The mood in which Dare started on the journey to Pretoria was one of
mingled sensations. A persuasion of irreparable loss qualified the
immediate satisfaction he experienced in being uninterruptedly alone
with Pamela. The joy he felt in having her to himself, withdrawn from
outside influences, from ties and conventional restrictions, was
considerably reduced when he reflected that this present close
companionship was the forerunner of a more complete separation than any
they had previously known. They were acting in deliberate concert in
closing all the tracks which had led to the converging of their life
paths, making it impossible that they should ever cross again. In doing
this together they lost sight for the time of the reality of parting.
There was a flavour of adventure in the proceeding which Dare at least
appreciated; although it foreshadowed the inevitable parting, it seemed
to set it further apart,--a vague forbidding cloud which threatened to
break and deluge them later, but loomed remotely on the horizon of the
present, a misfortune that some unforeseen agency might yet avert.
Pamela remained very quiet and still during the first hour of the
journey. The excitement and bustle of departure, with Mrs Carruthers
and the children, a noisy and somewhat unmanageable group about the door
of the compartment which Dare had secured to themselves, left her
slightly depressed when it subsided. She leaned from the window as the
train glided out of the station, waving her handkerchief to the
children, whom Mrs Carruthers grasped determinedly one by either hand,
until the train bore her from their view; then, dispirited, conscious of
the abrupt reaction, she sank back in her seat, the sudden tears
smarting under her eyelids at the sense of loneliness which the fading
of the bright faces, the cessation of the gay childish voices, induced.
Dare busied himself with the disposition of the baggage and refrained
from noticing her. It occurred to him that she might feel some slight
embarrassment in the first moments of realising how completely she was
cut off from outside things in this solitude of days to be passed in his
sole company. He believed that she had not taken into consideration the
fact of this uninterrupted intercourse to which he had looked forward
with such eagerness; that aspect of the journey had probably never
presented itself to her mind. In which surmise he was entirely right;
Pamela had not considered the matter of their complete isolation. When
it dawned upon her it did not, however, cause her any embarrassment.
She was less self-conscious than Dare in respect to their relations. It
never occurred to her to disguise from herself or from him the comfort
and pleasure she derived from his friendship. When one is facing
serious issues the smaller concerns of life assume a proportionate
insignificance; and the appearance of one's actions ceases to disturb
the mind confident that its motives are right.
When Dare, having settled things in their places, sat down opposite to
her and offered her a pile of periodicals to help pass the time, she put
them down on the seat beside her, and evinced a disposition to talk.
Pamela had done so little travelling in the Colony that she was
interested in the scenery, and immensely impressed with its
magnificence, as any traveller must be, seeing it for the first time.
Had it not been for the serious object of the journey, she would have
enjoyed the experience thoroughly; but the thought of Arnott, of meeting
him, of the possible difficulty of persuading him to return with her, as
well as the shock of his illness, damped her spirit, hung over her like
a nightmare. She was terribly afraid that this man who had treated her
so infamously would refuse her request even now. The contemplation of
enforcing the fulfilment of his obligation by a threat of proceeding
against him chilled her. If it came to the point, she could not, she
felt, do that.
"It's wonderful--this," she said, gazing out of the window at the wide
sweep of country through which they were passing. "I've never been up
the line before. It's new to me, travelling through sunlit spaces like
this. See the flowers in the veld. I can smell them as we pass."
He looked from the window with her, sharing her pleasure in the
unexpected beauty which developed and changed surprisingly, became more
assertive, more strikingly characteristic with every mile they
traversed, as leaving the green fertility of the Peninsula, and the blue
line of the Atlantic, behind, the train plunged into the rugged open
country, where the long lush grass was splashed with vivid colour, with
the orange and purple and crimson of the wild flowers that struggled
amid the tangled growth; where the mountain ranges showed blue in the
blue distance, which like an azure veil spread itself over the golden
riot of the sunshine.
"I've dwelt in fancy on this often," he said,--"travelling with you,--
seeing new places with you. I'm fond of scenery. I like going about.
But always I take you with me in imagination. I knew you'd enjoy it. I
enjoy it as I never enjoyed before--because of you."
Pamela did not remove her gaze from the landscape, but she slipped her
hand along the ledge of the window until it met his; and for a while
they remained in silence, watching the view together.
"I have often had a feeling that some day we should do this journey, you
and I," he said presently. "But I didn't suppose it would be under
these conditions... God knows what I thought! I've always been a
dreamer... I pictured breaking the journey with you. There are one or
two places along the line that are well worth a visit. It makes the
journey easier. You will be pretty well tired out before we reach
Pretoria."
She nodded.
"Yes," she said. "But we couldn't do that."
"No; I suppose we can't. That's the pity of it. But it is good as it
is," he added, glancing at her with a smile. "We'll make the most of
this... Why not? It's the finish. It will be something for me to look
back upon anyway, when you are just a memory to me."
Her face clouded at his words, suggesting in their quiet finality the
complete separation which the end of the journey promised. In their
frank acknowledgement of their mutual love, both realised that meeting
in the future was impossible, at any rate for many years. Perhaps when
time had reconciled them to parting they might meet again as friends.
"I have secured a berth for myself in the next compartment," he
observed, after a pause. "I've got it to myself. So if you require
anything when I am not with you, you have only to knock in to me, and I
shall hear. When you want to be alone, just say the word, and I'll dear
out."
Pamela smiled at him gravely. That was just what she did not want--to
be alone. His presence was an immense comfort to her. She doubted
whether she could have undertaken this difficult journey without him,--
have faced, without his support, the still more difficult task which
awaited her at the journey's end. He inspired her with confidence and
courage. She knew that as long as she needed him he would not fail
her,--he would see her through to the finish.
They lunched at a little table together in the dining-car, and
afterwards Dare insisted that she should rest for a while; for the day
was hot, and the compartment, with all the windows open, was
oppressively close. He settled her comfortably, and went out into the
corridor to smoke. And Pamela, drowsy with the heat and the motion,
fell asleep, and did not wake until nearly four. When she opened her
eyes again, Dare was standing in the doorway of the compartment, looking
down at her. He smiled as their glances met. Then he came forward and
bent and kissed her. She flushed brightly, and sat up.
"By all the rules of the game I ought not to have done that," he said.
"But--may I?"
She rose, and put her two hands on his shoulders and looked him squarely
in the eyes.
"Why not?" she said.
Her hands slipped round his neck until they met behind.
"We are hungry for love, and we are giving up everything. Why should we
deny ourselves the bare crumbs? And it will be ended so soon. I don't
see any harm in it at all... Do you?"
"No," he said, with his arms about her. "I suppose I view it in much
the same way as yourself. But the world wouldn't, you know."
"Oh, the world!" Pamela pressed closer to him. "We are out of the
world, dear, just for this journey. We have left it behind... we're
away from it all--alone--you and I. We are going to have this time
together,--a glimpse of Heaven to brighten the drab world when we get
back to earth. I want to make the most of it--of every minute. I don't
want to sleep away the hours, as I did this afternoon. It wasn't kind
of you to send me to sleep. Afterwards, when we are back in the world,
then I'll sleep, but not now. To-night I shall sit up quite late. I
shall keep you with me. We'll watch the night close down upon the veld,
and look out upon the moving darkness together, and forget the world
entirely and all this weary business of life... My dear! ... Oh, my
dear!"
He bent his head lower until their lips met.
The long hot day drew to its close, and the brief twilight descended.
They dined as they had lunched at the little table together. There were
very few passengers on the train; the seats in the dining-car, save for
one or two, were unoccupied. This was due to the season. It was a
satisfaction to Dare, as it insured their greater privacy. He had
secured their compartments at the end of the corridor so that they
should not be disturbed with people passing; each detail had been
carefully considered and carried out, and everything that experience had
taught him as necessary to the comfort of a long train journey in the
hot weather had been provided. Pamela lacked nothing which forethought
could devise. Fruit there was in abundance, and cooling drinks
suspended from the carriage window in Dare's canvas water-bag. The dry
air of the Karroo induces thirst. Pamela, who had come away entirely
unprovided, was grateful to him for his thought for her.
"You are a wonderful person; you've forgotten nothing," she said.
"I am an old hand," he replied. "I do not travel with a beautiful trust
in Providence, and a blind faith in the commissariat of the railway,
like this other wonderful person. To-morrow and the next day you will
know what thirst means."
"I think we shall be able to satisfy it," she said, regarding the hamper
of fruit on the opposite seat. "It's like a huge picnic, isn't it? I
feel--excited."
He laughed, and passed an arm about her, holding her comfortably against
his shoulder. She rested so for a while quietly.
"I have drunk of the waters of Lethe," she said, looking up at him after
a silence. "I am like a woman whose memory has gone. Everything is a
blank, save the present. It's good, isn't it?"
"It's more than good," he replied.
He gazed down into the sweet face resting against his shoulder, and
smiled into the deep, serious eyes.
"Tired?" he asked.
"No," she answered.
"We've been travelling over nine hours," he said. "We shall reach
Matjesfontein shortly."
"Do we stop there?"
"Only for a minute or two. Then you will see the Karroo at night."
"It's night now," she said. "But it isn't dark."
"It's a clear night," he answered. "It won't get darker than this. See
the stars, Pamela?"
She turned to look from the window.
"There is too much light in the carriage," she said, leaning out into
the warm dusk, and gazing upon the shadowed landscape which gave an
impression of movement, as though it swept past the lighted train.
Dare got up and switched off the light. She turned her head quickly.
"Oh! I didn't know you could do that," she said. "That's much nicer."
He returned and seated himself beside her, and leaned from the broad
window with his face close to hers. She touched his cheek with her own
caressingly.
"Night on the veld," she whispered,--"and just we two alone--watching.
All those other people... they don't count. I love it--don't you? Do
you notice the scents? They are stronger than in the daytime. What is
it. I can smell as we go along? Something... it's like heliotrope."
"The night convolvulus," he answered. "The veld is smothered with it in
places. All the best scents in Africa are night scents. The night is
the best time of all."
"Yes; it's the best time," she agreed. "A night like this! ... Isn't
it perfect? I am alive as I have never felt before. It's as though all
my senses were quickened. I didn't know it was possible to enjoy so
intensely. I wish this could last for ever... I wish that I might fall
asleep presently, and wake no more... Don't let us talk... Let us
watch together--like this,--and just feel..."
And so they remained, this man and woman who loved hopelessly, silent in
the darkened carriage, with faces pressed close against each other,--
intent on one another to the exclusion of every other thought,--clinging
together in a mute sympathy, and a love which had gone beyond utterance,
got above and outside ordinary physical passion, and stood for what it
was,--the supreme thing in their lives,--the best that life had offered
them, which neither separation nor sorrow could filch from their
possession.
And the train rushed on through the clear, luminous night that, warm
still and fragrant with the hundred different scents of the Karroo,
never darkened beyond a twilight duskiness, in which the veld showed
darkly defined against the deepening purple of the sky, where a young
moon rode like a white sickle amid the countless stars.