The nights are wholesome;
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
So hallowed and so gracious is the time.
What, has this thing appeared again to-night?--Hamlet.
|WHEN evening came Daireen and her father sat out upon their chairs on
the stoëp in front of the house. The sun had for long been hidden by the
great peak, though to the rest of the world not under its shadow he had
only just sunk. The twilight was very different from the last she had
seen on land, when the mighty Slieve Docas had appeared in his purple
robe. Here the twilight was brief and darkly blue as it overhung the
arched aloes and those large palm plants whose broad leaves waved not
in the least breeze. Far in the mellow distance a large star was
glittering, and the only sound in the air was the shrill whistle of one
of the Cape field crickets.
Then began the struggle between moonlight and darkness. The leaves of
the boughs that were clasped above the little river began to be softly
silvered as the influence of the rising light made itself apparent, and
then the highest ridges of the hill gave back a flash as the beams shot
through the air.
These changes were felt by the girl sitting silently beside her
father--the changes of the twilight and of the moonlight, before the
full round shield of the orb appeared above the trees, and the white
beams fell around the broad floating leaves beneath her feet.
'Are you tired, Dolly?' asked her father.
'Not in the least, papa; it seems months since I was at sea.'
'Then you will ride with me for my usual hour? I find it suits me better
to take an hour's exercise in the cool of the evening.'
'Nothing could be lovelier on such an evening,' she cried. 'It will
complete our day's happiness.'
She hastened to put on her habit while her father went round to the
stables to give directions to the groom regarding the saddling of a
certain little Arab which had been bought within the week. In a short
time Standish was left to gaze in admiration at the fine seat of the old
officer in his saddle, and in rapture at the delicately shaped figure of
the girl, as they trotted down the avenue between those strange trees.
They disappeared among the great leaves; and when the sound of their
horses' hoofs had died away, Standish, sitting there upon the raised
ground in front of the house, had his own hour of thought. He felt that
he had hitherto not accomplished much in his career of labour. He had
had an idea that there were a good many of the elements of heroism in
joining as he did the vessel in which the girl was going abroad. Visions
of wrecks, of fires, of fallings overboard, nay of pirates even, had
floated before his mind, with himself as the only one near to save the
girl from each threatening calamity. He had heard of such things taking
place daily, and he was prepared to risk himself for her sake, and to
account himself happy if the chance of protecting her should occur.
But so soon as he had been a few days at sea, and had found that such
a thing as danger was not even hinted at any more than it would be in
a drawing-room on shore--when in fact he saw how like a drawing-room on
shore was the quarter-deck of the steamer, he began to be disappointed.
Daireen was surrounded by friends who would, if there might chance to be
the least appearance of danger, resent his undertaking to save the girl
whom he loved with every thought of his soul. He would not, in fact, be
permitted to play the part of the hero that his imagination had marked
out for himself.
Yes, he felt that the heroic elements in his position aboard the steamer
had somehow dwindled down to a minimum; and now here he had been so weak
as to allow himself to be induced to come out to live, even though only
for a short time, at this house. He felt that his acceptance of the
sisterly friendship of the girl was making it daily more impossible for
him to kneel at her feet, as he meant one day to do, and beg of her to
accept of some heroic work done on her behalf.
'She is worthy of all that a man could do with all his soul,' Standish
cried as he stood there in the moonlight. But what can I do for her?
What can I do for her? Oh, I am the most miserable wretch in the whole
world!'
This was not a very satisfactory conclusion for him to come to; but on
the whole it did not cause him much despondency. In his Irish nature
there were almost unlimited resources of hope, and it would have
required a large number of reverses of fortune to cast him down utterly.
While he was trying in vain to make himself feel as miserable as he knew
his situation demanded him to be, Daireen and her father were riding
along the road that leads from Cape Town to the districts of Wynberg and
Constantia. They went along through the moonlight beneath the splendid
avenue of Australian oaks at the old Dutch district of Bondebosch, and
then they turned aside into a narrow lane of cactus and prickly pear
which brought them to that great sandy plain densely overgrown with
blossoming heath and gorse called The Mats, along which they galloped
for some miles. Turning their horses into the road once more, they then
walked them back towards their house at Mowbray.
Daireen felt that she had never before so enjoyed a ride. All was so
strange. That hill whose peak was once again towering above them; that
long dark avenue with the myriads of fire-flies sparkling amongst the
branches; the moonlight that was flooding the world outside; and then
her companion, her father, whose face she had been dreaming over daily
and nightly. She had never before so enjoyed a ride.
They had gone some distance through the oak avenue when they turned
their horses aside at the entrance to one of the large vineyards that
are planted in such neat lines up the sloping ground.
'Well, Dolly, are you satisfied at last?' said Colonel Gerald, looking
into the girl's face that the moonlight was glorifying, though here and
there the shadow of a leaf fell upon her.
'Satisfied! Oh, it is all like a dream,' she said. 'A strange dream of a
strange place. When I think that a month ago I was so different, I
feel inclined to--to--ask you to kiss me again, to make sure I am not
dreaming.'
'If you are under the impression that you are a sleeping beauty, dear,
and that you can only be roused by that means, I have no objection.'
'Now I am sure it is all reality,' she said with a little laugh. 'Oh,
papa, I am so happy. Could anything disturb our happiness?'
Suddenly upon the dark avenue behind them there came the faint sound
of a horses hoof, and then of a song sung carelessly through the
darkness--one she had heard before.
The singer was evidently approaching on horseback, for the last notes
were uttered just opposite where the girl and her father were standing
their horses behind the trees at the entrance to the vineyard. The
singer too seemed to have reined in at this point, though of course he
could not see either of the others, the branches were so close. Daireen
was mute while that air was being sung, and in another instant she
became aware of a horse being pushed between the trees a few yards from
her. There was only a small space to pass, so she and her father backed
their horses round and the motion made the stranger start, for he had
not perceived them before.
'I beg you will not move on my account. I did not know there was anyone
here, or I should not have----'
The light fell upon the girl's face, and her father saw the stranger
give another little start.
'You need not make an apology to us, Mr. Markham,' said Daireen. 'We had
hidden ourselves, I know. Papa, this is Mr. Oswin Markham. How odd it is
that we should meet here upon the first evening of landing! The Cape is
a good deal larger than the quarterdeck of the “Cardwell Castle.”'
'You were a passenger, no doubt, aboard the steamer my daughter came out
in, Mr. Markham?' said Colonel Gerald.
Mr. Markham laughed.
'Upon my word I hardly know that I am entitled to call myself a
passenger,' he said. 'Can you define my position, Miss Gerald? it was
something very uncertain. I am a castaway--a waif that was picked up in
a half-drowned condition from a broken mast in the Atlantic, and
sheltered aboard the hospitable vessel.'
'It is very rarely that a steamer is so fortunate as to save a life
in that way,' said Colonel Gerald. 'Sailing vessels have a much better
chance.'
'To me it seems almost a miracle--a long chain of coincidences was
necessary for my rescue, and yet every link was perfect to the end.'
'It is upon threads our lives are constantly hanging,' said the colonel,
backing his horse upon the avenue. 'Do you remain long in the colony,
Mr. Markham?' he asked when they were standing in a group at a place
where the moonlight broke through the branches.
'I think I shall have to remain for some weeks,' he answered. 'Campion
tells me I must not think of going to England until the violence of the
winter there is past.'
'Then we shall doubtless have the pleasure of meeting you frequently.
We have a cottage at Mowbray, where we would be delighted to see you. By
the way, Mrs. Crawford and a few of my other old friends are coming
out to dine with us to-morrow, my daughter and myself would be greatly
pleased if you could join us.'
'You are exceedingly kind,' said Mr. Markham. 'I need scarcely say how
happy I will be.'
'Our little circle on board the good old ship is not yet to be
dispersed, you see, Mr. Markham,' said Daireen with a laugh. 'For once
again, at any rate, we will be all together.'
'For once again,' he repeated as he raised his hat, the girl's horse
and her father's having turned. 'For once again, till when goodbye, Miss
Gerald.'
'Goodbye, Mr. Markham,' said the colonel. 'By the way, we dine early I
should have told you--half past six.'
Markham watched them ride along the avenue and reappear in the moonlight
space beyond. Then he dropped the bridle on his horse's neck and
listlessly let the animal nibble at the leaves on the side of the
road for a long time. At last he seemed to start into consciousness of
everything. He gathered up the bridle and brought the horse back to the
avenue.
'It is Fate or Providence or God this time,' he muttered as if for his
own satisfaction. 'I have had no part in the matter; I have not so much
as raised my hand for this, and yet it has come.'
He walked his horse back to Cape Town in the moonlight.
'I don't think you mentioned this Mr. Markham's name to me, Dolly,' said
Colonel Gerald as they returned to Mowbray.
'I don't think I did, papa; but you see he had gone ashore when I came
on deck to you this morning, and I did not suppose we should ever meet
again.'
'I hope you do not object to my asking him to dinner, dear?'
'I object, papa? Oh, no, no; I never felt so glad at anything. He does
not talk affectedly like Mr. Glaston, nor cleverly like Mr. Harwood, so
I prefer him to either of them. And then, think of his being for a week
tossing about the Atlantic upon that wreck.'
'All very good reasons for asking him to dine to-morrow,' said her
father. 'Now suppose we try a trot.'
'I would rather walk if it is the same to you, papa,' she said. 'I don't
feel equal to another trot now.'
'Why, surely, you have not allowed yourself to become tired, Daireen?
Yes, my dear, you look it. I should have remembered that you are just
off the sea. We will go gently home, and you will get a good sleep.'
They did go very gently, and silently too, and in a short time Daireen
was lying on her bed, thinking not of the strange moonlight wonders of
her ride, but of that five minutes spent upon the avenue of Australian
oaks down which had echoed that song.
It seemed that poor Mrs. Crawford was destined to have enigmas of the
most various sorts thrust upon her for her solution; at any rate she
regarded the presence of Mr. Oswin Markham at Colonel Crawford's little
dinner the next, evening as a question as puzzling as the mysterious
appearance of the young man called Standish MacDermot. She, however,
chatted with Mr. Markham as usual, and learned that he also was going to
a certain garden party which was to be held at Government House in a few
days.
'And you will come too, Daireen?' she said. 'You must come, for Mr.
Glaston has been so good as to promise to exhibit in one of the rooms a
few of his pictures he spoke to us about. How kind of him, isn't it, to
try and educate the taste of the colony?' The bishop has not yet arrived
at the Cape, but Mr. Glaston says he will wait for him for a fortnight.'
'For a fortnight? Such filial devotion will no doubt bring its own
reward,' said Mr. Harwood.