VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
"GIVE US LONG REST... DARE DEATH OR DREAMFUL EASE."
We left Lilian crushed beneath the weight of this fresh blow dealt herby the man who had been the curse of her life.
To a night of anguish--anguish so poignant that she sometimes feared forher very reason--succeeded days of dull and hopeless apathy. Her wholebeing, body and soul alike, seemed to be numb and dead. She could nottalk, she dared not think, nor could she pray. Even that last resourcewas denied her; for there came upon her a miserable feeling of fatality,that her God had forsaken her, leaving her to be the sport of some crueldemon. And, amid her apathy, her thoughts would, in spite of herself,float dreamily back in a mechanical kind of way to all that had gonebefore. She had been sad-hearted then in the temporary separation fromher lover; but now! that time was ecstasy itself in comparison withthis. Somehow, it never occurred to her to doubt one word of Truscott'sstatement. He had been so positive, so resolute, that it must be true.And then she remembered the hundred and one little incidents--hints thather lover had let fall--uneasiness manifested on an occasion--the veiledcompunction with which he had touched upon his former life--all stoodout now in startling conspicuousness. Even that day had opened sopropitiously, and lo, within one single hour, life was ended for her.
Sorely anxious were the Paynes over this fell change which had come uponher on that sunny afternoon. They could elicit nothing from her. Shewas not well, she admitted, but would be all right in a day or two, nodoubt. And this, with such a ghost of a smile upon her white face, thatPayne, suddenly struck with an idea, snatched up his hat and rushed downinto the town to inquire if any fresh news had been received from theseat of war. Had she, unknown to them, heard that harm had befallen herlover? If so, that would amply account for the depression. So he wentdiligently to work to hunt up news; but no telegrams of a dispiritingnature had been received, quite the contrary--the enemy had had anotherthrashing, and there was no mention of loss on the colonial side. Allthis was a relief to Payne. But sorely puzzled; indeed, completelybaffled; he returned to his wife and reported accordingly.
"I tell you what, George," she began, and her face wore a troubled andconcerned expression. "I've heard something--something that makes methink this Captain Truscott's at the bottom of it."
"Eh?"
"Well, he was here yesterday afternoon for more than two hours, andLilian hasn't been herself since. She didn't tell me, but I heard itwhile you were out."
Payne stared at her blankly, but made no reply.
"You know I never did like that man," continued she. "I told you so atfirst. And I'm perfectly certain that he and Lilian are something morethan merely old acquaintances." And then she told him of the latter'sdismayed look on first recognising Truscott in the crowd, and one or twoother things that had not escaped her observation. "He has beenpersecuting her in some way, I'm sure, and I won't have her persecuted,"concluded the warm-hearted little woman.
Payne was whistling meditatively. He had a high opinion of his wife'sintelligence in all matters relating to the idiosyncrasies of her sex,so he would just let her go on.
"Well, what's to be done?" he said. "We can't ask the fellow what thedevil he's been up to, and Lilian won't tell us."
"Can't we? I think we can, and ought."
Payne shook his head, and looked gloomy. The affair was beginning toassume a serious phase. It was a delicate business, and the honestfrontiersman felt thoroughly perplexed. He did not want to make a foolof himself, or of any one else, through officiousness or meddling.
"I know a trick worth two of that, Annie," he said at last.
"What is it?"
"Wire to Claverton. Eh?"
She paused. "Well, perhaps that would be the best plan."
"Good. I'll cut down and do it now." And, sliding from the tablewhereon he had been seated swinging his legs, he reached down a jar oftobacco from a shelf, and hastily cramming his pipe, started off. "Whatshall I tell him, though?" he asked, suddenly stopping in the doorway."Won't do to pitch it too strong, eh?"
"N-no. Wait a bit," and then she concocted the message which we haveseen Claverton receive; and Payne being on his way to despatch it, sheturned away with a look of relief over the prospect of decreasingresponsibility.
Lilian, meanwhile, had become a mere shadow of her old self, and the onespark of comfort left to her was that her persecutor had kept himselfout of her sight. For he had left the city, bound for the seat of war,and, for reasons of his own, he had refrained from bidding farewell tothe Paynes in person, but had sent a note explaining that he was orderedoff at a minute's warning. He had got a command at last, he said; onlysome levies, at present, but still that was something to go on with, andhe must leave for the front immediately. Which missive was read by itsrecipients with feelings of decided relief.
The fact was, the gallant Truscott began to suspect that it might beadvisable for him to take himself out of the way for a time, and he hadno desire to meet his rival in person. Let the two settle it as bestthey might, was his cynical reflection; settle it they must, and to his,Truscott's, satisfaction--on that point he felt perfectly safe. He hadplayed a bold game and had won, and, now that he had won, it would neverdo to spoil it by any chance blundering. So with a few lines of renewedwarning, merciless, pithy, and to the point, posted to Lilian--the wilyscoundrel departed for the seat of war, and unless a well-aimed bulletshould pierce the black, scheming heart, and of that there was but smallchance, there would be no more happiness for her on earth. There weretimes when she would almost make up her mind to throw off the hatefulthrall, to defy him to do his worst, whatever that worst might be; butthen would rise up the frightful facts, as he had laid them before herin all their nakedness, and she would fall asleep, only to be haunted bya series of terrible dreams; visions of a crowded court hushened to adeathly silence in expectation of the dread sentence; of a small groupin a grim gaol-yard, in the chill morning--one face among them lit upwith fiendish exaltation--a noose, a gallows, and a black, hideous beam.
"My love--my sweet lost love!" she would moan, waking from one of thesefrightful fantasies in a flood of streaming tears. "Was it for this youwere restored to me again? Ah, why did we ever meet?" And the black,silent hours melted away into dawn, but brought with them no comfort.More than once had her affectionate hostess tried to get at the secretof her grief--but Lilian was firm. Meanwhile, the Paynes began to growseriously alarmed. A very little more of this, and the results would bedisastrous. Nothing had been heard of the telegram, and they becamemore and more anxious every day.
"Miss Strange, do let's go for a walk when I come back; it'll be such alovely evening." The speaker was Rose Payne, who was hurriedlygathering up her books, and cramming them into a bag, preparatory tostarting for afternoon school.
"So we will, dear. Only you must come back in good time."
"Won't I?" gleefully cried the little girl, flinging her arms roundLilian's neck. She was rapturously fond of her former preceptress, allthe more so, perhaps, now that she was subjected to the sternerdiscipline of school; and a long, quiet evening walk with Lilian, all toherself, was a treat indeed. "Won't I just come straight back! It'llbe nice and cool then, and we can go ever so far over the hill, aboveFern Kloof. So long, till four."
"Good-bye, Rosie dear," replied Lilian, kissing the childaffectionately, and, with a sigh, watching her bound light-heartedlyaway. Then she turned from the doorway, and, with a drooping gesture ofabandonment, threw herself into a low chair. The Paynes were outsomewhere, and, as on that former afternoon, she had the house entirelyto herself. The soft air came in through the open windows, warm but notoppressive, from the tree-fringed shade. A great striped butterflyfloated in, and, scarcely aware of its mistake, fluttered around a largevase of flowers upon the table. And still she sat, heedless ofeverything, with her hands pressed to her face, thinking, thinking--everthinking.
"Only four days ago," she s
aid to herself, "four short days--and now!Ah, God, it is too cruel!" and the tears welled forth and slowly beganto force their way through the closed fingers.
The hum of the voices of a couple of passers-by sound drowsily upon thecalm; then, the ring of hoofs coming up the street at a rapid canter.It stops, as if some one had reined in before the door--but she heeds itnot. Some one dismounting at the next house, she thinks. Then a quick,firm tread in the passage, and a man is standing inside the room. Witha low, startled cry, Lilian looks up and falls back in her chair in adeathly faint. It is Claverton.
In a moment he is beside her, and has her in his arms. "Oh, Lilian, mydarling! What _is_ this? They did right to send for me--Good God,Lilian! Why, what have you been doing with yourself to get like this?"he adds, in a tone of undisguised alarm, startled by her white anddejected looks.
But no reply can she make. Fairly taken by storm, she is clingingtightly to him, her face buried in his breast. Only a convulsive sobshakes her frame from head to foot.
"What have you been doing with yourself, child?" he continues,vehemently. "Why, you are as white and pale as the mere ghost of yourformer self. Lilian!" but still she cannot answer. "Lilian; look atme, I say. I have ridden straight here, day and night as hard as Icould ride, to come to you and never to leave you again."
He paused; but the expected words of joy and of love came not. Suddenlyshe drew herself away from him, and the look on her face was as the lookof death. Already she had failed to keep her side of the compact--thatcompact written in tears, and sealed with the throes of a breakingheart--and she had doomed him. No, but she would not.
"Arthur, you must leave me. Now, at once, before it is too late," sheexclaimed, in a quick, alarmed tone.
"Lilian. Are you mad?"
Not a shade of anger or reproach is there in his voice. Amazement andindulgent tenderness alone are to be traced.
And she? Frantic with apprehension, she knew not what to say. To warnhim of danger would be but to drive him right into its jaws. Whatshould she do? Ah! That was it. The old promise.
"Lilian, what has come between us, now? Only tell me, darling, and itwill all be cleared away."
It was terrible. Her brain reeled as, with wild, dilated eyes, shestood gazing at him. His presence was so unexpected--it had burst uponher like a thunderbolt. He had, as he said, travelled night and day toreach her side--and now she must bid him leave her for ever though itbroke her heart, as it certainly would. They two must never look uponeach other again in life. Then her brain grew cold and steady. Shemust not flinch, she must save him from this ruthless enemy at all andwhatever cost to herself. To herself! Ah, but--and to him? The answerto this question flashed across her determination--the consciousness ofhow valueless would be the life she was about to save. Yet--O God! therecollection of those terrible, menacing words! She sank her head intoher clasped hands and shuddered. Again, so softly, so tenderly, herepeated his question:
"Lilian; what has come between us? Tell me, darling!"
She threw back her head with a quick movement, as if quivering beneaththe torture.
"My former promise, Arthur. You remember," and averting her face, againshe shuddered from head to foot. "He is not--dead--as I thought."
"And then--?"
"I cannot break it. I thought him dead--but now--I cannot break it.God help me!--help us both!"
A devil took possession of Claverton's heart, and the fixed, vengefullook in his face was awful to behold as he murmured to himself: "Godhelp _him_. If he is not dead he soon will be--or I." Then aloud:"Lilian, you vowed once that nothing ever should part us. You remember,darling."
The voice was even more gentle than before. Had it been otherwise shecould almost better have borne it--and yet not. A fraction of a secondand she had yielded, had thrown herself into his arms; but again thesavage threats of Truscott and the diabolical malice of his tones andlooks rose up before her, and she felt strong again. In a paroxysm ofthat love, which was at once her strength and her weakness, she cried:
"I cannot--I cannot, Arthur. I am too weak, and that you must see. Icannot break that promise. You must go--go and curse my name andmemory--if it be worth cursing, to the end of your days. And I--O God!let me die!"
The forced, unnatural hardness which she had thrown into her voice,struck upon his ear, filling him with amazement and dismay. It was alllike a bad dream. He could hardly realise that she was actually tryingto cast him off. From any other living soul guilty of such vacillatingtreachery, he would have turned away in scarcely surprised scorn. Tothis woman, rather than speak one word of anger, reproach, or blame--andwhat is harder--rather than think it, he would have died a thousanddeaths. How he loved her! Her very weakness was sacred to him. It wasthrown upon his tenderness, now; it was for him to handle it tenderly,not to crush it--and her. And a curious thrill of ghastly comfort shotthrough him in the thought that even at this fearful moment, when hisheart was sick with bitter despair, he was really proving the strengthof his love by something more than words. Three times now had sherepulsed him, each under circumstances more cruel than the previousone--but the loyal love of the man never flinched--never swerved by asingle hair's breadth. And he must be very gentle and indulgent withher now.
"Lilian, my sweet, you hardly know what you are saying," he answered,imprinting a shower of passionate kisses on the trembling, ashy lips."I'm not going to take what you tell me, in earnest at all."
"Spare me--spare me," she moaned, shuddering in his embrace. "I meantit--all, and--"
"Hi--Halloa! Here's some fellow's horse got into the garden!" cried aman's voice outside. "Yek--yek! Hi! Jafta. Turn the infernal bruteout. He's broken down the fence in two places--confound it--which meansa claim for five pounds from old Cooke next door. Out, you brute!" anda sound was heard of a stone, launched by an incensed hand, strikingviolently against the paling, while the offending quadruped, tearing hisway through and carrying with him two yards of fence, bolted off,snorting and kicking, down the road.
"What'll the owner do, George?" said another voice approaching the frontdoor. "Goodness knows where that horse'll bolt to, now."
"Blazes, I hope--and his owner after him," replied Payne, surveyingresentfully the receding form of the trespasser. "Why the deuce can'tfellows tie their horses up when they leave 'em in the streets? OLord!"
This last ejaculation was caused by the sight of Claverton, who had comequickly to the door to meet them and to give Lilian time to recoverherself, and at whom the speaker stood staring open-mouthed and somewhatdismayed.
"Was that _your_ horse, old chap?" he asked, dubiously, shaking handswith the new arrival and experiencing a sensation of huge relief becauseof his presence.
"It was; but it may be the possession of some one else by now. Botherthe horse, though. I say, Payne, I want to talk to you."
"One minute, old chap. Here, Jafta--Jafta," he called out to his boy."Go and catch that horse again. Look sharp--run like the devil. If youbring him back within a quarter of an hour I'll give you a shilling."
Away went Jafta, and Payne, glad of the momentary delay, returned toClaverton sorely perplexed. He had sent for him, indeed, but didn'tknow what the deuce to say to him now that he had come. It was morewithin a woman's province, he thought; and there and then his spousecame to the rescue, taking the affair into her own hands.
"Come inside, Mr Claverton," she said. "I'm so glad you're here." Andthen, when they were alone, she told him everything that had happened,from the day they had first seen Truscott until the moment of theirgoing out that afternoon just before his arrival.
He listened quietly. A deadly resolve was shaping itself within hisheart.
"What sort of a man is this Truscott--I mean what sort of a lookingman?" he asked.
She described him, and the listener immediately recognised the portrait.The whole scheme was clear to him now. There was no question of moneyat the bottom of this man's host
ility towards him. Either the mulattowas lying when he had told him this, or, more probably, the other hadgiven such a reason in order to conceal the real one. No. It was torob him of Lilian that his would-be assassin was plotting. He was wise,indeed, to hire the bravo's steel in the shape of Sharkey--for he mighthave been sure that only death would part him from Lilian. RalphTruscott, look to yourself now. It is no woman, weak in the veryhelplessness of her love, with whom you have to deal this time. Youhave, indeed, cause to meditate.
"He's gone to the front, has he?" continued Claverton. "Whereabouts?Do you know?"
Annie Payne looked at him with a troubled air. She knew well herinterlocutor's determination and daring, and she saw breakers ahead.
"But it will be all right now that you are back again," she ventured.She greatly feared otherwise; still, one must hope for the best.
The dark look deepened over his features. He hardly seemed to hear her,but stood gazing through the open window.
"I must go," he exclaimed, suddenly. "Where is Lilian?" and with threestrides he gained the other room. It was empty. "Ah, better so,perhaps," he muttered to himself. "Mrs Payne, tell her, with my love,that a very few days will see me back here again, and everything willcome right then. Now I must not lose another moment. Good-bye, for afew days."
"What are you going to do?" was the reply, spoken in a tone of alarm."Wait. Don't be in such a hurry. You can't rush off at once. You mustoff-saddle if only for an hour. Anyhow, wait until George comes back.Ah, there he is."
For at that moment George appeared, leading the runaway by the bridle.The joint exertions of himself and his stable-boy had availed to catchthe trespasser just in time to prevent his doing further damage.
Claverton was firm in his refusal. He had his own reasons for wishingto leave that house. Not even the smallest risk would he run of beingtempted to forego the purpose he had in hand, for a single instant.
"Here's your critter, old chap," cried Payne, panting from the effectsof his ran. "Je--rusalem! What a chevvy we had after the beggar--Eh?What? Going away! Not to be thought of."
"But I am!" replied the other in a tone of settled resolve, as heprepared to fling the bridle over the animal's neck. "Shall be backagain in four or five days. Hold on. Just walk a little way down thestreet with me."
They walked on. Payne's brow growing more and more serious as helistened. He had a great regard for this man, who had stepped in to hisrescue twice at a very critical moment.
"My dear Claverton, be careful what you are about," he said, gravely."It's a devilish awkward business, and at any other time than during thewar it would be impossible."
"Oh, I've served my apprenticeship in a good school for caution, neverfear. But, you'll see me again in a few days or--you'll never see me atall."
Payne made no reply. Suddenly he looked up at a house they werepassing. It was a small house standing back from the street.
"By the way. We were awfully sorry to hear about that poor fellowArmitage," he said. "His wife is staying there."
"Staying there? In that house? Why, I thought she was in `King.'"
"No. She came down here about a week ago--she only heard about the poorfellow the day before yesterday."
"Is she very much cut up?"
"Dreadfully, I'm told. She is staying with another friend of yours--Mrs Hicks."
"Then she's in good hands. Look here, Payne. I'll go in for a momentand ask after her--poor little thing. And if I'm not out in fiveminutes, just take my horse round to Wood's and make them off-saddle himand give him a feed. It's all on my way and it'll save time. I'll joinyou there, if you don't mind waiting."
Quickly walking up the little gravel path bordered with orange-trees,and shaded with trellised vines, Claverton knocked gently at the door.A subdued footstep in the silent passage, and it was opened--by Laura.She stared at him in amazement.
"Why, when did you come? I thought you were away at the front. Do comein." A superfluous request, seeing that she had already shut the doorbehind him. "Poor Gertie will like to see you."
"How does she bear it?"
"She is dreadfully down-hearted. At first I was quite alarmed for her,but I think the worst is over now. She was very fond of poor Jack."
"So were we all. Even such a leather-hearted curmudgeon as your humbleservant."
"It is no fault of yours that the poor fellow is not alive at thismoment," rejoined Laura, with warmth. "We heard all about it." Allthis time she had been furtively watching him, and noting, with someastonishment, his listless and dejected air. It was owing to no regretfor his deceased comrade, she was certain of that. What could be goingwrong with him?
"My dear Laura, I give you my word for it there was nothing to hear," hereplied; and seeing that the subject was distasteful to him, she lefthim, to go and prepare poor Gertie for his visit.
Claverton wished he could have forgotten his own trouble as he stood inthe presence of the young widow--this mere girl--sorrowing for the lossof him with whom she had begun to tread life's path. Very happy andbright had that path been to her--to them both--during those short twoyears. Very happy and peaceful would it have continued to be; but nowhe was gone--snatched away from her suddenly by the merciless bullet ofthe savage foe--shot down in the dark forest. He lay, cold in hisgrave, far away in the wilds of Kafirland; and his gleeful laugh, andsunny glance, would gladden her heart and her eyes no more. No wonder arush of tears came to her eyes, as she remembered under whatcircumstances she had last seen her visitor. And now she was desolateand alone.
Claverton held her hand in his strong, friendly grasp, and, when thefirst paroxysm of her reopened grief was spent, gently he narrated thecircumstances of poor Armitage's last moments; how his last thoughts andcare had been for her; how her name had been almost the last words uponhis lips. Then he dwelt upon the dead man's popularity, and the blankhis loss would leave in the ranks of his comrades, not one of whom butwould have risked life to save him had they known before it was toolate. And there was that in the gentle, sympathetic voice, whichsoothed and comforted the girl-widow, sorrowing there as one who had nohope.
"My bright-hearted Jack! I shall never see you again. Would that I hadbeen more loving to you while you were here," she murmured, and, bowingher head into her hands, again she wept.
"That I am sure you could not have been," answered Claverton, gently,placing his hand upon her shoulder, and looking down on her withinfinite pity. "Child, believe me, there are losses more bitter eventhan those inflicted upon as by death. Now, I must go. Good-bye--I amreturning to camp now; but I shall come and see you again soon, and youmust try and keep up your spirits."
She seized his hand. "You risked your life to save his. No--it's of nouse denying it--you did. God bless you for it, and those who were withyou. Tell them from me, when you go back, that I thank them. Good-bye.God bless you--and Lilian."
This was too much. The chord of his own grief thus suddenly touched,vibrated loudly. With a silent pressure of the hand, he left her.
"Any message for Hicks?" he asked, as Laura met him in the passage.
"What! Why, you are never going back to the front already?" answeredshe, gazing at him in astonishment.
"I am--straight. In an hour's time I shall be at least eight or ninemiles on the road."
She saw that he meant it, and her woman's wit saw at once that somethingwas wrong.
"I am very sorry," she said. "Do wait ten minutes while I write a lineto Alfred. He will like to get it direct, and the post is such achance."
A superstitious foreboding took hold of Claverton's mind as he watchedher bending over her writing-case at the other side of the room. Thismiserable war had made one widow immediately within their own circle,Heaven grant that it might not make two. It seemed that nothing butill-luck had befallen that once happy circle since he had joined it--asif his presence had something baleful about it, and was destined to workharm to all with whom he c
ame in contact. Ah, well, he had one moremission to fulfil, and then what became of him did not much matter. SoLaura having finished her letter he bade her farewell, promising todeliver it as soon as he reached the camp.
"I tell you what it is, Claverton. You'll have to ride that animalrather carefully, or he'll never carry you all the way," remarked Payne,eyeing the horse critically as his rider, having hastily buckled thelast strap, swung himself into the saddle.
"No, I've ridden his tail nearly off as it is. But I shall meet Sam onthe road, and shall change. Good-bye, or rather, so long. You'll seeme again in about a week--barring accidents."
Payne's heart sank within him. There wae a reckless, determined ring inthe other's tone that meant volumes; and he shook his head sadly as hewatched him ride away down the street. Then he walked slowly home, lostin thought.