"As I came thro' the Desert thus it was--
As I came thro' the Desert."
For a reason that had to do with my intense love for animals I had
steadfastly refused to have any pets, though I had been offered an
adorable Irish terrier puppy, a tame _meerkat_ and a baby monkey.
But one day, Major Ringe, the magistrate, a big, fair man of forty with
innocent eyes, lank limbs, and a reputation in the Gunners for valour
second to none, brought me a pretty little white kitten that I could not
resist.
It had china-blue eyes and other traces of Persian ancestry, but its
chief charm was its lovely fluffy playfulness, and soft snowballiness.
It seemed to me I had never had anything so sweet and wonderful in my
life since the day Anthony Kinsella left me. It was like a little blue
and white cloud dropped from the skies: it brought back dreams.
We called it Snowie, and from the first Maurice seemed as fond of it as
I, and insisted that Major Ringe had meant it for him also. I was only
too willing to share it with him if he really cared, but I was always a
little nervous for fear that in some sudden gust of rage he might give
the little trustful thing a bang. But at other times, when I saw him
fondling it with real tenderness in his eyes, I reproached myself, and a
piercing thought darted into my mind.
What if I am ginning against him? What if in my selfishness and pride I
am wickedly unjust to him? Perhaps if he had a child to love--he would
be different!
Yet when I thought of a child of mine--with Maurice's eyes and Maurice's
ways--I turned sick and faint, and I flung the thought out. But it came
back and back, roosting in my mind, pecking at my heart like a little
black vulture.
I let him have the kitten to himself when he wanted it, and he would
take it away to his room. We got into the way of keeping it in turn to
spend the night with us. But it always preferred me. It would escape
from him whenever it could and come scampering back across the yard to
me; and he following it in a rage, would grab it up roughly, accusing me
of feeding it in the night to make it like me best!
The nights I had Snowie I slept well, dreaming I had a child with
Anthony Kinsella's blue eyes, nestling at my heart. I often woke
crooning to it as my old Irish nurse used to croon to me:
"_Hush-a, Hush-a, Hush-a, m'babee_."
But on the nights that I had no kitten to nestle against my throat, the
little black vulture kept me company, staying with me unweariedly,
plucking at my heart, asking little terrible questions to which I had no
answer.
"_Do you think Maurice Stair also croons over dream children?--does he
give them the eyes of his love?--have they little hands that fondle
him_?"
"_You have tried beguiling, and flattering, and scorn, and hate--is
there nothing else left to try_?"
"_Is a man's soul nothing?--what of the little smouldering spark down
below, under the mud and weights--is it still there?--or have you put it
out_?"
"_Who are you to keep yourself so aloof and proud?--do you think women
have not sacrificed themselves before to-day--better, nobler women than
you_?"
"Yes--but for love--for love--for love!" I cried, and wept till dawn.
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One night it was raining terribly when Maurice got up to leave the
drawing-room and go across to his hut. Lightning was streaking between
the trees, and great crashes of thunder seemed to fall bodily from the
skies and explode like tons of dynamite amongst the kopjes, echoing and
detonating through the land.
It was Maurice's night for the kitten, but she didn't want to go. She
tried hard to get away to me, but he tucked her into the pocket of his
mackintosh, and only the top of her little fluffy face was to be seen
gazing at me with appealing blue eyes.
"Let her stay for a little while, Maurice," I said, "just till the storm
goes off a little. I'll bring her over to your door later. She's
afraid of the storm."
"Nonsense: the storm won't hurt her. Get back into my pocket, you
little devil."
But the little devil only mewed the louder, and tried the harder to
escape, gazing at me imploringly. I turned away with my eyes full of
tears. She was so like a child asking to be left with its mother. I
knew, too, that I had a wretched night before me with a black companion.
I should have been glad of the little furry thing snuggling against me.
But it was Maurice's turn.
"Good-night!" I said abruptly. "I shall stay here till the storm goes
down. I'm afraid of the lightning in the trees."
He said good-night, and went out into the storm, his mackintosh buttoned
round him, lantern in hand. I stood watching in the door, and heard him
stumbling against tree trunks and swearing, until he found his hut.
Then the door banged, and light gleamed through his canvas windows.
Presently when the lightning was not quite so vivid, I wrapped myself
up, and locking the drawing-room door beat my way across the compound to
my own hut. Though the journey was only a matter of a few seconds I was
wet to the skin when I arrived, and hastily throwing off my clothes
slipped into bed. As I put out my light I thought I heard Snowie mewing
again. I was very tired, and, contrary to my expectation, fell asleep
very quickly. Perhaps the vulture was tired out too.
I dreamed I saw Snowie backing away from the fangs of a wolf and crying
piteously. I rushed to save her, but the wolf already had her, and was
mauling the life out of her. Her screams were terrible--almost human!
They woke me up. With a wet forehead I sat up in bed, listening. But I
could hear nothing; only bursts of thunder, the whip of the rain on the
trees, and the swish and ripple of little streams tearing down the sides
of the hill. The storm had increased.
After awhile I lay down again, but I could sleep no more. The cries had
been so real they haunted me. I considered the matter of going over to
Maurice to see if all was well with the kitten. I had never entered his
hut, only looked in the door daily, to see that it was kept clean by his
boy. What excuse had I to knock at his door in the middle of the night?
He would probably, and with every reason, be very indignant at being
waked up. Nevertheless, I presently found myself on the floor groping
for my slippers and feeling for my cloak.
When I opened the door a wild blast tore in, lifting my cloak to the
roof, and in a moment the front of my night-gown was like a wet rag, and
my body streaming with wet. It was no use attempting to take a light.
I stumbled among the trees, in the thick darkness; blinding lightning
flickered across my eyeballs like liquid fire, but it showed the way,
and at last I reached the door I knew to be Maurice's and battered on
it. Silence!
"Maurice! Maurice!"
Silence again. Nothing but the flacking rain and pealing thunder.
Within, all was darkness and silence; evidently Maurice was fast asleep,
and Snowie too. My worry had been about nothing. How foolish to be so
disturbed by a dream, I thought, as I beat my way back, and once more
sought my bed. Still, I was glad I had gone and set my mind at rest.
By one of those extraordinary lapses of memory that sometimes occur, I
woke in the morning with no recollection of the night's adventure. I
had slept it all away. The only thought in my mind as I jumped out of
bed was that if I did not make double-quick time Maurice would be at the
breakfast table before me, a thing I never allowed to happen since he
had taken to rising for breakfast. I flew through my dressing, and was
still five minutes to the good when I ran across the yard in the morning
air of a world washed, and fresh, and glittering like crystal.
To my astonishment Maurice was not only at the table, but had finished
his breakfast.
"But why so early?" I cried in surprise.
"I had a message from Ringe to say that he wants me at the court early."
As he finished speaking Mango entered to say that Sergeant Locke was
outside, wanting to speak to the master. Maurice rose hastily, putting
his serviette to his lips, and as he did so I saw upon the back of his
right hand three long deep scratches. In an instant he had whipped his
hand into his pocket. He gave me a searching glance which I noticed but
vaguely, for at that moment the whole of my last night's dream and
adventure in the rain had come flashing back, brought to memory by the
sight of those deep new scratches on the back of his hand. While I sat
thinking I heard Sergeant Locke's voice saying:
"Major Ringe went off at four this morning, sir, with Mr Malcolm--they
got news last night of a lion out at Intanga. As they rode by the camp
the Major called me up to ask you to see about Masefield's boy at the
court this morning. It is the only case there is."
"All right, Locke."
Then how could Maurice have received a message from Ringe? Why had he
got up so early and finished his breakfast before--What was that
scratch?
As these questions flashed one after the other through my mind, I sprang
up and ran to the door. He was just flicking the reins on his horse's
neck for it to start. He hardly ever wore gloves, but he had a pair on
this morning, and the scratch was hidden.
"Maurice," I cried out, "where is Snowie?"
He turned on his horse without stopping it and regarded me with
surprised eyes.
"Snowie?"
"Yes--my kitten?"
"Why, haven't you seen her around the place this morning? She was in
the dining-room a few minutes ago."
"Oh!" I cried, and my heart nearly burst with relief. I waved to him,
gladness in my smile, and ran back into the dining-room calling the
kitten. "Snowie--Snowie--Snow--ie."
Later I went into the yard, and all round the huts, still calling. But
she did not come running with her little tail erect and her little pink
mouth open. There was no sign of her. I turned to the boys, but their
faces were blank walls. No one had seen her that morning. I questioned
Mango. He had not noticed her, he said. Doubtless if the _Inkos_ said
so, she must have been in the dining-room, but he had not happened to
notice her.
The other boys seemed to be observing me closely, but when I returned
their searching gaze they dropped their mysterious dark eyes to the
ground, after the manner of kaffirs. None of them had seen Snowie since
the evening before, when I had crossed to the drawing-room with her on
my shoulder, after dinner.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Maurice came home very gay and hungry to lunch. He had easily disposed
of the one case, he said; but he and Clarke, the magistrate's clerk, had
had a great morning hunting a wild-cat that had taken refuge under the
courthouse, and refused to budge. It was imperative to get her as she
had been after Clarke's canaries.
"At last we smoked her out," he related, "and she came for me like a
red-hot devil. If I hadn't put up my hand she'd have had my eyes out.
Look what she did to me."
He held out for my inspection the hand with the long deep scratch I had
seen at the breakfast table! I stared at it speechless. He withdrew it
and proceeded with his lunch. Presently he related to me several bits
of news he had heard in town that morning. He was, for him,
extraordinarily talkative.
"And who do you think have just arrived here?--the Valettas. They've
taken that big thatched place that Nathan, of the Royal Hotel, has just
put up. Mrs Valetta is very sick--fever and complications--never been
right since Fort George, Valetta says. He's brought her here from their
mine, to get some good nursing before he can take her home."