come--never
to return.