Nature is rarely sympathetic. The day dawned, fair and lovely, upon the
night of terror and brooding peril. A few golden rays, darting
horizontally upon the green, undulating slopes of the pleasant
Kaffrarian landscape--then the sun shot up from the eastern skyline.
Before him the white mist, which had settled down upon the land a couple
of hours before dawn, now rolled back in ragged folds, leaving a sheeny
carpet of silver dew--a glittering sparkle of diamond drops upon tree
and shrub. Bird voices were twittering into life, in many a gladsome
and varying note. Little meer-kats, startled by the tread of the horse,
sat upon their haunches to listen, ere plunging, with a frisk and a
scamper, into the safety of their burrows. A tortoise, his neck
distended and motionless, his bright eye dilated with alarm, noiselessly
shrank into the armour-plated safety of his shell, just in time to avoid
probable decapitation from the falling hoof which sent his protective
shell rolling half a dozen yards down the slope. But he now riding
abroad thus early, had little attention to give to any such trivial
sights and sounds. His mind was fully occupied.
No sleep had fallen to Eustace's lot that night. Late as it was when
they retired to rest, fatiguing and exciting as the events of the day
had been, there was no sleep for him. Carhayes, exasperated by the
wrongs and rough treatment he had received at the hands of his barbarous
neighbours, had withdrawn in a humour that was truly fearful, exacting
unceasing attention from his wife and rudely repulsing his cousin's
offer to take Eanswyth's place, in order that the latter might take some
much-needed rest. A proceeding which lashed Eustace into a white heat
of silent fury, and in his own mind it is to be feared he defined the
other as a selfish, inconsiderate, and utterly irredeemable brute.
Which, after all, is mere human nature. It is always the other fellow
who is rather worse than a fiend. Were we in his shoes we should be
something a little higher than an angel. That of course.
Unable to endure the feverish heat of restlessness that was upon him,
with the first glimmer of dawn Eustace arose. One of his horses had
been kept up in the stable, and having saddled the animal he issued
forth. But the horse was a badly broken, vicious brute, and like the
human heart was deceitful and desperately wicked, and when to the
inherent villainy of his corrupt nature was superadded the tangible
grievance of having to exchange a comfortable stable for the fresh, not
to say raw, atmosphere of early dawn, he resolved to make himself as
disagreeable as possible. He began by trying all he knew to buck the
saddle off--but fruitlessly. He might, however, be more successful with
the rider. So almost before the latter had deftly swung himself into
his seat, down again went the perverse brute's head, and up went his
back. Plunging, rearing, kicking, squealing, the animal managed to
waste five minutes and a great deal of superfluous energy, and to incur
some roughish treatment into the bargain, for his rider was as firm in
the saddle as a bullet in a cartridge, and moreover owned a stout crop
and a pair of sharp spurs, and withal was little inclined to stand any
nonsense that morning from man or beast.
But the tussle did Eustace good, in that it acted with bracing effect
upon his nerves, and having reduced the refractory steed to order, he
headed for the open _veldt_, not much caring where he went as long as he
was moving. And now as the sun rose, flooding the air with a mellow
warmth, a great elation came upon him. He still seemed to feel the
pressure of those lips to his, the instinctive clinging to him in the
hour of fear. He had yielded to the weird enchantment of the moment,
when they two were alone in the hush of the soft, sensuous night--alone
almost in the very world itself. His better judgment had failed him at
the critical time--and for once his better judgment had been at fault
all along--for once passion was truer than judgment. _She had returned
his kiss_.
Then had come that horribly inopportune interruption. But was it
inopportune? Thinking things over now he was inclined to decide that it
was not. On the contrary, the ice must be broken gently at first, and
this is just the result which that interruption had brought about.
Again, the rough and bitter words which had followed upon it could only,
to one of Eanswyth's temperament, throw out in more vivid contrast the
nectar sweetness of that cup of which she had just tasted. He had not
seen her since, but he soon would. He would play his cards with a
master hand. By no bungling would he risk the game.
It was characteristic of the man that he could thus reason--could thus
scheme and plot--that side by side with the strong whirl of his passion,
he could calculate chances, map out a plan. And there was nothing
sordid or gross in his thoughts of her. His love for Eanswyth was pure,
even noble--elevating, perfect--but for the fact that she was bound by
an indissoluble tie to another man.
Ah, but--there lay the gulf; there rose the great and invincible
barrier. Yet, why invincible?
The serpent was abroad in Eden that morning. With the most sweet
recollection of but a few hours back fresh in his heart, there rested
within Eustace's mind a perfect glow of radiant peace. Many a word,
many a tone, hardly understood at the time, came back to him now with
startling clearness. For a year they had dwelt beneath the same roof,
for nearly that period, for _quite_ that period, as he was forced to own
to himself, he had striven hard to conquer the hopeless, the unlawful
love, which he plainly foresaw would sooner or later grow too strong for
him. But now it had overwhelmed him, and--she had returned it. The
scales had fallen from his eyes at last--from both their eyes. What a
very paradise was opening out its golden glories before them. Ah, but--
the barrier between them--and that barrier the life of another!
Yet what is held upon more desperately frail tenure than a life? What
is more easily snapped than the cord of a life? It might have been done
during the past night. By no more than a hair's-breadth had Carhayes
escaped. The savages might on the next occasion strike more true. Yes,
assuredly, the serpent was abroad in that Eden now--his trail a trail of
blood. There was something of the murderer in Eustace Milne at that
moment.
Mechanically still he rode on. He was skirting a high rounded spur.
Rising from a bushy valley not many miles in front were several threads
of blue smoke, and the faint sound of voices, with now and then the yelp
of a dog, was borne upon the silent morning air. He had travelled some
distance and now not far in front lay the outlying kraals of Nteya's
location.
A set, ruthless look came over his fine face. Here were tools enough
ready to his hand. Not a man among those clans of fierce and truculent
barbarians but hated his cousin with a hatred begotten of years of
friction. On the other hand he himself was on the best of terms with
them and their rulers. A little finessing--a lavish reward, and--well,
so far he shrank from deliberate and cold-blooded murder. And as though
to cast off temptation before it should become too strong for him, he
wrenched round his horse with a sudden jerk and rode down into a wild
and bushy kloof which ran round the spur of the hill.
"Never mind!" he exclaimed half aloud. "Never mind! We shall have a
big war on our hands directly. Hurrah for war, and its glorious
chances!--Pincher, you fool, what the deuce is the matter with you?"
For the horse had suddenly stopped short. With his ears cocked forward
he stood, snorting violently, trembling and backing. Then with a
frantic plunge he endeavoured to turn and bolt. But his master's hand
and his master's will were strong enough to defeat this effort. At the
same time his master's eye became alive to the cause of alarm.
Issuing from the shade of the mimosa trees, seeming to rise out of the
tangle of long, coarse herbage, were a number of red, sinuous forms.
The ochre-smeared bodies, the gleaming assegai blades, the brawny,
muscular limbs still bedecked with the barbarous and fantastic
adornments of the night's martial orgy, the savage and threatening
aspect of the grim, scowling countenances looked formidable enough, not
merely to scare the horse, but to strike dismay into the heart of the
rider, remembering the critical state of the times.
"Stop!" cried one of the Kafirs peremptorily. "Come no farther, white
man!"
With a rapid movement two of them advanced as if to seize his bridle.
"Stop yourselves!" cried Eustace decisively, covering the pair with a
revolver.
So determined was his mien, and withal so cool and commanding, that the
savages paused irresolute. A quick ejaculation rose from the whole
party. There was a flash and a glitter. A score of assegais were
poised ready for a fling. Assailants and assailed were barely a dozen
yards apart. It was a critical moment for Eustace Milne. His life hung
upon a hair.
Suddenly every weapon was lowered--in obedience to a word spoken by a
tall Kafir who at that moment emerged from the bush. Then Eustace knew
the crisis was past. He, too, lowered his weapon.
"What does this mean, Ncanduku?" he said, addressing the new arrival.
"Why do your people make war upon me? We are not at war."
"_Au_!" ejaculated several of the Kafirs, bringing their hands to their
faces as if to hide the sarcastic grin evoked by this remark. He
addressed shrugged his shoulders.
"Fear nothing, Ixeshane," [The Deliberate] he replied, with a
half-amused smile. "No harm will be done _you_. Fear nothing."
The slight emphasis on the "you" did not escape Eustace's quick ear,
coming as it did so close upon his recent train of thought.
"Why should I fear?" he said. "I see before me Ncanduku, the brother of
Nteya, my friend--both my friends, both chiefs of the House of Gaika. I
see before me, I say, Ncanduku, my friend, whom I know. I see before me
also a number of men, fully armed, whom I do not know."
"_Hau_!" exclaimed the whole body of Kafirs, who, bending forwards, had
been eagerly taking in every word of this address.
"These armed men," he continued, "have just threatened my life. Yet, I
fear nothing. Look!"
He raised the revolver, which he now held by the barrel. In a twinkling
he threw open the breech and emptied the cartridges into his hand.
Another emphatic murmur rose from the Kafirs at this strange move.
"Look!" he went on, holding out the empty weapon towards them in one
hand, and the half dozen cartridges in the other. "You are more than
twenty men--armed. I am but one man--unarmed. Do I fear anything?"
Again a hum went round the party--this time of admiration--respect.
Eustace had played a bold--a foolhardy stroke. But he knew his men.
"_Whau_, Ixeshane!" exclaimed Ncanduku. "You are a bold man. It is
good that I have seen you this morning. Now, if you are going home,
nobody will interfere with you."
"I am in no hurry, Ncanduku," replied Eustace, who, for purposes of his
own, chose to ignore this hint. "It is a long while since I have seen
you, and many things have happened in that time. We will sit down and
hold a little _indaba_." [Talk.]
So saying, he dismounted, and flinging his bridle over a bush, he walked
at least a dozen yards from the horse and deliberately seated himself in
the shade, thus completely placing himself in the power of the savages.
He was joined by Ncanduku and two or three more. The other Kafirs sank
down into a squatting posture where they were.
"First we will smoke," he said, handing his pouch to the Gaika chief.
"Though I fear the contents won't go very far among all our friends
here."