CHAPTER SIX.
AFTER-THOUGHTS.
If ever any man was in the state colloquially defined as over head andears in love, and if ever any man had practical demonstration that hislove was returned abundantly by the object thereof, assuredly the nameof that man was Justin Spence. Yet when the sun rose upon him on thefollowing morning he somehow did not feel as elate as he should havedone.
For, whatever poetic associations may cluster around the hour of sunset,around that of sunrise there are none at all. It is an abominablymatter-of-fact and prosaic hour, an hour when the average human is wontto feel cheap if ever, prone to retrospect, and, for choice, retrospectof an unwelcome nature. All that he has ever done that is injudiciousor mean or _gauche_ will infallibly strike him as more injudicious andmeaner and more _gauche_ in the cold and judicial stare of the wakinghour. To this rule Justin Spence was no exception. His passion had notcooled--no, not one whit; yet he awoke feeling mean. His conduct hadbeen weak--the development thereof shady: in short, in the words of hisown definition, "it was not playing the game."
The worst of it was that he was indebted to Blachland for more than onegood turn, and now, what had been his requital for such? The other washis friend, and trusted him--and now, he had taken advantage of thatfriend's absence. In the unsparing light of early morning the thing hadan ugly look--yes, very.
As against that, however, other considerations would arise to setthemselves. First of all, he himself was human, and human powers hadtheir limits. Then, again, the other did not in the least appreciatethis splendid gift, this matchless treasure which had fallen to his lot:otherwise, how could he leave her all alone as he did, absent himselffor days, for weeks at a time? He had not always done so, Justin hadgathered; and from Hermia's reminiscences of camp life she seemed tohave enjoyed it. If he, Justin, had been in Blachland's place, not fora single day should she have been away from him. But then, Justin wasvery young, and all the circumstances and surroundings went to make himthink that way.
He had known these people for some months, but _of_ them he knewnothing. The hard, reticent, self-reliant up-country trader was not theman to make a confidant of one whom he regarded as a mere callow youth.But he had been very kind to Justin, and had held out a helping hand tohim on more than one occasion. Hermia, for her part, had merely notedthat the young man was very handsome and well set up, and that in abouta week he was desperately in love with herself. There were two or threeothers of whom the latter held good, even in that remote region, butthey awakened no reciprocal feeling in her. She would keep themdangling simply as a mere matter of habit; but Justin Spence had toucheda responsive chord within her. It was one of a sheerly physical nature,but she had more and more grown to look forward to his visits, and wemust admit that she had not long to look.
The more he thought it over the less he liked it. He could not even laythe spurious balm to his soul that "every man for himself" was the maximwhich justified everything--that the glorious fascinations of this womanwent wholly unappreciated by the man who should have been the one of allothers to prize them, and therefore were reserved and destined foranother, and that himself. This sort of reasoning somehow would not do.It struck him as desperately thin in the cool judicial hour of waking.He had behaved shabbily towards Blachland, and, the worst of it was, heknew he should go on doing so. And as though to confirm him in thatconviction, at that moment the voice of the siren, clear but soft, wasborne to his ears.
What had become of all his misgivings now, as he sprang out of bed, hisone and only thought that of joining her as soon as possible? Thevoice, however, was not addressed to him. It was merely raised incommonplace command to the small Mashuna boys. What a lovely voice itwas! he thought to himself, pausing to listen, lest the splashing of histub should cause him to lose a tone of it: and he was right so far.Hermia owned a beautiful speaking voice, and it constituted not theleast of her fascinations. Recklessly now Justin cast hisself-accusations to the winds.
And Hermia? Well, she had none to cast. Self-accusation was a phase ofintrospect in which she never indulged. Why should she, when the ruleof conduct on which she acted with a scrupulosity of observance worthyof a better cause, was "Get all you can out of life, and while you can"?Never a thought had she to waste on the absent. It was his fault thathe was absent. Never, moreover, a misgiving.
Yet when Spence joined her there in the gateway of the stockade, theeager, happy glow in his face met with scant response in her own. Sheaffected a reproachful tone and attitude. They had both done verywrong, it conveyed. It could not be helped now, but the least said,soonest mended. They had been very weak, and very foolish, but it mustnever occur again. And all the while she was killing herself in herefforts to restrain her laughter, for she fully intended that it shouldoccur again--again and again--and that at no distant period: but she wasgoing to keep her adorer's appreciation up to fever heat. To thisintent, he must be kept well in hand at first.
Well, he was submissive enough even for her, and again she was convulsedwith suppressed mirth, for she promised herself keen enjoyment watchinghis struggles to keep within the bounds of conventionality she hadimposed upon him. The whirlings and buzzings of the impaled beetle ofher childhood's days, as the luckless insect spun round and round in hisefforts to free himself from the transfixing pin, were not in it withthe fun held out to her by the writhings of this six-foot-one victim.And the sport was already beginning in his blank face and piteous tone.
"No, I don't think you must even use my name, Justin," she said, inwind-up of the programme she was laying before him as to his future ruleof conduct. "You will be forgetting, and rapping it out when Hilary ishere."
"What then? Would he be very jealous?" returned the victim shortly,very sore with jealousy himself at this recalling of the absent one'sexistence.
"Perhaps. There's no telling," answered Hermia, with a whollyenigmatical smile. She was thinking that here was a new andentertaining development of the situation. Hilary jealous! Heavens!that would be a feat to have accomplished. She did not believe himcapable of any such foolish and youthful passion. And yet, if shemisjudged him? And recognising such a possibility, a spice of fear cameto season the excitement, only serving however to enhance its originalzest.
In the fair scene spread out before these two there was little enough tosuggest the growlings and roarings of ravening beasts making terriblethe dark night hours. The undulating roll of veldt, green after therecent rains, and radiant in the golden morning, sparkled withinnumerable dewdrops. Birds called cheerily; bird-wings glanced throughthe air in gorgeous colour and flash of sheeny streak; and the greatgranite kopjes to the westward, rising to the cloudless blue, seemed totower twice their height in the shimmer and warmth of the newly risensun.
Upon this lovely outlook one of the two was gazing with a moody brow anda heavy heart. Suddenly he started.
"Who's this, I wonder?" he exclaimed, shading his eyes.
A speck in the distance had arrested his attention--an approachingspeck. It might have represented a horseman, almost certainly it did.
"I believe it's Blachland," went on Spence. "I'll get the binocular,and see."
The advancing object was hidden from sight as he dived into the house.But it reappeared about the same time he did. It now took shape as ahorseman.
"Yes, it is Blachland," he went on, the glasses at his eyes. "But he'sall alone. Where's his waggon and Sybrandt? I wonder if--" And hebroke off, looking somewhat anxiously at his companion as he finishedthe unspoken thought to himself. What if Blachland were returning thuswith a purpose--making a sort of surprise return? What if he hadintended returning much earlier, but had miscalculated time anddistance? What if he _had_ returned much earlier? Oh, Great Heaven!And the thinker's countenance reflected the consternation of thethought.
That of his companion, however, betrayed no responsive qualm. It was asserene and unruffled as though she had never beheld the man at her sideunti
l five minutes ago.
"Now, Justin," she said, as they watched the approach of the horseman."I want to give you a word of warning. First of all, you are not togreet him as if he had just risen from the dead, and you wish togoodness he hadn't. Secondly, you are not to look at and talk to me ina sort of wistful and deathbed manner whenever you have occasion to lookat and talk to me. Remember, he's mighty sharp; I don't know any onesharper. Come, brisk up, dear, and pull yourself together and benatural, or you'll give away the whole show."
"That's the last sweet word I shall hear from you for a long time tocome, I suppose," said Justin, somewhat comforted. "But you didn'treally mean all you were saying a little while ago? You're not reallysorry?"
"Perhaps not," she answered softly. "Perhaps we shall have good timesagain. Only, be careful now. It all depends upon that."
"Oh, then I'll be careful enough, with that to look forward to," hereturned, quite cheered up now. Wherein her object was attained.
To one of the two came a feeling of relief a moment after the newarrival had dismounted at the stockade, for his greeting was perfectlyeasy and natural and pleasant.
"Well, Spence, you're out early," was all he said.
Out early. Justin began to feel mean again. Should he say he had beenthere all night? But Hermia saved him the task of deciding byvolunteering that information herself. She was not going to beginmaking mysteries.
Well, there was no occasion to. Both forgot that the crucial moment wasnot entirely that of the greeting. The last hundred yards or so beforedismounting had told Hilary Blachland all there was to tell. No--notquite all.
"What have we got here?" said the returned master of the house, as,after a tub and a change of clothing, he sat at the head of his table."Guinea-fowl?" raising the dish-cover.
"Yes, Justin shot five for me yesterday," answered Hermia. "By the way,I am always calling him Justin. `Mr Spence' is absurdly formal in thisout-of-the-way part, and he is really such a boy. Aren't I right,Hilary?"
"Oh, certainly," was the reply, but the dry smile accompanying it mighthave meant anything. To himself the smiler was thinking, "So this isthe latest, is it? What an actress she is, and that being so, I won'tpay her the bad compliment of saying it's a pity she didn't go on thestage."
Justin didn't relish that definition of him; however, he recollectedthere was everything to console him for the apparent slight. And it waspart of the acting. In fact, he was even conscious of being in aposition to crow over the other, if the other only knew it, and thoughhe strove hard to dismiss the idea, yet the idea was there.
"By the way, Blachland," he said, "how are things doing in Matabeleland?Niggers still cheeky?"
"They're getting more out of hand than ever. In fact, you prospectorshad better keep a weather eye open. And, Hermia, I've been thinkingthings over, and I believe you'd better trek into Fort Salisbury."
"Is there going to be war then?" asked Justin quickly, for the wordswere as a knell to his newly born fool's paradise. Had he found Hermiaonly to lose her immediately?
"No, I'll stay on. I don't believe it'll be anything more than ascare," answered the latter with a light laugh.
Hilary Blachland had been watching her, while not appearing to, watchingthem both. The start of consternation which escaped Justin Spence atthe prospect of this separation had not escaped him. He noted, too,that beneath Hermia's lightness of tone there lurked a shadowed anxiety.He was sharp, even as she herself had defined him--yes, he wasdecidedly sharp-witted was Hilary Blachland.