BERYL.

He reined up the Cape cart at the gate of a picturesque verandah-fronted

house which stood against a background of wild and romantic bush

scenery. Not for this, however, had I any eyes at that moment; only for

the personality which was framed as it were within a profusion of white

cactus blossoms which overhung the garden gate.

"Well, Beryl!" he sang out, as we got out of the trap. "Here's an old

school chum I picked up by the merest fluke down at East London. I

brought him out here to see a little African life, so for the present

I'll hand him over to you. Give him a cool chair on the stoep, and a

ditto drink, while I go and see to the outspanning, and to things in

general. Dad still away, I suppose?"

"Yes. He'll be back this evening, though. I'm expecting him every

minute."

"So long, then."

Now I have already explained that I am by nature a reticent animal, and

may add that I have a sneaking horror of being taken for a susceptible

one. Wherefore I had refrained from questioning Brian on the way

hither, as to the outward appearance or inner characteristics of his

elder sister, and he, while mentioning the fact that he had another

sister, who kept house for them--for their mother was long since dead--

and a younger brother, had not entered into details.

But it would be idle to pretend I had not been indulging, and that

mightily, in all sorts of speculation upon the subject, and that within

my own mind. Would she resemble the little one to whose aid I had

come--prove a grown-up replica of her? If so, she would be something to

look at, I concluded. Yet, now that I beheld her, my first impression

of Beryl Matterson was a strange mingling of interest and

disappointment. Tall and very graceful of carriage, she stood there,

with outstretched hand of welcome. The tint of the smooth skin was that

of a dark woman, yet she had eyes of a rich violet blue--large, deep,

thoughtful--and her abundant brown hair was drawn back in a wavy ripple

from the temples.

But that her glance, so straight and scrutinising as it met mine, became

melting and tender as it rested upon her brother, I should have set her

down as of a cold disposition, and withal a trifle too resolute for a

woman, especially for one of her age. As it was, I hardly knew what to

think. She did not greatly resemble Brian, who though also tall and

handsome was very dark; yet I suspected his to be the gentler

disposition of the two.

"You are very welcome, Mr Holt," she said. "How strange that Brian

should have met you down there."

"It was not only strange but providential, for I was literally a

shipwrecked mariner thrown up on your shore without a dry stitch on me."

And I told her briefly the plight I had found myself in, when Brian had

come to the rescue. She listened with great interest.

"Well, I am more than ever glad he did. But what an experience! The

landing one, though, I have been through myself; the bar at East London

can be too terrific for words. By the way, we have a little sister

staying down there now with some friends. We thought the sea-bathing

would do her good, and she's so fond of it. Did you see her, perhaps?"

"Yes. She met us outside the town to say good-bye. What a pretty child

she is."

"She is, and nicely she gets spoiled on the strength of it," laughed

Beryl, but the laugh was wholly a pleasant one, without a tinge of envy

or resentment in it.

We chatted a little, and then she proposed we should stroll out and look

at the garden and some tiny ostrich chicks she was trying to rear, and

flinging on a large rough straw hat which was infinitely becoming, she

led the way, down through an avenue of fig trees, and opened a light

gate in the high quince hedge.

Then as I stood within the coolness of the garden, which covered some

acreage of the side of the slope, I gained a most wonderful impression

of the place that was destined to prove my home for a long time to come,

and in whose joys and sorrows--yes, and impending tragedies of dark

vendetta and bloodshed--I was fated to be associated. Below the house

lay the sheep kraals, and already a woolly cataract was streaming into

one of the thorn-protected enclosures, while another awaited its turn at

a little distance off. The cattle kraal, too, was alive with dappled

hides, and one unintermittent "moo" of restless and hungry calves, while

a blue curling smoke reek from the huts of the Kafir farm servants rose

upon the still evening atmosphere. What is there about that marvellous

African sunset glow? I have seen it many a time since, under far

different conditions--under the steamy heat of the lower Zambesi region,

and amid piercing cold with many degrees of frost on the high Karoo; in

the light dry air of the Kalahari, and in the languorous, semi-tropical

richness of beautiful Natal; but never quite as I saw it that evening,

standing beside Beryl Matterson. It was as a scene cut out of Eden,

that wondrous changing glow which rested upon the whole valley, playing

upon the rolling sea of foliage like the sweep of golden waves, striking

the iron face of a noble cliff with a glint of bronze, then dying, to

leave a pearly atmosphere redolent of distilling aromatic herbs, tuneful

with the cooing of myriad doves and the whistle of plover and the hum of

strange winged insects coming forth on their nightly quests.

"Let's see. How long is it since you and Brian saw each other last, Mr

Holt?" said my companion as we strolled between high quince hedges.

"Why, it must have been quite twelve years, rather over than under. And

most of the time has not been good, as far as I was concerned. The

financial crash that forced me to leave school when I did, kept me for

years in a state of sedentary drudgery for a pittance. Something was

saved out of the wreck at last, but by that time I had grown `groovy'

and fought shy of launching out into anything that involved risk. I

preferred to keep my poor little one talent in a napkin, to the

possibility of losing it in the process of turning it into two."

She looked interested as she listened. The face which I had thought

hard grew soft, sympathetic, and wholly alluring.

"There's a good deal in that," she laughed. "I must say I have often

thought the poor one-talent man was rather hardly used. By the way,

when Brian was sent to England to school it was with the idea of making

a lawyer or a doctor of him, but he would come back to the farm. It was

rather a sore point with our father for quite a long time after, but now

he recognises that it is all for the best. My father is not what the

insurance people call a `good' life, Mr Holt."

"I'm very sorry to hear that. What is wrong? Heart?"

"Yes. But I am boring you with all these family details, but having

been Brian's school chum seems to make you almost as one of ourselves."

"Pray rid yourself of the impression that you are boring me, Miss

Matterson--on the contrary, I am flattered. But I must not obtain your

good opinion under false pretences. The fact is, Brian and I were not

exactly school chums. There was too much difference between our ages--

at that time, of course; which makes it all the more friendly and kind

of him to have brought me here now."

"Oh, that doesn't make any difference. If you weren't chums then you

will be now, so it's all the same."

Then we talked about other things, and to my inquiries relating to this

new land--new to me, that is--Beryl gave ready reply.

"You will have to return the favour, Mr Holt," she said with a smile.

"There are many things I shall ask you about by-and-by. After all, this

sort of life is a good deal outside the world, and I have never been to

England, you know. I am only a raw Colonial."

I forget what answer I made; probably it was an idiotic one. But the

idea of associating "rawness" with this well-bred, self-possessed,

attractive girl at my side, seemed so outrageous that in all probability

I overdid the thing in striving to demonstrate its absurdity.

On regaining the house we found Brian, who had just returned from

counting in the flocks. He was not alone. Two Kafirs--tall,

finely-built savages, their blankets and persons coloured terra-cotta

red with ochre--stood at the steps of the stoep conversing with him, the

mellow bass of their sonorous language and their far from ungraceful

appearance and attitude lending another picturesque element to the rich

unfamiliarity of the surroundings. They, however, were just taking

their leave, bestowing upon us a quick, inquisitive glance, and a

farewell salutation as they turned away.

"Two more of Kuliso's wandering lambs, Beryl," said Brian, with a

significant laugh, as we joined him. "Yet none of ours, or sheep

either, have vanished this time, so I suppose we ought to consider

ourselves fortunate. The count is correct. By the way, Holt, I'm

afraid one of the vicissitudes common to this country has deferred

supper for a little. We can't do better than sit out here, so long."

There were cosy cane chairs upon the stoep, and as we sat chatting I

said--

"Who is Kuliso?"

Brian laughed.

"One of the chiefs of the Ndhlambe location just east of us. A bad egg

personally, and his clan is made up of `prize' thieves and

stock-lifters."

"But you, Miss Matterson," I went on. "Is it safe for you to go about

alone among such neighbours?"

A glance of understanding, humorous withal, passed between brother and

sister.

"Beryl is just about a dead shot, Holt," said the former quietly.

"But even then, what can one do against a number, and that one a--"

"A woman, you were going to say, Mr Holt," supplied that equable,

resolute voice, that had already begun to charm me.

"Ha, ha!" laughed Brian. "Are you afraid to throw up your hat in the

air, Holt, now, just as we sit? But never mind. It wouldn't be fair to

spoil that new `smasher' of yours. Mine's a very old one. Look now."

While he had spoken Beryl had disappeared within the house for a moment.

Now she stood there holding a revolver--no toy, mind, but a real

effective and business-like six-shooter. Up went Brian's hat, whirling

in mid-air. Just as it rested stationary for a fraction of a second at

its highest flight, there was a sharp report; the hat gave a spasmodic

jerk, like a live thing, and began to fall. But before it touched

ground there was another report. Struck again, it gave a leap, and went

skimming away to the ground in sidelong flight.

"Magnificent, by Jove!" broke from me. But that she had lowered the

still smoking weapon, Beryl had not moved. Brian, however, had sprung

from his seat to retrieve his hat.

"Call that nothing, Holt?" he cried, pointing out two clean bullet

holes--one through the brim, the other through the crown. "Good thing

it wasn't yours, eh?"

"Yes, indeed."

"Brian, it's too bad of you, to make me show off in that way," said

Beryl. "I can't think why I did it. Now I must go and see to things

inside, or you two poor hungry creatures will get nothing to eat

to-night."

She disappeared, and as the playful, chiding tone, the merrily

deprecatory glance remained in my mind, I realised a strange impression.

It seemed that all in a moment she had thrown aside that outer crust of

reserve which she had worn for my benefit, and underneath I descried the

real Beryl Matterson. And into a very sweet and alluring personality

did my mental gaze seem to penetrate.

"Bushbuck chops, Holt," said Brian, as we sat down to supper, in the

snug, well-lighted dining-room, which in the comfort and refinement of

its appointments bore token of the hand of a presiding genius--to wit,

Beryl. "Rather out of season, buck, just now; still, we shoot one now

and then, if only as a change from the eternal sheep. Try them. New

kind of grub for you, eh?"

I did try them, and found them perfect, as indeed everything on the

table was, and this was a farm on the average scale. I have since been

at many a similar place run on a large scale where the appointments were

slovenly in comparison. But then such did not own Beryl Matterson as a

presiding goddess. Afterwards we adjourned to the stoep.

"Beryl will join us directly, Holt," said Brian, as we lit our pipes.

"She has to see to things a bit first. Girls over here have to do that,

you know. I can tell you we should come off badly if they didn't."

Later on, when I got to my room at the end of the stoep, and turned in

between snowy sheets, I appreciated what some of the aforesaid "seeing

to things" on Beryl's part involved.

"I expect the governor and George'll sleep at Trask's to-night, and turn

up first thing in the morning," declared Brian as it waxed late. And

Beryl, who had long since joined us, concurred.

It was wholly delightful as we sat there chatting, in the soft night

air--the range of hills opposite silvered and beautiful in the

moonlight, and ever and anon the strange cry of bird or beast floating

through the stillness, or the wailing whistle of plover circling above--

and to me the experience was as strange as it was delightful. A day or

two ago, I had felt lonely and forlorn indeed--a stranger in a strange

land. Yet now here I was, in the most congenial surroundings beneath a

hospitable roof whose inmates looked upon me as one of themselves and

had made me thoroughly at home accordingly. And the fact that one of

the said inmates was an unusually attractive girl did not, you may be

sure, under the circumstances tend to lessen the feeling of thorough and

comfortable enjoyment to which the situation caused me to give myself

up. At last Brian began to yawn.

"Holt, old chap, you must excuse me," he said. "We turn out early here

and have to turn in tolerably ditto."

I professed myself quite in accord with the idea. The fact was I felt

just a little tired myself.

"So? Well, then, we'll have a glass of grog and turn in."

If I have dwelt upon the incidents of that first evening, I suppose it

is because upon such one's first and most vivid impressions are

invariably based.