The Story of an African Farm

  Chapter 2.VII. Waldo Goes Out to Taste Life, and Em Stays At Home andTastes It.

  At nine o'clock in the evening, packing his bundles for the nextmorning's start, Waldo looked up, and was surprised to see Em's yellowhead peeping in at his door. It was many a month since she had beenthere. She said she had made him sandwiches for his journey, and shestayed a while to help him put his goods into the saddlebags.

  "You can leave the old things lying about," she said; "I will lock theroom, and keep it waiting for you to come back some day."

  To come back some day! Would the bird ever return to its cage? But hethanked her. When she went away he stood on the doorstep holding thecandle till she had almost reached the house. But Em was that eveningin no hurry to enter, and, instead of going in at the back door, walkedwith lagging footsteps round the low brick wall that ran before thehouse. Opposite the open window of the parlour she stopped. The littleroom, kept carefully closed in Tant Sannie's time, was well lighted by aparaffin lamp; books and work lay strewn about it, and it wore abright, habitable aspect. Beside the lamp at the table in the corner satLyndall, the open letters and papers of the day's post lying scatteredbefore her, while she perused the columns of a newspaper. At the centretable, with his arms folded on an open paper, which there was not lightenough to read, sat Gregory. He was looking at her. The light from theopen window fell on Em's little face under its white kapje as she lookedin, but no one glanced that way.

  "Go and fetch me a glass of water!" Lyndall said, at last.

  Gregory went out to find it; when he put it down at her side she merelymoved her head in recognition, and he went back to his seat and his oldoccupation. Then Em moved slowly away from the window, and through itcame in spotted, hard-winged insects, to play round the lamp, till, oneby one, they stuck to its glass, and fell to the foot dead.

  Ten o'clock struck. Then Lyndall rose, gathered up her papers andletters, and wished Gregory good night. Some time after Em entered; shehad been sitting all the while on the loft ladder, and had drawn herkapje down very much over her face.

  Gregory was piecing together the bits of an envelope when she came in.

  "I thought you were never coming," he said, turning round quickly, andthrowing the fragments onto the floor. "You know I have been shearingall day, and it is ten o'clock already."

  "I'm sorry. I did not think you would be going so soon," she said in alow voice.

  "I can't hear what you say. What makes you mumble so? Well, good night,Em."

  He stooped down hastily to kiss her.

  "I want to talk to you, Gregory."

  "Well, make haste," he said pettishly. "I'm awfully tired. I've beensitting here all the evening. Why couldn't you come and talk before?"

  "I will not keep you long," she answered very steadily now. "I think,Gregory, it would be better if you and I were never to be married."

  "Good Heaven! Em, what do you mean? I thought you were so fond of me?You always professed to be. What on earth have you taken into your headnow?"

  "I think it would be better," she said, folding her hands over eachother, very much as though she were praying.

  "Better, Em! What do you mean? Even a woman can't take a freak allabout nothing! You must have some reason for it, and I'm sure I've donenothing to offend you. I wrote only today to my sister to tell her tocome up next month to our wedding, and I've been as affectionate andhappy as possible. Come--what's the matter?"

  He put his arm half round her shoulder, very loosely.

  "I think it would be better," she answered, slowly.

  "Oh, well," he said, drawing himself up, "if you won't enter intoexplanations you won't; and I'm not the man to beg and pray--not to anywoman, and you know that! If you don't want to marry me I can't obligeyou to, of course."

  She stood quite still before him.

  "You women never do know your own minds for two days together; andof course you know the state of your own feelings best; but it's verystrange. Have you really made up your mind, Em?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, I'm very sorry. I'm sure I've not been in anything to blame. Aman can't always be billing and cooing; but, as you say, if your feelingfor me has changed, it's much better you shouldn't marry me. There'snothing so foolish as to marry some one you don't love; and I only wishfor your happiness, I'm sure. I daresay you'll find some one can makeyou much happier than I could; the first person we love is seldom theright one. You are very young; it's quite natural you should change."

  She said nothing.

  "Things often seem hard at the time, but Providence makes them turn outfor the best in the end," said Gregory. "You'll let me kiss you, Em,just for old friendship's sake." He stooped down. "You must look upon meas a dear brother, as a cousin at least; as long as I am on the farm Ishall always be glad to help you, Em."

  Soon after the brown pony was cantering along the footpath to thedaub-and-wattle house, and his master as he rode whistled John Speriwigand the Thorn Kloof Schottische.

  The sun had not yet touched the outstretched arms of the prickly pearupon the kopje, and the early cocks and hens still strutted aboutstiffly after the night's roost, when Waldo stood before the wagon-housesaddling the grey mare. Every now and then he glanced up at the oldfamiliar objects: they had a new aspect that morning. Even the cocks,seen in the light of parting, had a peculiar interest, and he listenedwith conscious attention while one crowed clear and loud as it stood onthe pigsty wall. He wished good morning softly to the Kaffer woman whowas coming up from the huts to light the fire. He was leaving them allto that old life, and from his height he looked down on them pityingly.So they would keep on crowing, and coming to light fires, when for himthat old colourless existence was but a dream.

  He went into the house to say good-bye to Em, and then he walked to thedoor of Lyndall's room to wake her; but she was up, and standing in thedoorway.

  "So you are ready," she said.

  Waldo looked at her with sudden heaviness; the exhilaration died out ofhis heart. Her grey dressing-gown hung close about her, and below itsedge the little bare feet were resting on the threshold.

  "I wonder when we shall meet again, Waldo? What you will be, and whatI?"

  "Will you write to me?" he asked of her.

  "Yes; and if I should not, you can still remember, wherever you are,that you are not alone."

  "I have left Doss for you," he said.

  "Will you not miss him?"

  "No; I want you to have him. He loves you better than he loves me."

  "Thank you." They stood quiet.

  "Good-bye!" she said, putting her little hand in his, and he turnedaway; but when he reached the door she called to him: "Come back, Iwant to kiss you." She drew his face down to hers, and held it with bothhands, and kissed it on the forehead and mouth. "Good-bye, dear!"

  When he looked back the little figure with its beautiful eyes wasstanding in the doorway still.