"Look at this--and this. Five altogether, and I only had six chances.
Not bad, is it? They were beastly wild, you know, and I had to scramble
all over that second kopje after them."
He flung down two substantial feathered bunches, representing _in toto_
the guinea-fowl just enumerated.
"You are a dear good boy, Justin," replied Hermia, looking down at the
spoils which he had literally laid at her feet, and then up into his
eyes. They were clear and blue, the clearer for the healthy brown of
the face. How handsome he was, she thought, glancing with a thrill of
approval at the tall well set-up form, in all the glory of youth and the
full vigour of health. "You are really very reliable--and--you need not
go yet. Come in now, and well put away the gun, and you shall stay and
have some supper with me; for really I am awfully lonely. Unless, of
course, you are afraid of going to your camp so late. They say lion
spoor has been seen again."
"If it had been the devil's spoor it would matter about as much or as
little," he replied, with huge and delighted contempt.
"Sh! Don't talk about unpleasant subjects--or people," she retorted.
"It isn't lucky."
They had entered the house. After the glow of light without, it seemed
almost dark, and the sun had just gone off the world, leaving the brief
pretence of an African twilight. An arm stole around her, imprisoning
her tightly.
"I want my reward for having carried out your instructions so
efficiently," said the young man. "Now give it me."
"Reward! Virtue is its own reward, you silly boy," answered Hermia,
glancing up into his eyes, with her mocking ones. "In this case, it
will have to be."
"Will it indeed?" he retorted shortly; and, stirred by the maddening
proximity, likewise encouraged by a certain insidious yielding of her
form within the enforced embrace, he dropped his lips on hers, and
kissed them full, passionately, again and again.
"There, that will do," she gasped, striving to restrain the thrill that
ran through her frame. "I didn't say you might do that. Really,
Justin, I shall have to forbid you the house. Let me go, do you hear?"
"Hear? Yes, but I don't intend to obey. Oh--damn!"
The last remark was addressed at large as he changed his mind with
marvellous alacrity, and, wheeling round, was endeavouring to hang the
bandolier to the wall upon a pin that would hardly have held a Christmas
card, as though his life depended upon it. For there had suddenly
entered behind them one of the small Mashuna boys who did the house and
other work--had entered silently withal, the sooty little rascal; and
now his goggle eyes were starting from their sockets with curiosity as
he went about doing whatever he had to do, sending furtive and
interested glances at these two, whom he had surprised in such unwonted
proximity.
"See, now, where your impulsiveness comes in," said Hermia, when the
interrupter had gone out.
"Is that the name of that small black nigger?" said Justin Spence,
innocently. "I always thought he was yours."
"Don't be foolish, dear. It's a serious matter."
"Pooh! Only a small black nigger. A thing that isn't more than half
human."
"Even a small black nigger owns a tongue, and is quite human enough to
know how to wag it," she reminded him.
"I'll cut it out for the young dog if he does," was the ferocious
rejoinder.
"Excellent, as a figure of speech, my dear Justin. Only, unfortunately,
in real life, even in Mashunaland, it can't be done."
"Well, shall I give him a scare over it?"
"You can't, Justin. In the first place, you could hardly make him
understand. In the second, even if you could, you would probably make
matters worse. Leave it alone."
"Oh, it was on your account. It was of you I was thinking."
"Then you don't mind on your own?"
"Not a hang."
She glanced at him in silent approval. This straight, erect
fearlessness--this readiness to defy the whole world for her sake
appealed to her. She was of the mind of those women of other times and
peoples--the possession of whom depended on the possessor's ability to
take and keep.
"Well, I must leave you now for a little while," she said. "Those two
pickannins are only of any use when I am looking after them. They
haven't even learnt to lay a table."
"Let me help you."
"No. Candidly, I don't want you. Be a good boy, Justin, and sit still
and rest after your walk. Oh, by the way--" And unlocking a cupboard,
she produced a bottle of whisky. "I was very forgetful. You'll like
something to drink after the said walk?"
"No, thanks. Really I don't."
"You don't? No wonder you've done no good prospecting. A prospector
who refuses a drink after a hot afternoon's exertion! Why, you haven't
learnt the rudiments of your craft yet. But you must want one, and so
I'll fix it up for you. There, say when--is that right?" she went on
brightly, holding out the glass. "Yes, I know what you are going to
say--of course it is, if I mixed it. You ought to be ashamed to utter
such a threadbare banality."
He took the glass from her hand, but set it down untasted. The
magnetism of her eyes had drawn him. It seemed to madden him, to sap
his very reason, to stir every fibre in his body.
"No," she said decidedly, deftly eluding the clasp in which he would
fain have imprisoned her again, and extending a warning hand. "No, not
again,--so soon," she added mentally. "Remember, I have not forgiven
you for that outrageous piece of impertinence, and don't know that I
shall either. I am wondering how you could have dared."
If ever there was a past mistress in the art of fooling the other sex,
assuredly Hermia Blachland might lay claim to that distinction.
Standing there in the doorway, flashing back a bright, half-teasing,
half-caressing look, which utterly belied the seeming sternness of her
words, the effect she produced was such as to turn him _instanter_ into
a most complete fool, because her thorough and subservient slave. Then
she went out.
We have said that one of the large circular huts within the enclosure
served the purpose of a kitchen, and hither she proceeded with the
exceedingly useful and unromantic object of getting supper ready. Yet,
standing there in the midst of stuffy and uninviting surroundings, as
she supervised the Mashuna boys and the frying of the antelope steaks,
even that prosaic occupation was not entirely devoid of romance
to-night; for somehow she found herself discharging it extra carefully,
for was it not for him?
"Now, Tickey, keep those goggle eyes of yours on what you're doing,
instead of rolling them around on everything and everybody else," she
warned, apostrophising the small boy whose entrance had been so
inopportune a short time ago.
"Yes, missis," replied the urchin, his round face splitting into a
stripe of dazzling white as he grinned from ear to ear, whether at the
recollection of what he had recently beheld, or out of sheer unthinking
light-heartedness. Then he turned and made some remark in their own
language to his companion, which caused that sooty imp to grin and
chuckle too.
"What's that you're grinning at, you little scamp?" said Hermia,
sharply, with a meaning glance at a thin sjambok which hung on the wall,
a cut or two from which was now and again necessary to keep these
diminutive servitors up to the mark.
"No be angry, missis. Tickey, he say, `Missis, she awful damn pretty.'"
Hermia choked down a well-nigh uncontrollable explosion of laughter.
"You mustn't use that word, Primrose," she said, trying to look stern.
"It's a bad word."
"Bad word? How that, missis? Baas, he say it. Baas in dere--Baas
Sepence," was the somewhat perplexing rejoinder.
"Well, it's a white man's word; not a word for children, black or
white," explained Hermia, lamely.
The imps chuckled. "I no say it, missis," pursued Primrose. "Tickey,
he say missis awful beastly pretty. Always want to look at her. Work
no well done, missis' fault. Dat what Tickey say. Always want look at
missis."
"You'd better look at what you're doing now, you monkey, and do it
properly too, or you know what's likely to happen," rejoined Hermia.
But the implied threat in this case was absolutely an empty one, and the
sooty scamps knew it. They knew, too, how to get on the soft side of
their mistress.
That, however, was the side very much to the fore this evening.
Throughout her prosaic occupation, her mind would recur with a thrill to
that scene of a short half-hour ago, and already she longed for its
repetition. But she was not going to give him too much. She must
tantalise him sufficiently, must keep him on tenterhooks, not make
herself too cheap. But was she not tantalising herself too? Certainly
she was, but therein lay the zest, the excitement which lent keenness to
the sport.
They sat down to table together. The door stood open on account of the
heat, and, every now and then, winged insects, attracted by the light,
would come whizzing round the lamp. There was a soft, home-like look
about the room, a kind of pervading presence, and Justin Spence, basking
in that presence, felt intoxicatingly happy. He could hardly keep his
eyes from her as she sat at the head of the modest table, and the
artificial light, somewhat shaded, toned down any defects of feature or
colouring, and enhanced twenty-fold the expression and animation which
with her physical contour, constituted the insidious and undefinable
attraction which was her greatest charm. Looking at these two it was
hard to believe they were the inmates of a rough pioneer hut in the far
wilds of Mashunaland, but for the attire of one of them; for a white
silk shirt, rather open at the throat, guiltless of coat or waistcoat, a
leathern belt and riding breeches hardly constitutes evening dress in
more civilised countries.
He was telling her about himself, his position and prospects, to all of
which she was listening keenly, especially as regards the latter, yet
without seeming to. She knew, none better, how to lead him on to talk,
always without seeming to, and now, to-night, she was simply turning him
inside out. He had prospects and good solid ones. He had only come out
here partly from love of adventure, partly because, after all, prospects
are only prospects; and he wanted to make a fortune--a quick and
dazzling fortune by gold-digging. So far, he had been no nearer making
it than most others out there on the same tack, in that, for all the
gold he had struck, he might as well have sunk a shaft on Hampstead
Heath. Still, there was no knowing, and all the exciting possibilities
were there to spur him on.
Afterwards they sat outside. The night, though warm and balmy, was not
oppressive. And it was very still. The screech of the tree frog, the
distant yelp of a jackal, the deeper howl of a hyena, broke in upon it
from time to time, and the rhythmic drone of voices from the servants'
quarters. This soon ceased and the world seemed given over to night--
and these two.
"How will you find your way back?" Hermia was saying. "You'll get
lost."
"That's quite likely. So I'm not going to try. You'll have to give me
a shakedown here."
"No. Justin, dear, believe me it would be much better not. You must
even risk the chance of getting lost."
"What if I'm afraid? Suppose one of those lions they've been talking
about got hold of me? It would be your doing."
Hermia smiled to herself. The excuse was too transparent. He afraid!
The gleam of her white teeth in the darkness betrayed her.
"It's no laughing matter," he said. "Listen, darling, you don't really
want to get rid of me?"
"It would be better if you were to go, dearest," she answered, slipping
her hand into his. "Believe me, it would."
The softness of her voice, the thrill of her touch simply intoxicated
him with ecstasy, and there was an unsteadiness in his tone as he
answered--
"Surely in the wilds of Mashunaland we can chuck conventionalities to
the winds. If it was any one else who asked you for a shakedown you
wouldn't turn him out. Why me, then?"
"Because it is you, don't you see?" was the reply, breathed low and
soft, as the pressure of her fingers tightened.
They could hear each other's heart-beats in the still dead silence--
could see the light of each other's eyes in the gleam of the myriad
stars. The trailing streak of a meteor shot across the dark, velvety
vault, showing in its momentary gleam to each the face of the other.
Suddenly Hermia started violently.
"Hark! what is that?" she cried, springing to her feet.
For a loud harsh shout had cleft the stillness of the night. It was
followed by another and another. Coming as it did upon the dead
silence, the interruption was, to say the least, startling: all the more
so to these two, their nerves in a state of high-strung tension.
"Nothing very alarming," returned Spence. "You must have heard it
before. Only a troop of baboons kicking up a row in the kopjes."
"Of course; but somehow it sounded so loud and so near."
It was destined to do so still more. For even as she spoke there arose
a most indescribable tumult--shrieks and yells and chattering, and over
all that harsh, resounding bark: and it came from the granite kopje
nearest the house--where Spence had found the troop of guinea-fowl that
afternoon.
"What a row they're making!" he went on. "Hallo! By Jove! D'you hear
that?"
For over and above the simian clamour, another sound was discernible--a
sound of unmistakable import. No one need go to Mashunaland to hear it,
nor anything like as far. A stroll across Regent's Park towards feeding
time at the Zoo will do just as well. It was the deep, throaty,
ravening roar of hungry lions.
"Phew! that accounts for all the shindy!" said Justin. "Now do you want
me to go, Hermia? There isn't much show for one against a lion in the
dark, and, judging from the racket, there must be several. Well, shall
I start?"
She had drawn closer to him instinctively; not that there was any
danger, for the stockade was high and strong--in fact, had been erected
with an eye to such emergency. Now they were strained together in a
close embrace, this time she returning his kisses with more than his own
passion.
"You are mine--mine at last, my heart, my life!" he whispered. And the
answer came back, merely breathed--
"Yes, I am. All yours."
And above, the myriad eyes of the starry heavens looked down; and
without, the horrible throaty growl of the ravening beasts rent the
night.