Six years!
Who are these two men seated together in the verandah, as the afterglow
fades on the distant head of the Great Winterberg, at the close of this
radiant spring day? One has evidently just arrived, the other, equally
evidently is at home here, and it is six years since we saw either of
them. The house, a newly-built one, is situated with an eye to scenic
and climatic advantages, for it stands high up on the hillside, so as to
command a magnificent and sweeping panorama. Below, in the valley, a
silver thread winds in and out among the green bush, and on still
evenings the murmur of the plashing stream is audible up here. Opposite
the house, but its brow a little below the level of the same, rises a
majestic cliff, whose aspect somehow seems familiar; and well it may,
for it is no other than the classic and redoubted Spoek Krantz.
He who is now speaking looks remarkably like our old friend Arthur
Claverton. And he it is. Outwardly his hard and stirring experiences
have aged him beyond his years, leaving more than one grey intruder
among the gold-brown hair, although he is not quite forty; but his face
wears a look of great contentment, though the cool resolute firmness
stamped upon the clear-cut features is unchanged.
"I dare say it does strike you as rather queer, George," he was saying,
"that we should elect to cast our lot here in this land of niggers, and
drought, and bush-ticks, instead of taking it easy in old England. Old
England? Old Humbug! Well, the rural and squirearchic life didn't suit
me--didn't suit either of us, in fact. We tried it for five years,
which is time enough to test the advantages of anything of the kind.
Dynevard Chase is an uncommonly snug place; but, somehow, when one has
got accustomed to this country and its life, one doesn't take kindly to
England. Then, the climate is vile--gruesome winter eight months in the
year--sleet, and fog, and east wind only varied by rain. As for the
summer, it's a farce; about three weeks of fine weather throughout, and
even then the air is thin. Our neighbourhood could furnish no kindred
spirits; heavy parsons and their domineering and heavier spouses, and
upholsterers who have made their pile. The British rustic, too, is a
quite detestable animal and vastly inferior to Johnny Kafir, than whom
he lies harder and thieves more persistently, but does both with
infinitely greater clumsiness. So taking every drawback into
consideration, we decided to let the Chase for a term of years, and
pitch our tent out here again among all our old friends--and by Jove,
here we are."
"And a thundering good decision it wan, too, old chap," says Payne,
puffing out a great cloud of smoke.
"I think so. And now we are going to make ourselves thoroughly snug
here. We have got the house in a first-rate situation--plenty of air,
and a grand view. Poor old Jack Armitage! His shanty does duty as an
out-station now. You can almost see it from where we sit. And the
queer part of it is that, whereas formerly you couldn't get a Kafir to
stop on the place, now they don't seem to mind a hang. Whether it is
that we are farther away from the haunted cliff, or that I've set up a
reputation as an opposition wizard, I don't know; but, anyhow, they
don't funk it now, and I can get as many as ever I want."
"Well, you seem to have impressed them a bit, anyhow. Possibly the way
in which you predicted old Sandili's end and that of the rest of them
may have had something to with it. By Jove, though, that was a narrow
share for you."
The other looks grave.
"It was. Look, from where we are sitting you can almost see the place,
right away over there, where that wily dog Nxabahlana ran me to earth."
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And now in case the above conversation does not sufficiently explain
matters, it may briefly be stated that soon after we last saw her,
Lilian had inherited Dynevard Chase, and the whole of her stepfather's
personal property besides. Her stepsister, to whom passing reference
has been made, had died suddenly, having for long been delicate and
ailing, and Lilian under the provisions of Mr Dynevard's will found
herself sole heiress. But her delight on re-entering her old home was
not destined to last. In the first place the circumstances were
altered, and all the remembrances which had endeared it to her before,
were things of the past; and, more practical consideration still, her
health suffered from the rigours of the English winter so severely that
her removal to more genial climes became an absolute necessity. So they
had returned to South Africa to make their home among their old friends;
and being now in extremely good circumstances, not to say wealthy, that
home is surrounded with all the resources that taste and comfort can
devise. It is a lovely spot, and the bold and romantic scenery is
thoroughly congenial to Lilian's love of the beautiful, and she takes
great pride in being the possessor of a site famous in savage legend.
For they have bought Spoek Krantz, poor Jack Armitage's old farm, and in
the building of the handsome and commodious dwelling in which we see
them, and in the laying out of grounds, and otherwise improving the
place, both of them take an unwearied delight.
And if further explanation of the renewal of Ralph Truscott's suit be
needed, the above paragraph may afford it; for those who have mastered
that worthy's character will have learned, ere this, that it was not for
love alone that he had sought out Lilian. A word or two before we leave
Truscott. About a year after the war was over a Kafir brought to a
certain trading-post two curious rings, exactly alike, though of
different sizes. The design was two ropes of plain gold intertwined.
The native told a strange story, to the effect that these were taken
from the white man who had been shot at night. One of the rings the man
was wearing, the other was found lying beside him. The trinkets
disposed of--to the advantage of the trader--somehow or other the facts
of the duel began to be darkly hinted at. But that the dead man had met
his fate by the hand of the Queen's enemies and not by that of a
compatriot there was abundant proof. And, by a curious coincidence,
just at the same time it came to the knowledge of the other principal in
that midnight meeting that the man to whom poor Herbert Spalding owed
his blighted life and premature death was no other than Ralph Truscott,
whom thus, by a startling combination of events Nemesis overtook in a
twofold capacity and brought to signal grief, as we have seen.
The two old friends are not destined, however, to pursue their
conversation in peace, for now draws near a sound of childish voices,
then the patter of small feet scurrying round the corner of the
verandah, and, with a rush and a spring, a fine little fellow of five
years old flings himself into Claverton's arms.
"Hallo! Hallo, sir! What's this?" cries the latter, catching hold of
the youngster and perching him on his knee. "Well, now, what have you
got to say for yourself?"
"Father, I want to go with Sam and hunt a porcupine to-night. He says
we are sure to find two or three, and--"
"Does he? Well, we'll think about it. Isn't this chap a true Briton,
George? Bent on killing something, even from his very cradle." Payne
laughed.
But the boy is not to enjoy a monopoly of his father's attentions, for,
lo! a small toddler comes pattering up to put in her claim to the same,
and, finding that her brother has forestalled her, stands with one tiny
fist crammed into her eye, looking inclined to cry, while with the other
she makes a feeble attempt to dislodge the more fortunate one from his
vantage-ground.
"Hallo, Dots! And have you given the authorities the slip, too? Come
along, then. There, there, don't turn on the hose! Arcturus secundus,
get down, sir! Always give way to the ladies, because, if you don't,
they'll move heaven and earth till they find a way of making you.
That's right. Come along, Dottums." And he picks up the child, who
clings about his neck, and laughs and prattles away in her delight. She
is a lovely little thing, with Lilian's eyes and hair, and promises to
be an exact reproduction of Lilian herself.
"You chatterbox! Now you must be off to by-by. Cut along!"
But the little one is not at all inclined to fall in with this
suggestion, for she clings to his neck harder than ever.
"N-no. Fader, take Dots for ride--far as de `big points,'" she pleads.
"Off we go then," and mounting the little thing on his shoulder, where
she sits half timorously, half exulting in the unwonted altitude,
Claverton makes his way to the entrance hall. The said hall is a
perfect museum, being hung all over with trophies of war and of the
chase collected by its master during his wanderings. Here, the huge
frontlet of a buffalo scowls down upon the grinning jaws of a leopard,
whose crafty eyes in their turn glare thirstily towards the heads of
various antelopes, tastefully arranged opposite. Then there is a brave
show of armoury. Great savage-looking ox-hide shields, flanked by
circles of grim assegais, formidable knobkerries, and grotesque war
costumes of flowing hair and swinging cow-tails, combine to render this
trophy barbarous and picturesque in aspect. To the children, the
adornments of this hall are an unfailing subject of interest, not
unmixed with awe.
And now Claverton halts in front of the war-trophy for Dots to look at
"the big points," as she calls the assegais, and even gingerly to touch
them, for it is one of her little pleasures in life to be hoisted up on
her father's shoulder, as in the present instance, to inspect them
closely, when they look even more awful than from the far distance of
the floor. So, with a thrill of awe, little Dots' hand is put
tentatively forth, and the baby fingers play upon the cruel blades of
the grisly weapons and pass wonderingly down their dark, spidery hafts.
But nothing on earth will induce her to touch the ox-hide shields, which
she is convinced must be alive.
"There. Now then, Dots. By-by's the next thing."
So, reluctantly, and with a final hug, the little one resigns herself to
be carried off, _en route_ for the land of Nod, and Claverton,
relighting his pipe, rejoins his friend on the verandah, just as his
wife approaches from the garden at the same moment.
Time has dealt very kindly with Lilian. The soft, serene beauty of that
sweet face has not one whit abated its charm; and the attractiveness and
winning grace of her manner is just the same as it was in the Lilian
Strange of former days. Payne, as he responds to her greeting of
cordial surprise, thinks that, lucky dog as his friend always was, the
day he went to Seringa Vale was the very beginning of his real luck.
"Unexpected pleasure?" he answers. "Oh, yes, I like astonishing people.
But this, as a surprise, don't come near the day I picked up our
friend, there, wandering about the _veldt_, and ran him in to Fountains
Gap, just before the war. Eh?"
"Picked _me_ up! Well, I like that," is Claverton's reply, cutting
short the other's satirical chuckle. "It strikes me, friend George,
that if there was any `picking up' in the case, you were the party who
underwent the operation, and that considerably damaged by a Kafir
knobkerrie, too."
Payne, of course, was ready with a bantering rejoinder, and much chaff
followed. A soft blush had come over Lilian's face at the recollection.
She stood for a moment, gazing at the purple peaks of the distant
mountains, standing steely against the sky from which all the afterglow
had now faded. Then, with a bright laugh, she turned to enter the
house, saying:
"Well, I shall leave you to fight out the question between you."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Reader, we will follow her example, even as we have followed her through
her joys and sorrows. We must now part company with all our friends
whose fortunes and reverses have entertained us throughout this
narrative, but with none more reluctantly than with these two. Yet what
better moment can we choose than this, when we leave them surrounded by
every happiness the world can afford, here in their beautiful home, in
that bright and sunny land which to them has been the scene of so many
marvellous and stirring experiences?
The End.