Sunday had come round--had dawned, just such a morning as anybody could
have wished, cloudless, glowing--warm of course, it would be hot in an
hour or so, but Elvesdon, like other people, was used to this at the
time of year and cared not a rush for it, especially as he was dressed
accordingly.
His horse was being led up and down before the stoep by his native
servant. The animal was chafing impatiently as though aware that it was
bound for its old home. It was the horse that Thornhill had pressed
upon his acceptance, and somehow Elvesdon could not help wishing that he
had not. The animal was a fine, useful, well-looking beast--this he
fully appreciated; but somehow he could not shake off the idea that it
was a sort of compensation for what he had been able--privileged--to do,
and this idea he did not like in the least.
Well, after all, it was a mistake to be too thin-skinned, he decided.
Probably the donor did not look at it in that light at all. At any rate
he was going to put in a long, enjoyable day in the company of the said
donor--and in that of somebody else; so, in the best of spirits, he
raised the stirrups by a hole or two and swung himself into the saddle.
"So long, Prior," he called out to the clerk, who was standing by,
watching his departure. "I may or may not be back to-night, but in any
case shall be here in the morning in time to open as usual."
"All right, sir. So long."
The young man gazed after him, perhaps a trifle wistfully. The day
would be a bit dull without him. He had grown to like his new chief
more than a little, as we heard him admit to Thornhill in no uncertain
tones, and enjoyed his conversation. Well, he would get through the day
as he had got through so many other Sundays--taking it thoroughly easy;
with a pipe, and the last illustrated papers out from England and a
magazine or two: then a snooze in the heat of the afternoon, and perhaps
a smoke and chat with the sergeant of Mounted Police. And he was used
to it.
Elvesdon rode on, his pulses keeping pace with every elastic bound of
his steed. He was in the very heyday of his prime, and in the full
health and strength of his physical being rejoiced in the sheer joy of
living. Higher and higher mounted the flaming wheel of the sun above
the roll of those golden plains; and sheeny winged birds, flashing from
frond to frond, seemed to echo in their gladsome piping the exaltation
which thrilled through his own heart. What was it that had given rise
to this new exaltation, this new interest? He did not trouble to answer
the mental, unformed question; he realised it, and that was sufficient.
From the open, undulating plains his way dived down suddenly, by a rocky
path, into the rugged broken country where deep kloofs, dense with thick
growth, fell away, their black slopes overhung perchance with craggy
rock walls whose ledges gave anchor to the spiky aloe, or scarlet hung
Kafferboen. Each labyrinthine defile widened out into another, or to a
grassy bottom shaded by the smooth wall of a red ironstone krantz rising
majestic and sheer. The chatter of monkeys skipping among the
tree-tops, mingled with the clear whistle of spreeuws in the cool shade,
the whole dominated by the deep, hoarse bark of the sentinel baboon,
aloft among the crags, keeping wary watch upon the unseen troop digging
for succulent roots on the hillside below.
On high, beyond the wildering trees cresting the ridge on the further
side of the valley, a great red turret stood forth against the blue of
the heavens. Elvesdon recognised that he was near the scene of the
adventure, and now the deep-mouthed baying of dogs, as though suddenly
roused, yet somewhat distant, showed that he was nearing his
destination; for the clink of hoof-stroke, and the jingle of bit,
carries far in a still, clear atmosphere and hilly country.
A rush of dogs, bellowing, open-mouthed, met him as he paced up the last
slope, but their hostility died down to muttered grumblings as they
recognised the horse, if not the rider, as they escorted both to the
house. Thornhill came forth.
"Glad to see you," he said as they clasped hands. "Going to be hot, I
think. Come inside."
Then a hail having extracted a boy, from somewhere behind the house,
Ratels was taken away to be off-saddled, and was soon seen, prancing and
neighing in an adjoining paddock, as though in sheer delight at finding
himself at home again. Then Edala appeared. Her greeting of the
visitor was perfectly frank and self possessed, but Elvesdon was
surprised to find himself feeling, for the moment, a trifle disappointed
that there was not a little more cordiality about it. But the straight
glance of her blue eyes was charming, so too was the lift of upper lip
shewing the gleam of white teeth, in her welcoming smile.
"I've kept my resolution, Mr Elvesdon," she said. "I haven't been out
by myself without a shot-gun since. In fact, I believe I've caught
myself almost wishing another _indhlondhlo_ would show up so that I
might try conclusions with him, this time not at a disadvantage."
"I wouldn't like to insure the snake, Miss Thornhill," laughed the
other.
"Thanks. You know--old Tongwana was round here a day or two afterwards,
and he was saying you must be _tagati_ indeed to have escaped. In fact
I don't think he and the others who were with him more than half
swallowed what had happened--a set of unbelieving Jews."
"Well, do you know, it would make rather a tall story. It was so
absolutely a case of poetic justice. I don't believe I should get more
than seven people in ten to swallow it myself--and snake stories always
are received with prejudice."
"Rather," said Thornhill. "And yet more than one fact I have actually
known in my up-country experience would knock out anything I've ever
heard, or read in fiction for sheer incredibility of coincidence."
Elvesdon pricked up his ears.
"I'd like to hear about those," he said.
"Some day perhaps," answered the other carelessly. "Edala dear, get Mr
Elvesdon something after his ride. I believe he'd appreciate it, and I
know I should--although I haven't had a ride. It's a `dry' sort of
morning. Then I move that we go and sit under the fig-trees, and smoke
pipes."
"Carried nem. con.," pronounced Edala.
"Pipes and all--all round I mean, Miss Thornhill?" said Elvesdon.
She looked at him with a smile of half lofty merriment.
"I'm surprised at you, Mr Elvesdon. Disappointed too. Really I am.
That's too thin, yet you could not resist it."
"Frankly it is," laughed the culprit. "I'm surprised at myself. Will
that do?"
"This time--yes. But--" with a deprecatory shake of the golden head.
"Well, let's make a move."
"This is no end of a jolly spot whereon to laze away a restful morning,"
declared Elvesdon, as snugly disposed in a cane-chair he puffed out
contented clouds of smoke.
"Isn't it?" said Thornhill, who was similarly employed. "And it's
always cool here, however broiling it may be outside, unless of course
there's the hot wind on. That always rakes everything."
Overhead the boughs of the tall fig-trees, with their wealth of broad
leaves, made a most effective canopy. Behind was a high pomegranate
hedge, in front young willows fringing a small runnel fed by the dam
lower down, where bevies of finks fluttered in and out of their
pendulous nests, making the air lively with their cheerful twitter.
Glimpsed through an opening here and there the warm sun-rays shot down
in golden kiss upon drooping loads of peaches and pears hanging from the
fruit trees beyond.
"What's the latest, Mr Elvesdon? Is there any fresh development in
this unrest movement?"
It was Edala who spoke. Elvesdon had been contemplating her with a
furtive but admiring satisfaction, as she sat there in her low chair,
the gold aureole of her head resting back against her clasped hands.
There was something in her every movement--her every pose--that
fascinated him; yet not an atom of self-consciousness or posing was
there about her. And her very attire. The well-fitting blouse of light
blue, set off the blue of her eyes, the gold of her hair; the cool white
skirt, from which peeped one white shoe--all, he decided, was perfect.
At the question he half started.
"The latest?" he echoed. "Well, Miss Thornhill, I don't think there is
any `latest.' Things are much the same as ever, and likely to remain
so."
Her eyes were full upon his face, which they seemed to be reading like
an open page. She shook her head slightly.
"Ah--you are not going to tell me. You won't say anything before me
because I'm a girl. That's what you're thinking. Now--isn't it?"
Elvesdon, whom we believe we have shown was as far from being a fool as
the small minority of people, felt a little disconcerted, and only hoped
he was not showing it. As a matter of fact that was exactly what he had
been thinking. All his official instincts were dead against discussing
official matters in the presence of the other sex; and the question she
had asked certainly covered very official matters; far more official--
even delicate--at that juncture than his light and ready answer should
have led his questioner to believe. Equally, as a matter of fact, she
was not deceived by its lightness and readiness for one moment. But
before he could frame a second answer Thornhill came to the rescue.
"What should there be of the `latest,' child?" he said, dropping a
sinewy sun-browned hand caressingly upon her long slim, and yet also
sun-browned one. "You shouldn't rush Mr Elvesdon in his official
capacity you know. It isn't playing the game. Besides, it's a sort of
`day of rest' remember, so we mustn't talk shop."
"Ah-ah-ah! That's all very well," she answered, with a laugh, but not
wholly a mirthful one. "If you two were alone together you'd be talking
no end of that very kind of shop. I know."
Elvesdon had quite recovered his self-possession. His official
susceptibilities were somewhat ruffled by the remark. It was not a
question thoughtlessly put by a mere thoughtless girl. This was nothing
of the kind, but a woman, with infinite capacity for thought. The
question was nothing, but the manner in which the answer had been taken
argued something of petulance, even obstinacy. Now the latter is not an
attractive quality in the other sex, he decided, even less, if possible,
than in his own.
Then he mentally damned himself for a suspicious and most
ill-conditioned curmudgeon, an official prig. This girl with the
thoughtful eyes, and quick, bright, intelligent mind, had asked him a
mere harmless question--only for information, for she was interested in
everything; not out of motives of curiosity--and lo, he had shrunk into
his official shell, and had more than half snubbed her; snubbed her by
implication at any rate. But--how she puzzled him. He had seen her but
once before, but he had thought of her a good many more times than that.
She was so totally unlike any other girl he had ever seen in his life.
"Have you been drawing much lately, Miss Thornhill?" he said,
interestedly, as though to make up for his former answer. But the
remark had just the opposite effect. He was `talking down to' her now,
Edala was thinking. Drawing, painting, singing--those were interests
enough for a girl. She must not raise her eyes to weightier and more
human matters. But her nature was an intensely self-concentrated one,
and self-controlled.
"Oh, yes," she answered easily, and as if the other matter had clean
passed from her mind. "I'm thinking of going in for native studies.
Would they catch on in Europe should you think, Mr Elvesdon?"
"They'd have the advantage of originality, at any rate," he answered. A
merry peal escaped Edala.
"What a good _official_ reply," she cried. "Never mind, Mr Elvesdon.
I like it. If you had declared they could not do otherwise I don't know
what I should have thought of you, if only that never having seen a
sample you couldn't possibly know that they were any good at all."
"Why, obviously," rejoined Elvesdon, secretly pleased with himself for
having refrained from giving utterance to a second banality. "I'm
afraid I'm too old to launch out into paying compliments; and"--he added
slyly--"too _official_."
Thornhill chuckled. He, silently emitting puffs of smoke, was watching
the battle of wits between the pair and keenly enjoying it. Moreover he
rejoiced that Edala should have found a foeman worthy of her steel, one
with whom she could sharpen wits. It would relieve the dulness of her
life, render her more contented perhaps. Nor did the admiration which
would now and then shine out prominently in the eyes of their visitor,
when the latter was animated, and therefore off his guard, escape him.
So he listened, and smoked complacently, as they branched off from one
topic to another, sometimes indulging in a passage of arms, frequently
agreeing enthusiastically. Yes, it was a pleasant way of getting
through the morning of a "day of rest."