MILLIE
"The world was right when it called you thin."
--ROBERT BROWNING.
The sun had dropped, as the red billiard ball slips into the pocket,
suddenly behind the heaving mass of veldt. Darkness was advancing
with tropical, seven-leagued stride, and all things were grey.
The pale figure detached itself from the shadows, and resolved itself
into the advancing form of a frail, undeveloped girl of fifteen or
sixteen. A strange eye would have been lost in wonder, at the first
glance, as to what Bert Mestaer could see here, on which to fix his
turbulent affections.
His lady-love was skinny, hollow-chested, stooping and round-backed;
her arms were almost like sticks.
She wore a soiled calico gown, too long behind for its length in
front. Her pale-coloured hair was drawn off her white face, and
plaited into an untidy pig tail which hung down her back. Certain
small wisps of it escaped in front, and made what looked in the dim
light like the rudiments of a nimbus about her head. She was drawn
down on one side by the weight of the heavy, clanking, copper bucket
which she carried.
The well was right across the yard, quite near the gate where Bert
stood, and his large person was very visible; but the girl came on
with no sign that she saw him; and, reaching the well, hooked her
bucket on the chain, and let it down, with a stony, expressionless
countenance.
Bert leaned over the gate; the expression of his face had altered
completely.
"Millie," he said, below his breath, "Millie!"
She gave him a listless glance, from weary, heavy-lidded, dark-blue
eyes.
"Oh, good evening!" she said curtly.
He unlatched the gate, came through, and took the windlass out of her
hand.
"Thought you promised not to come inside," she remarked.
"Only jest ter wind up this"--perhaps the thought of Mayne and the
swear-words flitted across his mind, for he pulled up short, and
merely finished lamely with--"this 'ere bucket."
"What's an ear-bucket?" asked Miss Lutwyche, with cold contempt.
He winced like a child from a cane, but made no retort, merely
setting all his finely developed muscles a-play, as he raised the
gleaming bucket from the depths. When it was at the top, he paused.
"How's he to-night, Millie?"
"Mean my father?"
"Yes, Mr. Lutwyche."
"Oh, same's usual."
Bert's chest heaved with the burden of all he wished to say, and dare
not. Some instinct, deep down in him, warned him not to speak to the
girl of her father's fast-approaching end. And yet--he thought of
all that Mayne had said! Now was his chance, if ever, to declare his
passion. He wondered whether Mayne, or anybody else, knew how
distant were the terms between him and Millie, what an impregnable
barrier she stood behind, how far he was from being on such a footing
as might be supposed to immediately precede a proposal of marriage.
His tongue clave to the roof of his mouth, and he felt the sweat
break out upon him.
The girl moved, leaned over to detach the bucket from the hook. He
started, and reaching quickly forward, brought it down upon the side
of the well where he stood.
"I'm goin' to carry it indoors for you," he said sheepishly.
She turned, without a word of thanks, and began to walk back to the
house.
He strode beside her, in the gathering gloom, his whole being aching
with the desire to comfort her.
"Millie," he said at last, "if--if she does anythin' to yer--if she
gets too bad, or lays hands upon yer, you jest come to me, or send
for me, won't yer?"
The girl let fall a laugh of such quiet scorn that he felt openly
sneered at.
"D'you think I'm afraid of her, then?" she asked.
"No," he said warmly; "you've got the pluck of the--" he checked and
almost choked--"the pluck of a dozen. But she's stronger than you."
"Is she?" said Millie drily.
He pondered on that answer.
There spoke the careless insolence of the Briton. He admired it,
while he writhed under it; but he understood why it made Tante Wilma
want to scratch her eyes out.
They had reached the stoep. Nobody was about. He set down the
bucket and faced her squarely.
"Millie," he almost gasped, "look here! Give me a word! You know
I'd----"
She broke in. "I got no time to talk. I must take this water
inside. Good-night!"
His choler rose. "A chap may do what he will for you, and you can't
even throw him a word!"
Her languid expression changed; the dark blue eyes flashed wide awake
in the twilight.
"I didn't understand you wanted to be paid for carrying the pail!"
"Oh, _damn_ you!" cried Bert, hurt beyond endurance; and he flung
away in rage that was not far from tears.
It seemed that the moment he was gone, the girl forgot him utterly.
She turned away and went inside the _sitkamer_ without a backward
glance.
The _sitkamer_ was full of her father's half-Boer children: two great
boys of eight and nine years old, and three or four younger fry.
They were rolling about on the floor, playing, fighting and cuffing.
Millie took no more notice of them than if they had been mice or
black-beetles. She filled the kettle from her pail, and set it to
boil, and then, going to a cupboard, got a fresh egg, which she
proceeded to whisk up in a tumbler, with delicate care.
Tante Wilma rolled into the room, sat down by the stove, took the
coffee-pot off the rack, and poured herself out a cupful, which she
proceeded liberally to "lace" with something stronger. She sat
sipping it, looking furtively at her step-daughter as she moved, her
small face grimly set, noiselessly to and fro. It is very rarely
indeed that a Boer woman takes to drink. When she does, she becomes
a creature to be avoided.
When her arrangements were complete, Millie took the tray and went
out of the room, followed by malevolent glances.
"White rat!" growled Xante Wilma, in the Taal.
The children started a kind of chorus:
"White rat! White rat!
Ours is the corn that makes you fat!"
"Not much longer then," muttered the half-tipsy Vrouw. "Another week
or two will see the end of it now; and then--out she goes! Aha!
She'll wish before long that she had kept a civil tongue in her head.
As sure as I'm a living woman, one thrashing I'll give her before she
goes! Oh, there's a long account I've got against her--it wants
paying, that it does! Much we've had to bear from him, but most from
her that encouraged him from a baby to defy me. But I'll take it out
on her, once he's gone, the little insolent, English devil!"