"I GO TO PROVE MY SOUL."
Allan lost no time in making his preparations. He ordered everything
that Cecil Patrington told him to order, and in all things followed
the advice of that experienced traveller, who consented to spend his
last fortnight in England at Beechhurst, where his appearance excited
considerable interest in the local mind. He allowed Allan to mount
him, and went out with the South Sarum; and as he neither dressed,
rode, nor looked like anybody else, he was the object of some curiosity
among those outsiders who did not know him as a famous African hunter,
a man who had made himself a name among British sportsmen unawares,
while following the bent of his own fancy, and caring nothing what his
countrymen at home thought about him.
Lady Emily was her son's guest during the last week, anxious to be
with him till he sailed, to postpone the parting till the final day.
She was full of sorrow at the idea of a separation which was to last
for at least two years, and might extend to double that time if the
climate and the manner of life in Central Africa suited Allan. Stanley
had taken nearly a year and a half going and returning between Zanzibar
and Ujiji, and Stanley had been a much quicker traveller than previous
explorers. And Mr. Patrington talked of Ujiji as a starting-point for
journeys to the north, and to the west, rambling explorations over less
familiar regions, and anon a leisurely journey down to Nyassaland, the
African Arcadia. His plans, if carried out, would occupy five or six
years.
That sturdy traveller laughed at the mother's apprehensions.
"My dear Lady Emily, you are under a delusion as to the remoteness of
the great lake country. Should your son grow home-sick, something less
than a three months' journey will bring him from the Tanganyika to the
Thames. Sixty years ago, it took longer to travel from Bombay to London
than it does now to come from the heart of Africa."
The mother sighed, and looked mournfully at her son. He was unhappy,
and travel and adventure would perhaps afford the best cure for his low
spirits. She discussed the situation with Mrs. Mornington when that
lady called upon her.
"Your niece has acted very cruelly," she said.
"My niece has acted like a fool. She has made two young men unhappy,
and left herself out in the cold. I saw Geoffrey Wornock last week, and
he looked a perfect wreck."
"Do you think she cared for him?"
"The girl must care for somebody. Looking back now, I can see that
there was a change in her--a gradual change--after Geoffrey Wornock's
return. It was very unfortunate. Either young man would have been a
capital match;" added Mrs. Mornington, waxing practical; "but she could
not marry them both!"
Lady Emily felt angry with Geoffrey as the cause of unhappiness, the
indirect cause of the coming separation between herself and her son.
How happy she might have been had all gone smoothly! Allan would have
settled at Beechhurst with his young wife; but they would have spent
nearly half of every year in Suffolk. How happy her own life might have
been with the son she loved, and the girl whom she was ready to take
to her heart as a daughter, but for this wilful cruelty on the part of
Suzette!
Lady Emily was sitting in the Mandarin-room with her son and his friend
late in the evening, their last evening but one in England. To-morrow
they were all going to London together, and on the day after the
travellers would embark for Zanzibar.
The night was wet and windy, and a large wood fire burnt and crackled
on the ample hearth. Lady Emily had her embroidered coverlet spread
over her lap, and her work-table drawn conveniently near her elbow,
in the light of a shaded lamp, while the two men lounged in luxurious
chairs in front of the fire. The room looked the picture of comfort,
the men companionable, content, and homely, and the mother's heart
sank at the thought that years must pass before such an evening could
repeat itself in that room, and before her poor Allan would be sitting
in so comfortable a chair. It was not without regret that her son had
contemplated the idea of their separation, or of his mother's solitary
home when he should be gone. He had talked with her of the coming
years, suggested the nieces or girl-friends whom she might invite to
enliven the slumberous house, and to enjoy the beauty of those fertile
gardens and level park-like meadows that stretched to the edge of the
river.
"You have troops of friends, mother, and you will have plenty of
occupation with your farm, and sovereign power over the whole estate.
Drake"--the bailiff--"will have to consult you about everything."
"Yes, there will be much to be looked at and thought about; but I shall
miss you every hour of my life, Allan."
"Not as much as if I had been living at home."
"Every bit as much. I was quite happy thinking of you here. How can
I be happy when I picture you toiling alone in the desert under a
broiling sun--no water--even the camels dropping and dying under their
burdens."
"Dear mother, be happy as to the camels. We shall not be in the camel
country. We shall see very little of sandy deserts. Shadowy woods,
fertile valleys, the margins of great lakes will be our portion."
"And you will drink the water--which is sure to be unwholesome--and you
will get fever."
Allan did not tell his mother that fever was inevitable, a phase of
African life which every traveller must reckon with. He represented
African travel as a perpetual holiday in a land of infinite beauty.
"Would Patrington go back there if it were not a delightful life?" he
argued. "He has not to get his living there, as the poor fellows have
who grill and bake themselves for half a lifetime in India. He goes
because he loves the life."
"He goes to shoot big game. He is a horrid, bloodthirsty creature."
Little by little, however, Lady Emily had allowed herself to be
persuaded that Central Africa was not so hideous a region as she had
supposed. She was told that there were bits of country like Suffolk, a
home-like Arcadia on the shores of Nyassa which would remind her of her
own farm.
"Then why not make that district your head-quarters?" she argued,
appealing to Patrington.
"We shall have no head-quarters. We shall wander from one interesting
spot to another. We shall settle down only in the Masika season, when
travelling is out of the question--not so much because it couldn't be
done as because the blackies won't do it. They are uncommonly careful
of themselves; won't budge in the rains, won't take a canoe on the
lake, if there's a bit of a swell on."
"I am glad of that," sighed Lady Emily, with an air of relief; "I am
very glad the negroes are prudent and careful."
"A deuced deal too prudent, my dear Lady Emily."
The men were sitting at a table looking at a map, one of Patrington's
rough sketch maps, and splotched with a blunt quill pen. He was showing
Allan where more scientific map-makers had gone wrong.
"Here's the Lualaba, you see, and here's the little wood where we
camped--I seldom use a tent if I can help it, but there wasn't a
village within ten miles of that spot."
The door was opened and a servant announced--
"Mr. Wornock."
Allan started up, surprised, thrown off his balance by Geoffrey's
entrance. It was half-past ten--Matcham bedtime.
"You have come to bid us good-bye," Allan said, recovering his
self-possession as they shook hands. "This is kind and friendly of you."
"I have come to do nothing of the sort. I want to join your party, if
you and your friend will have me."
He spoke in his lightest tone; but he was looking worn and ill, and
there were all the signs of sleeplessness and worry in his haggard face.
"I know it's the eleventh hour," he said, "but I heard you say,"
looking from Allan to Patrington, "that your important preparations
have to be made at Zanzibar, where you buy most of the things you want.
I--I only made up my mind this evening, after dinner. I am bored to
death in England. There is nothing for me to do. I get so tired of
things----"
"And your mother?" hazarded Allan, feebly.
"My mother is accustomed to doing without me. I believe I only worry
her when I am at home. Will you take me, Carew? 'Yes,' or 'No'?"
"Why, of course it is 'Yes,' Mr. Wornock," exclaimed Lady Emily, coming
from the other end of the room, where she had been folding up her work
for the night. "Allan, why don't you introduce Mr. Wornock to me?"
She was radiant, charmed at the idea of a third traveller, and such a
traveller as the Squire of Discombe. It seemed to lessen the peril of
the expedition, that this other man should want to go, should offer
himself thus lightly, on the eve of departure.
She shook hands with Geoffrey in the friendliest way, looking at the
wan, worn face with keen interest. Like Allan? Yes, he was like, but
not so good-looking. His features were too sharply cut; his hollow
cheeks and sunken eyes made him look ever so much older than Allan,
thought the mother, admiring her own son above all the world.
"Of course they will take you," she said, looking from one to the
other. "It will make the expedition ever so much pleasanter for them
both. They will feel less lonely."
"I ain't afraid of loneliness," growled Patrington; "but if Mr. Wornock
really wishes to go with us, and will fall into our plans, and not
want to make alterations, and upset our route for whims of his own,
I'm agreeable. It isn't always easy for three men to get on smoothly,
you see. Even two don't always hit it--Burton and Speke, for instance.
There were bothers."
"You shall be my chief and captain," protested Geoffrey, "and if you
should tire of me, well, I can always wander off on my own hook, you
know. I could start by myself, now, take my chance and trust to native
guides, choose another line of country, where I couldn't molest you----"
"Molest! My dear Wornock, if you are really in earnest, really
inclined to join us as a pleasant thing to do, and not a caprice of the
moment, I shall be glad to have you, and I think Patrington will have
no objection," said Allan, hastily.
"Not the slightest. I only want unity of purpose. You don't look very
fit," added Patrington, bluntly; "but you can rough it, I suppose?"
"Yes; I'm not afraid of hardships."
"I should like to have a few words with you before anything is settled,
if you will take a turn on the terrace," said Allan, and on Geoffrey
assenting, he went over to the glass door, and led the way to the
gravel walk outside.
The rain was over, and the moon was shining out of a ragged mass of
cloud.
"Why do you leave this place, now, when you are master of the
situation?" Allan asked abruptly, when he and Geoffrey had walked a few
paces.
"I am not master, no more than a beaten hound is master. I have
mastered nothing, not even the lukewarm regard which she still
professes for you. She has thrown you over, but I am not to be the
gainer. I went to her directly I knew she was free. I offered myself to
her, an adoring slave. But she would have none of me. She did not love
you enough to be your wife; but for me she had only contempt, cruel
words, mocking laughter that cut me like a bunch of scorpions. I am
frank with you, Carew. If I had a ghost of a chance, I would follow her
to Schwalbach, to the Riviera, all round this globe on which we crawl
and suffer. Distance should not divide us. But I am too much a man to
pursue a woman who scorns me. I want to forget her; I mean to forget
her; and I think I might have a chance if I went with you and your chum
yonder. I should like to go with you, unless you dislike me too much to
be at ease in my company."
"Dislike you! No, indeed, I do not."
"I'm glad of that. My mother is very fond of you. You have been to her
almost as a son. It will comfort her to think that we are together,
together in danger and difficulty, and if one of us should not come
back----"
"Nonsense, Wornock! Of course we are coming back. Look at
Patrington----"
"Ah, but he has been a solitary traveller. When two go, there is always
one who stays."
"If you think that, you had much better stop at home."
"No, no; the risk is the best part of the business to a man of my
temper. It's the toss-up that I like. Heads, a safe return; tails,
death in the wilderness--death by niggers, wild beasts, flood, or
fire. I go with my life in my hand, as the catch phrase of the day has
it; and if there were no hazards, no danger--well, one might as well
stay at home, or play polo at Simla. Fellows get themselves killed
even at that. Allan, we have been rivals, but not enemies. Shall we be
brothers, henceforward?"
"Yes, friends and brothers, if you will."
They went back to the Mandarin-room, and when Lady Emily had bidden
them good night, the three men lit up pipes and cigars, and talked
about that wonder-world of tropical Africa, and what they were to do
there, till the night grew late, and the Manor groom, dozing on the
settle by the saddle-room fire after a hearty supper of beef and beer,
questioned querulously whether his guv'nor meant to go home before
daylight.