The quay at the Point was crowded with people to see the sailing of the
_Tunis_. The English Government had chartered the vessel specially to
take Sir Evelyn Carson, his men, stores, horses, guns, mining and
agricultural machinery, and all the other quantities of things needed in
the great business of opening up and civilising the latest possession of
the Empire--to Borapota.
The sailing of the ship was, of course, an event of great public
interest, but Sir Evelyn had, at the last moment, provided a further and
electrifying sensation by being quietly married that morning to the
distinguished African authoress, _Eve Destiny_; and his wife was
accompanying him to Borapota on the _Tunis_.
Durban considered itself badly treated in not having been invited _en
masse_ to witness the ceremony; also, in being cheated of introspective
discussion of the match, by having no faintest prenotion of it. But it
was not to be done out of at least a parting glimpse of the principals
in this unexpected _denouement_. And so it happened that the quay was
crowded, for the fashionable world had come down like the Assyrians, and
everyone with the slimmest claim to the acquaintance of Carson or his
wife made occasion to visit the _Tunis_ before the hour of sailing. The
rest of the world was obliged to be content with lining the docks and
blackening the Breakwater.
Just after twelve, with the tide at full, preliminary sirens and
scrunching of chains began to be heard, and word was given for people
to leave the _Tunis_. That was a sign for everyone to come on deck, and
the curious watchers ashore got a chance at last of seeing the special
object of their curiosity. She appeared in the companionway door,
smiling, with her hand through the arm of her great friend, Mrs. Portal;
behind were a little group of men with Eve Carson towering in their
midst.
Lady Carson was still wearing the gown she had been married in, and she
looked vividly beautiful. Shimmering leaf-green draperies swept the
decks, under a long coat of pale-grey velvet, and her poem face was
shadowed by a plumed, grey hat. Her husband thought that she looked like
the incarnation of Ireland--and than the beauty of _that_ imagination
could no further go.
She and Clem Portal, alone together for the first time in all that busy,
eventful day, walked a little apart to make their farewells, and the
eyes of the men followed them, resting naturally on the vivid glowing
woman in the shimmering green-and-grey. Her husband's were the only eyes
that did not follow her. He had given her one deep, long glance at the
altar; and since then had not looked her way. His tanned face wore the
impassive, almost cataleptic expression that men assume when they wish
to conceal deep emotion from the eyes of the world. But he walked as one
whom the gods have chosen to honour. Bramham strongly suspected him of
suffering from what is known among men as--a swagger in the blood!
"I expect he feels tall enough to pull the sky down to-day," was the
loyal fellow's thought, and he smiled affectionately and put an arm on
Karri's shoulder.
Clem and Poppy walked along the deck together. They did not say much.
Only, under cover of a big, grey velvet sleeve, and a stole of delicate
lace Clem wore, their hands were tightly clasped together. The Portals
would be gone from Africa before Eve Carson's five years' work in
Borapota was over; and where, or when, the two women would meet again
was a matter that lay upon the knees of the gods. Neither wished to let
one word of regret mar the gladness of the day; but each knew how deeply
the other felt the parting.
"Oh, Clem!" Poppy said at last, with something like a sob in her voice.
"It is all so wonderful--to be out of the 'tangled wild' at last, with
the clear, open land before us! Can it be true? I have had so many blows
in the face, and I am so undeserving of this great happiness--_can it be
true_?"
"Chance is more just than we are!" Clem softly quoted. "Poppy, before we
part I must tell you something ... about my name--_Loraine_. Bill wants
me to tell you ... and he says _you will know why_. It is my own name,
dear--but I have never allowed anyone to call me by it but Bill. When
people love each other very much _you know_--they give each other little
secret gifts that no one else must know of--this was one of mine to
Bill. All the world can call me Clem--but _Loraine_ was only for him.
Others came to know of it by accident, but I never gave anyone the right
to call me by that name but Bill----"
Poppy held the little brown, thin hand more tightly.
"I know, I know, darling," she fervently said. She could not at this
time tell Clem how much else she knew--all that Carson had told her of
the secret love he had borne for Clem for many years; but she had no
feeling of bitterness now, or anger concerning that love. Clem went on,
a little hurriedly, for time was flying:
"I had another reason too--under my mask I am dreadfully superstitious
and primitive. All the Loraines in my ancestral history have lost those
whom they loved--in some tragic way. I am afraid of history. Oh, Poppy!
when one loves ... when one loves ... one is afraid of _everything_."
She turned white and began to tremble. "How _fearful_ one is! I have
been so fearful always for Bill ... that I have never even dared show
_him_ how much I care. I always think if I am silent, silent, silent ...
never bragging, never telling of my soul's idolatry, God will be
merciful to me." She was trembling like a leaf, and stammering with
pallid lips--this calm, well-masked, self-possessed woman of the world.
Never before had any woman's eyes seen past the barriers into the inmost
chapel of Clem Portal's heart. And Poppy, overwhelmed, could only
tenderly say:
"Dear Clem ... thank you.... God bless you!" Bramham bustled up.
"We've got to clear out, Mrs. Portal ... they're going to haul up the
gangway!" He turned to Poppy. "And the siren is hooting us out of your
paradise. Well, Lady Carson! the world will expect wonderful things from
your pen up in the silences of Borapota!"
She smiled at him with radiant, misty eyes.
"Let it expect. I shall never be able to write any more, Charlie. I can
never do anything again but live. I know how to _live_."
The others joined them then, and the whole group moved gangwaywards,
individual remarks swamped in general farewells, jests, laughter, good
wishes. All were ashore at last, leaving Poppy and Carson standing
alone, side by side, with the keen winter sunlight bright upon them.
When they could no longer recognise friendly faces to wave to, they
turned and looked at each other. Catalepsy disappeared from Carson's
face--it grew boyish, ardent, gay.
"'The Lord is debonair,
Let sinners not despair,'"
said he, and they smiled into each other's eyes.
And so their ship swept out to sea.
* * * * *
Ashore, one or two acrid things were said. In a little detached group,
of which Mrs. Gruyere, Mrs. Lace, and Cora de Grey were the central
figures, Brookfield thought it interesting to say:
"There's a rumour that she's as wicked as her books--if so, Carson is
not to be envied."
Cora de Grey, who was sometimes also called _Cobra_ de Grey, bit into
him swiftly:
"If she's wicked, she's clever beyond the cleverness of any woman, for
none of her men friends have ever given her away."
"Her _men_ friends--that's a new story!" retorted the surprised
Brookfield.
"Oh, no; quite an old story amongst married women," said Cora, with her
Karoo smile. "When a woman is _really_ wicked, some renegade will always
tell his dearest friend, or his wife, and then--short shrift for _her_."
Brookfield retired.
Mrs. Gruyere said:
"It's a scandal that he didn't marry May Mappin. And I _know_ Charles
Bramham was in love with _her_. What will he do now, I wonder?"
Mrs. Gruyere's voice was so penetrating that it often reached the ears
of her victims. Bramham, coming up, answered her cheerfully.
"Oh, haven't you heard?" said he, grinning. "My dear Mrs. Haybittel is
arriving from Paris to pay Durban a visit. Everyone is sure to make her
as comfortable as they can--for fear she should make them as
uncomfortable as _she_ can. She says she's bringing out twelve trunks
full of French gowns."
This was terrible news for Mrs. Gruyere, who only feared two things on
earth--French gowns and the malicious pen of Mrs. Haybittel. But she
preserved a brave front.
"Let us hope that she has had her face enamelled to wear with them," was
her last barb.
* * * * *
Driving home, Clem said to her husband:
"Will they be happy, think you, Billy-Bill?" And he, with the deep
wisdom vouchsafed only to true lovers, answered her:
"Happy? Of course not! But they will count unhappiness with each other
the best that Life can give."
FINIS.
Transcriber's Notes:
p. 22 corrected doubled "she"
p. 68 "unwittingy" changed to "unwittingly"
p. 72 "eared" changed to "cared"
p. 110 "relasped" changed to "relapsed"
p. 146 "widow" changed to "window"
p. 178 "quater" changed to "quarter"
p. 183 "champange" changed to "champagne"
P. 272 "aways" changed to "always"
p. 356 "whatver" changed to "whatever"
p. 361 "knowlege" changed to "knowledge"
p. 377 "found" changed to "round"
p. 449 "love each very much" changed to "love each other very much"
Minor punctuation corrections left unnoted.
Words with multiple spellings left as in original.
Italics indicated with underscores _like this_.
Small caps and bold indicated with upper case _LIKE THIS_.