"A DEEP--A SOLITARY GRAVE."
They were now on the other slope of the great mountain chain which shut
in the Ba-gcatya country on that side, and, judging by the landmarks, it
seemed to Laurence that the surroundings wore an aspect not absolutely
unfamiliar, and that they could not be far out of the way by which he
had been brought in a captive. There was the same broad belt of desolate
land which took many days to traverse--a land of gloomy forest and
sluggish river, reed-fringed, crocodile-haunted; and night after night
they would build their camp-fire, resting secure in the red circle of
its cheery flame--while the howling of ravening beasts kept up dismal
chorus in the outer darkness beyond. It was a primeval idyll, the
wandering of these two--the man, the product of the highest
_fin-de-siecle_ civilization; the woman, the daughter of a savage race.
Yet in such wandering, savage and civilized were curiously near akin.
They were free as air--untrammelled by any conventionality or artificial
needs. The land furnished ample subsistence, animal and vegetable. The
wild game which supplied them with food could not have been more free.
"Would you rather have been rescued some other way, Nyonyoba?" said the
girl one evening, as they were sitting by the camp-fire.
"No. There is no other way I should have preferred. See now, Lindela.
What if we were to return to your people? Surely they would believe now
in the Sign of the Spider--and that the conqueror is greater than the
conquered?"
"Not so," she answered, and her eyes, which had brightened at the first
words of his reply, became clouded and sad. "They would put us to death
now--both of us. But were it otherwise--would you really desire to
return?"
"One might do worse. I don't know that the blessings of civilization are
such blessings after all, which to you is a riddle."
He relapsed into silence and thought. There were times when, with the
riches upon him, he was consumed with a perfectly feverish longing to
return to civilization. There were other times, again, when he looked
back with more than a lingering regret to the pleasant land of the
Ba-gcatya. Furthermore, Lindela had entwined herself around his heart
more than he knew. Not an atom of the intrepidity of devotion she had
displayed in order to compass his final rescue was thrown away upon
him--any more than her deportment since. Through the toilsomeness and
peril of their journeying no word of complaint or despondency escaped
her. She was always sunny-natured, cheerful, self-sacrificing,
resourceful--in short, a delightful companion. Yet--she was a savage, he
thought, with a curl of the lip, as before his mind's eye arose the
contrast between her and her civilized sisters, with their artificiality
and moods and caprices, and petty spites and fictitious ailments, and
general contentiousness all around. It was by no means certain he would
not have returned to dwell with her among her own people, had that
course been open--but it was not. Only the return to civilization lay
before him; and what to do with Lindela--for he had not the slightest
desire to part with her.
Meanwhile they had reached the perilous phase of their wanderings. Ruins
of multitudinous villages lay in their path at every turn, but, what was
worse, signs of human occupation began to show once more, and human
occupation meant hostile occupation. It was fortunate that the land had
been doubly raided--by the slave-hunters and the Ba-gcatya--because in
its depopulation lay their safety. But those who had escaped would not
be likely to view with any friendly glance a representative of each
despoiling factor, as exemplified in these two. So they avoided
villages, which was easy enough by careful observation ahead. What was
less easy, however, was to avoid wandering parties.
Nor was it always practicable. Once they came right into such a
horde--near enough, that is, for their presence to be discovered, and
for a whole day were they stealthily followed, their pursuers only
drawing off owing to nightfall and the proximity of other tribes hostile
to themselves. Another time they nearly walked into the midst of an
encampment while a cannibal feast was in progress. At sight of the human
limbs hung up, the filed teeth and tattooed faces of these savages
tearing at their horrible repast, Lindela shuddered with repulsion and
anger.
"See there, Nyonyoba," she said, when they had withdrawn beyond
hearing, "do not the Ba-gcatya act rightly in stamping out these foul
_Izima_--who devour the flesh of their own kindred, like wild dogs?"
"I think so. And we, who capture them to sell them, do we not send them
to a better fate, where they can no more indulge in such repellent
appetites?" And this she did not attempt to gainsay.
For months they journeyed on thus, peril their companion at every step,
the more so as they gained the more inhabited tracts. Once they fell in
with a petty Arab chief and his following. This man was known to
Laurence, and treated them well and hospitably while they remained at
his camp. But before they departed he said:
"What sum will purchase this girl, my friend, for by now thou must have
had enough of her? She would fetch large money at Khartoum, whither I
can forward her, and I will deal with thee fairly. Yes, Allah is great.
I will only make my profit on her. The price shall be liberal."
Then Laurence Stanninghame, the renegade, the man who had thrown all
considerations of duty and feeling to the winds as so much lumber, so
much meaningless conventionality, felt as shocked and disgusted as ever
he could have done in his most foolish days, what time illusions were as
vivid, as golden as ever. But, remembering himself, he replied in an
even tone:
"No sum will purchase her, Rahman ben Zuhdi. Were I dying at this
moment, and large wealth could bring me fifty years more of life, I
would not sell her. All that the world contains could not purchase her,
for she has restored me to life at the peril of her own, again and
again,--nay, more, has restored me to that which alone renders life a
possession of any value. I have dealt in slaves, but this is a daughter
of a race of kings.
"The People of the Spider," said the Arab thoughtfully, flashing a
curious glance at Lindela, who stood some little way apart. "They grow
their women fine if they are all as this one. Well, I did but make thee
the offer, my brother; but if a man values anything above gold, all the
gold in the world will not induce him to part therewith. Fare thee well.
We part friends."
"As friends indeed do we part, O Rahman," replied Laurence. And they
resumed their respective ways.
As time went on, Lindela's manner seemed to undergo a change--her
spirits to flag. Was it the fearful malarial heat of the low-lying
forest country, often swampy, which was affecting her? thought Laurence
with concern. He himself was inured to it, but this daughter of a
healthy upland race, accustomed to the breezy, equable climate of her
mountain home--on her the steaming heat of the rotting vegetation and
marshy soil might conceivably be beginning to tell.
They were resting one day during the noontide heat. No burning rays from
the outside sun could scorch here, for the place was dim with thick
foliage and creepers trailing from the limbs of great forest trees. Both
had fallen asleep.
Suddenly Lindela started up. A sharp wringing pain, seeming to begin on
the left shoulder, went through her frame. It spread--down her
arm--then through to the other shoulder--down the other arm. What was
it? A cramp caught from the treacherous chill of the humid soil?
Perhaps. Well, it would soon pass. Then Laurence began to stir in his
sleep. The sight made her forget her pain. He must not awaken; he needed
rest. Noiselessly plucking a leafy branch she went over to him and began
softly to fan him. This was effective. His even, regular breathing told
that he slumbered peacefully, restfully, once more.
Soon she became aware that her powers were failing her. Her arm seemed
to become cramped, paralyzed, and a mist floated before her eyes. What
did it mean? Her lips opened to call aloud--then closed, uttering no
sound. Why should he be disturbed because she was suffering a little
pain? thought this savage--this daughter of a race of savage kings.
But the mist deepened before her failing vision. She swayed where she
sat, then fell heavily forward--upon him--the branch wherewith she had
been fanning him striking him sharply across the face.
Laurence sprang to his feet, unconsciously throwing her from him. His
first impression was that he had been surprised in his sleep by an
enemy.
"Lindela! What is it?" he cried, raising her up and supporting her. And
then his dark face turned a livid ashen white--for with the dull stupor
which lay heavy in the usually bright eyes, his own had rested upon
something else. The shapely shoulder was swollen to an abnormal size,
and at the back of it were two small round punctures.
"She has been bitten. A snake, of course," he muttered. "And it is too
late."
"Yes, it is too late, Nyonyoba," she murmured. "Yet I do not think I
have been bitten--not by a snake, or I should have known it."
"But you have been. When was this? Why did you not awaken me?" And his
voice startled even himself, so fierce was it in its grief.
"Why should I awaken you, beloved, you who needed rest?" she murmured,
groping for his hand. "Yes, it is too late. It was some time ago. I
thought it was a cramp, but I must have been bitten."
Laurence was thinking--and thinking hard. What remedy was there? None.
It was even as she had said--too late. The poison had penetrated her
whole system.
"I am dying, beloved--and shall soon go into the Dark Unknown----" she
murmured, more drowsily than before. "Yet it matters nothing, for those
of our nation do not fear death. And listen. I heard the Arab's proposal
to you, and your answer thereto--yet, when you returned to your people,
what would have become of me?"
[Illustration: "I AM DYING, BELOVED--AND SHALL SOON GO INTO THE DARK
UNKNOWN."]
She was but voicing his own thoughts of many and many a time before. Yet
now Laurence felt almost startled. Was it the clear intuition which
rightly or wrongly is believed to accompany the hour of dissolution?
Then he remembered she could have learned much about civilized peoples
through the talk of Tyisandhlu and her father.
"I die, beloved, but I welcome death," she went on,--"for I have
lived--ah, yes, I have lived. I feel no pain now, and I die in your
arms. Surely my _itongo_[7] will not weep mournfully on the voices of
the night as others do; surely it will laugh for very joy, for very
love, because of this my end, until time shall die--will it not,
Nyonyoba, my beloved? Say--will it not?"
But Laurence could not say anything, for, lo--a marvel. This man,
deadened for long years to feeling or ruth; this coldly pitiless
trafficker in the sufferings of human beings; in whose cynical creed now
such a love as that of this savage girl held no place--felt now as
though a hand were gripping him by the throat, choking all power of
reply. And the call of birds, high among the tree-tops, alone broke the
silence, in the semi-gloom of the forest aisles.
Lindela's voice had sunk until it was well-nigh inaudible, and Laurence
was constrained to bend his head to hers in order to catch her every
word. Then--a flash of gladness seemed momentarily to light up the
drowsy eyes, and she spoke no more. Her eyelids closed, her breathing
grew fainter and fainter, and soon Laurence knew that that which lay
heavy within his arms was no longer a living woman. Lindela had passed.
For long he sat thus. Then a faint rustling sound in the dry wood of an
immense fallen tree-trunk caught his ear. Ha!--the snake which had been
the cause of her death! It, at any rate, should die. Gently he laid her
down, then snatching up a stick which had been used to carry one of the
loads he advanced towards the sound.
Something was struggling among the dry bark; with the stick he broke
this away. There fell out an enormous spider.
He started back in horror and loathing. The hairy monster brought back
too gruesome a reminiscence. Then he noticed that it looked as if it had
received injury through crushing, two or three of the hideous tentacles
being partially or wholly broken off.
Then, as he gazed with loathing upon the sprawling thing, it seemed that
the missing link was supplied. Lindela, in her sleep, must have moved
over on to this horror, though not heavily enough to crush it. It had
buried its venomous nippers in her shoulder, prior to crawling away to
die.
A shiver ran through his frame as he beat to death the great noisome
insect--and his blood seemed to chill with a superstitious fear. It
seemed too strange, too marvellous to be a mere coincidence. Lindela had
defied the traditions of her race, and now she had met her death through
the agency of the very embodiment of those traditions. She, a daughter
of the Kings of the People of the Spider, had met her death through the
Spider's bite. It was horrifying in its sinister appropriateness. Was it
really a thing of witchcraft? Did the Fiend have actual bodily power
here, in "the dark places of the earth"? Had this demoniacal influence
followed her to wreak its vengeance here, at such a distance from the
home and country to which she would return no more?
When Laurence Stanninghame resumed his journey the next day he left
behind him a grave--a deep, secure grave--a solitary grave in the heart
of the untrodden forest. His journeyings henceforth must be alone; but
ofttimes his thoughts would go back to that nameless grave, and to her
who rested forever therein. Only a savage! Only a heathen! Yes--but if
brave, devoted, self-sacrificing love is of any account at all in the
scheme of Christian virtues, where would this savage, this heathen, come
in at the day of awards? Where indeed, among the multitude of
gold-worshipping, form-adoring Pharisees? Truth to tell, Laurence
believed but dimly in the day of awards. Yet did it exist, he thought he
knew the answer to his own question.
FOOTNOTE:
[7] Tutelary spirit.