But Dainty was not the only uneasy passenger among our acquaintances;
Donald was no less discomfited. The knowledge of his past embittered
even his love for Dainty--a love to which he was true. And yet, when in
any way we wrong the loved, are we true? No--rather false. For real
love will deny itself for the sake of the beloved.
He had no suspicion of the tender feelings that existed between his
friend and the woman he called wife. The hidden entanglements of his
own life blinded him to all other convictions. What solitary lives were
these two living! Watched and harassed, they were not as happy as the
hard-worked, gasping stoker, who came up from below, like a Vulcan from
his fiery forge, to get a breath of the stifling equatorial air.
One hot, lazy afternoon, just after tiffin, Donald and Herr Schwatka
were walking on deck, when the latter asked:
"What has become of Kildare?"
"Oh, he has set his scheme afloat, and is sailing along. The great gold
mining company is now in popular favour. By the by, he compliments the
doctor on being the best Poker player, but one, on the Fields."
"And what may be the name of his superior?"
"Why, Major Kildare, of course. He thinks Doctor Fox the best fellow in
the country. I suppose you know that the Major accepted his invitation
to call and take his revenge, and won back all his money, and
immediately went out on the market and bought the finest tiger skin he
could find, and hung it in his office. So that is why there is one man
in Africa better than the doctor in playing the little game of Poker."
"That is a matter of opinion," said Schwatka, sarcastically; as he
strolled away, Donald joined the doctor, who was sitting on deck by
Dainty's side, and offered him a cigar. The day was lovely. Not a
ripple disturbed the surface of the ocean.
"Laure," said the doctor, "do you know what became of that diamond which
the detectives couldn't find, and which was hidden in the Bushman's
eye?"
Donald's cigar fell from his mouth, and he seemed to shrivel up in his
chair. "If you don't," continued the doctor, as coolly as if he had
asked the time of day, "I do."
"You!" gasped Donald.
"Yes. I believe it is in a mail bag on board this very steamer."
"Impossible!" ejaculated Donald.
"Not at all. In fact, quite probable," said the doctor, showing him the
postal order, and then related his interview with Bela.
Donald was stunned, and when the doctor handed him the order for
recovery of the package on his arrival in London, the circumstance did
not tend to restore calm.
Donald hesitated at first, but his fingers finally closed over the bit
of paper that made him again owner of the diamond. After looking it
over, he turned to Dainty and said:
"I think the diamond belongs to you. If it were not now on its way to
England through your influence, I would not be sitting here. I will
endorse this order, so that you will own the diamond."
He did so, and eventually the gem came into the possession of Dainty.
Late in the afternoon of the nineteenth day out, the steamer anchored in
the bay of Plymouth. A tender, with relatives and friends of the
passengers aboard, came out to meet and take them ashore.
In the gathering gloom the faces of those on board the "Arab" were not
discernible, but the outline of the forms of three people could be seen,
standing silently apart from the crowd at the gangway. Names were
called out, and greeted with hearty, joyous words of recognition. Many
stood waiting to disembark as soon as the signal was given. Suddenly a
voice called out:
"If Mr Donald Laure is on board, he will please land here, as his wife,
from Scotland, is waiting to receive him!"
Not a sound was heard from those on deck. All stood as silent as ghosts
in the gathering mist.
On hearing those words, Herr Schwatka looked at Dainty, who stood rooted
to the spot, and putting his arm around her supported her firmly and
tenderly, as he uttered three words:
"Mine at last!"
Donald turned to Dainty with a face like death, but only to see her led
away from him upheld by the arm of Herr Schwatka. With a slow step,
like that of a man walking to his doom, he disappeared down the
gangplank to meet the "wife from Scotland!"
We know not for what race we are preparing. Fate holds the leading
horses in her hands. But sooner or later we must drive.
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In a certain copy of the "Bloemfontein Gazette" is the following notice.
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