Christmas has come and gone, bringing with it, contrary to expectation,
peace instead of a sword. The dreaded outbreak, by some inexplicable
turn of events, has been averted, and instead of deluging the land in
blood, and scattering rain and desolation broadcast, the tribes are, in
their own expressive idiom, "sitting still," and the frontier is at
peace.
No one can tell exactly how this welcome turn in the tide of affairs
came about. Whether it was that the different sections of the Amaxosa
race distrusted each other, suspicion being a leading trait in the
savage character, and were unable to coalesce; or that they deemed the
time not yet come when they could venture to strike a blow with any hope
of success; or whether the counsels of the peace-loving party in the
nation--the older men, who had everything to lose and nothing to gain by
war, and who, moreover, had learnt by sad experience of former
struggles, the futility of embarking in such undertakings--prevailed, no
one can say for certain. Some contended that with the prospect of such
a thriving good season before them, the Kafirs could not afford to throw
it away, for the recent rains had made the land to blossom like a rose.
Anyhow, the natives were tilling their mealie gardens, and the more
well-to-do of them were laying out cash in the purchase of ploughs and
other agricultural implements, which certainly did not point in the
direction of hostilities. Christmas was past, and once well over
Christmas without an outbreak, there was no fear of war this year, at
any rate. So said the old frontiersmen, and they ought to know.
Anyhow, at that moment, the tribes within and beyond the colonial border
were more quiet and settled than they had been for some years past.
Stock-stealing had decreased with a rapidity bordering on the
miraculous, and daring outrages, which a month ago had been waxing
alarmingly common, were now absolutely unknown.
So peace reigned, and with it its twin blessing, plenty. In the gardens
the trees groaned beneath their weighted branches; yellow apricots, with
a warm red flush through their golden skin as they turned lovingly
towards the sun; velvety peaches, rosy-cheeked and fragrant, dragged
down the branches, or lay scattered upon the earth in lavish profusion.
Up among the purple figs, the spreuws were having a rare good time, but
nobody grudged even those mischievous birds their share, for was there
not abundance for all? And the long green pears hanging on the drooping
boughs, which swept as in a natural harbour round the wooden seat at the
foot of the tree, what a luscious refection they promised in two or
three weeks' time, when they should have felt a little more sun, to
those who would avail themselves of that cool, shady retreat!
In the fold, as in the lands, plenty reigned. The flocks and herds were
fat and well-liking, for the grass was abundant and good; and,
strengthened by the sweet and nutritious pasturage, the animals remained
free alike from the ravages of disease or tick, and the better able to
stand against the attacks of those insidious foes, that they were in
excellent condition and likely so to remain; for, as if in compensation
for the widespread havoc it had wrought, the great flood, besides
washing away many impurities, both in noxious herb and insect, had
thoroughly permeated the long parched-up soil, softening it to a depth
of many feet. It had done more than this, for it had broken up the long
continuation of settled drought; and periodical showers, soft and
penetrating, had fallen from time to time since, so that the land had
lost its brown, sun-baked aspect, and lay everywhere green and well
watered, luxuriously reposing in the rich, generous glow of the Southern
summer.
And now we shall transport the reader to a deep wooded valley, similar
to many of those already described, though it would be hard to find one
to equal it. It is a romantic and beautiful spot. At the upper end is
a deep pool, some thirty yards across, and pear-shaped. Into this, when
there is a rush of water in the stream, falls a really magnificent
cascade; when there is not, well--there is the rock, perpendicular,
black and shining, a film of water silvering down it to plunge into the
pool beneath with a pleasant, cool tinkle. As you stand facing the
cascade or its lofty wall of shining rock, on the left hand, starting
sheer out of the depths of the pool, is a mighty cliff, rising up in
rugged tiers or ledges--which afford root-hold to a profusion of mosses
and trailing plants, with here and there an aloe--to a height of two
hundred feet. Just below the exit of the pool these natural terraces
all culminate in a jutting angle of the cliff, which protrudes, sharp
and awful in its unbroken perpendicularity. On the right hand is also a
cliff, but it stands back, leaving a slope of forest trees and bush
between it and the water's edge. The exit from the basin discloses a
lovely view--with the jutting cliff, above mentioned, as a foreground--
of the valley, whose wooded slopes, undulating in spurs, either
culminate in a precipice, or cleave the blue sky with a line of feathery
tree-tops.
But to-day there is not a rush of water in the stream above, though
there is enough to fall into the pool with a resounding plunge, and to
carry off a clear, sparkling stream at the pointed end of the
pear-shape. The cascade is not in force; if it were, the merry party
gathered around its base would be constrained to put up with some less
inviting resting-place, for it would fill all the hollow with a cloud of
showery spray--thick, penetrating as rain. The place is in an outlying
corner of Jim Brathwaite's farm, and, sure enough, there sits jovial Jim
himself, in a shady corner beneath the rock, his legs dangling over the
water, a pipe in his mouth, and in his hand a fishing-rod. Other pipes
and other fishing-rods surround the water-hole, "the fool at the other
end" of each staring stolidly and apathetically at the water or watching
his float with a despairing eagerness begotten of hope deferred,
according to temperament. But the fish are either replete and
satisfied, or cursed with the wiliness characteristic of their species,
for not a float shows any sign of agitation. One rod, indeed, is
submerged even to the second joint, while its manipulator, George
Garrett--a stolid-looking youth of twenty-one--is occupied lying on his
back upon a ledge of rock blowing rings of tobacco smoke skyward, and no
one seems very keen on the sport. A line of blue smoke, curling beneath
the cliff on the more open side of the pool, betokens "camp."
It may as well be stated that the gathering is nominally a fishing
picnic. I say, nominally, for no one is idiotic enough to suppose for a
moment that the _fishing_ part of it will turn out aught but the veriest
farce, for the day is hot and cloudless, and the still depths of the
water are glassy and translucent.
"I say, but this is deuced exciting work," cried Jim, who had not had a
bite the whole morning, a misfortune wherein he was not alone. "Let's
knock off."
"That's right, Jim, always fall back on my advice," said Ethel, who was
seated near him, likewise trying to fish. "I suggested that an hour
ago."
"You? I like that. Why, it was you who said we didn't deserve our
dinner unless we caught it."
"Did I? Well, I very soon recanted," laughed she, throwing down her rod
with a yawn. "We are getting sleepy over this, and that's the
preliminary stage to getting quarrelsome, you know. So let's go and see
what the others are about."
"W-wait a bit," stuttered Allen, eagerly. "I've got a bite."
He had. Suddenly, after one or two violent bobs, his float
disappeared--down, down--far into the depths.
"Hallo, Allen, you've got a whale on there, at least," cried Jim. "Hold
on to him and be ready to cut the line before he lugs you in."
Allen's hands trembled with excitement, and he could hardly work his
tackle for fear of losing the prize, as he felt the series of jerks and
tugs as if something powerful was kicking at the end. At last he
succeeded in bringing it to the surface. It was a huge eel.
But the next thing was to land his capture. For Allen, with infinite
difficulty, had succeeded in making his way round the rock-bound sides
of the pool to a narrow ledge, whereon he now stood. There was just
standing-room, but only just, and the eel, as it leaped and squirmed on
the narrow ledge, soon made it evident that there was not room for
itself and its captor too. Once it fell back into the water and Allen,
losing his balance, nearly followed; but the tackle was good and he
succeeded in landing it again. Finally he managed to get his heel upon
it and end its writhings by a process of semi-decapitation, but, oh,
Heavens! His jack-boots on which he had that morning bestowed an extra
amount of care and blacking, were profusely defiled by contact with the
slimy reptile as it twisted over them in its death-throes, leaving
trails and trails of slime upon their polished surface.
"I say, Allen, you'll be wanting to catch another eel after that, I
should think," cried Jim, while Ethel, whom Allen's silent expression of
hopeless woe had convulsed, was nearly choking in her efforts to stifle
her laughter.
It became necessary to rive a line through the eel and haul it across
the water, as all its captor's efforts were needed to ensure himself a
safe return along the slippery face of the cliff. But he was downcast
and subdued, and the good-natured chaff that fell to his lot as the only
successful angler, was bitter to him.
"Well, Jim," said his father, as the fishing contingent returned to the
halting-place. "Caught anything?"
"No. At least Allen has. Caught enough for the lot of us put together.
A regular young python. Look here," and he produced the eel.
"My! that is a big 'un," cried old Garrett, who was sitting in the shade
with Mr Brathwaite, and talking over old times. "I say, you're a lucky
feller, Allen. We ought to 'ave a drop o' grog over this."
Mr Brathwaite's eye twinkled as he heard this characteristic remark,
and he turned to say something to Jim as a pretext for not hearing it.
He shrewdly suspected that his old friend and companion-in-arms would
have quite as much grog on board as he could carry before the day was
out, and he didn't want him to get "cumbersome" too early. He had had
more than one "tot" already.
A dozen yards off, on the other side of the glade, talking to Mrs
Brathwaite, sat Lilian Strange; and the rich, sweet tones were well in
keeping with the languorous beauty of the spot as she now and then
raised her head from some crewel-work she had brought with her, to tell
some little joke to the old lady. She was in cool white and looking
lovelier than ever, for the fresh, healthy air had acted with tonic
result, and she hardly knew herself, so thoroughly bracing had been its
effect upon her. And she had been happy here, too--yes, happy; putting
both past and future resolutely away from her--and happiness and
contentment is a better restorative than all the tonics or bracing
climes in the world.
Claverton was away with the rest of the party, roaming about the kloof.
She had asked him, as a special favour, to go with them, not feeling
equal to a walk herself in the morning, as it was rather hot. And she
must not monopolise him, she said, with a witching little smile. He
must do his duty, and then, perhaps--no one knew what might happen in
the afternoon. He had complied, as he took occasion to tell her, as he
would have complied with any wish of hers however difficult, and
irrespective of that veiled half-promise; to which latter, however, he
intended holding her, and lived in anticipation on the thought. But it
must be admitted that his presence among the exploring party did not, on
the whole, constitute an adjunct of cheerfulness, though now and again,
by an effort, he would make them laugh. And he persisted in piloting
them to places involving a toilsome climb, ostensibly to descant on the
view; but in his heart of hearts, hoping that the point of vantage would
command the camp--where haply his eye might catch the gleam of a white
dress against the foliage. Whereby it is manifest that, other points in
his favour notwithstanding, Claverton was, after all, a consummate ass.
"Well, Miss Strange," cried Jim, "how do you like this sort of thing?
Has mother been taking care of you, or have you been taking care of her?
Why, you look as cool as if we were not in a sort of natural oven."
"I don't know about the oven," replied Lilian. "I know that this is a
delightful place, and falling water always makes a current of air. But
I do feel somewhat guilty, sitting lazily here while every one else is
on the move."
"_We've_ been taking it rather easy, too. Fishing, you know, is
proverbially a lazy amusement."
"Is it? Anyhow, I have been pitying all of you poor creatures broiling
in the sun, looking at the water."
"Ho, ho! Broiling in the sun?" laughed Jim. "Why, you should just have
seen that fellow George, for instance, lying on his back in the shadiest
corner of the place, blowing clouds, and his rod nearly at the bottom of
the water?"
The youth named grinned shyly and looked sheepish.
"How about going to look after the others?" suggested Jim, ever
energetic and anxious to be moving. "Do you feel inclined to venture,
Miss Strange, or would you rather stay here?"
Now the fact was, Lilian had become a little tired of sitting still, and
the proposal was rather a welcome one. She would fain have strolled
away under the cool shade of the trees, but she had resisted her lover's
longing entreaty to make one of the former party, on the ground of
wishing to rest, and now he would come back and find her away with Jim
and the others, and perhaps be hurt. No; he should not. If she could
not give him all he asked--namely, herself--at any rate she would show
an unselfish regard for his feelings in everything else. It was a poor
consolation, but this she could do, no matter what it cost herself; and
this was only one out of a hundred little instances of the kind, all of
which Claverton had seen, and, seeing, could have worshipped her. And
yet, would it not make their parting a hundredfold more bitter when it
came?
So unhesitatingly she answered: "I think I'll stop here just at
present."
"That's right, Lilian," said Mrs Brathwaite. "I'm sure you oughtn't to
go scrambling about all day. It'll be much better for you to wait till
this afternoon, dear, when it's a little cooler."
"Well, I shall go," cried Jim. "Come along, you fellows. Ethel, you'll
come?"
"No, I won't."
"What? Well, I didn't think you'd be so lazy!"
"Thank you, Mr Brathwaite," said Lilian, with a quiet little laugh.
"That's one at me."
"Oh, no; really not. It's different with you, you see, and--and--Hang
it! I'd better clear out of this; it's getting too warm for me," cried
Jim, in mock helplessness.
"Well, I think you had," laughed his mother. And he and young Garrett
wandered off.
Soon the ramblers began to drop in, hot and tired, but in high spirits.
Luncheon was ready laid out.
"Oh, Ethel, you ought to have come with us! It's lovely down there!"
cried Gertie Wray, who, with Armitage, was the first to arrive.
"Yes? What _have_ you been doing to yourself?"
Following the direction of her glance, Gertie put both hands to her hat.
Her mischief-loving cavalier had amused himself by sticking the ends of
several pieces of long grass into it, and these were standing out a yard
above her head, nodding like plumes. There was a laugh at her expense.
"Oh, you horrid tease!" she cried, crushing them up and throwing them at
him.
"What? Why, 'pon my word it wasn't me! I didn't do it; it was
Claverton."
"Was it?" repeated she, indignantly. "It was you. Mr Claverton never
plays practical jokes, and you--"
"Oh!--h'm!--ah! I say--awfully sorry! Didn't know, really--have put my
foot in it--must be more careful," cried the mischievous dog, in tones
of mock consternation.
"You're a perfect horror!" cried Gertie, laughing, and blushing
furiously. "I declare I'll never speak to you again?"
"And was that Claverton, too?" tranquilly asked the owner of the
patronymic in question. For Jessie Garrett, who had also been with
Armitage and Gertie, now arrived on the scene--having lingered behind a
little--similarly adorned.
"What a mischievous fellow he is!" cried Jim's wife, who had just come
up. "We ought to make him go without his dinner."
"Or duck him--he deserves ducking," put in Jessie Garrett. "Mr
Claverton; can't some of you duck him?"
"Too hot for any such violent exertion," replied Claverton,
nonchalantly, as he turned away, and sat down on the ground by the side
of Lilian Strange, while old Garrett was heard to remark that "young
fellers would 'ave their fun."
"Do you know, I'm a shocking bad waiter," he observed. "I invariably
upset everything--cut over a wing of chicken into somebody's lap, or
pour a tumbler full of liquid down their back, or shoot some one
opposite bang in the eye with a soda-water cork."
"But to-day you won't do any of these things," laughed Lilian. "And you
seem to have taken care of me pretty well."
"Have I? As a rule, on these occasions, I skulk in the background, and
pretend not to know that people have begun to feed. Then, when they are
well under weigh, some motherly soul spots me, and makes a descent upon
me, singing out: `Why, I declare, you haven't got anything. Do come and
have some of this and of that, and so on;' and I find myself looked
after as if I was the prodigal calf--prodigal son. I mean--same thing.
Thus the public back is saved from a baptism of soda-water, and I from
making an ass of myself, and every one's happy."
"Don't be so utterly absurd," said Lilian, laughing as if she could
never stop.
"Here, I say, what's the joke over there, Claverton?" cried Armitage.
"Roll it down this end."
"I was only telling Miss Strange about you tumbling into the puddle
yonder, Jack," answered he.
"Did he? When? How? Do tell us, Mr Claverton," cried Gertie Wray.
"Oh, hang it, that's not fair," growled he most concerned.
"Well, he and Hicks went fishing here one Sunday. They were told that
only naughty little boys went fishing on Sunday; but anyhow they went,
and so were bound to come to grief, and come to grief they did--at least
one of them did. The other was spared that he might take warning by it.
Friend Jack, finding it slow, I suppose, lay down on that first flat
rock and went to sleep, and--_presto_!--he found himself floundering in
deep water."
"You weren't there," retorted Jack.
"_No_; else you would not have been here to-day, for I should have
deserved well of the State by leaving you in the deep. But the story
goes that Hicks was so immensely tickled by the circumstance as to be
unable for some time to render any help to poor Jack, who in consequence
was nearly drowned, for the rock is perpendicular, and high out of the
water, as you see. My impression is, that Hicks, likewise, wae in the
land of Nod; but if so, no historian was present to record the fact."
There was a laugh all round at Armitage's expense, and amid the clatter
of knives and forks, and the popping of corks, conversation and chaff
waxed high.
"By the way, did any one go up to the cave?" asked Mr Brathwaite,
suddenly.
"No, I think not," replied Hicks. While others inquired: "What cave?"
"Why, the cave up yonder. It's a regular Bushman's cave. A lot of them
used to live there; but the Dutchmen, who owned the place just below,
polished off the last of them. That was during the '46 war. Some of
their bones are there still, I believe; but it's a long time since I've
been into it."
"That sounds interesting, but rather ghastly," said Lilian. "But why
were they killed? Did they join the Kafirs in the war?"
"No. The Kafirs hated them almost more than the Boers did. But they're
mischievous little devils, you see. One scratch of their poisoned
arrows, and it was all up with you."
"Where is the place?" asked Claverton.
"Just a little way down the bend, there," pointing to the jutting wall
of cliff. "There's a path leading up to it--a sort of cattle track--you
ought to go and look at it. And there are a lot of regular Bushman
drawings in the rock, which are rather curious things if you haven't
seen them before. Take Miss Strange up to see them, she might like to
make sketches of them."
For Lilian was an adept in the art of water-colour drawing, and had
already portrayed much of the wild bush scenery in the neighbourhood,
which had never before been reduced to paper.
"That would be so nice," she said. "I've brought my drawing things with
me, too."
"Claverton, old feller," cried old Garrett. "We 'aven't 'ad a glass
together all day; let's have one now."
"All right."
"That's it. Better late than never. 'Ere's my respects," cried the old
chap, nodding; his rubicund countenance aglow with geniality--and grog.
"I suppose, Miss Strange," he went on, turning to Lilian, "you'd never
'ave thought we could get up such a pleasant little picnic in these
out-of-the-way parts, would you?"
"Well, yes, I think I should, Mr Garrett," she replied.
"Aha, yes. I dare say 'e's bin putting you up to the ropes," went on
the old fellow, leering and winking at Claverton, and speaking in a tone
which he thought was the perfection of genial banter; but which made its
object wildly long to shy a bottle at his head. Ordinarily he looked
upon old Garrett with a kind of amused contempt; but to be made the butt
of his muzzy jests, that was quite another thing. So, completely
ignoring him, he drew Lilian's attention to an effect of light and shade
high above them on the cliff opposite.
"Now we'll make for the cave," he said, as, feeding operations over,
pipes began to appear.
"Yes. I'll get my drawing things," answered Lilian, rising.
"Are you going up to the cave?" said Miss Smithson, a pretty,
fair-haired girl, who lived in the neighbourhood and whom they saw a
good deal of. "That'll be delightful--I should so like to see it. Mr
Gough, will you come, too; there are some beautiful ferns up there?"
Gough assented, while Claverton inwardly anathematised poor Lucy
Smithson, little thinking how unjustly, for she was really going out of
her way to render him a service.
The four started. No one else seemed inclined to embark in the
undertaking, having had enough knocking about at present, they said; old
Garrett adding: "We old fogies don't feel up to climbing, so we'll just
sit and 'ave a nice comfortable chat and a smoke."
"And a big drink," added Claverton, cynically, to his companion. "What
an infliction that old fool can become!"
"He is rather overpowering," assented Lilian. "Who can the old fellow
have been?"
"A bricklayer, most likely, or a clodhopper of some sort. These fellows
save a little coin, or make a lucky venture at the Diamond Fields, and
buy a farm, and then, there they are. There's precious little class
distinction here."
"I suppose so. But as the country gets more thickly settled, that'll
all come."
"Yes. You see, in the old times when all these older men had to rough
it together, and were dependent on each other for mutual help and
defence, it was the smartest fellow who was made most of, irrespective
of social grade. And these bricklayer chaps and journeymen were always
in request, and could not only command high wages at any time, but
didn't care what they did, so they made their pile quickly enough. In a
few generations most of the class distinctions of the old country will
prevail here, as education and the importation of educated people grows.
As it is, the rising generation, if you notice, is better educated than
its parents, and in many instances undisguisedly looks down on its
grandparents."
"Yes, I've noticed that," said Lilian. "And my predilection generally
lies with the old people, who, if somewhat uncultured, are kindness
itself."
"And their very roughness makes them the fittest people to open up a new
colony," went on Claverton. "Now look at that scowling fellow
Jeffreys--how weary I am of his eternal scowl, by the way. Well, his
grandfather would hardly have been taken on as valet to Mr Brathwaite's
father in the old country, and yet here the Jeffreys mix with us as
equals, and are among the most well-to-do people anywhere about. Isn't
this shade delightful?"
For they were walking beneath a growth of massive yellow-wood trees,
whose great twisted limbs overhead shut out the sunlight, though here
and there it struggled through and lay in a golden network on the
ground. Masses of lichen festooned from trunk and bough, and monkey
ropes and trailers of every description hung here straight and
cord-like, there tangled together in the most hopeless confusion. A
gloom lay beneath the shadowing trees, but it was the softened gloom of
a cathedral aisle; and the column-like trunks, firm and massive, stood
in rows along the coarse of the stream which bubbled along--now in
little clear pools, now brawling over a stony shallow.
"Yes, perfectly sweet," answered Lilian.
"Then, like all things to which that description applies, it isn't to
last, for here we turn upward."
A ragged track, half path, half water-course, diverged from the stream,
leading up the bush-covered hillside, steep as a flight of steps.
"Wait a minute," called out Lucy Smithson, who was overtaking them. "I
don't think I'll go up after all. It's turned out so hot, and here we
leave the shade. Do you mind, Mr Gough?" she added to her companion.
"But don't let me keep you from going, I can easily go back alone. It
isn't far."
This was out of the question, and she knew it. The fact being that the
whole move was a little ruse on her part with the object of befriending
Claverton and Lilian, in a way covering their retreat, so as not to make
it quite so conspicuous. Who knew, thought the good-natured girl, but
that this very afternoon might decide the future of those two? So she
had laid her little plan.
Gough, who had his own reasons for wanting to rejoin the others,
professed that turning back was the very course he should have thought
advisable, so with a conventional word or two of regret, they separated.
"Now one can breathe again," exclaimed Claverton, in a tone of relief.
"I don't know," laughed his companion; "climbing a flight of very steep
steps is likely to put one out of breath. And it's awfully steep here."
"It is rather," he answered, taking her arm to help her up the rough
bush path, which was, in truth, like a flight of stairs. "But you'll go
wild with delight when we get to the top, I expect. It's just one of
those views you revel in. And," he added, tenderly, "this is the first
time I have had you all to myself to-day."
"I thought I should have ridden this morning," she said.
"Were you sorry you didn't?"
"They said it was too far for me to ride," she went on as if not hearing
his question. Then, looking suddenly at him: "Yes, I was sorry; but--"
Claverton's heart gave a bound. Was this anything to augur from, after
all? No. Lilian was not as most girls.
"But what?" he asked, eagerly. "Nothing," and the expression of her
face was grave and troubled.
Of late she had been a prey to sad misgivings; at times she felt as if
she had been playing a deceitful and unworthy part. She had let this
man go on thinking she was learning to care for him--for she was sure
that he did think so--knowing the while that she could never be anything
to him; and now the time of her stay was drawing very near its close,
and she must explain to him that the fact of having given him so much of
her society, and sought his confidence, and shown her unmistakable
esteem for him, was only her side to the compact which they had ratified
that evening under the stars, and that they must part as they had met--
strangers, or what to him would seem but little less cold--friends only.
Yet she had been very happy with him, happier even than she dared own
to herself. And now she must explain all this, and what would he think
of her? Would he hate her? Would his powerful, all-in-all love change
to bitter contempt? Ah! there lay the sting. But, no! She felt that
he was different somehow to other men. He would understand perhaps, and
pity her, and even not withdraw his love. She could not bear the
thought of losing that--and she was so lonely. Yes; she would explain;
this very day, she had made up her mind as to that. But when she tried
to begin she had stopped short, and when he would have had her continue,
had answered "Nothing."
Claverton did not urge her. He respected her sudden reticence, as he
respected her every word, her lightest look. He, too, had his own
thoughts to occupy him. With the shadow of her approaching departure
lying upon his mind, deepening day by day as the time drew on, he was
fast relapsing into the state of restless despondency to which he had
been a prey before he tempted his fate so futilely. The wave of
reckless happiness into which he had unquestioningly plunged, with
nearly two months of Lilian's society before him, had rolled on, leaving
him even worse than before. He would cast the dice again; but,
instinctively, he felt that this time the throw would be fatal. Should
he do it to-day? The opportunity was a rarely favourable one. But, no!
He would not mar the recollection of this one golden day, one of the
few last they would spend together.
So in silence they continued the ascent, every now and then pausing to
rest and look back. At length the arching trees overhead gave way, and
a wall of rock rose in front.
"We are nearly there now," said Claverton, leading the way along beneath
the rock. "This is our way."
"Oh, look!"
There was a rustle among the bushes, as a buck, which had been lying in
the sun at the base of the cliff, sprang up and plunged into the cover,
where they could hear it bounding away down the hill.
"How pretty! I've never seen one so close before--at least, not alive,"
she went on. "I could see its eyes quite plainly; but how it startled
me!" she added, with a laugh.
"All the unwonted eights that you do see are always when you are with
me," said Claverton, with a pleased smile. "But here we are at last.
One more staircase, though."
They stood before a yawning fissure falling back so as to make a natural
staircase to the brow of the cliff. Nearly a hundred feet above, queer
jagged pinnacles stood one above the other all up the sides of the
gully, at whose entrance rose a great perpendicular tower of rock, with
a huge boulder resting fantastically upon its summit. A tiny thread of
water trickled down a well-worn channel, and from every cornice and
cranny trailed a profusion of the most delicate maiden-hair ferns.
Lilian was enchanted. While pausing for a moment to rest, she dipped
her hands into some clear water gathered in its little stony basin. In
the act of withdrawing them, a ring slipped from one of her fingers and
fell to the bottom of the water. It was a curious ring, consisting of
two ropes of solid gold twisted together. Her companion fished it out,
and, as he returned it to her, he noticed that she was deathly pale.
But he made no remark, only glanced in the opposite direction for a
moment, in order to give her time to recover her self-possession. Yet
he connected the circumstance with her former lapses of hesitation and
restraint. In silence they resumed their way, and at length gained a
wide ledge at the other end of which was the cave. It seemed of some
depth, being wider and loftier at the month, narrowing thence into
darkness.
"Wait, let me go in first and explore," he went on, as a matter of
precaution holding ready in his pocket the small revolver which had been
his constant companion since Mopela's attempt on his life. Then
striking a match he was about to advance.
"What's that?" exclaimed Lilian. But he had seen it as soon as she had,
and placed himself in front of her. It was a human skull, standing on a
ledge of rock about breast-high, and the eyeless sockets and white teeth
looked ghastly enough, grinning at them dimly through the darkness. In
an instant he had laid hold of it and jerked it away out of the cave
down into the bush beneath.
"What was it?" she repeated.
"Only a stone. A rolling one, like yours truly. I don't suppose it has
stopped yet."
He was glad she had not seen the hideous thing, and lighting another
match he peered cautiously around, lest there should be a second skull.
There was, but it was lying on the ground with the face turned away from
them, and Lilian took it for a stone. There would have been to her
something horribly ghastly in these grisly death's-heads, lying there in
that gloomy cavern, just faintly visible by the flickering light of the
match he carried.
"That's all right," he said, as they returned to the light. "I didn't
much think we should find anything very terrific, but it's as well to
look. Sometimes a snake takes up his quarters in a place like this."
"What's this?" cried she, as something crackled beneath her feet.
"Oh, some of those old bones the _Baas_ was telling us about. I don't
suppose there's much left of them now, five-and-twenty years after."
Lilian shuddered slightly.
"Let's get into the air again," she said. "This place is rather
awesome."
"Very well. But look, here are the Bushman drawings."
The walls of the cavern were plentifully adorned with hieroglyphics--
rude figures of men and animals--worked into the smoother parts of the
rock with a kind of blue dye. Here and there the surface had been
smoothed away to admit of the barbarous frescoes.
"They are very queer," said Lilian, "but candidly I am just a little
disappointed in them. I thought they were much more artistically done."
"Yes, I always think people make more fuss about them than they are
worth. They are sorry attempts after all."
"I think I shall make a sketch of the kloof, bringing in that great
jutting cliff. What a pity it just hides the waterfall!" continued she.
He undid her basket and got out her drawing materials. Then they
discovered that the little portable water-tin was empty.
"I'll get you some from down there in half a minute," he said, starting
to his feet.
"But--but--I don't quite like being left alone here," she said,
hesitatingly, casting an apprehensive look backward at the gloomy cave.
Claverton stopped.
"Then we must go together," he said. "As far as the end of the ledge,
anyhow. Then I shall have you in sight while I scramble down the
rocks."
"What a helpless creature I am!" she exclaimed, with a sad little smile.
"I wouldn't have you otherwise for all the world," replied he, tenderly;
and they started on their quest. Swinging himself over the ledge he
filled the little vessel from the trickle of water in the gully, and was
with her again in a minute.
"Now," he went on, arranging a large flat stone as a seat for her, just
in the shade of the cavern's month. "Now, you must make the most of the
time, and knock up an adequate representation of the scene, and I
believe I shall have the cheek to ask you to copy it again for me," and
he threw himself down on the rock beside her.
"Don't sit there in the sun," said she. "And I shall tire you out,
keeping you tied here by the hour. It would be much more amusing to you
to be away with the others."
Claverton indulged in a long, quiet laugh. "That idea strikes me as
something too rich. Tire me out! When I have been longing the whole
day to be with you, and with you only and alone. When I could sit here
for ever and ever only to be by your side and to see you and to hear the
music of your voice, darling. I never want a better heaven than this--
than this one--here, at this moment," he went on, with a burst of
passionate abandonment as different from his ordinary self-control of
speech as the beautiful scene before them was from a Lincolnshire fen.
Lilian made no reply, but bent her head rather lower over her drawing,
and her fingers trembled ever so slightly. Clouds of spreuws flitted
among the crags opposite, their shrill whistle echoing melodiously from
rock to rock. Bright-eyed little conies sat up peering warily around
for a moment, and then scampering into their holes among the stones and
ledges; and a large bird of prey circled slowly overhead uttering a loud
rasping cry, then soared away over the valley. Beneath, the forest lay
sleeping in the lustrous sunlight, and now and again from its cool
recess would be upborne the soft note of a hoopoe.
Lilian worked on, neither of them speaking much. Claverton, for his
part, was content to lounge there, as he had said, for ever, so that
only he might watch that graceful white figure--bending over the
sketch-block--and the delicate patrician profile, the fringed eyelid
opening wide as she kept looking up from the paper to take in the scene.
The sound of his own voice had a tendency to break the charm, so he
kept silence. And thus the time wore on, till at last the sketch was
finished, and Lilian, laying down the block to dry, rose to her feet.
"There," she said; "I think we must be going."
Her companion's countenance fell. "Not yet. Look. You haven't filled
in that tuft of aloes on the krantz, and there's more shading wanted
here."
She laughed. "I can fill that in at home. And the shading's quite
right, really. Do you know how long we have been here?"
"I know how long we haven't been here--half long enough."
"Two hours and a quarter. We must really be going. They'll be
wondering what has become of us."
"Really not. They won't trouble their heads about us. A little longer.
Heaven knows when I shall get you all to myself like this again," he
pleaded. "And--Why, Lilian--darling--what is it?" For she had suddenly
grown very white.
"You are tired," he went on. "The heat and the climb have been too much
for you. What a ruffian I was to have made you come! But it's shady
and cool here, let's wait a little longer; the rest will do you good."
"No, I am not tired; but we will wait a little longer. I--I have
something to say to you, and this is a good opportunity of saying it."
"Yes. What is it?"
"Do you remember our compact?" she went on, with a sort of shiver, and
speaking in a dead, mechanical voice. "Have you forgotten it--that
night by the water? I had no right to bind you to such a one-sided
agreement. It was not fair to you. I only thought of myself, and it
was selfish of me--sinfully selfish--to ask you to consent to such a
thing."
"Selfish! You selfish? Well, what next?"
There was silence for a moment. Before--beneath them lay the beautiful
valley, its abrupt slopes and iron-bound krantzes soft in the golden
sunshine. A couple of crimson-winged louris flitted among the tree-tops
beneath, and the hum of insects floated up with a faint and far-away
sound. Behind--above them yawned the gloomy cave, those whited relics
of primeval barbarism lying silent and ghastly on the shadowed floor,
the sole witnesses of this conflict of love in all its heart-wrung
hopelessness. What a mocking irony of circumstances is that which has
caused such a scene in the drama of civilisation--civilisation in its
highest and most refined phase, to be enacted here in this savage spot,
where lie the dead bones of the most degraded of the human race.
"Yes, selfish. I valued your society, your friendship, so much, I could
not bear to lose it. I was afraid you would leave me, then and there;
and, oh! I have never known what real chivalrous sympathy was till I
met you, and I have needed it so. Yet I might have known what would be
the result of tasking you to the utmost of your strength--beyond it,
rather. Well, our compact," she went on, in an altered voice, as if
nerving herself for an effort. "You have not kept to it. You must not
talk to me as you have been doing lately--to-day even. You must not--"
She turned half away; she felt faint and sick at heart and dared not
look at him. What would he say to her? Suddenly something struck her
on the shoulder, just behind the neck. The concussion was of the nature
of a blow, rather quick than violent. She turned upon her companion,
lost in a kind of scared wonder.
He had sprang to his feet and was shaking something from his hand. It
fell on the ground, and he stamped upon it and crushed it.
"What is that?" she asked, glancing from the ground to his face, which
was growing very white.
"Only entomology," he replied. "Look at it."
A huge red scorpion lay on the ground, where he had trodden upon it. It
died hard, however, and though half-crashed it lay writhing and darting
out its formidable sting in its rage.
"In half a second it would have been on your neck; it was going there as
fast as it could crawl when I picked it off," he said.
"Has it stung you? Of course it has," she cried, her rich voice
vibrating with concern. "Why, Arthur," she went on, all in a glow of
admiration; "do you mean to say that you snatched that dreadful creature
off me with your bare hand?"
It was the first time she had ever called him "Arthur," and for a moment
he almost forgot the furious pain of the sting.
"Just that. I'd lay hold of the devil himself under far less
provocation, I assure you. It was the only way of getting it off quick
enough. By Jingo, it hurts, though. Look away for a moment, I'm going
to slash it."
Opening his knife, which was keen and sharp as a razor, he drew its
blade across the wound in a couple of deep gashes. The blood spurted
freely, and he ground his teeth in the convulsive anguish caused by the
venomous brute's sting, which seemed to go through his whole frame.
Then he applied his lips to the wound and sucked.
"Good thing it missed that large vein," he said. For he had been just
in time to seize the creature and crush it up in his fingers, during
which process it had whipped up its tail and stung him twice just round
the back of the hand. "Oh, I shall be all right, but we'd better get
back. The Baas sometimes carries a bottle of Croft's Tincture. That'll
put it right in no time," continued he, with rather a ghastly smile.
For the sting of a scorpion is terribly painful; indeed, unless a remedy
is at hand the sufferer will undergo the most acute agony. The sting of
the Apocalyptical locusts has been well compared.
"Yes, yes. Let us be going," she said, hurriedly. "Is it dreadfully
painful?"
"I hardly feel it when I look into your eyes, darling. And your very
voice has a soothing effect."
She had just been taking him to task for talking to her in this strain,
regardless of their compact, but how could she upbraid him now--when he
was in this terrible pain--and all for her? Suddenly he reeled giddily,
and his face became even more livid; and the perspiration stood in beads
upon his forehead. An awful fear gripped her heart. All the grim
stories she had heard of deaths from stings and snakebites crowded up.
If this were to prove fatal and he were to die at her feet, having laid
down his life for her! At this moment she knew her own heart if she had
never done so before. Further self-disguise was useless. This incident
had swept away the veil.
"Ah, why did you do it?" cried she, in tones of thrilling anguish. "I
would sooner it had stung me a hundred times! You can hardly walk!
Lean on me. See! I am not such a weak support, after all."
She had passed her arm through his, and, for the moment, felt as strong
and determined as even he could have been. All thoughts of prudence and
conventionality were scattered to the winds in her awful apprehension.
He was suffering horribly--it might be, even, that his life was in
danger.
"Why, how childishly weak I am!" said he, with another forced smile.
"The thing can't hurt so much, after all; hang it, it can't!"
But it did. There was no getting rid of that fact, try as he might to
ignore it. Thus they made their way back.
"Look, now, I mustn't make a crutch of you any more. We shall be coming
upon the others directly," said Claverton, as they drew near to the
halting-place.
"I don't care if we do," she replied, fearlessly.
"But I care; and I'm not going to let you do what you might regret
afterwards," rejoined he, sadly, remembering the burden of their
conversation at the time of the occurrence.
"Ah, why did you do it?" she repeated. And by that time they were in
sight and earshot of the rest of the party.
"Hallo, Arthur! What's up?" asked Mr Brathwaite, noticing his unwonted
aspect.
"Nothing much; only a sting. Got any Croft's Tincture?"
"Is it a snake?" inquired the old man, with more alarm in his voice than
he intended to betray.
"No; a scorpion."
The while Mr Brathwaite had been uncorking a small bottle. "Lucky I
didn't change my coat at the last moment this morning. I was as nearly
as possible doing so, and this would have been left behind if I had,
sure as fate. Now, let's have a look at it."
An infusion of the healing fluid was applied, and soon the sufferer
began to feel perceptibly relieved. The throbbing became less violent,
and, although much swollen already, the hand grew no larger. Old
Garrett stood by, watching the doctoring process, lecturing the while,
his theme the deterioration from its ancestry of the rising generation.
"There," he was saying, "I'll be bound that none of you young fellers
'ave any of that stuff with you--and what would you 'ave done without
it? We old stagers is always ready for any emergence," (his auditors
presumed he meant emergency)--"always ready. All there, sir; all
there?"
"Have you got any of it yourself?" asked the patient, catting him short.
"'Ave I? Well, let's see. No, I 'aven't to-day, but I generally 'ave."
"Oh!" said the patient, significantly.
"There, you'll do now," said Mr Brathwaite, tying up the hand with a
handkerchief. "It'll hurt a little for a time, but the swelling will
soon go down. But how did it happen?"
"The scorpion was on my shoulder, and Mr Claverton snatched it off with
his bare hand," answered Lilian, quickly, in her clear tones.
"Awkwardly enough, too, as the result shows," rejoined Claverton. "By
the way, has Hicks slain anything? We heard him cannonading away down
the kloof like the Siege of Paris." He said this with the object of
changing the topic, and the statement was not strictly historical in
every particular.
"Ha, ha!" laughed Mr Brathwaite. "Hicks banging away, as usual. He
never will move without his gun. One thing, though, if he isn't
dangerous to beast, he isn't to man either. He's always careful
enough."
"I've sent for the horses," said Jim, who had just come up. "Hallo,
Claverton! What's the row with your hand?"
Then the story was raked up afresh, and all eyes were turned upon its
hero, which he hated, and looked around seeking a means of escape, when,
to his intense relief, a diversion occurred, in the shape of Hicks and
Allen dragging between them a huge bushbuck ram, which the former had
shot.
"Hicks to the fore. Hooray!" cried Armitage. "How much salt did you
lodge on its tail, old man?"
"Go to Bath, Jack. You're not the only fellow in the world who ever
shot anything," retorted Hicks, who was hot and testy. Then there was a
general laugh, and at length the jollity was cut short by the inexorable
hand of Time. The vehicles were in-spanned, for they must needs depart.
Those who were to ride were busy saddling up, and at length farewells
having been exchanged, all started on their respective ways, some
riding, some driving. Armitage declared that the last thing he saw of
old Garrett was that worthy balancing himself in his trap trying to draw
a cork, while his hopeful held the reins; but no one knew whether to
believe the statement or not. One thing, however, presumption was all
in favour of its veracity, so they gave the old toper the benefit of the
doubt--in the wrong direction.