Four years had come and gone; four times had the winter rains from the
hidden Antarctic floated up to the storm-smitten shores of that
continent over which the wings of Ancient Mystery still brood, and made
sweet the ways of Spring.
The cottage still stood on the slope of Table Mountain but it was no
longer alone; other dwellers of the city had selected sites and built
near it. Moreover, it could not so readily be seen from a distance as
formerly, for the reason that the bowering trees had enviously stretched
forth their boughs around it.
Mr and Mrs du Plessis had been tenderly dealt with by Time; being young
in heart they still knew youth, and the lady's French vivacity remained
unimpaired. Gertrude and Helena had grown into young women comely to
see, and the path leading to their dwelling was often trodden by the
feet of the young men of the city and the officers of the garrison. The
suit of a young minister of the Dutch Reformed Church had found favour
with Gertrude. He had graduated in Leyden in a distinguished manner
three years previously. Mr Brand and Gertrude were engaged and meant to
be married in the early part of the ensuing year.
The greatest change was, however, to be seen in Elsie. She was about
seventeen years of age and as beautiful as a lily. Tall and slight, her
sweet face marble-pale, her deep eyes fringed with long, brown lashes
and her wonderful hair full of amber hues mingled with the golden tints
of dawn, the blind girl who dwelt in darkness was the sunshine of the
household.
Although her mind was still a blank so far as events that had occurred
previous to her waking in the home of her protector were concerned, her
intellect otherwise was quite unimpaired. Her memory had regained its
old strength, and once more she became remarkable for never forgetting
anything she experienced. She was quite without fear except of the
baboons, the barking of which upon the mountain side always made her
tremble. It was this circumstance which led the old doctor who attended
the household to express his belief that she would one day recover her
memory. She was called Agatha by the du Plessis after numerous attempts
to elicit her name had failed.
The Reverend Philip Brand, Gertrude's _fiance_, was an earnest and a
muscular Christian. He was a man who held quite original views upon
most questions; one peculiarity of his being that he rather preferred
the society of the very bad to that of the correspondingly good. The
visitation of the unfortunates condemned to serve in chains at the
quarries on Robben Island was a self-imposed branch of his duties which
he took the greatest interest in.
"I have recently come in contact," he said one day to Gertrude, "with a
very remarkable man. He is a convict at Robben Island,--a man named van
der Walt. He tried to murder his brother, and was sentenced to ten
years imprisonment in consequence."
"Yes;--and why does he specially interest you?"
"Well,--'tis a very curious thing;--you know that I am apt to take a
liking to reprobates; this man's influence upon me is, however, very
strange. Whenever I have been talking to him I come away with the
impression that there is some mistake,--that he is God's minister and I
am the criminal."
"I wish I could meet him."
"I wish you could. I can hardly describe him.--The man is as humble as
Christ himself, and is always, without the least sign of cringing,
grateful for the least attention. He does not talk religion at all; in
fact he tries rather to avoid the subject, but he continually endeavours
to enlist my help towards getting favours granted for the other
prisoners. He has never, so far as I can make out, asked for anything
for himself."
"Do you know the particulars of his crime? his story ought to be
interesting."
"I only know a few of the bare facts. It appears that he and his
brother--they lived far up country, near the Roggeveld--had been
quarrelling for years. One day they met in the veld, and this one shot
the other with his own gun,--tried to murder him, in fact Murder or no
murder, something always seems to say to me when we meet: `That man is a
better Christian than you.'"
"Has he been long in prison?"
"About eight years. They tell me that he has never been known during
all that time to disobey an order or to grumble at anything. His wife
died five years ago, and just afterwards his little daughter, whom he
loved better than anyone else, disappeared. They say his health
afterwards broke down completely for a time, and his hair and beard
turned from jet black to pure white within a few months."
"Poor old man,--why don't they let him out if he has suffered so much
and has become so good?"
"They are talking of asking the Governor to commute the last year of his
sentence. I shall do my best to have the idea carried out, but I had
better not move in the matter openly, because all say I am already too
much on the side of the convicts, and I am no longer listened to when I
intercede for them."
Summer had not yet come, but its approach was making itself felt from
afar. The du Plessis' were spending the day on the western side of the
peninsula, where the South Atlantic tides, steel-grey and cold, sweep
past the black, broken rocks. To landward the bastioned turrets known
as the "Twelve Apostles" soared into a blue sky; from seaward the
rollers were thundering up, in front of a steady north-west breeze.
Elsie had been placed in a comfortable situation such as she loved--safe
above the reach of the moving waters, but where faint fragrant whiffs of
spray might now and then reach her, and where the generous sunshine
prevented her from feeling chilled. She loved sometimes to be left
alone thus, so the others wandered away. Soon she fell into a deep
sleep.
When the strollers returned they were alarmed at the change which had
taken place in the blind girl. She was sitting straight up; her face
was drawn, her lips were parted; she breathed with quick, husky gasps
and her eyes blazed. The two girls ran up and put their arms around
her; then she shrieked loudly, and became almost convulsed. But she
soon became calmer under their soothing words and touch.
"Kanu,--are you here?" she uttered.
"We are here," replied Helena, gently--"Gertrude and I. What is the
matter.--What frightened you?"
"Oh,--how long have I been sleeping.--Where is Kanu? Where am I?"
They noticed that she spoke in quite a different tone to her usual one,
and in an uncouth idiom they had never heard from her before.
"Hush, dear," said Helena, soothingly. She guessed what had happened.
The doctor had told her that an awakening of the girl's dormant memory
might happen at any time.--"Hush,--do not trouble to think just now.
You will remember it all by and by."
Helena drew the blind, frightened face down upon her generous breast,
whilst Gertrude softly stroked the rigid hand which had seized one of
hers with such a convulsive grasp as caused her acute pain. The blind
girl's brain was reeling perilously near to madness. Like a flood came
the memory of her journey and its purpose--of the misery of
disappointment, and the terror of the baboons. Her mind began anew at
the flight from Elandsfontein, and retraced every painful step of the
journey which came to such a tragic close in the inhospitable streets of
the city. The whole pageant went through her consciousness in a
whirling phantasmagoria.
When she reached that stage of her adventures wherein she left the
dwelling of the kind old coloured woman, she instinctively passed her
hand over her knees to feel if she still wore the dress which had been
lent her then. Again she ascended the rugged slopes of Table Mountain,
with her ears filled with the horrid shouts of the persecuting boys.
The long-waited-for Kanu seemed so imminent that she bent her ear to
listen for his expected step in the sound of the rocking surf. Then her
terror of the baboons returned upon her like a hurricane sweeping
everything away in fury; she started up with a shriek and tried to rush
away.
"Oh God,--the baboons. Kanu--Kanu."
"Hush--hush, dear," said the soothing voice of Helena; "you are safe
with us; nothing can hurt you. Feel--we are holding you safely."
The sudden rupture of the cells in the blind girl's brain, within which
the terrors of that dire morning of four years back were pent, was like
the breaking of the Seventh Seal. The shock almost unseated her reason.
However, she gradually came to realise that she was with friends, whose
tender touch brought comfort and a sense of safety. For the moment the
last four years of her life were as effectually blotted out as though
they had never been. Then, as a tortured sea gradually glasses over
when the storm-cloud has passed on, although it yet heaves with silent
unrest, her mind began to calm down and the recollection of more recent
events to dawn upon the verge of her consciousness.
"But where is Kanu? Why did he not come back to me?"
"Was Kanu the Bushman who led you about?" asked Helena, gently.
"Kanu left me on the mountain and went to find out where the Governor
lived.--My father--How long ago is it--Where have I been?"
"What is your father's name and where does he live?" asked Gertrude.
"My father is in prison, but he is innocent, and only Kanu and I know
the truth. We came to tell the Governor, so that he might let my father
out."
"Come, Agatha,--let us go back to mother and tell her."
"My name is not Agatha,--my name is Elsie,--Elsie van der Walt."
The two girls looked at each other in surprise, recalling the name of
the prisoner in whom Mr Brand was so much interested, and of whom he had
spoken several times. After gently assisting Elsie to arise they led
her to where the other members of the party were waiting. Helena then
drew her mother and Mr Brand aside and told them of what had occurred.
"Find out her father's Christian name," said the latter; "if it is
Stephanus you may safely tell her that she will be taken to him
to-morrow. I will get permission to-night and arrange to have a boat
ready in the morning."
"Elsie," said Helena, passing her arm over the bewildered girl's
shoulder, "is your father's name Stephanus van der Walt?"
"Yes--yes,--that is his name. Is he still in prison?"
"He is still in prison, but he is well. You will be taken to him
to-morrow."
The light of a great happiness seemed to radiate from Elsie's face. At
last--at last--The compensation for the long travail was about to be
hers. And he--the innocent and long-suffering, would be freed from his
bonds.
The eventful day was drawing to a close, so preparations for the return
homeward were at once made. Mr Brand started on foot for Cape Town, by
a short cut. He meant to call upon the magistrate at once and obtain a
written permission to visit Robben Island and see the prisoner on the
following day.
As the party drove homeward Elsie was wrapped in a trance of utter
happiness. The lovely day had ripened into a sunset-flower of gorgeous
and surpassing richness, and, as the pony drew the little carriage up
the hill-side to the peaceful home among the trees, its rarest light
seemed to be intensified in and reflected from the radiant face of the
blind girl.
Elsie spoke no more that night, and the others made no attempt to
disturb her blissful silence. In the middle of the night Mrs du Plessis
arose, lit a candle and stepped softly to the room where the blind girl
slept alone. She was dreaming, and her lips were parted in a smile.
Her long, brown lashes lay darkly fringed upon her cheeks, her face and
throat had lost their marble pallor and were faintly tinged with the
most delicate rose. Adown her sides and completely concealing her arms
flowed the double cataract of her peerless hair. Across her bosom and
concealing her clasped hands, the streams coalesced into a golden billow
which, as it heaved to her breath showed full of changing lights.
The kind woman gazed, spell-bound, until happy tears came and blurred
her vision. Then, with thanks to the Power which had sent this angel to
her household upon her lips, she noiselessly withdrew.