There was no postal delivery at Swaanepoel's Hoek, nor was there any
regular day for sending for the mails. If anybody was driving or riding
into Somerset East on business or pleasure, they would call at the post
office and bring out whatever there was; or, if anything of greater or
less importance was expected, a native servant would be despatched with
a note to the postmaster.
Bentley had just returned from the township, bringing with him a batch
of letters. Several fell to Eustace's share, all, more or less, of a
business nature. All, save one--and before he opened this he recognised
Hoste's handwriting:
My Dear Milne (it began): This is going to be an important
communication. So, before you go any further, you had better get into
some sequestered corner by yourself to read it, for it's going to
knock you out of time some, or I'm a Dutchman.
"That's a shrewd idea on the part of Hoste putting in that caution," he
said to himself. "I should never have credited the chap with so much
gumption."
He was alone in the shearing-house when the overseer had handed him his
letters. His coat was off, and he was doing one or two odd carpentering
jobs. The time was about midday. Nobody was likely to interrupt him
here.
Something has come to my knowledge [went on the letter] which you, of
all men, ought to be the one to investigate. To come to the point,
there is some reason to suppose that poor Tom Carhayes may still be
alive.
You remember that Kafir on whose behalf you interfered when Jackson
and a lot of fellows were giving him beans? He is my informant. He
began by inquiring for you, and when I told him you were far away, and
not likely to be up here again, he seemed disappointed, and said he
wanted to do you a good turn for standing his friend on that occasion.
He said he now knew who you were, and thought he could tell you
something you would like to know.
Well, I told him he had better unburden himself to me, and if his
information seemed likely to be of use, he might depend upon me
passing it on to you. This, at first, he didn't seem to see--you know
what a suspicious dog our black brother habitually is--and took
himself off. But the secret seemed to weigh upon him, for, in a day
or two, he turned up again, and then, in the course of a good deal of
"dark talking," he gave me to understand that Tom Carhayes was still
alive; and, in fact, he knew where he was.
Milne, you may just bet your boots I felt knocked all out of time. I
hadn't the least suspicion what the fellow was driving at, at first.
Thought he was going to let out that he knew where old Kreli was
hiding, or Hlangani, perhaps. So, you see, you must come up here at
once, and look into the matter. I've arranged to send word to
Xalasa--that's the fellow's name--to meet us at Anta's Kloof directly
you arrive.
Don't lose any time. Start the moment you get this. Of course I've
kept the thing as dark as pitch; but there's no knowing when an affair
of this kind may not leak out and get into all the papers.
Kind regards to Mrs Carhayes--and keep this from her at present.
Yours ever, Percy F. Hoste.
Carefully Eustace read through every word of this communication; then,
beginning again, he read it through a second time.
"This requires some thinking out," he said to himself. Then taking up
the letter he went out in search of some retired spot where it would be
absolutely impossible that he should be interrupted.
Wandering mechanically he found himself on the very spot where they had
investigated the silver box together. That would do. No one would
think of looking for him there.
He took out the letter and again studied every word of it carefully.
There was no getting behind its contents: they were too plain in their
fatal simplicity. And there was an inherent probability about the
potentiality hinted at. He would certainly start at once to investigate
the affair. Better to know the worst at any rate. And then how
heartily he cursed the Kafir's obtrusive gratitude, wishing a
thousand-fold that he had left that sable bird of ill-omen at the mercy
of his chastisers. However, if there was any truth in the story, it was
bound to have come to light sooner or later in any case--perhaps better
now, before the mischief wrought was irreparable. But if it should turn
out to be true--what then? Good-bye to this beautiful and idyllic dream
in which they two had been living during all these months past.
Good-bye to a life's happiness: to the bright golden vista they had been
gazing into together. Why had he not closed with Hlangani's hideous
proposal long ago? Was it too late even now?
The man suffered agonies as he sat there, realising his shattered
hopes--the fair and priceless structure of his life's happiness levelled
to the earth like a house of cards. Like Lucifer fallen from Paradise
he felt ready for anything.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Great was Eanswyth's consternation and astonishment when he announced
the necessity of making a start that afternoon.
"The time will soon pass," he said. "It is a horrible nuisance,
darling, but there is no help for it. The thing is too important. The
fact is, something has come to light--something which may settle that
delayed administration business at once."
It might, indeed, but in a way very different to that which he intended
to convey. But she was satisfied.
"Do not remain away from me a moment longer than you can help, Eustace,
my life!" she had whispered to him during the last farewell, she having
walked a few hundred yards with him in order to see the last of him.
"Remember, I shall only exist--not live--during these next few days.
This is the first time you have been away from me since--since that
awful time."
Then had come the sweet, clinging, agonising tenderness of parting.
Eanswyth, having watched him out of sight, returned slowly to the house,
while he, starting upon his strange venture, was thinking in the
bitterness of his soul how--when--they would meet again. His heart was
heavy with a sense of coming evil, and as he rode along his thoughts
would recur again and again to the apparition which had so terrified
Eanswyth a few nights ago. Was it the product of a hallucination on her
part after all, or was it the manifestation of some strange and dual
phase of Nature, warning of the ill that was to come? He felt almost
inclined to admit the latter.