"How do, Earle?" cried George Bayfield, pulling up his horses at the
gate of the first named.
"So, so, Bayfield. How's all yourselves? How do, Miss Bayfield? Had a
cold drive? Ha--ha! It must have been nipping when you started this
morning. Just look at the frost even now," with a comprehensive sweep
of an arm terminating in a pipe over the dew-gemmed veldt, a sheeny
sparkle of silver in the newly risen sun. "But you--it's given you a
grand colour anyway."
"Yes, it was pretty sharp, Mr Earle, but we were well wrapped up,"
answered Lyn, as he helped her down. Then, as an ulster-clad figure
disentangled itself from the spider--"This is Mr Blachland, who is
staying with us."
"How do, sir? Pleased to meet you. Not out from home, are you?" with a
glance at the other's bronzed and weather-beaten countenance.
"No. Up-country," answered Bayfield for him. "Had fever, obliged to be
careful,"--this as though explaining the voluminousness of the aforesaid
wrapping.
"So? Didn't know you had any one staying with you, Bayfield."
"By Jove! Didn't I mention it? Well, I wrote that _brievje_ in a
cast-iron hurry, I remember."
"That's nothing. The more the merrier," heartily rejoined Earle, who
was a jolly individual of about the same number of years as Blachland.
"Come inside. Come inside. We'll have breakfast directly. Who's
this?" shading his eyes to look down the road.
"That's Fred and Jafta, and a spare horse. The youngster won't be in
the way, will he, Earle? I don't let him shoot yet, except with an
air-gun, but he was death on coming along."
"No--no. That's all right. Bring him along."
Their hostess met them in the doorway. She was a large, finely built
woman, with a discontented face, but otherwise rather good-looking. She
was cordial enough, however, towards the new arrivals. They constituted
a break in the monotony of life; moreover, she was fond of Lyn for her
own sake.
"Let's have breakfast as soon as you can, Em," said Earle. "We want to
get along. I think we'll have a good day. There are three troops of
guinea-fowl in those upper kloofs, and the _hoek_ down along the
_spruit_ is just swarming with blekbuck."
During these running comments a door had opened, and someone entered.
"How d'you do, Mrs Fenham?" said Bayfield, greeting the new arrival
cordially. He was followed by Lyn, somewhat less cordial. Then arose
Earle's voice:
"Mrs Fenham--Mr--There now, I believe I didn't quite catch your
name--"
"Blachland."
"Ah, yes, I beg your pardon--Blachland. Mr Blachland."
Hilary bowed--then obliged by that other's outstretched hand to put
forth his, found it enclosed in a tolerably firm clasp, by that of--
Hermia.
Thus they stood, looking into each other's eyes, and in that brief
glance, for all his habitual self-control, he would have been more than
human had he succeeded in concealing the unbounded surprise--largely
mingled with dismay--which flashed across his face. She for her part,
if she had failed to read it, and in that fraction of a minute to
resolve to turn it to account--well, she would not have been Hermia
Saint Clair.
To both the surprise was equal and complete. They had no more idea of
each other's propinquity than they had--say, of the Sultan of Turkey
suddenly arriving to take part in the day's sport. Yet, of the two, the
woman was the more self-controlled.
"Are you fond of sport?" she murmured sweetly, striving not to render
too palpable to other observers the dart of mingled warning and defiance
which she flashed at him.
"Yes, as a rule," he answered indifferently, taking his cue. "Been
rather off colour of late. Touch of fever."
There was a touch of irony in the tone, to the only one there who had
the key to its burden. For the words brought back the long and helpless
bout of the dread malady, when this woman had left him alone--to die,
but for the chance arrival of a staunch comrade.
"Well, lug that big coat off, old chap," said Earle, whose jovial nature
moved him to prompt familiarity. "Unless you still feel it too cold,
that is. We're going to have breakfast."
The coat referred to was not without its importance in the situation.
With the collar partly turned up, Blachland had congratulated himself
that it helped to conceal the effect of this extraordinary and unwelcome
surprise from the others, and such, in fact, was the case. For nothing
is more difficult to dissemble in the eyes of bystanders, in a chance
and unwelcome meeting, than the fact of previous acquaintanceship. It
may be accounted for by the explanation of extraordinary resemblance,
but such is so thin as to be absolutely transparent, and calculated to
impose upon nobody. And of this Hilary Blachland was thoroughly aware.
They sorted themselves into their places. Hilary, by a kind of process
of natural selection, found himself seated next to Lyn. Hermia was
nearly opposite, and next to her three of the Earle progeny--
preternaturally well-behaved. But on her other side was a vacant chair,
and a place laid as though for somebody. There was plenty of talk going
on, which enabled Blachland to keep out of it and observe.
First of all, what the deuce was she doing there? Hermia masquerading
as instructor of youth! Oh, Heavens, the joke would have been enough to
send him into a fit, had he only heard of it! But there she was, and it
would be safe to say that there was not a living being on the wide
earth, however detestable, whose presence would not have been warmly
welcome to him in comparison with that of this one seated there
opposite. What on earth was her game, he wondered, and what had become
of Spence? Here she was, passing as a widow under the name of Fenham.
And this was the unknown fair who had been the subject of their jokes,
and Lyn's disapproval! Why, even on the way over that morning, Bayfield
had been full of chaff, pre-calculating the effect of her charms upon
himself. Great Heavens, yes! It was all too monstrous--too grotesque
entirely.
"Are you still feeling cold?"
It was Lyn who had turned to him, amid all the chatter, and there was a
sort of indefinably confidential ring in her voice, begotten of close
friendship and daily intercourse. Was it something of the kind that
softened his as he replied to her? But even while he did so he met the
dark eyes opposite, the snap of which seemed to convey that to their
owner nothing could go unobserved.
"Oh no, I'm quite all right now," he answered lightly. And then, under
cover of all the fanning talk that was going on between Earle and
Bayfield, he talked to Lyn, mostly about matters they had discussed
before. A sort of ironical devil moved him. He would let this woman
opposite, imperceptibly watching every look, weighing every word,
understand that she and her malevolence, whether dormant or active,
counted absolutely nothing with him.
There was the sound of a footstep outside, and the door was opened.
"Awful sorry I'm so late, Mrs Earle," cried a voice--a young and
refined English voice--as its owner entered. "How d'you do, Miss
Bayfield--Er--how d'you do?"
This to the only one who was personally unknown to the speaker, and who
for that very reason seemed to have the effect of a damper upon his
essentially English temperament.
"Mr Blachland--Mr West," introduced their host.
"What?" almost shouted the last-named. "Blachland, did you say? Not
Hilary! Why--it is! Hilary, my dear old chap, why, this is real good.
By Jove, to think of my running against you here. Where on earth have
you dropped from? Earle, you've heard me talk about this chap. He's my
first cousin." And grabbing hold of the other's hands, he started
wringing them as though that newly found relative were the harmless,
necessary village pump. "Who'd have thought of running against you
here?" went on Percival West volubly. "Why, I thought you were in some
out-of-way place up-country. Well, this is a gaudy surprise!"
"Isn't it? But somebody or other has defined this country as the land
of surprises, Percy. So it's got to keep up its character," said
Blachland, with a queer smile, fully conscious that the irony of the
rejoinder would not be lost upon at any rate one other at the table.
"I say, West. Get on with your grub, old chap," said Earle. "You can
have a yarn on the way. We want to make a start, you know."
"Right you are!" cried Percival, with a jolly laugh, as he slid into the
vacant chair beside Hermia. But even amid his surprise, he did not omit
to give the latter the good morning in an unconscious change of tone,
which in its turn was not lost upon Hilary Blachland; for in it was an
unconscious softening, which with the look which came into the young
fellow's eyes as he turned to the woman beside him, caused those of his
newly found relative to open--figuratively--very wide indeed. For two
considerable surprises had been sprung upon him--enough in all
conscience for one morning, yet here was a third. This young fool was
already soft upon Hermia. As to that there could be no doubt. Here was
a situation with a vengeance, the thinker told himself. How on earth
was it going to pan out? And his anticipations on that head were of no
pleasurable nature.
"I say, West!" cried Bayfield. "That old ram we drove over you the
other day has come to a bad end at last. Blachland's knocked him over."
"Oh, well done, Hilary, old chap. I suppose you've had a great time
with big game, eh? Shocked over no end of lions and elephants, and all
that sort of thing?"
"A few, yes," answered the other, rising, for a signal for a move had
been given.
A few minutes of filling up cartridge-belts and fastening _reims_ to
saddles, and other preparations, and the sporting party was ready.
"Good luck, father. Good luck, Mr Blachland," said Lyn, as she stood
watching them start.
"That ought to bring it," answered the latter, as he swung himself into
his saddle. But Hermia was not among those who were outside. Percival,
who had been, had dived inside again Blachland did not fail to notice.
He emerged in a moment, however, looking radiantly happy and brimming
over with light-hearted spirits.
"Now, Hilary, old chap, we can have a yarn," he said, as they started,
for the others had the start of them by a hundred yards or so. "So
you're stopping with Bayfield? If only I'd known that, wouldn't I have
been over to look you up. Good chap Bayfield. Nice little girl of his
too, but--not much in her, I fancy."
"There you're wrong, Percy. There's a great deal in her. But--how did
you fall in with Earle?"
"Knew him through another Johnny I was thick with on board ship, and he
asked me over to his place. Had a ripping good time here, too. I say,
what d'you think of that Mrs Fenham? Fancy a splendid woman like that
spending life hammering a lot of unlicked cubs into shape. Isn't it
sinful?"
"Why didn't you say you were coming out, Percy? Drop a line or
something?" went on his relative, feeling unaccountably nauseated by
what he termed to himself the boy's brainless rattle.
"Drop a line! Why, that's just where the joke comes in! We none of us
knew where on earth you were exactly. In point of fact, I came over
here to find you, and by George I have! Never expected to find you so
easily, though."
"Nothing wrong, eh?"
"No. But Uncle Luke is dying to see you again. He said I must be sure
and bring you back with me."
The other looked surprised. Then his face softened very perceptibly.
"Is that a fact, Percy? Why, I thought he never wanted to set eyes on
me again as long as he lived."
"Then you thought jolly well wrong. He does. So you must just make up
your mind to go home when I do."
"Why are you so keen on it, Percy? Why, man, it might be immeasurably
to your advantage if I never went back at all."
"Look here, Hilary, if you really mean that, I'm not a beastly cad yet."
"Well, I don't really mean it," said the other, touched by the young
fellow's chivalrous single-heartedness. "Perhaps we may bring off your
scheme all right. I would like to see the dear old chap again. I must
have treated him very shabbily. And the old Canon--is he still to the
fore?"
"Rather, and as nailing good an old sort as ever. He wants to see you
again too--almost as much as Uncle Luke does."
"Ah, he always was a straight 'un--not an ounce of shoddy or humbug
about him--"
"Come on, you fellows, or we'll never get to work," shouted Earle's
voice, now very far ahead of them.
And leaving their home talk and reminiscences for the present, they
spurred on their steeds--to join the rest of the party.