"I expect she reckons him her brother-in-law--no, cousin-in-law
already," he said. "Young West seems to have brought things to a head
in that quarter. She and Blachland had a long talk together this
morning. I expect they were sort of arranging family matters."
"Very likely. But I don't think I ever saw any woman I detested so
thoroughly and instinctively. Every time I see her I dislike her more."
"Hallo, little one! You're quite fierce on the subject," laughed her
father. "Why do you hate her so? Has she been uncivil to my little
girlie?"
"No, quite the contrary. But she's utterly false somehow. I wouldn't
believe any statement that woman made--even if she were dying. But what
a silly boy that young West must be. Why, she's years older than
himself!"
Bayfield laughed again, but he more than half thought Lyn's estimate was
very likely a true one.
Some little way behind, the two men had pulled their horses into a walk.
"Steer ahead," said Percival doggedly. "Let's get it over."
"Yes. I think we might now. So you haven't found out anything more
about--Mrs Fenham, beyond what you told me last night?"
"No. Her husband died about a year ago. That was up-country. I wonder
you never ran against him, Hilary."
"But I know him intimately, only--he isn't her husband."
"The deuce! But he's dead."
"No, he isn't. He's very much alive and kicking--and his name isn't
Fenham either, never was."
"Well, what is it then?" and his voice was hard and desperate.
"Hilary Blachland."
"Eh?"
It was all he could say. He could only stare. He seemed to be stricken
speechless with the shock, utterly speechless.
"I'm very sorry for you, Percy, very sorry. But you'll thank me for it
bye-and-bye," went on Blachland concernedly. "That woman has told you a
tissue of lies. I can account for her time for nearly half a dozen
years, for the simple reason that it has been spent with me--the last
two years of it in Mashunaland. She left me though, not much more than
half a year ago--cleared out with another Johnny, just such a young ass
as yourself, who thought her a goddess, but they got sick of each other
in no time. Why, she was telling me all about that herself only this
morning, before you were up."
Percival said nothing. For some little while he rode on in silence,
gazing straight between his horse's ears. The thing had come upon him
as a terrible shock, and he sat, half dazed. It never occurred to him
for one moment to refuse to believe his kinsman's statement, nor any
part of it. Suddenly he looked up.
"Who is she then?" he asked.
"Hermia Saint Clair. You remember?"
"Yes. Good God!"
"So you see, Percy, you can go no further in this," went on the other
after another interval of silence. "You must break it off--now,
absolutely and at once. You quite see that, don't you?"
"Of course. Great Heavens, Hilary--how I have been fooled!"
"You have certainly, but if it's any consolation to you, so have
others--so will others be--as long as Hermia is about. It isn't
pleasant to be obliged to give her away as I have done--and if it had
concerned anybody other than yourself, anybody in whom I had no
interest, I should have let the matter rigidly alone, as no business of
mine, and kept a strict silence. But I couldn't stand by and see your
life utterly ruined at the start, and there are of course, circumstances
in this particular case which rendered it ten times more necessary that
you should be warned. I gave her the straight chance though. I told
her if she broke off this engagement with you, I wouldn't breathe a word
as to her real identity, and she defied me. So now you know. And now
you do know, there's not the slightest chance of her getting you into
the toils again, eh?"
"Good Heavens, no," he answered emphatically, and in strong disgust.
"What a fool I've been. What shall I do, Hilary? I don't feel as if I
could ever see her again. Do you think Bayfield would take me in for a
few days if I went on now with you?"
"Take my advice, and go straight back. We don't want to give her away
further, and if you clear out abruptly now, it'll likely have that
effect. Besides it has rather a cowardly look. No, give her to
understand that you know everything now, and of course there's nothing
more to be thought of between you."
"I will. But--what an escape I've had. Still do you know, Hilary--Oh,
dash it all, I was--er--beastly fond of her. Don't you understand?"
"Well, rather--considering it's a stage I've gone through myself,"
answered the other, kindly. "You'll get over it though. And, look
here, Percy, I shall be leaving Bayfield's myself in a day or two. How
would you like to join me? We might go up-country together, and I could
show you some real wild life. You see, I know my way about in those
parts, and it would be a first-rate opportunity for you to see something
of them. What do you say?"
"That's a real splendid idea, Hilary."
"Very well. Now go back and get this business over. Get it clean
behind you mind, thoroughly and entirely. I'll send you word in a
couple of days at the outside where to join me, then roll up your traps
and come straight along. How is that?"
"The very thing."
"Right. Now, Percy. Seriously, mind. There must be no more dallying.
You know what I mean?"
"Not likely, knowing what I know now."
"Then you'd better go and get it over at once. I'll say good-bye to the
Bayfields for you. You turn round right here. Good-bye now--and one of
these days you'll bless your stars for this lucky escape."
"Then you'll let me hear soon, Hilary?"
"In a couple of days at the outside. Good-bye."
A staunch handgrip, and the older man sat there, looking after the
receding form of the younger.
"It strikes me," he said to himself as he turned his horse's head along
the track again. "It strikes me that I've been only just in time to get
that young fool out of a most deadly mess. Heavens! what a ghastly
complication it would have been. Moreover, I believe he was sent out
here to find out about me, and what I was doing. Well, instead of him
reclaiming me, it has befallen that I have been the one marked out to
reclaim him."
Then as he sent his horse along at a brisk canter to make up the time
lost during their talk, his mind reverted to himself and his own
affairs. What a series of surprises had been contained within the last
twenty-four hours. Could it have been only yesterday that he came along
this road, serene, content, with no forewarning of what lay in store?
Why, it seemed that half a lifetime's drama had been played out within
that brief space--and now, as he pressed on to overtake Bayfield's
conveyance, the tilt of which was visible some distance ahead moving
through the bushes, it seemed that with every stride of his horse he was
advancing into a purer atmosphere. He felt as one, who, having struck
upon strange and unwelcome surprises in the foul nauseous air of some
long, underground cavern, was drawing nearer and nearer again to the
free, wholesome, open light of day.
Well, he had saved his young kinsman, and now he was called upon to face
the payment of the price. The time he had spent here, the bright,
beautiful, purifying time, was at an end. The past, of which, looking
back upon, he sickened, was not to be so easily buried after all. Had
it not risen up when least expected, to haunt him, to exact its
retribution? Hermia would certainly keep her word; caring nothing in
her vindictive spite, to what extent she blackened herself so long as
she could sufficiently besmirch him. Still he would do all he could, if
not to defeat her intentions, at any rate to draw half their sting.
One, at all events, should remain unsullied by the mire which he well
knew she would relentlessly spatter in all directions. That he
resolved.
Then a faint, vague, straw of a hope, beset him. What if she had been
playing a game of bluff? What if she was by no means so ready to give
herself away as she had affected to be? What if--when she found there
was nothing to be gained by it--she were to adopt the more prudent
course, and maintain silence? It was just a chance, but knowing so
well, her narrow, soulless nature, he knew it to be a slender one.
Even then, what? Even did it hold--it would not affect the main fact.
In the consummate purifying of this man's nature which the past few
weeks had effected, he looked backward thence with unutterable abasement
and loathing. As he had sown, so must he reap. The re-appearance of
the past personified had but emphasised that--had not altered it. He
would be the one to suffer, and he only, he thought, with a dull,
anguished kind of feeling which he strove hard to think was that of
consolation.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Oh, it is good to be at home again," said Lyn. "I don't care much for
going over to the Earles' at any time, but this time somehow or other, I
detested it. But--oh, I beg your pardon, Mr Blachland. And you found
your cousin there! How awkward and tactless you must think me!"
"You could never be either awkward or tactless, Lyn," he answered.
"Only thoroughly natural. Always be that, child. It is such a charm."
The girl smiled softly, half shyly. "Really, you are flattering me.
You spoil me as much as father does, and that's saying a great deal, you
know," gaily.
The two were standing on the stoep together, about an hour after their
return. Bayfield was down at the kraals, counting in, and looking after
things in general, and, helping him, small Fred, who, however, was
cracking his long whip in such wise as to be rather less of a help than
a hindrance with the flocks. The unearthly beauty of the sunset glow
was already merging into the shade of the twilightless evening.
"I wish you were going to stay with us always, Mr Blachland," she went
on. "It would be so nice. If you and father were partners, for
instance, like Mr Barter and Mr Smith--only they squabble--why, then
you'd always be here."
He looked at her--mentally with a great start--but only for a second.
The frank, ingenuous, friendly affection of a child! That was what the
words, the tone, the straight glance of the sweet blue eyes expressed!
There was a tinge of melancholy in his voice as he replied:
"Now you flatter me, little Lyn. You would soon find a battered old
fogey like me can be a desperate bore." Then he proceeded to the
prosaic and homely occupation of filling and lighting his pipe, smiling
to himself sadly over her indignant disclaimer.