VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
"SUNSHINE OUTSIDE--ICE AT THE CORE."
"After all, this is a glorious sort of life!" exclaimed Hicks, strikinghis hatchet into a thorn-stump and standing upright, in all the elationof his health and strength, to gaze at the sun--now rather more than anhour high--and then at the surrounding _veldt_, all dewy and sparkling.
"It is," assented his companion, making a final chop at a thorn-bushwhich he had cut down. "Here, Tambusa, lay hold of that `tack' and bangit up against the others. There. The devil himself would yell ifchucked against that hedge now."
For they were repairing sundry breaches in the fence of the wet-weatherkraal.
Tambusa obeyed; but in the act of doing so stumbled, and, trying to savehimself, sat right on the most thorny end of the branch he wasmanipulating.
"I never did see such a nigger for blundering," laughed Claverton, asTambusa, picking himself up, endeavoured to extract the sharp mimosaspikes which had stuck in his naked carcase. "Hang it, man; you had thewhole district for as far round as you can see to sit down in, and yetyou pick out such a seat as that."
The Kafir grinned dolefully, not much relishing this keen jest; but heliked its propounder, and so he grinned.
"Yes. It's a glorious life," continued Hicks, bent on philosophising,apparently. "One never feels off one's chump. Suits a fellow down tothe ground."
"It does," acquiesced the other. "By the way, I hear the Brathwaitegirls are going away next week."
"Eh!--what? No. Who told you that?" cried Hicks, turning sharply.
"Oh! didn't you know? My informant was Ethel herself. I thought youknew."
Hicks looked "off his chump" enough now, to use his own expression, andhis companion's satirical soul discovered something irresistibly comicin this sudden transition from elation to crestfallenness, which wouldhave amused him vastly, but that the laugh was not entirely on his ownside. So he only repeated: "I made sure you knew."
"No, I didn't. But, I say, though, that's a blue look out. I don'tknow how we shall get on without them, it'll be slow as slow can be,"and then, remembering that his companion might have good reasons for notagreeing with this latter statement, Hicks stopped short, and beganblundering out something about "it making all the difference, you know,having a lot of people in the house--or only a few."
"Let's knock off," suggested Claverton. "We're about done here.Tambusa, lug along those `tacks,' we'll bang them up somewhere and go."
It was a couple of days after the fishing picnic, and just each amorning. There had been plenty of work of one kind or another to occupythe whole of the time since then; but to-day they would only ride roundthe place, and give an eye to the stock, picking up, perchance, a strayshot or two on the way.
"Arthur," said Mr Brathwaite, meeting the two young men on the _stoep_."Driscoll's just sent over to say he can take you down to see thatplace of his to-day. I advise you to ride over there and go with him.It's a good place, and going for a mere song. I'd think twice, if Iwere you, before letting it slip."
"You're right; I'll go over and see it. But could you come too, andgive me the benefit of your experience?"
"I can't to-day, I'm afraid. It's a long way, and I don't feel up toit. Still, you have a good eye to the capabilities of a place, I shouldsay. Anyhow, go and look at it."
On second thoughts, Claverton was rather glad. He would be more themaster of his own movements if alone, and would be able to return assoon as possible, whereas, at the ordinary regulation speed, theundertaking would carry him through the whole day.
"Have you far to go?" asked Lilian, as after breakfast he sat bucklingon his spurs in the passage.
"Yes; it's a good way. I may not be back till nearly dark," heanswered, ruefully, taking down his riding-crop from the peg. "Butto-day I'm going to imagine myself riding another fellow's horse with myown spurs. I may as well be off, there's that little chatterbox,Gertie, bearing down upon us. Good-bye."
He mounted and rode off in a very discontented frame of mind. What didhe care if any one made him a present of the whole continent of Africa,if he were not to win _her_? The days were so precious and so few now,and here he was throwing away a whole one for the sake of a wretched"bargain." He wouldn't go--he would let the thing slide--he would turnback. And his face, as he rode, wore an aspect of troubledpreoccupation.
Turning from the door, Lilian encountered Gertie Wray in the passage.
"Oh, there you are, Lilian," exclaimed that volatile young lady. "I wasjust coming to look for you. Do come and teach me that lovely song youpromised to, last night. We shall have it all to ourselves. Ethel andLaura are fixed for the morning with Mrs Brathwaite, making dresses orsomething."
"Very well, dear," assented Lilian, always ready to oblige others. Shewas not feeling inclined just then to sit hammering out accompanimentsfor a not very apt learner to murder a song to; but self came secondwith her. So she did her best to instil the desired accompaniment intothe other's understanding; but in about half an hour her pupil got tiredof it.
"I think I shall sit indoors and read," said Gertie. "It's too hot togo out."
"Is it? I like the heat," said Lilian. "I think I shall go for one ofwhat you call my `somnambulisms.'"
"And a very good name for them," laughed the other. "To see you walkingalong, so still and stately, any one would think you were walking inyour sleep, but that your eyes are open. Well, go for your`somnambulism,' my peerless Lilian, only don't get too much in the sunor you'll get freckles," and the speaker nestled down comfortably in achair in a cool corner to while away the morning over a novel.
"You silly child," replied Lilian, laughing as she bent down to kissher. "You'll be asleep yourself, really and in good effect, in abouthalf an hour at that rate. Good-bye."
She went out, and paused for a moment on the _stoep_ with headgracefully poised and the beautiful figure erect as she stood gazing,with eyes opened wide, upon the glories of the sun-steeped landscape.Then she picked up a volume which lay on a chair under the verandah.
"I'll sit and read a little on that comfortable old seat under the largepear-tree when I'm tired," she thought, and, with the book in her hand,she passed on, down between the orange-trees, and out through the gatein the wooden fence, where the great scarlet-cactus blossoms twined inall their prismatic gorgeousness. Now and then she would stop and benddown to pick a wild flower or to examine some queer insect, and the warmglow of the summer morning seemed to favour her scheme of solitude andmeditation. It was hot, but she loved the warmth, there was nothing ofenervation in it to her; on the contrary, her thoughts and intellectnever had clearer or freer play than on a day like this.
Dreamily and in meditative mood, Lilian wandered on; along the wall ofthe mealie-land, where the tall stalks spread their broad, droopingleaves, and many a white tufted ear, just bursting through its vernalhusk, gave promise of an abundant crop; past the dam, where she lingereda moment to mark the clear shadows in its burning waters now cleft intoripples as, one by one, the mud-turtles, who had been basking on thebank, shuffled their slimy, flat shapes in with an ungainly slide; thenby the ostrich camp, whose fierce occupant lazily ambled towards thewall, and then stopped half-way as if changing his mind. Dreamily stillshe leaned, looking over the wall, her taper fingers gathering togetherlittle fragments of stone, which, hardly knowing what she did, she threwinto the enclosure, as if enticing the bird to approach. Then turningto pursue her way, behold, a high quince hedge barred it.
"How tiresome!" she said to herself. "I shall have to go such a longway round."
But she had not. A friendly gap opened a few yards further down, and,passing through it, she found herself in a wild, seldom visited part ofthe garden. Here tangled grass flourished in delightful confusion; andtall fig-trees, branching overhead, cast the sunlight in a network uponthe shadowy ground, while among the topmost boughs a few spreuws lazilypiped to each other as they revelled in the purple fruit
. Then an openbit and sunshine, and the boughs of a large peach-tree swept nearly tothe earth, as though to lay its load at her feet. She plucked off oneof the peaches, and pressed its blushing, velvety skin against her ownsoft cheek.
"It seems almost a pity to eat such lovely fruit," she murmured. "Theylook so smooth and delicate."
Still turning over the peach in her hands, she swept aside the longdrooping boughs of a great espalier. A rustic seat was fixed to thetrunk, forming a shady nook--though sun-pierced here and there in aqualified degree--and on this she sat down. The surrounding branchesfalling around, shut in the spot as if it were a tent.
"It is delicious here, after that glare. I wonder who made this seat,"mused Lilian, throwing off her hat and preparing to discuss her peachand otherwise enjoy to the full the glories of the golden noontide.Mechanically she opened the book she had caught up as she came out; butwithout attempting to read. The call of birds echoed through the leafyarches; bees droned in subdued murmur; now and again a tree-cricketbroke the quietude with a shrill screech; the air, though not close orsultry, was rich and warm and languorous, and presently Lilian'sthoughts began to get confused; her eyes closed; then the book slid fromher lap. The influences of the prevailing calm had conquered--sheslept.
And what a picture she made, reclining against the rough, twisted arm ofthe old rustic seat, one hand supporting the graceful head, and thedelicate oval face, with its refined beauty of feature! The long lasheslay in a dark fringe upon each smooth cheek, which, lovingly kissed bythe warm, generous air, was tinged with a faint but inexpressiblycharming flush. The sweet, red lips were closed, but without a trace ofhardness in their tender curves; and the whole attitude one of ease,abandonment, and yet of infinite grace in its every contour. A figurethoroughly in harmony with the place, clime, and hour. A lovely pictureindeed.
So thought its only spectator, as, with a rapturous yearning pain at hisheart, he noiselessly moved aside the trailing boughs and stepped withintheir shade. He would not disturb the spell, but stood gazing entrancedupon the slumbering form in all its wealth of refinement of beauty.
A large pear fell to the ground with a dull thud. Lilian stirreduneasily, then half rose, letting fall the hand she had been leaningupon. It was seized in a firm grasp by two other hands, and in toneswherein earnest tenderness struggled with a gleeful laugh, a voicewhispered:
"One doesn't wear gloves on the frontier, or what a chance of being setup in them for life!"
The long lashes unclosed, and she started ever so slightly. It was toomuch. The hot blood rushed through Claverton's veins as though it weremolten liquid, and lifting her from the seat, he pressed her to him,raining down warm, passionate kisses upon her lips, forehead, eyes, andthe soft dark hair which lay against his cheek, whispering wild,delirious words of love and entreaty. Then he felt ashamed of hisfierce impulsiveness--his brutality as it seemed, in taking her at adisadvantage. Was she angry or humiliated, or both? She made noresistance as he held her there. Or had he about frightened her todeath? Then he held her from him.
"You--here?" she cried, in astonishment; but there was no anger in hertone, although a lovely blush suffused her face, even to the very rootsof her dark hair. "I thought you were going to be away all day. Youtold me you would hardly get back before night."
"I thought better of it. I couldn't remain away from you anything likeso long; wherefore I turned back. That's the plain, unvarnished truth.Am I not improving in veracity?"
"Oh! I am hurting your hand!" she exclaimed, suddenly becoming awarethat her fingers had been leaning hardly on the place where the scorpionhad stung him. No fault of hers, by the way, for she could not havewithdrawn them if she would.
"Say, rather, you are healing it. Your touch would have more effect inthat line, with me, than that of a whole legion of Apostles," hereplied, still holding her.
"Hush! You must not talk like that," said she, gently. Then, referringto the sting: "But I ought not to lecture you, when it was done for me.Ah, why do you take such care of me?" she cried, in conclusion, and hereyes were brimming.
"Why do--Oh, I do take care of you, then, do I?"
"Always. If I want anything, you are sure to have it ready. If ever Ihave a misgiving about anything, you are sure to be there to dispel itand reassure me. In fact, I can't walk a yard but you are spreadingmetaphorical carpets before my feet. And yet--Oh, Arthur, why did weever meet?"
She turned away from him, standing with hands clasped before her, andher eyes fixed on the ground.
"Why did we ever meet?" he repeated, again drawing her to him andbending down to whisper in her ear, a low, quick, passionate whisper."Because you and I were made for each other. Because we were broughttogether here, both of us, from the other side of the world on purposefor each other. Darling, that was the first thought that flashedthrough me the very moment I saw you that first day. All of me beforethat, was a different self; I hardly recognise it, now. You rememberthat night by the water--it was the hardest blow I ever had, that thatlittle hand dealt me. But I wouldn't take it as final, I wouldn't giveit up, and now I've served my apprenticeship fairly well, haven't I?What you've just said tells me that, even if nothing else did."
There was a frightened, despairing look in her eyes; her lips moved asif she were trying to speak, but the words would not come, and she madeas if she would draw away from him.
"Lilian--sweetest--life of my life! Don't look so frightened, darling,"he cried, in a tone of thrilling tenderness. "Remember what you havejust told me, and for God's sake don't look so frightened. Tell me nowthat you are going to give me the care of your whole life--your sweet,love-diffusing life. Tell me this: Haven't I fairly established a claimto it? Look at the sunshine around. That shall be an earnest of yourlife, if you give it to me. My darling--my more than Heaven--only sayyou will."
He paused, hanging breathlessly on the reply. Again she struggled tospeak. The tension was fearful. Would she faint or die? Then he benthis ear yet lower to catch two words hoarsely whispered:
"I--cannot!"
And then again the black bolt of despair shot through Claverton's heart.This was the last throw of the dice, the last chance, and he felt itwas. Hitherto he had been almost confident in his hopefulness, now thecup was dashed to the ground. Thus they stood for a space, neitherspeaking. To Lilian it seemed as if the hour of her death had come, andwith her own hand she must drive home the weapon--down, down to her veryheart. The stray sunbeams crept along the ground beneath the oldpear-tree, insects hummed, and a bird twittered in the radiant lightwithout, and all told of calm and peace, and the very air seemed like aglow from Heaven. With that mysterious instinct which stamps upon themind the veriest trifles at the time of some momentous crisis, shemarked the efforts of two large black ants who were carrying the deadbody of a cricket up the trunk of the tree; and to the end of her daysshe would remember the persevering attempts of the laborious insects asthey dragged their burden, regardless of check or stumble, over therough bark of the old espalier. It seemed to her that hours had passedinstead of moments. Then he spoke, but his voice had lost itsconfident, hopeful ring. "Don't say that. Say you can, and you will!"She tried to lift her head, to speak firmly, but the attempt was afailure.
"I cannot," she repeated. "Forget me--hate me, if you will," and sheshuddered; but he clasped her closer to him. "I can be nothing to you.I am bound--tied--bound firmly. Nothing can release me--nothing!"
A look so stony and awful came into Claverton's face that, had she seenit, she would inevitably have fainted away then and there.
"Oh, Lilian! It can't be--that you are--that--you are--married?" hegasped, and his brow was livid as he hang upon her answer.
"No," she replied, "I am not--that," and again she shuddered.
For a moment the other did not speak, but his face would have made astudy passing curious as he analysed the position. In the midst of theshock his coolness seemed to have come back to him in a su
dden anddangerous degree.
"Listen, now, Lilian," he said. "You are under a promise to some one--arash, hasty promise. That much I might almost have seen for myself. Idon't care whether it was made in Heaven or in hell; but you are goingto annul it, and to annul it in favour of me. For it was a rashpromise, and if you keep it you will be doing evil that good may come ofit. Your own creed would tell you that much, and would forbid it, too."
"You don't care for this man, whoever he is," went on Claverton, havingpaused for her reply, but none came, "and he doesn't care for you, or hewould never have allowed you to throw yourself on the world's tendermercies as he has done," and his voice grew hard at the thought. "Youdon't care for him, and you do--for--me," he said, in a desperationwhich rose far above conventionalities of speech.
Again she made no reply, so he continued; but now his tones were verysoft and pleading.
"Yes, you do for me, darling. I could see it. Haven't I seen yoursweet face light up at my approach? Haven't I noticed the softening inthat exquisite voice when you turned to me? You remember when I cameback that time we went after the stolen oxen," (referring to an episodewhich had involved a three days' absence from Seringa Vale). "You wereso glad to see me, then, sweetest. There was no mistaking the speech ofthose divine eyes of yours. There's no conceit in my saying this,because love sometimes begets love, and have not I poured out the wholeof mine at your feet? And I should be a fool not to see that you hadbeen happy when with me. Oh, my darling, I cannot lose you. We cannotpart. Only think of it! How can we? What will life be worth? Lilian,I won't live without you. Only give me your future, your past shallnever trouble you in your future's sunshine. This wretched promise, itis nothing. It was made unthinkingly; you must retract it. You darenot wreck two lives for the sake of keeping a rash promise. You cannot,you dare not?"
He was terribly in earnest. There was something heartrending in thewild and, as it were, clinging tones of his entreaty, as he saw theprize slipping from his grasp just as he had thought to win it. He hadplayed a bold stake, but it was his last, and the game must be boldlyplayed if it was to be won.
To Lilian the moment was awful. She looked up at the dark, pleadingface bent over her, drank in every tone of the strong, earnest voice.It was maddening, delirious. Ah! what happiness might be hers! Shewould yield. Then came the recollection of another face, another voicenone the less pleading, a promise given, spoken low in a darkenedchamber and at the side of a deathbed, but spoken in all pure faith andtrust, a promise which was to hold good to the end of time, come weal,come woe. A promise--and such a promise--was sacred. She might tearout her own heart in keeping it, but it must be kept. Oh, God! this wasindeed awful. Would she be able to bear up much longer, or would shedie? And in her ears kept ringing _his_ voice--his loving, earnest,firm voice--firm now, though at times so terribly shaken. "You dare notwreck two lives for the sake of keeping a rash promise." And thepicture he had drawn for her! Oh, no; the price to be paid was to becounted in tears of blood, but a promise is sacred to the end of time.
"Only think of the future, Lilian," he whispered, entreatingly. "Thefuture, the bright future. Always sunny like this," glancing at thesurroundings. "An earnest of our lives. Yours and mine."
With a low cry she tore herself from his hold and sank down upon therustic seat.
"Ah, don't tempt me!" she wailed, despairingly, with her face buried inher hands. "You don't know what you are saying. Why do you tempt melike this? It is not fair, it is not manly of you."
The first words of reproach he had ever heard pass her lips--and theywere addressed to him!
"I want to save two lives from shipwreck," he said. "Yours and mine."
"Then listen," she said, sitting up, and for the first time speakingfirmly. "You must forget all this--you must forget me--hate me, if youwill, for having brought you to this. I told you from the first that Icould give you no hope whatever, and yet I was selfish enough to ask youto undertake a one-sided bargain. All through, I have been deceivingyou, more and more. Think me utterly heartless--but forget me. Andyou--you have urged me to break a sacred promise for you," she went onin a hard, dry, monotonous voice, as unlike her usual tones as it waspossible to be. "Arthur Claverton, I have treated you shamefully. Youwill always; look back upon my memory with the scorn and contempt itdeserves; but on one point you are wrong: _I do not love you_!"
"You do."
The answer came quietly and confidently, as if he had been setting herright upon some trivial point under discussion.
She looked up at him with burning, tearless eyes; for she wae about topluck her very heart out.
"What! you refuse to believe me? I must have sunk low in yourestimation. I have told you the truth, and--and--you must leave me.Will you?" she went on, speaking fast in her fear lest she should breakdown in the act of sacrifice. "Will you go quite away until I leavethis place? It will only be for a few days now, and it will be best forboth of us. Will you do this for me?"
"No."
"No? You will not? Then that is the extent of your love for me?" shesaid. "Ah! now I know you."
Claverton reeled giddily, as if her words had struck him, as he stoodfacing her. He passed his hand across his eyes as though to clear awaya mist. Was it indeed Lilian Strange who sat there before him, dealingout her pitiless, scornful words in that hard, steely voice--LilianStrange, his ideal of all that was tender, and loving, and pitiful--orhad some beautiful demon assumed her form to torment him? He felt halfinclined to break away, and dash off to the house, where he would findthe real Lilian in all her truth and sweetness. No; he was under aspell.
Taking a couple of turns of half-a-dozen steps, he again stood beforeher.
"Lilian, do you indeed mean what you say?" he asked, in a quiet,hopeless tone. "Are you really going to drive me from you? I will go--your lightest wish has ever been sacred to me. After this day you willnever see me again; but that will be nothing to you. I see I was quitemistaken, darling," he said, wishing to spare her the humiliation ofthinking that he knew her love to be his, "quite mistaken. Forgive me--it was my fault, not yours--but it does not matter now, we shall nevermeet again. Am I to stay or--go?"
She did not lift her eyes to his--she did not move from her fixed, rigidposition; but, hoarsely her lips framed a single small word:
"Go."
With a quick shudder, as one who feels the stab of a knife, Clavertonheard it. And he knew there was no disputing the decree.
"Lilian, for the love of my whole life which I have laid down beforeyou--for the sake of the time that is past--give me one more kiss beforewe part for ever."
He bent down to her, and she did not resist. He took her to his heart,but the burning eyes, dilated and tearless, did not seek his; he pressedone long, warm, passionate kiss upon her pallid lips, such as he mighthave done if he had been looking upon her for the last time ere the lidof her coffin was shut down, but she made no response. Then he releasedher.
"There. No other woman's lips shall meet mine, after this, till thegrave closes over me--Lilian--my darling love--Heaven send you allhappiness--Good-bye!"
Still she did not look up. She could not, she dared not. There was arustle as the surrounding branches were parted, a sound as of retreatingfootsteps, and he was gone. Then, as the last of his footsteps diedaway, Lilian fell prone to the ground, and, with her face buried in herhands, sobbed as if her heart was reft in twain. She had driven himaway--driven him from her with scornful words and with a lie--he, whoselove was to her as something more than life. Now she had kept herpromise. She had been true to that sacred bond, but at what a cost!She had torn out her own heart, and her act of self-immolation wascomplete. Never again in life would she see him whom she had now sentfrom her. Ah God! it was terrible.
So she lay with her face to the earth, watering it with her tears. Yetthe sun continued to shine above; the sky was all cloudless in its azureglory; bright butterflies glanced fr
om leaf to leaf; birds pipedblithely and called to each other; all nature rejoiced in the goldenforenoon; and there, prostrate on the grass, lay the beautiful form ofthat stricken woman pouring out her very heart in tears. For the lightof her life had gone out, and her own was the hand that had quenched it.