VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.
IN PEACE.
Surely we have stood upon this spot before.
But the drooping boughs of the old pear-tree afford no shade now tothose two persons seated on the rustic bench beneath--being leafless.For it is mid-winter; yet the sky is a glory of unclouded blue above therolling landscape and dark forests, and the white and dazzling shroudupon the distant mountains.
Not only have we stood upon this spot before; but we have stood here--though unseen--in company with these two identical persons. One of themnow wears one arm in a sling, and looks like a man lately recovered froma desperate illness. We will draw near--still unseen--and hear whatthey are talking about.
"Now, Arthur, I declare I saw you shiver," exclaimed a bright, playfulvoice, which sounded very like that of Lilian Strange. "That won't do,sir--Didn't the doctor say you were to take enormous care of yourselffor a long time to come--the English of which is that I am to do it foryou--and I'm going to begin by buttoning up your overcoat, for it'sanything but warm to-day, although the sun is so bright. That's done,"continued she, with a joyous laugh. "Now for the letters."
"Bother the letters. They can slide."
"Can they? Business can slide, eh? And I'm sure one of them lookedlike a regular `dun,' or a lawyer's letter at least, in its big, blueenvelope. That won't do, my dear. You've got a termagant to deal with,I can tell you. Besides, when all's said and done, sir, they're _my_letters, so out with them."
She dived her hand into the pocket of his overcoat, and produced twomissives. The post had just arrived as they were starting for theirstroll; but Lilian, reluctant to let in thoughts of the outside worldupon this their first visit to all the dear old places, had deferredinvestigating the contents.
"Yours, are they?" said Claverton, when he had recovered from the shoutof laughter which her idea of a "termagant" had evoked. "Let me set youright on that head. They're mine, now, at all events. What's yours ismine--what's mine's my own. Eh?"
"But, look--they're addressed to me. Look! `Miss Strange,' `MissLilian Strange,'" cried she, triumphantly, with her bright, witchinglaugh. "What do you say to that?"
"That young party has ceased to exist, I tell you; so, in the logicalsequence of events, we ought to return those to the Dead Letter Office.What do you say to that, Mrs Arthur Claverton?"
"This is from that dear Annie Payne," she went on, not heeding him, asshe extracted a closely-written and crossed sheet from its cover.
"Wants a microscope to read. We haven't got one here--_ergo_, it canstand over," he rejoined. "Why, Lilian; what on earth's the matter?"
For she had opened the blue envelope last of all, and her face wore avery curious expression indeed, as she mastered its contents--a littlesurprise and a great deal of amusement. It was a lawyer's letter, evenas she had conjectured, and it informed her, in dry, concisephraseology, that she was entitled to the sum of nine thousand poundsunder the will of her distant cousin, "my late esteemed client, MrHerbert Spalding," which bequest reverted to her, being forfeited by thepresent legatee, Mr Arthur Claverton, that gentleman having failed toobserve the conditions under which he enjoyed the legacy, etcetera,etcetera. The writer begged to know her wishes in respect of thisbequest, and remained her obedient servant, Robert Smythe.
Blank astonishment was the only feeling Claverton was sensible of as hesat staring at the bit of paper which she had put into his hand. He hadwritten to the lawyer on the day of his marriage, as a matter of course,renouncing all further claim to the bequest, and sending in all thenecessary papers; as nearly three years were wanting to the time when itshould be his irrevocably; and had expected to hear nothing more aboutthe matter, beyond a brief acknowledgment. It was a nuisance, ofcourse, being docked of about half his means, but he had quite enoughleft to go on with; and weighed in the balance of recent events this onewas a mere trifle. And, now, the legacy had simply reverted to hiswife. But how the deuce had it come about--that was the question?
"Good God!" was all he could ejaculate.
"Don't be profane, sir," retorted Lilian, with such a merry peal oflaughter. "Why don't you congratulate me on my good fortune?"
"Eh--what? Hang it, this beats me. I don't understand it at all!"
"Don't you? Well, then, poor Herbert Spalding was my cousin--a verydistant one--and I hardly knew much about him. He was very pleasant andkind, though, the little I did see of him at Dynevard Chase; but at thelast he seems to have had the bad taste to prefer you to me. Undueinfluence, sir, undue influence--isn't that what the lawyers call it?"concluded she, in a playfully reproachful tone.
"For Heaven's sake don't joke about it, Lilian," he interrupted, in apained voice. "For it amounts to this, that I have simply been robbingyou all these years--robbing you--you, whom I would have given the lastdrop of my heart's blood to shield from a single want. All this time,while you have been fighting a hard battle alone and unaided, I havebeen literally robbing you of your own. Good Heavens! the very idea isenough to make a fellow cut his throat."
"You were not robbing me of anything of the sort. Don't be absurd, youdear old goose! But, darling, you don't know how pleased I am that youshould take this from me now, even though it is like giving you backwhat belongs to you," she added, lovingly.
"But, upon my soul, I don't understand it yet," he repeated, amazedly."Who on earth was that old parson who came badgering me one morning? Ithought _he_ was the next in reversion."
"`That old parson,' as you so disrespectfully term my dear old uncle,George Wainwright, went to you on _my_ behalf, Arthur," she answered,with a smile. "I tried to prevent him, but he would go. He failed, foryou stuck to it like a leech," she concluded, with a merry laugh.
"Heavens! Of course I thought he was speaking for himself. He nevermentioned you."
"Didn't he? That's so like Uncle George! And when I asked him who youwere, he had forgotten your name. Said it was Clinton, or somethinglike that."
"But, Lilian, is this the first you've heard of the rights of theaffair? Didn't you ever suspect anything?"
A soft smile stole over her face. "I did once," she replied, "longago--here. Something Mrs Brathwaite was telling us about you gave me asort of an inkling."
"Oh, but this is simply dreadful! How could I have any idea how thingsstood? I never saw the will, and never heard the name of the next inreversion. `A distant relative' was all that old Smythe said. But I'llwrite to the parson, Mr--what's his name?--Wainwright, and get him totell you all that passed between us. I'll--"
"I'm afraid not. Poor Uncle George died four years ago," she answered."But, darling, don't take things to heart like this. I only see it inan amusing light. Isn't it a queer chapter of coincidences?"
"Good God!"
"Don't be profane," she repeated. "And if you don't want to make mequite unhappy, you will think no more of this odd little coincidence,Arthur dearest. I declare I mean it. And then, isn't it best, afterall? Why, nothing now can rid me of the knowledge that it was entirelyfor myself, and myself alone, just as I stood, that you threw away thatdear, foolish heart of yours." And she gave him such a look oftenderness, and love, and trust, that he caught her to him with all thepassionate love of the old yearning, hopeless days.
"My Lilian, nothing can rid _me_ of the knowledge that I have robbed youall this time; and how am I to pass it off so lightly?" he whispered, ina broken voice. "My darling, you see it was impossible that I couldhave known--do you not?"
"Why, of course. How should you have? But isn't it the most amusing ofcoincidences! Come now, you are to own that it is. We women aresupposed to be deficient in a sense of humour; but, I declare, in thisinstance I am proving the rule by making an exception to it, while youare not keeping up the credit of your lordly sex. Do you hear that,sir?" she went on, in a tone of soft banter that was very bewitching.Her great happiness had completely changed Lilian. The longing sadnessin the sweet, lustrous eyes had given way
to a calm peace that wasinfinitely beautiful, and a sunny, gladsome smile had taken the place ofthat former tinge of melancholy which had always been upon her, even atthe brightest of times. No cloud was in her sky now. The lurid curtainof war had lifted, and though still upon the horizon, daily receded--rolling back farther and farther. The Past might be put away, as thegolden Future disclosed in bright, fair vista.
Yes. The war was at an end, now--or nearly so--for the wretchedinsurgents, broken-spirited, half-starving, and thoroughly sick offighting, were flocking in daily to surrender themselves at thedifferent frontier posts. The gaols were crowded with red-blanketed,forlorn-looking beings, squatting about in sullen apathy, their chiefspeculation--next to the interest of their daily rations--being whether_Ihuvumente_ [the Government] would be very hard on them, when theyshould be placed in the dock in batches, at the approaching specialCircuit, and called upon to answer to the charge of having "wrongfully,unlawfully, and maliciously taken up arms and waged war against ourSovereign Lady, the Queen, etcetera, etcetera," of which exaltedpersonage most of them had but a very hazy idea. The insurgent leadershad either been captured or slain, and in the latter category was thefate of Sandili, the Great Chief of the house of Gaika, who was shot bya party of Fingoes during his flight; and when his body was found somedays afterwards in the Perie Forest, behold, it was partially eaten bywild animals. So the fate which his captive had predicted, whencondemned to the torture and to death, to the old chief, was fulfilledto the very letter. His two sons, Gonya and Matanzima, together withGungubele, Umfanta, Tini Macomo, and other rebel leaders, were also ingaol, awaiting their trial for high treason [Note 1], and altogether thewar had come to about as ignominious an end as was possible.
Jim Brathwaite was at home again; his corps, which had done such goodservice, having been disbanded. Indeed, nothing remained to be done. Afew forlorn bands of insurgents were still under arms; but these clungso pertinaciously to the wildest and most inaccessible tracts ofcountry--a region of holes, and caves, and dense tangled bush--that thework of hunting them out was left to the Police and native levies, aidedby that powerful ally, starvation. So troop after troop of burghers andvolunteers left the field, and soon there were signs of re-occupying thelong-deserted farms in Kaffraria and upon the immediate line ofhostilities; for the savage enemy had lain down his arms, and theprospect was that of a speedy return to the ways of peace.
Jim Brathwaite is at home again, and there is quite a gathering of ourold friends at Seringa Vale on this first occasion of their meetingtogether since the war. And how they fight their battles all overagain, for, needless to say, the conversation turns wholly upon thedoings of the colonial forces in general, and upon the exploits of thatdoughty corps, Brathwaite's Horse, in particular. Some growling, too,is heard. Time has to be made up for. Things have gone more or less tothe deuce during the period our friends have all been away at the front,which period, with the exception of a brief interval, covers the bestpart of a year. In fact, campaigning has been an undertaking of neitherpleasure nor profit. Stay--as to the pleasure. The jolly, sunburntvisage of our friend Hicks, yonder, has lost none of its brimmingcontentment. Indeed, its owner has been heard to say, that he, for one,would be quite ready for another bout of Kafir-shooting as soon asconvenient--a remark which obtains for him an angry scowl from hisright-hand neighbour, Thorman, who growls resentfully that "the soonerfellows shut up talking that sort of damned bosh, the sooner the countrywill settle down to its legitimate business again." A sentiment which,though ungraciously expressed, contains a strong element of truth; for,undoubtedly, the irregular, happy-go-lucky, jolly good fellowship ofcamp-life, and the glorious uncertainty of war, is not without asomewhat demoralising influence on the energies of the colonial youth inthe more prosaic run of workaday life--to which it must now return. ButHicks is young yet, and brimful of animal spirits. His losses duringthe outbreak have been but slight; and now he is back among his oldfriends, after having seen some real good service. And opposite himsits his wife--quiet, gentle-looking as ever--for whom he has abated notone jot of his old adoration; for Laura, in spite of her reserve andapparent self-obliteration, has a shrewd, sensible little head of herown, and manages her lord completely, he being just the fellow whorequires management--and Hicks is as happy as a king. So, with a laugh,he tells Thorman to shut up, for a jolly old growler, as he is, "andalways was, by Jove!" and to let a fellow have his say now that they areall festive together again, and to knock up a sort of grin himself, foronce in his life, if he can.
Naylor, too, is there, quieter and staider, but full of dry "chaff,"which he every now and then turns on one or other of the party. Hishair and large beard are beginning to show streaks of grey; but, then,as he says, a fellow ceases to be a chicken at some time in his life,and he, for instance, is growing a fine crop of "prime whites." Whichostrich-feather witticism so tickles his son and heir, Tom--awell-grown, sturdy boy of fifteen--that he bursts into a fit ofimmoderate mirth, necessitating his sudden retreat from the room.
As for Allen, he has not changed in any single particular, but, havingshown that there was good stuff in him, underlying his externaleccentricity, he has gone up several pegs in the estimation of hisfriends; and now that poor Jack Armitage is no longer at his side, heenjoys a kind of immunity from chaff, for even Naylor leaves him inpeace, failing the more merciless wag to arouse the spirit of emulation,and to keep the ball rolling.
There sits Will Jeffreys, not much more happy-looking than of yore. Heis doing by no means badly in the world, for he has five waggons on theroad--transport-riding is paying well just now--and owns two flourishingand well-stocked farms left him by his father, who has gone the way ofall flesh. But his saturnine temperament remains pretty much as it was,and Claverton has a bet on, of considerable magnitude, with Mrs JimBrathwaite that, in a year hence, Jeffreys will have attained greaterproficiency in the art of scowling than even Thorman.
But serious thoughts will intrude upon the mirth and great cordialitypresent in the gathering. The hand of Death has been laid upon thefamiliar circle since last we saw it here assembled, and well-lovedfaces have dropped out of it, never to be beheld again on earth. JimBrathwaite--jovial, light-hearted, and popular in the best sense of theword--reigns at Seringa Vale now; but in two hearts especially to-daylingers a very warm and loving remembrance of the dear old couple whosekindly, genial presence ere while made sunshine in that room.
And the grisly war-god, too, had exacted his tribute even from thatsmall circle, and poor Jack Armitage, that best of good comrades, wouldno more enliven them with his quizzical countenance and reckless, boyishlove of fun. Even Allen sadly missed his erewhile tormentor, andthought his immunity from chaff and practical jokes dearly purchased.But the dead man lies in his lonely grave away in savage Kafirland, andhis young widow weeps for him, and his old comrades think of him with anaffectionate, but shadowed regret. Poor Jack!
When the good fellowship and general cordiality is at its height, Hicksis suddenly inspired with an idea that some speech-making would veryappropriately mark the occasion, which idea he communicates to Jim; buthe is overruled, on the ground that "the women would be safe to turn onthe hose" if anything of that kind were started, which would inevitablyput a damper on the prevailing good spirits; while Thorman, who hasoverheard him on the other side, remarks, with a contemptuous growl,"that Hicks, of all people, on his legs, speechifying, would remind himof nothing so much as a damned bear jumping up at an apple tied to astring, because he'd be trying to catch at something that wouldn'tcome--he would, by so and so, and so and so." A statement, however,which in no wise disturbed the exuberant good-humour of the subjectthereof.
Meanwhile, behind the cattle-kraal are seated, in close confab, twoother personages who have played no unimportant part in this history.These are Sam and Xuvani. And how comes the latter here?
After he had so deftly turned the tables on the Cuban mulatto, Xuvaniretraced his steps in the direction of San
dili's kraal, keeping thewhile a careful lookout for Tambusa, whom he expected to join him. But,after a while, his nephew not appearing, the old man began to suspectthat something had gone wrong. He redoubled his caution, but the lone,silent bush betrayed nothing of the tragedy of blood just enacted in itscruel depths. He was perplexed. If the plot had been discovered, andthe lad was captured before he could make good his escape, he would bedead by this, and it was clearly useless for himself to rush on to thevery points of his countrymen's avenging assegais. While pondering overhis plan of action a shadow passed between him and the sun. He lookedup. It was a vulture; and another and another swept between thetree-tops and the blue sky. The mystery was explained now. A few stepsmore and the old man knelt beside the stiffening corpse, not long cold,of the luckless Tambusa. The murderers had gone down to him to ensurethat he was dead, and had left him there in the rocky glen just where hehad fallen, and the traces and footmarks supplied all the missing linksin the bloody tale to the eye of the shrewd savage. Hastily piling aheap of stones on the dead body of his nephew, Xuvani left the spot,decided as to his future course of action. To return to Sandili wouldbe to commit suicide. He regretted poor Tambusa's fate, but acceptedthe event with true native philosophy--it was done, and it couldn't behelped now. They had both been guilty of an act of treason towardstheir countrymen, albeit of one of chivalrous gratitude towards thewhite man; and the lad had fallen a victim. It was unfortunate, butcould not be helped. So, acting upon Claverton's advice, Xuvani thenand there made his way quietly into the colony, where he engaged himselfas a labourer on some railway works in the Western Province, and where apowerful, able-bodied, well-conducted Kafir like himself was too good aworkman for any questions to be asked. There he remained some months,till at length, the war over, and as soon as he could safely do so, hereturned to the frontier, and obtained employment under Jim Brathwaite,in his former capacity.
So here he is at Seringa Vale again, looking a trifle chapfallen,perhaps, but on the whole, deeming himself marvellously lucky, when hethinks of the frightful grief to which have come so many of his oldcompanions in arms. And he is, moreover, enjoying substantial advantageby reason of having saved Claverton's life; for he already owns moregood cattle than ever he pictured to himself in his dreams, and will owneven more when things are settled, and he knows where to bestow hispossessions. And he professes great veneration for Lilian, and isenormously proud of a large, handsome and curiously-wrought armlet whichshe has given him, and, although to expect him to declare that heprefers this to the more material benefits would be to demand an effortof gallantry too great for Kafir human nature, yet there is no doubtthat he looks upon the ornament as a very great distinction indeed, withwhich nothing would induce him to part.
Sam and the old Gaika have struck up a great alliance, and the onlysubject on which they fall out is that of the respective prowess of theKafirs and the colonists in the field--for the war is an inexhaustibletopic between them--on which occasion Sam would inevitably be tempted tofire off the Kafir equivalent of his pet ejaculation, "Amaxosa nigga nogood," were it not that such a course would either draw down upon himthe old man's anger, or contempt for him as a "boy," and the sly dog hasa reason for standing well within the other's good books just now.
And this is the reason. It happens that Xuvani owns a couple ofnieces--half-sisters of poor Tambusa--whom he has brought to keep housefor him, their father having been slain in the war. Both are fine,well-made, bright-eyed wenches, with a merry laugh and a wealth ofcheerful spirits, and Master Sam has developed very decided intentionsin that direction. Even now, as he sits there, he is warily trying toascertain the smallest number of cattle old Xuvani is likely to acceptfor one of them, and turning over in his mind whether his savings willbe sufficient to enable him to lay in the stock needed for the requisite_lobola_ [the price in cattle paid to the father or lawful guardian, fora wife], and if not, whether his master will help him. And yet anotherdifficulty besets Sam's path. He cannot quite make up his mind which ofthe brown Venuses he shall propose for. Mnavnma is decidedly thebest-looking, and he has a sneaking partiality for her; but, then, sheis flighty, whereas Ngcesile is a good worker, steadier and ratherbetter-tempered. So poor Sam is in a cleft stick.
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On the afternoon of the day which witnesses this gathering of so many ofour old friends at Seringa Vale, a girl is sitting at the window of apretty house in one of the leafy suburbs of Cape Town. A beautiful girlof four-and-twenty, with exquisitely-chiselled features, and a greatmass of golden hair in a shining halo above her face; but there is ahard look in the deep blue eyes, and the full, laughing lips are set andgrave as she sits absently gazing out upon the broad surface of the bay,upon whose waters, curled into ripples by the afternoon breeze, thewhite sails of a few sailing-boats are skimming to and fro. She rousesherself from her reverie, and her glance falls upon something she holdsin her hand. It is a newspaper, two months old; and it needs not thepencil mark against one of the notices in the marriage column to attracther eye, for she has gazed upon it many times already. Then she rises,and unlocking a desk takes out something. Only a few faded blossoms,originally distributed over half-a-dozen rank and sorry-looking stalks,but long since fallen off. Yet how tenderly, almost reverently, shehandles them! There is something else--a sketch in a few bold pencilstrokes, roughly executed on the inside of an envelope. It represents alarge full-grown ostrich standing in menacing contemplation of thedraughtsman, who, sitting under a bush, has included himself in thesketch as a foreground. Beyond the truculent biped, are the indistinctfaces of several persons looking over a wall, and underneath the wholeis pencilled the legend: "Cornered--or Brute Force _versus_ Intellect."For a few moments the girl stands gazing upon these relics, and the hardlook in her eyes gives place to a softened and wistful expression thatis unutterably sad as she murmurs something to herself, and a tear fallsupon the faded and withered blossoms; then, as with an effort, she walksto the fireplace, and, crumpling up the newspaper, places the flowersand the pencil drawing upon it, strikes a match, and watches the wholeconsume to ashes. That done, she returns to the window and gazes outfor a few minutes upon the blue bay and the distant mountains.Footsteps on the gravel beneath, and a ring at the front door, recallher to herself with a start. She tarns from the window, looks in theglass for a moment, and then Ethel Brathwaite goes downstairs to say theword which shall render Gerald Hanbury, Major in H.M.'s 999th Foot,quartered at Blazerabad, India--but now on leave at the Cape--the"happiest dog on earth"--as he thinks.
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Note 1. These and other chiefs of the insurgent Gaikas and Tembus, weresubsequently sentenced, some to death, others to long terms of penalservitude. The capital sentences, however, were commuted, and it shouldbe mentioned that the Governor was largely memorialised in favour ofthis merciful course, by the very colonists whom these men had sowantonly and unprovokedly attacked.
VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.
CURTAIN.
Six years!
Who are these two men seated together in the verandah, as the afterglowfades on the distant head of the Great Winterberg, at the close of thisradiant spring day? One has evidently just arrived, the other, equallyevidently is at home here, and it is six years since we saw either ofthem. The house, a newly-built one, is situated with an eye to scenicand climatic advantages, for it stands high up on the hillside, so as tocommand a magnificent and sweeping panorama. Below, in the valley, asilver thread winds in and out among the green bush, and on stillevenings the murmur of the plashing stream is audible up here. Oppositethe house, but its brow a little below the level of the same, rises amajestic cliff, whose aspect somehow seems familiar; and well it may,for it is no other than the classic and redoubted Spoek Krantz.
He who is now speaking looks remarkably like our old friend ArthurClaverton. And he
it is. Outwardly his hard and stirring experienceshave aged him beyond his years, leaving more than one grey intruderamong the gold-brown hair, although he is not quite forty; but his facewears a look of great contentment, though the cool resolute firmnessstamped upon the clear-cut features is unchanged.
"I dare say it does strike you as rather queer, George," he was saying,"that we should elect to cast our lot here in this land of niggers, anddrought, and bush-ticks, instead of taking it easy in old England. OldEngland? Old Humbug! Well, the rural and squirearchic life didn't suitme--didn't suit either of us, in fact. We tried it for five years,which is time enough to test the advantages of anything of the kind.Dynevard Chase is an uncommonly snug place; but, somehow, when one hasgot accustomed to this country and its life, one doesn't take kindly toEngland. Then, the climate is vile--gruesome winter eight months in theyear--sleet, and fog, and east wind only varied by rain. As for thesummer, it's a farce; about three weeks of fine weather throughout, andeven then the air is thin. Our neighbourhood could furnish no kindredspirits; heavy parsons and their domineering and heavier spouses, andupholsterers who have made their pile. The British rustic, too, is aquite detestable animal and vastly inferior to Johnny Kafir, than whomhe lies harder and thieves more persistently, but does both withinfinitely greater clumsiness. So taking every drawback intoconsideration, we decided to let the Chase for a term of years, andpitch our tent out here again among all our old friends--and by Jove,here we are."
"And a thundering good decision it wan, too, old chap," says Payne,puffing out a great cloud of smoke.
"I think so. And now we are going to make ourselves thoroughly snughere. We have got the house in a first-rate situation--plenty of air,and a grand view. Poor old Jack Armitage! His shanty does duty as anout-station now. You can almost see it from where we sit. And thequeer part of it is that, whereas formerly you couldn't get a Kafir tostop on the place, now they don't seem to mind a hang. Whether it isthat we are farther away from the haunted cliff, or that I've set up areputation as an opposition wizard, I don't know; but, anyhow, theydon't funk it now, and I can get as many as ever I want."
"Well, you seem to have impressed them a bit, anyhow. Possibly the wayin which you predicted old Sandili's end and that of the rest of themmay have had something to with it. By Jove, though, that was a narrowshare for you."
The other looks grave.
"It was. Look, from where we are sitting you can almost see the place,right away over there, where that wily dog Nxabahlana ran me to earth."
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And now in case the above conversation does not sufficiently explainmatters, it may briefly be stated that soon after we last saw her,Lilian had inherited Dynevard Chase, and the whole of her stepfather'spersonal property besides. Her stepsister, to whom passing referencehas been made, had died suddenly, having for long been delicate andailing, and Lilian under the provisions of Mr Dynevard's will foundherself sole heiress. But her delight on re-entering her old home wasnot destined to last. In the first place the circumstances werealtered, and all the remembrances which had endeared it to her before,were things of the past; and, more practical consideration still, herhealth suffered from the rigours of the English winter so severely thather removal to more genial climes became an absolute necessity. So theyhad returned to South Africa to make their home among their old friends;and being now in extremely good circumstances, not to say wealthy, thathome is surrounded with all the resources that taste and comfort candevise. It is a lovely spot, and the bold and romantic scenery isthoroughly congenial to Lilian's love of the beautiful, and she takesgreat pride in being the possessor of a site famous in savage legend.For they have bought Spoek Krantz, poor Jack Armitage's old farm, and inthe building of the handsome and commodious dwelling in which we seethem, and in the laying out of grounds, and otherwise improving theplace, both of them take an unwearied delight.
And if further explanation of the renewal of Ralph Truscott's suit beneeded, the above paragraph may afford it; for those who have masteredthat worthy's character will have learned, ere this, that it was not forlove alone that he had sought out Lilian. A word or two before we leaveTruscott. About a year after the war was over a Kafir brought to acertain trading-post two curious rings, exactly alike, though ofdifferent sizes. The design was two ropes of plain gold intertwined.The native told a strange story, to the effect that these were takenfrom the white man who had been shot at night. One of the rings the manwas wearing, the other was found lying beside him. The trinketsdisposed of--to the advantage of the trader--somehow or other the factsof the duel began to be darkly hinted at. But that the dead man had methis fate by the hand of the Queen's enemies and not by that of acompatriot there was abundant proof. And, by a curious coincidence,just at the same time it came to the knowledge of the other principal inthat midnight meeting that the man to whom poor Herbert Spalding owedhis blighted life and premature death was no other than Ralph Truscott,whom thus, by a startling combination of events Nemesis overtook in atwofold capacity and brought to signal grief, as we have seen.
The two old friends are not destined, however, to pursue theirconversation in peace, for now draws near a sound of childish voices,then the patter of small feet scurrying round the corner of theverandah, and, with a rush and a spring, a fine little fellow of fiveyears old flings himself into Claverton's arms.
"Hallo! Hallo, sir! What's this?" cries the latter, catching hold ofthe youngster and perching him on his knee. "Well, now, what have yougot to say for yourself?"
"Father, I want to go with Sam and hunt a porcupine to-night. He sayswe are sure to find two or three, and--"
"Does he? Well, we'll think about it. Isn't this chap a true Briton,George? Bent on killing something, even from his very cradle." Paynelaughed.
But the boy is not to enjoy a monopoly of his father's attentions, for,lo! a small toddler comes pattering up to put in her claim to the same,and, finding that her brother has forestalled her, stands with one tinyfist crammed into her eye, looking inclined to cry, while with the othershe makes a feeble attempt to dislodge the more fortunate one from hisvantage-ground.
"Hallo, Dots! And have you given the authorities the slip, too? Comealong, then. There, there, don't turn on the hose! Arcturus secundus,get down, sir! Always give way to the ladies, because, if you don't,they'll move heaven and earth till they find a way of making you.That's right. Come along, Dottums." And he picks up the child, whoclings about his neck, and laughs and prattles away in her delight. Sheis a lovely little thing, with Lilian's eyes and hair, and promises tobe an exact reproduction of Lilian herself.
"You chatterbox! Now you must be off to by-by. Cut along!"
But the little one is not at all inclined to fall in with thissuggestion, for she clings to his neck harder than ever.
"N-no. Fader, take Dots for ride--far as de `big points,'" she pleads.
"Off we go then," and mounting the little thing on his shoulder, whereshe sits half timorously, half exulting in the unwonted altitude,Claverton makes his way to the entrance hall. The said hall is aperfect museum, being hung all over with trophies of war and of thechase collected by its master during his wanderings. Here, the hugefrontlet of a buffalo scowls down upon the grinning jaws of a leopard,whose crafty eyes in their turn glare thirstily towards the heads ofvarious antelopes, tastefully arranged opposite. Then there is a braveshow of armoury. Great savage-looking ox-hide shields, flanked bycircles of grim assegais, formidable knobkerries, and grotesque warcostumes of flowing hair and swinging cow-tails, combine to render thistrophy barbarous and picturesque in aspect. To the children, theadornments of this hall are an unfailing subject of interest, notunmixed with awe.
And now Claverton halts in front of the war-trophy for Dots to look at"the big points," as she calls the assegais, and even gingerly to touchthem, for it is one of her little pleasures in life to be hoisted up onher father's sho
ulder, as in the present instance, to inspect themclosely, when they look even more awful than from the far distance ofthe floor. So, with a thrill of awe, little Dots' hand is puttentatively forth, and the baby fingers play upon the cruel blades ofthe grisly weapons and pass wonderingly down their dark, spidery hafts.But nothing on earth will induce her to touch the ox-hide shields, whichshe is convinced must be alive.
"There. Now then, Dots. By-by's the next thing."
So, reluctantly, and with a final hug, the little one resigns herself tobe carried off, _en route_ for the land of Nod, and Claverton,relighting his pipe, rejoins his friend on the verandah, just as hiswife approaches from the garden at the same moment.
Time has dealt very kindly with Lilian. The soft, serene beauty of thatsweet face has not one whit abated its charm; and the attractiveness andwinning grace of her manner is just the same as it was in the LilianStrange of former days. Payne, as he responds to her greeting ofcordial surprise, thinks that, lucky dog as his friend always was, theday he went to Seringa Vale was the very beginning of his real luck.
"Unexpected pleasure?" he answers. "Oh, yes, I like astonishing people.But this, as a surprise, don't come near the day I picked up ourfriend, there, wandering about the _veldt_, and ran him in to FountainsGap, just before the war. Eh?"
"Picked _me_ up! Well, I like that," is Claverton's reply, cuttingshort the other's satirical chuckle. "It strikes me, friend George,that if there was any `picking up' in the case, you were the party whounderwent the operation, and that considerably damaged by a Kafirknobkerrie, too."
Payne, of course, was ready with a bantering rejoinder, and much chafffollowed. A soft blush had come over Lilian's face at the recollection.She stood for a moment, gazing at the purple peaks of the distantmountains, standing steely against the sky from which all the afterglowhad now faded. Then, with a bright laugh, she turned to enter thehouse, saying:
"Well, I shall leave you to fight out the question between you."
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Reader, we will follow her example, even as we have followed her throughher joys and sorrows. We must now part company with all our friendswhose fortunes and reverses have entertained us throughout thisnarrative, but with none more reluctantly than with these two. Yet whatbetter moment can we choose than this, when we leave them surrounded byevery happiness the world can afford, here in their beautiful home, inthat bright and sunny land which to them has been the scene of so manymarvellous and stirring experiences?
The End.
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