up in your den or else when you've gone off to a distant kraal."
"You would see a ghost in about half an hour," from Meryl, "and fly
for your life."
"O, are there ghosts?" looking suddenly dubious. "Did your diviner
divine any ghosts while he was about it?..." turning to Stanley. "You
never told me that. Of course, I shouldn't much like to be handling a
corpse, and feel its ghost put a cold, clammy hand on my shoulder.
What a horrible idea! Do you think there are any?"
"There might be;" and The Kid's eyes twinkled. "Of course, I supposed
you would imagine we ran risks of that sort."
"Ugh!..." with a cold shudder. "I believe I can see one now. It must
have overheard me saying I coveted those gold ornaments. Come away
quickly. I want ... I want ... now don't look shocked, Meryl; I want a
whisky and soda!..."
They followed her out from the gathering gloom of the walls into the
quick-coming darkness, and as she and Stanley pressed on ahead, Carew
and Meryl could only follow. As they did so they spoke little. It was
as though some bond of sympathy between them had slipped into being of
itself outside their consciousness altogether, and with a blessed
sense of quiet understanding neither attempted to make conversation;
and neither questioned as yet whence came this unsought bond, this
link forged as by a power outside themselves. The time for probing was
near, but it lingered yet a little.
As they approached the tents and joined the other two waiting to make
their adieux, Diana's voice again broke in upon their quiet,
dispelling its curious sense of unreality.
"It wasn't you I was afraid of, Major Carew," she called lightly.
"Baboons and owls and bears I dare tackle any day; but a ghost three
thousand years old!... ugh!... I give it up!... You will not need to
add to that precious native report another one, concerning the daring
theft of a corpse from the ancient ruins of Zimbabwe by a well-known
young lady from Johannesburg."
He smiled into her laughing eyes in a manner that surprised her, and
made his face extraordinarily attractive in a way she had not yet seen
it.
"And what would have happened to Stanley, do you suppose?... I'm
afraid the police force might have considered it necessary to dispense
with his services."
"O, that wouldn't have mattered in Rhodesia in the least! He'd have
opened a butcher's shop, or come on with us as our butler, or gone and
dug a hole in a kopje and called it gold-mining. No one would have
thought any the worse of him, and I'd have felt indebted to him for
life. We'd both have had a run for our money, anyhow!..." and she
laughed gaily as she turned away.
But in their tent, alone together, she suddenly made the epigrammatic
remark, "Dangerous, very dangerous indeed; like most bears. Mind you
don't get badly clawed, Meryl!..." and then with her usual lightness
ran off into another subject.
XV
CAREW RIDES AWAY
With the coming of the dark, velvety southern night, resplendent with
brilliant southern stars, it would seem the time for probing was at
hand. By the tents on the hill-side Mr. Pym, the engineer, Meryl, and
Diana sat outside in the starlight, rather a silent party, listening
to the intermittent sound of tom-toms coming from some kraal near by.
Then Mr. Pym alluded somewhat suddenly to their departure, and Meryl
made the discovery that it was a topic she had been dreading all the
evening. Diana, on the other hand, seemed relieved.
"I have one more journey to make," he told them, "and then I propose
to start at once for Enkeldorn and Salisbury. Unfortunately, I am
afraid this journey will take two and possibly three days."
"Then take us with you," said Diana at once.
"It is an unhealthy district or I would. I do not think it would harm
you, but I am afraid for Meryl." There was a slight pause, then he
added, "As we returned to-day we stayed for a cup of tea at the
mission station with Mr. and Mrs. Grenville. I happened to mention my
journey, and Mrs. Grenville said she would be delighted if you would
both go and spend the two or three days with her."
"But I want to come with you," Diana cried; and leaning towards him
added confidently, "Uncle, you will have to take me; don't make a
fuss."
"Why shall I have to take you?" with amusement in his small, keen
eyes.
"Because I have made up my mind to go," was the prompt rejoinder; and
he gave an amused chuckle.
"And what do you say, Meryl? Will you spend two or three days with
Mrs. Grenville?"
"I should like to, if Di really wants to go; otherwise we could quite
well have remained on here, couldn't we?" There was a note of anxiety
in her voice that she was unable to entirely hide. Only three more
days, and they to be spent several miles away!
"I do not particularly want to leave you here as long as that. I would
rather you visited Mrs. Grenville, and I think it would be an
interesting change. She invited you both."
"It was very kind of her," said Diana, "but I am quite decided about
wanting to go with you. I suppose we could both come?"
"I think I would as soon go to Mrs. Grenville"; and Meryl sat very
still, gazing at a distant star.
"What do you think?" said Mr. Pym to his engineer. "Will it be all
right for my niece to accompany us?"
"Why, yes, certainly, if she takes quinine regularly. It is a
beautiful neighbourhood. She can either ride her mule or be carried in
a machila."
Diana clapped her hands, feeling her point was won easily, and then
added, "Couldn't we take Mr. Stanley with us? He would so love the
shooting, and he is such good company."
"As I came past to-night I called in and asked both him and Major
Carew. Stanley accepted at once."
There was a slight movement where Meryl sat, but she did not speak;
and her father, almost as if with intent, kept his eyes turned away.
"What did Major Carew say?" asked Diana.
"He was uncertain. He thought he might be obliged to go to Edwardstown
on business, and he left the question open."
Diana laughed. "He wanted to make quite certain sure that there were
to be no ladies in the party."
"I don't know why he should suppose there were likely to be."
"Possibly not, but he is a cautious man. Anyhow, when you tell him I
am going he will make ready to start to Edwardstown on business."
So they sat on under the stars, each busy with thoughts. Henry Pym's
were a trifle anxious. So little ever escaped his clear eyes that it
was not in the least surprising he had seen whither Meryl's mind was
trending, almost before she knew of it herself. And much as he admired
Major Carew, he feared, with the clear sight of a great love, that
indefinable something that stood as a barrier between the man and his
outlook upon certain phases of life. Whatever it was, his studied
avoidance of social intercourse, and his turning his back so
resolutely upon England and all his people there, suggested to the
astute man of the world that he had taken out of his life's plan all
thought of marriage, and was not very likely to turn from his purpose.
Hence the shadow of anxiety in the father's eyes, for his deep
knowledge of Meryl told him further that she would neither love
lightly nor forget easily.
And still the girl herself sat on and made no sign. The joy of the
evening hour was still too new. Under the stars at present she asked
nothing better than to live through it again and again in her memory.
For whereas a woman is often fearful to anticipate a joy for dread of
a disappointment, afterwards, when the realisation is sure and sweet
and all her own, she will draw delight from it for many a silent hour
in quiet contentment.
And down at the police camp the two troopers and the officer sat
likewise under the stars. Stanley was very full of his trip, for Carew
had readily given him the two or three days' leave; and in the
direction whither they journeyed were roan and sable and water-buck
and probably lions to rejoice the heart of a game young British South
African policeman with a bloodthirsty desire to kill. Moore, in his
quaint, Irish way, chaffed him a good deal, as was his wont; for
though one had received his education at the Bedford Grammar School
and was a clergyman's son, and the other at a board-school and was the
son of a small innkeeper, in the Rhodesia police force all troopers
are equals, and there is a frank camaraderie which is very creditable
to its members. Carew himself showed very little difference, and in
the same spirit the homely Moore had received a cup of tea from
Diana's dainty hands, poured out for him by Meryl.
Only, as they twitted each other in slow, easy tones, neither of them
attempted to include Carew, who sat a little apart in the darkness
smoking his beloved pipe; and when they rose to turn in, he merely
acknowledged their pleasant "Good night, sir," with a short "Good
night" in reply, and made no movement himself. Even when the lights
at the hill-side tents went out he still sat on, alone with the night
and the stars. Later, because he knew he should not sleep, he started
off up the valley towards the store, feeling a need for action.
And all the time, under the covering darkness, his face seemed to grow
graver and graver. He was too wise not to know when danger threatened,
and too direct not to face it squarely at once. And the danger that
seemed to threaten him now was the likelihood that if he saw much of
Meryl Pym he would grow to love her, and perhaps she would reciprocate
his love, and for them both there would be only a great pain. That it
could by any possibility be anything else did not enter his
cogitations. According to his own ideas he could not marry, and least
of all could he marry the only child of a millionaire. And it seemed
to him further that if he cut off all intercourse at once the danger
would be averted. He was quite satisfied in his own mind that the
evident attraction had not had time to sink very far down. In two or
three days she would go away again and he would go on with his work,
and it would all be the same as if they had never met. Manifestly the
chief consideration now was to avoid any further friendliness
whatever, except the merest courtesy which had obtained at the
beginning. If possible, he decided it would be better not to meet any
more at all. When a man is strong in one thing, he is usually strong
in others; and the quiet strength that had enabled him to break away
from an old life of leisure and ease and excitement, and build up
another life for himself on entirely different lines in a new country,
helped him now quietly to make his decision and try to take the
simple, direct course, out of a threatening danger.
And yet it was not entirely easy; the simple, direct way very seldom
is. Byways are apt to have softer grass for the feet, deeper shade
from the sun, smoother banks to rest upon. The direct, straightforward
way often goes on mercilessly up the steep hill, having sharp flints
in its pathway, cold winds, dry dust, untempered glare. But the man
who dares it with steady eyes usually arrives first at the goal,
tempered metal ringing true, while he who dallies in the pleasant
byways may find his armour has grown rusty and his powers lax.
As he walked quietly back to the police camp Peter Carew looked
straight before him to the dim horizon, and in his eyes there was an
expression that few, if any, had ever been permitted to behold. For
the hidden sorrow that was his was his alone, and he had never sought
nor asked the sympathy of a fellow-creature. In the starlight he
looked back into the eyes of his dead love, and it was between him and
her only the sorrow might be shared. As he had loved her memory all
these years, he would love her still, though in the great loneliness
of his heart he might be drawn to that one other woman who so
strangely resembled her and so deeply attracted him.
But Meryl was not for him, the penniless policeman, and he knew it.
The hour spent together in the temple ruins had been too sweet, too
dangerously sweet, and therefore he would run no further risk. He
would not go with Mr. Pym, because that might forge a link of
friendship it would be difficult to break; and he would not remain at
the camp, because that might involve considerable intercourse if Meryl
and Diana stayed behind at the hill-side home alone. He would instead
retire to Segundi on the pretext of meeting the Resident Commissioner
expected there, and stay until the millionaire's party had departed
from Zimbabwe for good. It would be as well to start early, he could
easily manage it; and if he saw no prospect of saying good-bye to Mr.
Pym in person, he would write him a short note giving some sort of
explanation.
So it happened the next morning, before anyone at the hill-side camp
was dressed, a Black Watch boy presented a note to Mr. Pym's boy, and
a little distance off on the road Major Carew waited on his horse for
a message.
And in his tent, still in a sleeping-suit, Mr. Pym read the note, and
looked hard for a moment at the sunshine beyond the open flap, as if
seeking out there to read, not what was said in the little letter, but
what was _not_ said.
Then he stood up, slipped on some shoes, and went outside into the
fragrant morning air. Directly he saw Carew on his horse, he took the
little path through the scrub and rocks and went towards him. Carew
alighted, and came a short distance along the path.
Mr. Pym spoke first. The other had already done his speaking in the
note.
"This is very sudden. I hoped you would have accompanied us to Susi."
He looked up hard into the soldier's bronzed face, though without
seeming to do so. To any other man the steadiness of Carew's eyes
might have been disconcerting.
"I hardly expected to be able to. Mr. Jardine was almost certain to be
at Segundi one day this week, and I knew I should have to meet him."
"How long will you be away?"
"Possibly a week."
Henry Pym was a little taken aback, but he did not show it. The cool
brain that had manufactured the income of a millionaire was fully
alert now, not so much because he did not wish to be taken unawares,
but because Carew interested him beyond most men, and he wanted to try
and grasp the working of his mind.
"Then we may not see you again before we start for Salisbury?"
"Possibly not. Will you kindly say good-bye to the ladies for me,
should I be prevented doing so in person?"
"They will be disappointed not to see you."
"I am sorry also." A little smile of grim humour played suddenly about
his lips. "You must tell your niece The Bear sent her a farewell
growl, and he hopes she will find more amiable Rhodesians at her
future camping-places."
"I think she is not one to care much about the average type of amiable
cavalier. She will miss The Bear's growl a good deal. But we shall see
you again shortly, I hope," he hastened to add. "Any time if you care
to come to Johannesburg we shall be delighted if you will visit us at
Hill Court."
"Thank you. If I come that way, I shall remember."
Then he held out his hand. Mr. Pym grasped it with unwonted warmth.
"Good-bye, sir," said the soldier simply.
"Good-bye, Carew; I have been glad to meet you," answered the
millionaire. And then as the horseman rode away without one backward
look, he walked slowly along the little path to the tents.
At breakfast he broke the news quite simply, but once more he did not
look at Meryl. He told them Major Carew had been called away to
Segundi, and would not return before they had departed north.
"Gone?..." echoed Diana blankly. "Do you mean he has gone already and
without saying good-bye?"
He felt Meryl's eyes upon him with a strained expression, and he
turned lightly to Diana to give her time to grasp the news.
"Yes; but he left you a message. He passed before you were up, and I
went out to speak to him. He asked me to make his farewells to both of
you, and particularly to tell you that The Bear sent you a growl, and
he hopes you will find more amiable Rhodesians at your other
camping-places."
But Diana was in no mood for light messages; rather unaccountably, she
received it with impatience.
"O, he is simply odious!" she exclaimed. "I have no patience with him.
Why can't he behave like an ordinary man just once in a way? Going off
at sunrise, and never stopping to say good-bye! It is downright
rudeness, and there is no reason why he should conclude he can be as
rude as he likes with impunity. You don't seem to mind his
bearishness, Meryl? but I hope you have spirit enough to resent his
casual departure."
Meryl was rather pale, but she managed to reply lightly, "I can't see
why you seem so surprised. He is only acting as he has done all along.
It is his affair, whether he keeps it up to the last, or suddenly
changes altogether and becomes the polite, conventional society man.
Personally, it would have surprised me far more to see the change."
"O, you're just shielding him," with impatient disdain; "I suppose
because he happens to be rather good to look at. But I call it rude;
just plain, unvarnished rudeness to go off like that for some
trumped-up reason and never say good-bye to you and me. I hope I
_shall_ meet more amiable Rhodesians elsewhere, and I should like to
have a chance to tell him so." Then she rattled off into another
subject, leaving neither Meryl nor her uncle any necessity to help the
conversation, for which, in their secret hearts, they were deeply
grateful.
And perhaps Diana's clever little head made an effort which had no
appearance of an effort; for like the two brothers who had been
respectively her father and her uncle, very little transpiring in her
immediate circle ever escaped her notice.
XVI
"THE SHIP OF FOOLS"
Meryl had not been long with the Grenvilles before Ailsa's sympathetic
nature divined that some shadow seemed to be brooding upon the girl's
spirit. She was so pensive and silent, with sad eyes turned often to
some far horizon full of wistful thought. And then perhaps suddenly
she would make an effort and be unusually gay, but the gaiety was not
spontaneous nor the laughter frank.
In truth, it had been a weary two days and nights for Meryl, since the
early morning when her father and Diana, with the engineer and
Stanley, rode away, after escorting her to the Mission Station and
leaving her there to await their return. It was as though the very
abruptness of Carew's departure had crystallised all her wavering,
uncertain thoughts, and told her bluntly what he was to her. Before
she had been half dreaming; now she knew.
And it seemed to her that she knew also, beyond any questioning, that
he had no feeling whatever for her beyond the merest friendliness; and
since they would probably never meet again, she must, if possible,
conquer her own foolish heart, and resolutely withdraw the love she
had given unasked. It seemed to her, at any rate, the strongest thing
to do, and while she made the effort she would turn a smiling face to
the world and let no one suspect. If she failed--well, that would
still be her own affair and no one need know. So she rallied herself
often and talked gaily, encouraging an interest in all Mr. Grenville's
plans and hopes that she did not always feel. What she liked best was
to sit silently before the large sitting-room hut, with her hands on
her knees, gazing at the wonderful prospect, while Ailsa sewed beside
her and talked quietly. Ailsa who knew him so well, and loved him so
well, and appeared to be the only woman friend he possessed. Ailsa
also who loved this far country so well, the country he had adopted
for his own land, and seemed quite content, as he, to give the best
years of her life, in her small measure, to its welfare.
Meryl thought much of the lives of these three quiet workers in the
wilderness, and mused a little sadly upon what seemed but gilded
pleasure-seeking emptiness to which she would presently go back.
It was in one of these thoughtful moods she asked Ailsa with plain
directness how she thought a millionaire might best benefit Rhodesia,
supposing he were willing to make an effort in that direction. Having
asked, she added with a light touch, "I imagine you are hardly ready
yet for libraries and public parks and orphanages?"
"No," Ailsa answered; "but we want settlers badly. Think what it would
mean to the country if just one rich man or company, instead of
acquiring large tracts of land and holding it until the price mounts
to a high figure, were to make a genuine effort to get a white
population upon it as quickly as possible, even though it meant small
or no profits. It is too much to expect from any company naturally,
but there are individuals holding up their land, and therefore holding
back the country, who might show a more generous spirit. I could name
a well-known man who owns immense tracts, one of them two hundred
thousand acres not far from a town, and there it lies in idleness,
awaiting a land boom. Not long ago it was given out through the
newspapers that he had a great scheme in hand for getting settlers,
but nothing has come of it yet, and no one has much hope that it ever
will."
"I wonder if my father owns land here? Do you happen to know?"
"I think he does."
"And it is lying idle?" divining that her companion knew more than she
implied.
"As far as any outsider knows, it is."
"I see." Meryl got up and moved down the rustic verandah, standing a
moment at the far end and looking across the country with grave eyes.
Then she came back. "Has anyone ever thought of a Rhodes Scholarship,
that might take the form of grants of land and be won by competition,
I wonder? Would a scheme like that work, do you think?"
"I have often thought that it would. Besides bringing the settler, it
would more or less ensure a desirable one, if he had to prove himself
a useful, hard-working youth of good sound education. But, of course,
it would mean a big outlay. A man might inaugurate such a scheme to be
carried out by his will, but he would hardly be likely to do it in his
lifetime."
"Still, I suppose something of the kind might prove workable if the
owner of the land were content to forego a large profit, and let
settlers have farms or plots on exceptional terms, if they could prove
themselves capable, useful men?"
"Yes, that is very much what we want. The owner of the land a patriot,
keeping an eye on the scheme himself, and helping it forward for love
of the country, not holding it back and keeping it idle for the sake
of his own already well-filled pocket."
"I will sound my father about his possessions," the girl said simply,
looking to the far blue hills.
Ailsa watched her a moment covertly, and then asked with a little
wonder in her voice, "The country seems to have taken hold of you very
quickly. You speak as one who already loves it."
"I love all South Africa. I have always been happier out here than in
England. In some way it seems more thoroughly my own land."
"Why is that, do you think?"
"I hardly know, unless it is the remembrance that all we have we owe
to Africa. I believe my father was penniless when he came out here."
"It has been the same with many, but they do not remember. It is more
usual to come here for gain, and go away to spend it in more luxurious
countries."
"Perhaps, but it has never seemed to me to be fair. My father is not
like that. He loves Africa as I do, but he is a very hard-working man,
and perhaps some things do not occur to him. I think he is up here now
to see the country, as well as acquire fresh mining properties, and
all the time he seems so busy and preoccupied, he is probably thinking
out development schemes of general benefit."
"I hope so," and Ailsa spoke very earnestly. "Your father is a fine
man; one has only to talk to him to perceive that quickly, and it
would be a good day for Rhodesia if he began to take a genuinely
practical interest in her welfare. I know he has talked much of it to
Major Carew, and no one could tell him more of our hopes and needs."
They were silent a few moments, and then Ailsa added with a touch of
emotion, "You know, when one thinks of the service some men give so
quietly and unquestioningly to the far-off lands, it seems, after all,
but a small thing for rich men who have benefited by them to give of
their riches. Yet how few ever do! There are more men ready to risk
their lives than to put their hands in their pockets. But then that is
just perhaps because they are fools, and fools never make any money to
give; have nothing, in fact, except their lives to offer."