John Ames was seated beneath the verandah at Cogill's Hotel with a blue
official document in his hand and a very disgusted look upon his face.
The former accounted for the latter inasmuch as it was the direct cause
thereof. In cold official terminology it regretted the necessity of
abridging the period of his leave, and in terse official terminology
requested that he would be good enough to return to his post with all
possible dispatch.
He looked up from his third reading of this abominable document, and his
brows were knitted in a frown. He looked at the thick plumbago hedge
opposite, spangled with its pale blue blossoms, at the smooth red stems
of the tall firs, up again at the deep blue of the cloudless sky
overhead, then down once more upon the detestable missive, and said:--
"Damn!"
John Ames was not addicted to the use of strong language. Now, however,
he reckoned the occasion justified it.
"With all possible dispatch." That would mean taking his departure that
night--that very night. And here he was, ready and waiting to do the
usual escort duty, this time for a long day out on the bicycle. If he
were to start that night it would mean exactly halving that long day.
With a savage closing of the hand he crushed the official letter into a
blue ball, and once more ejaculated--
"Damn!"
"Sssh!"
Thereat he started. Nidia Commerell was standing in the doorway right
beside him, drawing on a pair of suede gloves, her blue eyes dancing
with mirth. She was clad in a bicycle skirt and light blouse, and wore
a plain white sailor hat.
"Sssh! _You_ using naughty swear words? I _am_ surprised at you!"
The smile which rippled brightly from the mobile lips showed, however,
that the surprise, if any, was not of a derogatory nature. John Ames
laughed ruefully.
"I'm sorry. But really it was under great provocation. I've received
marching orders."
"No? Not really? Oh, how disgusting!"
The utterance was quick. His eyes were full upon her face. How would
she receive the communication? Was that really a flash of
consternation, of regret, that swept over it?
"When must you go?" she continued, still, it seemed to him, speaking
rather quickly.
"I ought to start by to-night's train"--then, breaking off--"Where is
Mrs Bateman? Is she ready?"
"We shall have to go without her. She can't come--says she's getting
headachy."
"Oh, I'm so sorry!"
Nidia had to turn away her head to avoid a splutter outright. Never had
she heard words intended to be sympathetic uttered in tones of more
jubilant relief. To herself she said: "You are a sad tarradiddler, John
Ames." To him she said, "Yes; it's a pity, isn't it?" He, for his
part, was thinking that this time the official order need not be
interpreted too literally. It had plainly intimated that a state of
things had transpired which necessitated the presence of every official
at his post, but this time the state of things could dispense with his
adjusting hand for twenty-four hours longer. "With all possible
dispatch." Well, to start that night under the circumstances would not
be possible, under others it would. Throughout the whole day Nidia
would be alone with him, and he meant that day to be one that he should
remember.
They started. At first the exhilarating spin along the smooth
fir-shaded road, together with the consciousness that the day was only
beginning, caused him partly to forget that most unwelcome recall. They
had arranged to use by-roads where the riding was good, and, taking the
train at Mowbray, proceed to Cape Town, and ride out thence as far
beyond Camp's Bay as they felt inclined. Now, as they spun along
through the sunlit air, between leafy gardens radiant with bright
flowers and the piping of gladsome birds, the noble mountain wall away
on the left towering majestic though not stern and forbidding, its
cliffs softened in the summer haze, its slopes silvered with the
beautiful wattle, and great seas of verdure--the bright green of oak
foliage throwing out in relief the darker pine and blue eucalyptus--
surging up against its mighty base, the very contrast afforded by this
glorious scene of well-nigh Paradisical beauty, and the mental vision of
a hot steamy wilderness, not unpicturesque, but depressing in the sense
of remote loneliness conveyed, was borne forcibly home to the mind of
one of them. It was a question of hours, and all would have fled. He
grew silent. Depression had reasserted itself.
Yet, was it merely a sense of the external contrast which was afflicting
him? He had traversed this very scene before, and not once or even
twice only. He had always admired it, but listlessly. But now? The
magic wand had been waved over the whole. But why transform the
ordinary and mundane into a paradise for one who was to be suffered but
one glimpse therein, and now was to be cast forth? A paradise--ah yes;
but a fool's paradise, he told himself bitterly.
"Well?"
He started. The query had come from Nidia, and was uttered artlessly,
innocently, but with a spice of mischief.
"Yes? I was wondering?" she went on.
"What were you wondering?"
"Oh, nothing! Only--er--as it is rather--er--slow for me, don't you
think so--supposing you give me an inkling of the problem that is
absorbing you so profoundly? You haven't said a word for at least ten
minutes. And I like talking."
"I am so sorry. Yes; I might have remembered that. How shall I earn
forgiveness?"
"By telling me exactly what you were thinking about, absolutely and
without reservations. On no other conditions, mind."
"Oh, only what a nuisance it is being called away just now."
The tone was meant to be offhand, but the quick ear of Nidia was not so
easy to deceive. When John Ames did look down into the bright laughing
face it had taken an expression of sympathy, that with a quick bound of
the heart he read for one that was almost tender.
"Yes. It is horrid!" she agreed. "You had a long time to run yet,
hadn't you?"
"Nearly a month."
"I call it perfectly abominable. Can't you tell them it is absolutely
impossible to come back just now, that--er--in short, on no account can
you?"
He looked at her. "Do _you_ wish it?" was on his lips; but he left the
words unsaid. He shook his head sadly.
"I'm afraid it can't be done. You see, I am entirely at their beck and
call. And then, from what they say, I believe they really do want me."
"Yes; I was forgetting that. It is something, after all, to be of some
use, as I was telling you the other night; do you remember?"
Did he remember? Was there one word she had ever said to him--one look
she had ever given him--that he did not remember, that he had not
thought of, and weighed, and pondered over, in the dark silent hours of
the night, and in the fresh, but far from silent, hours of early
morning? No, indeed; not one.
"I remember every single word you have ever said to me," he answered
gravely, with his full straight glance meeting hers. And then it was
Nidia Commerell's turn to subside into silence, for there struck across
her mind, in all its force, the badinage she had exchanged with her
friend in the privacy of their chamber. If he had never before, as she
defined it, "hung out the signals," John Ames was beginning to do so
now--of that she felt very sure; yet somehow the thought, unlike in
other cases, inspired in her no derision, but a quickened beating of the
heart, and even a little pain, though why the latter she could not have
told.
"Come," she said suddenly, consulting her watch, "we must put on some
pace or we shall miss the train. We have some way to go yet."
On over the breezy flat of the Rondebosch camp-ground and between long
rows of cool firs meeting overhead; then a sharp turn and a spin of
straight road; and in spite of the recurring impediments of a stupidly
driven van drawn right across the way, and a long double file of
khaki-clad mounted infantry crossing at right angles and a foot's pace,
they reached the station in time, but only just. Then, as Nidia,
laughing and panting with the hurry of exertion she had been subjected
to, flung herself down upon the cushion of the compartment, and her
escort, having seen the bicycles safely stowed, at considerable risk to
life and limb, thanks to a now fast-moving train, clambered in after
her, both felt that the spell which had been moving them to grave and
serious talk was broken between them--for the present.
But later--when the midday glow had somewhat lost its force, when the
golden lights of afternoon were painting with an even more vivid green
the vernal slopes piling up to the great crags overhanging Camp's Bay,
the same seriousness would recur, would somehow intrude and force its
way in. They had left their bicycles at the inn where they had lunched,
and had half strolled, half scrambled down to the place they now were
in--a snug resting-place indeed, if somewhat hard, being an immense
rock, flat-topped and solid. Overhead, two other boulders meeting,
formed a sort of cave, affording a welcome shelter from the yet
oppressive sun. Beneath, the ocean swell was raving with hoarse sullen
murmur among the iron rocks, dark with trailing masses of seaweed, which
seemed as a setting designed to throw into more gorgeous relief the
vivid, dazzling blue of each little inlet. Before, the vast sheeny
ocean plain, billowing to the ruffle of the soft south wind.
"Really, you are incorrigible," said Nidia at last, breaking the
silence. "What shall I do to make you talk?"
"Yes; I am very slow to-day--I sorrowfully admit it," he answered, with
a laugh which somehow or other lacked the ring of merriment.
"I know," went on Nidia. "I must start discussing the Raid. There!
You will have to be interesting then."
"That's ruled out," he replied, the point being that from the very first
days of their acquaintance the Raid was a topic he had resolutely
declined to argue or to express any opinion upon. "Besides, it's such a
threadbare subject. You are right, though. I am treating you very
badly. In fact, it is not fair, and I am haunted by a shrivelling
conviction that you are sorry you came out to-day, and at this moment
are heartily wishing yourself at home. Am I not right?"
"No; quite wrong. I have, you know, a great respect for your
convictions--at times, but for this last one I have nothing but
contempt; yes, contempt--profound contempt. There! Will that satisfy
you?"
Her tone was decisive, without being vehement. In it--in the glance of
her eyes--he detected a ring of sympathy, of feeling. Could she read
his inner thoughts, he wondered, that each hour of this day as it wore
away did but tighten the grip of the bitter desolating pain that had
closed around his heart? He watched her as she reclined there, the very
embodiment of dainty and graceful ease. He noted the stirring of each
little wave of gold-brown hair as it caressed her forehead to the breath
of the soft sea wind; the quick lifting of the lashes revealing the deep
blue of the soulful eyes, so free and frank and fearless as they met
his; the rich tint of the smooth skin, glowing with the kiss of the air
and sun; every curve, too, of the mobile expressive lips; and the
self-restraint he was forced to put upon himself became something
superhuman. And it was their last day together! She, for her part, was
thinking, "John Ames is a fool, but the most self-controlled fool I ever
met. How I shall miss him! Yes, indeed, how I shall miss him!" Aloud
she said--
"I wonder when _we_ shall be going up-country?"
"Never, I predict," was the somewhat decisive rejoinder.
Nidia raised herself on one elbow. "You seem pretty certain as to
that," she said, "so certain that I begin to think the wish is father to
the thought."
"Thank you."
"There, there, don't be cross. I am only teasing you. I can be an
awful tease at times, can't I? Ask Susie if I can't--if you haven't
found it out already, that is."
The mischief had all left her voice, the laughing eyes were soft and
sympathetic again. He laughed, too, but somewhat sadly.
"Because things up there are not over bright, and are likely to be less
so. The cattle is all dying off from this new disease--rinderpest. The
natives have never been thoroughly conquered, and there are still plenty
of them. The loss of their cattle will make them desperate, and
therefore dangerous. The outlook is gloomy all round."
"Oh, but you will be able to put things right when you get back."
John Ames stared, as well he might. Either she meant what she said or
she did not. In the first event, she had a higher opinion of him than
ever he had dreamed; in the second, the remark was silly to the last
degree; and silliness was a fault, any trace of which he had not as yet
discovered in Nidia Commerell.
"You cannot really mean that," he said. "If so, you must be under an
entire misconception as to my position. I am only one of several. We
each of us try to do our best, but none of us can do anything very
great."
Listening intently, Nidia was saying to herself, "How true he rings!
Note. The swagger and egotism of the up-to-date Apollo is conspicuously
absent here." Then, aloud--
"No; I was not chaffing. I believe you can do a great deal. Remember,
we have been very much together of late, and I rather pride myself upon
a faculty for character reading."
The delicate insinuation of flattery in her tone constituted the last
straw. John Ames felt his resolution growing very weak. Passionate
words of adoration rose to his lips--when--
A screech and chatter of child voices and scurrying feet, right behind
the rock under whose shadow the two were resting, then the sound of
scrambling, and their resting-place was theirs no more. A round
half-dozen uproarious infants were spreading themselves over the rock
slabs around, their shrill shrieks of glee hardly arrested, as with a
start they discovered the presence of others upon their new playground.
And that they were there to stay they speedily made known by dint of
yelling response to the calls of the parent-bird, whose own voice drew
nearer around the rock.
The spell was broken. At that moment John Ames would have given
anything to have seen the rocks below swept by a sudden tidal wave. The
spell was broken. The moment had come and gone, and he was aware, as by
an intuitive flash, that it would not come again.
Nidia rose. Did she welcome the fortuitous relief or not? he wondered,
as he glanced at her keenly.
"Let us stroll quietly back," she said. "We shall get no more peace
with that nursery romping round us. Besides, it's time we thought of
beginning the return ride.
"What an ideal day it has been!" resumed Nidia, when the ground became
even enough to carry on conversation with any degree of facility.
"Hasn't it?"
"M'yes. Very `ideal,' in that like other ideals it doesn't last. An
ideal is like a wine-glass, sooner or later destined to be shattered."
"That's quite true. I wonder are there any exceptions to the rule?"
"Safely, no. People set one up for themselves and adore it; then
crash--bang! some fine day they knock it down, and it shatters into
smithereens. Then there is a pedestal empty--a pedestal to let."
"And up goes another image, with like result," laughed the girl.
"Precisely. But how cynical we are becoming. By the way, to go back to
what I was saying a little while ago, you will probably not be coming
up-country at all. Then we shall never see each other again."
"Even then, why should we not?"
"Why? Why, because the chance that--that made us meet now is not likely
to recur. That sort of blessed luck is not apt to duplicate in this
vale of woe. Not much."
She smiled, softly, tenderly. The self-contained John Ames was waxing
vehement. His words were tumbling over each other. He could hardly get
them out quick enough.
"And would you mind so very much if it did not?"
"Yes."
"So would I."
Then silence for a few moments. They were walking along a high-road.
At very short intervals the ubiquitous cyclist--singly or in pairs--shot
noiselessly by, or here and there a coloured pedestrian, seated by the
roadside, eyed them indifferently.
"Why should we lose sight of each other?" said John Ames at length. "Do
you know--this time we have had together has been--has been one that I
could never have dreamed of as within the bounds of possibility."
"We have had a good time, haven't we?" assented Nidia, demurely, though
conscious of a quickening pulse. "And now, I don't mind telling you
something--because I have failed to discover one atom of conceit in your
composition--so I don't mind telling you--"
"What?"
The interruption was startling. The voice was dry, the face stony. Had
he but known it the interrupter was going up many degrees in the
speaker's estimation.
"Only that I shall miss you dreadfully--when you are gone."
Nidia's mischievous demureness simply bubbled with enjoyment at the look
of relief which came over the other's features. She continued--
"As you say, why _should_ we lose sight of each other? You may write to
me occasionally--when you can spare the time required for the saving of
your country from all the ills that threaten it. But--let's see, I--oh,
well, never mind--I was going to say something, but I won't. And now--
we must not be serious any more. We have had a lovely day, the
loveliest day we could possibly have had, and we are going to have a
lovely ride back. Here we are at the hotel again."
The significance of the tone, the veiled emphasis which underlay the
remark, was not lost upon the listener. John Ames was one who knew when
to let well alone. Patience, tact, a judicious mind, were all among his
qualifications for his responsible and difficult post. Should they fail
him in a matter where private feeling, however deep, was concerned? So
he acquiesced.
Nidia, for her part, was conscious of mingled feelings. She did not
know whether to be glad or not that they had been summarily interrupted;
on the whole, she thought she was glad. On the other hand, she had not
exaggerated in saying she would miss him dreadfully, and already she had
some idea as to how she would miss him. Here was a man who was outside
her experience, who represented an entirely new phase of character.
With her, too, this time that they had spent so much together stood
forth.
But although no more was said during their homeward ride of a nature to
trench on grave matters, the tone between both of them was one that
seemed unconsciously to breathe of confidence and rest. The deep murmur
of the ocean swell had sunk its hoarse raving as it lapped the rocks
below the skirting road; the golden glory of the heaving waters had
turned to a deeper sapphire blue suffused with pink as the sun sank
behind the rampart crags, and already two or three stars, twinkling
forth, seemed to rest upon, then hover over, the rock crest of the great
Lion Mountain, heaving up, a majestic sentinel, over the liquid plain.
Yes; both were content, for in the hearts of both still rang the
gladness and the quietude of a very conscious refrain:--"We shall meet
again, soon."
Thus the parting of the ways. But before they should meet again--what?
In that surrounding of peace and evening calm, small wonder that no
suggestion should find place as to a very different surrounding, where,
far to the north, from the drear mountain wilderness, even at that
moment, thundered forth--as another Voice from Sinai of old--a dire and
terrible voice telling of scourge and of war--a voice, indeed, of woe
and of wrath, sounding its dread tocsin o'er an entire land.
"Burned is the earth, Gloom in the skies Nation's new birth--Manhood
arise!"