CHAPTER EIGHT.
"MERELY SPENCE."
"So that's your latest, is it, Hermia?"
The remark was inconsequent, in that it came on top of nothing at all.The time was the cool of the evening, and Blachland, lying back in adeep cane chair, was lazily puffing out clouds of smoke. He had notbeen talking much, and what little he had said consisted of a few drowsyremarks about nothing in particular. Now, after an interval of silence,came the above inconsequent one.
"My latest! Who and what on earth are you talking about, Hilary?"
"Merely Spence."
"Oh, is that all? He's such a nice boy, though, isn't he?"
"Candidly, he's only like thirty-nine out of forty, colourless."
"How can you say that, Hilary? Why, he's awfully handsome."
"Oh, I wasn't referring to externals, I mean the more important side ofhim; and--there's nothing in him."
Hermia made no reply, she only smiled; but the smile was meant to conveythat she knew better. Nothing in him! Wasn't there? If Hilary onlyknew?
Truth to tell, however, she was a little relieved. This was the firstreference he had made to the subject, and his silence all these hourshad rendered her uneasy. What if he suspected? Now he seemed to dropit as though it were not worth pursuing. She, however, paradoxicallyenough, intended to let him know that it was. Could she not make himjust one atom jealous?
"Poor fellow, he's so lonely over at his camp," she pursued. "It doeshim good to come over here now and then."
"Who?" said Blachland. His mind was running on the subject ofUmzilikazi's grave, and the trustworthiness or the reverse of Hlangulu.
"Who? Why, Justin of course. Weren't we talking about him?"
"Were--yes, that's it. We were, but I had forgotten all about him, andwas thinking of something totally different. What were you saying?That he was lonely in camp? Well, that's very likely; but then, yousee, it's one of the conditions attendant upon prospecting. And he mayas well chuck prospecting if he's going to spend life galloping overhere."
Thought Hermia to herself, "He is a little jealous after all."
The other went on: "He's lonely in camp, and you're lonely here. That'sabout the British of it; eh, Hermia?"
"Well, can you wonder? Here I am, left all by myself to get throughtime as best I can. How long have you been away this time? Fourweeks?"
"Just under. And this was a short trip. It is hard lines, rather; butthen, you always knew what life up here was going to mean. You did itwith your eyes open."
"It is mean of you to throw it at me. I never thought you would havedone it," she flashed.
"Throw what? Oh, I see. I wasn't referring to--that. You might aswell give me the benefit of the doubt, Hermia. You ought to know that Iwas referring to our coming out here at all. We might have goneanywhere else, so it wasn't England."
She looked down at him as he sat there, for she was standing, orrestlessly moving about. How cool and passionless he was now, shethought. He had not always been so. Decidedly he was tired of her.She could not help drawing a mental contrast between him and the other.The countenance of this one, with its well-cut features, but lined andweather-worn, dark and bronzed by sun and exposure, was indeed acontrast to that of the other, in its smooth, clear-skinned blue-eyedcomeliness of youth. Yet, this one, sitting there, strong,reposeful-looking in his cool white raiment was, and would always be,_the_ one when she came to pass in review her polyandrous experiences.
Now his very tranquillity, indifference she called it, nettled her. Atany other time, indeed, it would have served as a powerful draw inkeeping her to him; now however, the entirely fresh excitement she hadstruck formed an effective counterblast. If he was tired of her, shewould let him see that she was even more tired of him, whether she wasso or not.
"To revert to Spence," he said. "What pleasure can it give you to makea bigger fool of the young idiot than his parents and Nature havealready made him?"
"He isn't at all a fool," snapped Hermia, shortly.
"Not eh? Well, everything is relative, even in terminology. We'll callhim not so wise as some other people, if you prefer it. If he was aswise, he might be over head and ears in love with you without giving itaway at every turn--in fact, thrusting it into the very face of theordinary observer."
"Why, Hilary, you really are jealous!" she cried with a ringing laugh.For a moment, however, she had looked perturbed.
"Ha, ha! That's good--distinctly good. Jealous! There is, or ought tobe, no such thing, once past the callowness of youth. The self-respectof any man should be above whining to any one woman because she preferssomebody else. The mere fact of her doing so renders her utterlyvalueless in his sight there and then."
"You don't really mean that, Hilary?" she said. "You're only justtalking, you know."
"Try it and see."
His eyes were full on hers. For the life of her, she could not asstraightly meet that straight, firm glance. This was the only man shehad never been able to deceive. Others she could hoodwink and fool atwill, this one never. So, with a light laugh, with a shade ofnervousness in it that would have been patent to an even less acutefaculty of perception than his, she rejoined--
"Well, you're out of it this time, Hilary. Justin isn't in love with meat all. Why, it's ridiculous!"
She turned away uneasily. For he knew that she was lying, and she knewthat he did.
"One moment, Hermia," he called out to her. She paused. "While we areon the subject: are you not getting a little tired of--our partnership?"
"Why?"
"I've seen symptoms of it lately, and I don't think I'm mistaken.Because, if you are, say so squarely and openly. It'll be much betterin the long run."
"I think you are tired of it," she flashed. "I suppose you have a lotof black wives over yonder, like that disgusting old Pemberton andYoung. That's why you're so fond of going into the Matabele country,and leaving me all alone for weeks."
"Apparently you know more about Pemberton's and Young's conjugalarrangements than I do, but let me assure you you're utterly wrong inyour estimate of mine."
"I don't believe it. You are all of you alike, once you take to goingamong those beastly natives."
"You don't believe it? That I can't help, so there it stays. And nowI've lazed long enough, I must rustle about and see to things."
Left there, Hermia watched his tall form, like a pillar of white,wending up the low kopje at the back of the stockade. He had becomevery reserved, very self-contained and inscrutable of late; so much soindeed, that it was almost impossible to gauge how much he knew orsuspected. Now she felt uneasy, uncomfortable with a dim consciousnessof having come off second best in the recent cut and thrust. Well,perhaps he was right. She was tired of the existing state of affairs--perhaps a trifle tired of him.
And he? The kopje up which he had taken his way, ascended by an easyacclivity to a point which commanded an immense view to the south andwestward. Range upon range of rolling slope and wooded ridge lay thereoutspread--vast and scarcely inhabited country, a land given over towild game and a few shrinking, starving remnants of tribes living indaily fear of the sweep of the terrible Matabele besom. The evening wasstill, and golden, and beautiful, and, seated under a mahobo-hobo tree,Blachland lit his pipe, and began to think out the position.
So Hermia was tired of their life together! He had seen it coming on,and at first the knowledge had caused him some concern. He contrastedthe lives of other pioneers, living all alone, or in native fashion,with two or three dusky-hued daughters of the land, in rough,uncivilised manner, growing more and more into the happy-go-lucky,soulless simplicity of life of the barbarous aborigines themselves,--contrasted them with the life he himself led, its comfort, and refinedcompanionship, and, until lately, love,--and, doing so, a qualm ofregret tinged his mind. It was evanescent however. For he himself wasgrowing tired of this mode of life. He had embarked on it when he andHermia had reckoned the
world well lost for each other's sake. Now,neither of them so reckoned any more; nay, further, to be perfectlycandid with themselves, they wondered how they ever could have. Why notleave it then, move to some more cheerful and civilised quarter of theglobe? To do so would be tantamount to leaving each other.
Hermia had taxed him with being jealous, and he had replied, andrightly, that he was past the capacity for any such foolishness. But hehad no intention of remaining her dupe. That he had ample cause forjealousy in the matter just under discussion, he was well aware; butthat was nothing to what he would meet with should they return tocivilisation together. She could no more cleave to one, and one only,than she could fly over the moon. They had better part.
Over the vast roll of country beneath, stretching away into mistydimness, his glance swept. How would he take to civilisation again?The old restlessness would come upon him. The wandering up-country lifehad got into his system. The other kind, too, was not so very great asto lure him back to it either. He supposed he had made a mess ofthings. Well, most people did one way and another, and it couldn't behelped.
Up the slope, through the sparse bushes, a herd of cattle wasthreading--his cattle; and in the tall dark form of their driver herecognised Hlangulu, the Matabele. Mechanically, however, he took inthis while his thoughts reverted to their former train. Would they misseach other? he wondered; or, rather, would he miss Hermia? That shewould hardly waste a regret on him he knew, for he had long sincediscovered the shallow emptiness of her nature, and that what he had atone time taken for depth was the mere frenzied abandonment of a passingpassion, wholly unrestrained and absorbing for the time being; but now,and indeed long since, burnt out. Turning, he looked back on the groupof primitive buildings within the protecting stockade, his home. Astillness and peace seemed to brood over it in the evening light. Hecould make out Hermia's form crossing a section of the enclosure. Hethought of the years they had been together. Had those years beenhappy? Well, hardly. Disillusionment had not been long in coming, andwith its growth their brief and spurious happiness had faded. They didnot quarrel, but it was a case of mutual toleration. And now, at last,he had returned one fine day to recognise that his place was filled byanother. Decidedly the time had come for them to part.
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"_Nkose_!"
Blachland looked up. His meditations must have run on, for the uttererof this sonorous salutation was he who, but a moment ago it seemed, wasright away down there driving the cattle, yet he had had time to takethem borne and return here himself.
"What is it, Hlangulu?"
The man dropped down into a squatting attitude, and began to talk.Blachland, who understood natives, let him run on about nothing inparticular--the state of the country, the new settlements of thepioneers, the King, the decreasing of the game, and so forth,--for heknew something was coming. Presently it came.
"_Nkose_ is even as Umlimo. The dark mysteries of the Great bold noterrors for him?"
"Not any," was the laconic reply.
"Yet it is certain death to look into such."
"Death is certain, but the time of death, never. I have looked at`certain death' before, yet here I am."
"_Au_, _Nkose_! What you desire is not possible, save by one way."
"And that way?"
"Is known to me alone."
"And you are going to make it known to me. Now, Hlangulu, men are men,and men have motives. Why are you going to do this?"
"What is that which is most desired by all white men, _Nkose_?"
"Gold."
"_Yeh-bo, Nkose_, and by black ones, too, if with it they can buy cattleand wives. _Hau_! In the abode of the mighty dead there is much ofit."
Blachland didn't start, but his nerves were all a thrill. The man'swords were plain enough. A quantity of treasure had been buried withthe dead King. That was the interpretation.
"Is the gold like this, Hlangulu?" he said, producing a sovereign.
"_Eh-he, Nkose_!" assented the Matabele. "It is in a bag, so high,"--holding his hand about a couple of feet from the ground.
Then they talked, the white man and the savage,--talked long andearnestly. The superstitions of the latter precluded him from goingnear the dreaded sepulchre, let alone entering it. But for the formerno such barrier existed. Hlangulu knew a way of getting him through thepickets: then he could accomplish a double purpose, explore the interiorof the King's grave, and bring away the concealed wealth which laythere; and this they would share equally.
It was quite dark when they separated: Blachland all braced up by theprospect of a new and interesting adventure, which, coming when it did,was peculiarly welcome; Hlangulu to dream of an idyllic existence, insome far-away land where Lo Bengula's arm could not reach, where hecould sit in his kraal and count his vast herds of cattle, and buywives, young and new, whenever inclined.