At last, in the dead of night, she reached the house of an Afrikander
whom she had once befriended, and on whom she could rely. Him she
awakened by blowing a bugle which had lain at her feet.--He came out to
her, and listened to the strange tale which she hastily repeated, with
the usual unmoved countenance of the Afrikander. He was ready enough to
help her to dispose of her terror-stricken prisoner. These Cape people
have a way of their own of disposing of anything disagreeable, which
strikes the stranger as peculiar, but effective.
Obeying her orders, he took him to a lonely hut, and chained him fast.
It was the Fingo's fate to remain there until danger to Donald was past.
When she saw that the captive was where he could do her husband no
harm, she handed a purse to the Afrikander and turned her horses' heads
homeward, with a sense of relief.
Her fury had abated, but not her courage. Alone, and fearless, she
returned over the veldt, until, exhausted, she arrived on the outskirts
of the town, just as the day was dawning, and descended from her cart,
leaving it in the hands of her tireless waiting servant. She then
turned homeward, now on foot. The fatigue of the watch had relaxed the
vigilance of the guard, and they expected nothing from beyond the
premises. So by care she was able to regain the shadow of the house and
to make safe entrance.
Closing the door, the graceful Malay became transformed into a tearful,
trembling, exhausted woman. She doffed her male attire, donned a soft,
silken, clinging robe, and sunk on a couch with a feeling of utter
weakness. Fate, she thought, had overtaken her, and she felt herself
hopelessly entangled in the intricacies of Donald's possible disaster.
But she had shown her devotion as a wife, in her wild and dangerous
midnight ride. Why had she ever met Donald? Why had she not been left
to live her uneventful life? "Oh," she sighed, "to hide in the depths
of some great forest and there lie down in peace to die." Then her
thoughts reverted to Schwatka, who was seldom out of her mind. Donald
with his hidden secret had estranged her. When we are no longer worthy
of confidence, we lose confidence in others.
A remnant of the old self that had been Donald's--her pride in his good
name was still left. In secreting the diamond, she sought to shield her
husband's name from disgrace. Beyond this pride, the rest was
indifference, and nothing henceforth could kindle any warmer flame,
while the new fires of another love burned at such a white heat, that
they threatened to consume the temple in which their altars stood.
The mental strain of the last twenty-four hours had completely
prostrated her. Soon all became a blank, and she lay for hours
unconscious; when she awoke her brain slowly resumed its action. She
passed her hand wearily over her head. Where was she? What was it?
Ah, yes. She remembered, and rang for Bela. He did not answer the
call. Calling a second time, and receiving no response, she sat up,
lost in thought.
What was the immediate work before her? To find Bela must be her first
act, for he had the diamond! She ran out of the room into the next and
searched everywhere, thinking he must be in hiding. Calling again, and
receiving no answer, she realised that there was not a servant on the
place.
Action was now a luxury. Real danger was in the air. If nothing could
be proved against her husband, when would he return?
With all these thoughts surging through her brain, it seemed as if her
head would burst. As she tottered back toward the bedroom, the door
opened, and she swooned in Donald's arms.
Donald saw that she had been passing through some terrible agony. He
groaned and covered her face with kisses, as he laid her gently on the
couch and applied restoratives. When she regained consciousness, her
eyes fell on Donald. She turned her head away from him with a weary
motion. Here were two people chained to each other by the bond of
marriage, but whose ways lay far apart. Love held Donald captive, while
fate bound Dainty to Donald.
Suddenly she rose from her couch, and began to tell him of her night
ride. As she continued, he looked at her in amazement. Her self
sufficiency, her fearlessness, under the utterly listless manner in
which she told it all, made her seem like a new being to him.
Woman needs but to taste the fruit of the tree of knowledge, to become
an epicure. Dainty had been wandering in the fields of Paradise with an
Adam who was not Donald, and Donald would no more be her companion,
though he might stay by her side.
"If Bela does not return to-day, we must leave the country, unless you
are willing to work in convict dress."
He sank lower in his chair, before replying in a scarce audible voice:
"Where shall we go?"
She looked at him in amazement as she said:
"To England, of course. Where else should you go?" He kept his hand
over his eyes as he replied:
"I had thought we might wish to go to Australia."
"Australia! Why there, instead of England? Do you not care to see your
native land?"
"Oh, yes," said Donald, hurriedly, "only I did not know as you--you
cared to go to England in winter."
This seemed to satisfy Dainty, who wearily closed her eyes and said:
"It matters little to me whether it is summer or winter, so long as I
get away from here." She said no more, but lay unmoved with eyes
closed. Donald moodily watched her. Presently he saw that she slept
the sleep of exhaustion.