"You're going to do nothing of the kind, father," said Edala, taking up
the challenge. "I'm not going to have my aerial throne blown to blazes
at all. Why it's a curiosity--one of the sights. I bring everybody up
here to see it."
"And to sit on it?" rejoined Elvesdon, mischievously.
"Only that no one ever has, except you. Tell me. What did it feel
like, for the first time?"
Her straight, clear glance was full upon his face. He was thinking that
`the first time' felt uncommonly like being the last. But he answered:
"Well, I don't know. It was a queer experience--for the first time. To
be absolutely candid I won't pretend that I completely enjoyed it."
"I know you didn't. I could see that your hand on the bough was not
quite steady. That makes it all the more a big thing to have done."
"What did you yourself feel like the first time, Miss Thornhill, and--
what on earth put the idea into your head?"
"I felt just as I do now, how glorious it was being suspended in
mid-air,"--the listener felt creepy in the calves of the legs, as the
words brought back his own feelings. "What put it into my head? I was
up here one day with another girl and it occurred to me it would be good
fun to go and sit there, overhanging space. She didn't believe I meant
it, but I just climbed out on to the tree and sat there. She nearly
fainted."
"Well, nerve isn't a monopoly of our sex. Look at the wonderful things
women do--diving from a ghastly height into a narrow tank--or looping
the loop on a bicycle, and so on. By George! it's enough to make your
hair stand on end to watch them."
"We've missed the sunset," cried Edala. "Never mind. You can see
plenty of sunsets, but you can't sit on my aerial throne every day.
Why, where's father?" looking around. "Oh, there; over by that flat
rock."
Thornhill had strolled away while the two were talking and was standing,
shading a match to light his pipe, when--
"_Inkose_!"
He started slightly. The mountain top was flat and he had seen no one
on it but themselves. The salute, however, had proceeded from a tall
native, who had risen from behind the flat boulder before mentioned.
This man now advanced, and in the limp of his gait, the other recognised
him as the Zulu. Then--Heavens and earth! He had wondered where he had
seen him before. Now he knew.
But it was ghastly. No, the thing could not be. It was only a striking
likeness. Moonlight is untrustworthy--and now, this light up here in
the afterglow of the sunset was dusking. The Zulu stood--contemplating
him with a faint, ironical grin.
"There are `mouths' on this mountain top," he began, "waiting to swallow
up men--and women," he added, with a glance at Edala who together with
her companion had now come up. "_Whau_! it is easy to fall into such.
There are those that only half swallow, and return their prey, such as
that,"--pointing with his knobstick to the mouth of a crevice a few
yards on the other side of the boulder. "Yet it may be that the prey
though it returns to life does not do so unbitten. There are other
`mouths' who do not return their prey at all, and if it is sought for it
is too late, for it is already dead."
To two of the listeners this bit of dark talking was intelligible
because they were familiar with the tricks and turns of the Zulu
language. The speaker merely meant to convey that some of the crevices
were more dangerous than others. But to the third there was nothing
`dark' about it. And then, either from the fact--which no one but
herself would have noticed--that her father's voice had lost some of its
imperturbability, or by some mysterious conjunction of weird telepathy--
Edala began to think there must be some deeper, darker meaning
underlying the words. All sorts of ghastly conjectures shot through her
mind, but all vague, shadowy, nebulous. Through them she heard the
voice of Elvesdon questioning the stranger.
"Who are you?"
"Manamandhla, son of Gwegula."
"Of the Zulu?"
"_Yeh-bo 'Nkose_."
"And your chief--who is he?"
"The Government."
"But your own chief?"
"The King."
"Which king?" said Elvesdon, becoming `short.'
"_Au_! are there then two kings? I had not heard that."
This answer given so quietly and innocently would have caused the other
two to smile, only they were in no smiling mood.
"But who is your chief in Zululand, your Zulu chief?" went on Elvesdon,
growing impatient. But the deprecatory smile on the other's face was
beautiful to behold. He replied.
"Now _Nkose_, I would ask--Are there any chiefs in Zululand other than
the Government? Not to-day--Government is our chief."
"Not Mehlo-ka-zulu?"
"He is my relative."
Elvesdon burst out laughing.
"Confound the fellow, he reminds one of the Irish witness in `Handy
Andy'," he said. Then to the Zulu: "Where is your kraal?"
"_La-pa_. Over there." And the speaker pointed with his stick in a
direction which conveyed the idea that he resided anywhere between the
further side of the valley and the North Pole.
Elvesdon did not press the point, knowing perfectly well that he could
find out all he wanted from other sources. Then, too, the deft way in
which the Zulu fenced all his questions appealed strongly to his sense
of the ridiculous. There was, moreover, nothing to be gained in
particular by continuing his catechism; and One of the secrets of his
success in the handling of natives was that he knew when to humour them
and when to draw a tight rein.
"Do you know who I am?" he said.
"_Inkose_ is the magistrate--the new magistrate--at Kwabulazi."
"That is so. But new only as regards Kwabulazi," returned Elvesdon
meaningly. "So knowing who I am it is not surprising if I ask: `What
has a Zulu from beyond the border to do in Babatyana's location on this
side?'"
"_Inkose_--I have always heard that under the King's rule all men are
free, whether white or black, as long as they do no harm. And I am
doing no harm."
"As long as they do no harm," repeated Elvesdon, with a touch of
significance. "That is well, Manamandhla--that is well." And he turned
away.
"Where are these crevices, Miss Thornhill? It's curious how they occur
in some of these mountain ranges. I got into one myself once, but
fortunately it wasn't particularly deep, or I should be there still."
"Where was that?"
"In the Cape Colony. I was there on leave, and put in a time with an
old official pal of mine. We went reebok-shooting in the mountains, and
I got into such a hole as one of these, stepped backwards into it.
Fortunately my pal was near enough to hear me sing out, or I might not
have been able to pull myself up."
"This is a deep one," said Edala. "Come and look. If you drop a stone
over, you hear it clanging against the sides ever so far down. Listen,
now."
She dropped a stone over, and both stood listening.
"By Jove, but it is deep," said Elvesdon. "And beastly dangerous too,
almost hidden in the grass."
Thornhill had not joined them. He was seated on the flat rock, puffing
away at his pipe. The ghastliness of the situation was known to him and
to one other there present--and here was this unthinking girl dropping
stones into this particular cleft, of all others on that mountain top--
of all others in the world.
"That is one of the `mouths' that gives not back its prey," said the
deep voice of Manamandhla. "_Whau_! It retains that which it
swallows." Then with a word of farewell greeting he withdrew, but in
the opposite direction to that by which they had ascended.
"Hadn't we better go down?" said Thornhill. "It'll be dark directly."
"And it's shivery now," said Edala, looking round with a shudder. "Come
along."
By the time they were off the moss-grown natural stairway it was nearly
dark. The horses, hitched to a bush by the bridles, shook themselves
and whinnied at their approach.
"What would be the effect of your `aerial throne' by starlight, Miss
Thornhill?" said Elvesdon, as they passed beneath the mighty cliff,
whose loom cut straight and black against the myriad stars which came
gushing out into the velvety vault.
"I've never tried it. I believe I'd be afraid. You know--the Kafirs
say the Sipazi mountain is haunted, that all sorts of _tagati_ sounds
float off from the top of it at night."
"You afraid? Why I don't believe there's anything in the world that
could scare _you_, after what I've seen."
"Oh isn't there? I'm rather afraid of lightning, for one thing."
"Are you?"
"Yes. You see, it's a thing that no precaution on earth will guard you
against. You can stick up conductors on a house, or any sort of
building, but you can't stick one on your hat, when you're out in the
open. I always feel so utterly helpless."
"Well, of course it's risky. But you must remember the very small
proportion of people who get hit compared with the numbers who spend a
large slice of their lives exposed to it."
"So I do, but somehow it seems poor consolation when everything is
fizzing and banging all round you and you expect every second to be
knocked to kingdom come. No. I don't like it a bit--in the open that
is. Under cover, though it's even a Kafir hut, I don't mind."
"You wouldn't like to be seated on the `aerial throne' then, eh?"
laughed Elvesdon.
"No, indeed. Look. There's a fine shooting star."
A streak like a falling rocket, and the phenomenon disappeared.
Elvesdon gratefully admitted to himself that this homeward ride through
the soft dews of falling night was wholly delightful. Yes, but--would
it have been equally so were he alone, or with any other companion at
his side--his host for instance; who had lingered behind to light a
pipe, and had not taken the trouble to catch them up again? He was
constrained to own to himself that it would not. This girl was of a
type wholly outside his experience, so natural, so absolutely
unconventional. Her ways and ideas struck him somehow as peculiar to
herself--and then her appearance--as striking as it was uncommon. He
had not begun to fall in love with her, but could not ignore the
possibility that he might, and in that case Heaven help him, for he felt
pretty sure he would meet with no reciprocity.
Meanwhile, there was nothing to be gained by discounting potentialities,
wherefore he laid himself out to make the most of the present time, and
succeeded admirably well. If his host was rather abstracted and silent
throughout the evening, Edala more than made up for it. She chatted
away on every subject under the sun; and played and sang--both well--so
that by the time he went to bed Elvesdon had come to the conclusion that
he had never enjoyed himself so much--or got through such a jolly day in
his life.