"Fingo boy here, Ba-a-as," said a Coolie servant, as he entered the room
where Laure was sitting, on the third day after the visit to the mine.
"Where is he?"
"In kitchen."
A cloud darkened Laure's face; after a moment's hesitation he told the
Coolie to send the boy to him. The Fingo boy, who had handed the
diamond to Laure in the tunnel, entered the room, and standing near the
door waited for him to speak.
"Well, Fingo," said Laure, in a pleasant tone of voice, "you are around
early this morning--shut the door. What can I do for you?"
"Come to see bout dat big, white diamond."
"Ah, yes; now how much shall I give you for it? It has a flaw in it,
you know."
"Let Fingo boy see. Kafir want see hole in diamond."
"I haven't it about me. It isn't safe to have such a stone around. I
may never have a chance to sell it," said Laure, firmly, looking at the
Kafir.
"Dat good stone, Ba-a-as. Bring big money. Mus' have money fo' dat."
"What have you done with all the money I have given you, Fingo?"
"Me save him. Me buy cows, pony."
"It won't do for you to have so much gold about you. Detectives will
get you and put you in the chain-gang."
"Me hide it--way off. Nobody find it!"
"Well how much shall I give you for it?"
"Hunder pound."
"Too much. It isn't worth it. I'll give you eighty, or you may come
to-morrow and I'll give it back to you," said Laure, who was pretty
certain that the Kafir would hardly dare hunt for a buyer, as many a
buyer, though an illicit one, would bring him before the authorities and
compel him to disgorge, simply to throw the detectives off the scent in
regard to himself. The Fingo hesitated for a moment or two, and then
accepted the offer.
"Going back to work to-day?" asked Laure.
"No! Me go way soon as me sell 'nother big white diamond me hab. Me
buy wife, get big Kraal. Hab plenty ox, cow, pony."
"You have a wife now, haven't you?"
"Me hab two, three, four wife bime bye," replied the Kafir as he held up
four fingers. "Me know pretty Kafir girl: hoe corn; pound mealies--
cook. Me work no more. Hunt blesse-bok; ride pony; smoke dagga; hab
good time!"
"Yes, that is right, Fingo, you must leave the Fields. I will have the
money for you, and will meet you at--or, stay. I will put it under the
rock where you got the last. But mind, don't stay round here much
longer, or the police will get you--do you hear?"
"Kafir no fool, Ba-a-as Laure. He jes' go home to his Kraal. No work
more," and the Kafir left the room.
That evening Laure and Schwatka were sitting talking in the library,
when Dainty unexpectedly approached the room. A fragment of their
conversation reached her, and as the full meaning of the words she heard
burst upon her, she stood speechless, half hidden in the folds of the
curtained doorway.
"Laure, how dare you carry on this illicit trade of buying diamonds of
the Kafirs? Don't you fear that they will give you away to the
detectives?" Schwatka was saying.
"I suppose I am in danger of being trapped, but I am pretty sure of the
Fingo who sells me the blazers."
"You know you are safe, as far as I am concerned," replied Schwatka. "I
am thinking what your wife would do, if you should be caught, through
the treachery of this Fingo. You can never tell what they will not do
for money."
"That's true, but I rather think my luck won't go back on me. I don't
mind telling you, that I happen to know that this Fingo has a big
diamond that I want, but he asks too much money for it--I tell you it's
a beauty. These Kafirs are getting too knowing for us fellows; they are
too well aware of the exact value of the diamonds, and we have to go
slow with them."
"There are too many risks in that trade to attract me. I say, Laure,
how do you expect to sell that diamond if you get it?"
"I shall probably keep it, until I go to Europe. The idea that an
illicit or stolen diamond sells there for half its value, is nonsense.
In Amsterdam, the great European market, a diamond sells according to
its weight and purity. Its intrinsic worth is all that the buyer or
seller thinks of. Look at this gem."
As Donald said this, he turned and caught sight of Dainty standing in
the doorway. She looked from one to the other. Donald cast his eyes
guiltily down, unable to meet the glances of the woman he loved; while
Schwatka sat looking up into her face with his own all aglow, and in an
attitude that suggested the ardent lover eager to shield her from
trouble.
As her eyes at last rested on Herr Schwatka, in a dazed sort of way, her
heart gave one bound and went out to him.
Though daily she had met the Austrian who had so often sought for
opportunities to be near her, though daily her interest had become
greater, and her pleasure in his presence increased, though sometimes
she had felt dissatisfaction as she compared her husband with him whom
she called her friend--yet, not until this sudden revelation terrified
her, as a sense of its danger came over her, did she realise her actual
feelings.
Silently turning, in a half-blinded way, she left the room. For a
moment she was dazed. Then the peril of the situation flashed through
her mind. Her alert, savage blood was roused at last, and from that
moment she lost her indolent, indifferent manner. Never for one moment
was she forgetful of the situation.
At any moment the officers of the law might be on their track. Both she
and Donald were henceforth bound to Herr Schwatka. One by love--the
other by fear. Even the generosity of Schwatka, should he conceal
Donald's felony, made her sick at heart--for discovered, each was a
partner in the other's guilt.
Her sleep, once so peaceful, was fitful and disturbed. She asked of
neither an explanation.
What to do, to whom to turn, between her love, her duty, and her fears,
was like an ever-present nightmare.
She had awakened to a new life; her eyes, that until now were soft,
blazed with a fire that had never before been kindled in them. Emotions
new to her had taken possession of her mind. Herr Schwatka came
frequently, as before, and, with more eagerness than she had ever looked
for Donald, she looked for him.
Strange were the mental experiences of Herr Schwatka. He saw what he
desired to see, that her heart was his. But not with the triumph he
would have known had he not fallen into his own trap.
Schwatka, who had coolly won more hearts than he ever took pains to
count, was enthralled by the power of Dainty.
He felt he could not harm her, though he felt he could not lose her. By
the power of his love he read every passing thought as it flitted over
her face; and he would willingly have risked all his hope and happiness
in other things, could he but possess the life of this woman--like a
lamb in her helplessness, like a young lioness in her love of freedom,
and in her rebellion against the chafing of distasteful bonds.
As the days passed, her restlessness of spirit increased. At last the
fire began to consume the material body. She grew thin, a hectic flush
tinged her cheek. Her eyes, like great burning lamps, looked out upon
the world with an unsatisfied expression pitiful to behold. For a time
these new emotions escaped the notice of Donald, but when she began to
droop, and he perceived what he feared might be some malady, he resorted
to Dr Fox with real anxiety.