Chapter 2.VIII. The Kopje.
"Good morning!"
Em, who was in the storeroom measuring the Kaffer's rations, looked upand saw her former lover standing betwixt her and the sunshine. For somedays after that evening on which he had ridden home whistling he hadshunned her. She might wish to enter into explanations, and he, GregoryRose, was not the man for that kind of thing. If a woman had once thrownhim overboard she must take the consequences, and stand by them. When,however, she showed no inclination to revert to the past, and shunnedhim more than he shunned her, Gregory softened.
"You must let me call you Em still, and be like a brother to you till Igo," he said; and Em thanked him so humbly that he wished she hadn't. Itwasn't so easy after that to think himself an injured man.
On that morning he stood some time in the doorway switching his whip,and moving rather restlessly from one leg to the other.
"I think I'll just take a walk up to the camps and see how your birdsare getting on. Now Waldo's gone you've no one to see after things. Nicemorning, isn't it?" Then he added suddenly, "I'll just go round to thehouse and get a drink of water first;" and somewhat awkwardly walkedoff. He might have found water in the kitchen, but he never glancedtoward the buckets. In the front room a monkey and two tumblers stood onthe centre-table; but he merely looked round, peeped into the parlour,looked round again, and then walked out at the front door, and foundhimself again at the storeroom without having satisfied his thirst."Awfully nice morning this," he said, trying to pose himself in agraceful and indifferent attitude against the door. "It isn't hot and itisn't cold. It's awfully nice."
"Yes," said Em.
"Your cousin, now," said Gregory in an aimless sort of way--"I supposeshe's shut up in her room writing letters."
"No," said Em.
"Gone for a drive, I expect? Nice morning for a drive."
"No."
"Gone to see the ostriches, I suppose?"
"No." After a little silence Em added, "I saw her go by the kraals tothe kopje."
Gregory crossed and uncrossed his legs.
"Well, I think I'll just go and have a look about," he said, "and seehow things are getting on before I go to the camps. Good-bye; so long."
Em left for a while the bags she was folding and went to the window, thesame through which, years before, Bonaparte had watched the slouchingfigure cross the yard. Gregory walked to the pigsty first, andcontemplated the pigs for a few seconds; then turned round, and stoodlooking fixedly at the wall of the fuel-house as though he thoughtit wanted repairing; then he started off suddenly with the evidentintention of going to the ostrich-camps; then paused, hesitated, andfinally walked off in the direction of the kopje.
Then Em went back to the corner and folded more sacks.
On the other side of the kopje Gregory caught sight of a white tailwaving among the stones, and a succession of short, frantic barks toldwhere Doss was engaged in howling imploringly to a lizard who hadcrept between two stones, and who had not the slightest intention ofre-sunning himself at that particular moment.
The dog's mistress sat higher up, under the shelving rock, her face bentover a volume of plays upon her knee. As Gregory mounted the stones shestarted violently and looked up; then resumed her book.
"I hope I am not troubling you," said Gregory as he reached her side."If I am I will go away. I just--"
"No; you may stay."
"I fear I startled you."
"Yes; your step was firmer than it generally is. I thought it was thatof some one else."
"Who could it be but me?" asked Gregory, seating himself on a stone ather feet.
"Do you suppose you are the only man who would find anything to attracthim to this kopje?"
"Oh, no," said Gregory.
He was not going to argue that point with her, nor any other; but no oldBoer was likely to take the trouble of climbing the kopje, and who elsewas there?
She continued the study of her book.
"Miss Lyndall," he said at last, "I don't know why it is you never talkto me."
"We had a long conversation yesterday," she said without looking up.
"Yes; but you ask me questions about sheep and oxen. I don't call thattalking. You used to talk to Waldo, now," he said, in an aggrieved toneof voice. "I've heard you when I came in, and then you've just left off.You treated me like that from the first day; and you couldn't tell fromjust looking at me that I couldn't talk about the things you like. I'msure I know as much about such things as Waldo does," said Gregory, inexceeding bitterness of spirit.
"I do not know which things you refer to. If you will enlighten me I amquite prepared to speak of them," she said, reading as she spoke.
"Oh, you never used to ask Waldo like that," said Gregory, in a moresorely aggrieved tone than ever. "You used just to begin."
"Well, let me see," she said, closing her book and folding her hands onit. "There at the foot of the kopje goes a Kaffer; he has nothing on buta blanket; he is a splendid fellow--six feet high, with a magnificentpair of legs. In his leather bag he is going to fetch his rations, andI suppose to kick his wife with his beautiful legs when he gets home.He has a right to; he bought her for two oxen. There is a lean dog goingafter him, to whom I suppose he never gives more than a bone from whichhe has sucked the marrow; but his dog loves him, as his wife does. Thereis something of the master about him in spite of his blackness and wool.See how he brandishes his stick and holds up his head!"
"Oh, but aren't you making fun?" said Gregory, looking doubtfully fromher to the Kaffer herd, who rounded the kopje.
"No; I am very serious. He is the most interesting and intelligent thingI can see just now, except, perhaps, Doss. He is profoundly suggestive.Will his race melt away in the heat of a collision with a higher? Arethe men of the future to see his bones only in museums--a vestige of onelink that spanned between the dog and the white man? He wakes thoughtsthat run far out into the future and back into the past."
Gregory was not quite sure how to take these remarks. Being abouta Kaffer, they appeared to be of the nature of a joke; but, beingseriously spoken, they appeared earnest; so he half laughed and halfnot, to be on the safe side.
"I've often thought so myself. It's funny we should both think the same;I knew we should if once we talked. But there are other things--love,now," he added. "I wonder if we would think alike about that. I wrote anessay on love once; the master said it was the best I ever wrote, and Ican remember the first sentence still--'Love is something that you feelin your heart.'"
"That was a trenchant remark. Can't you remember any more?"
"No," said Gregory, regretfully; "I've forgotten the rest. But tell mewhat do you think about love?"
A look, half of abstraction, half amusement, played on her lips.
"I don't know much about love," she said, "and I do not like to talk ofthings I do not understand; but I have heard two opinions. Some say thedevil carried the seed from hell and planted it on the earth to plaguemen and make them sin; and some say, that when all the plants in thegarden of Eden were pulled up by the roots, one bush that the angelsplanted was left growing, and it spread its seed over the whole earth,and its name is love. I do not know which is right--perhaps both. Thereare different species that go under the same name. There is a love thatbegins in the head, and goes down to the heart, and grows slowly; butit lasts till death, and asks less than it gives. There is another love,that blots out wisdom, that is sweet with the sweetness of life andbitter with the bitterness of death, lasting for an hour; but it isworth having lived a whole life for that hour. I cannot tell, perhapsthe old monks were right when they tried to root love out; perhaps thepoets are right when they try to water it. It is a blood-red flower,with the colour of sin; but there is always the scent of a god aboutit."
Gregory would have made a remark; but she said, without noticing:
"There are as many kinds of loves as there are flowers; everlastingsthat never wither; speedwells that wait for the wind to fan them out of
life; blood-red mountain-lilies that pour their voluptuous sweetness outfor one day, and lie in the dust at night. There is no flower has thecharm of all--the speedwell's purity, the everlasting's strength, themountain-lily's warmth; but who knows whether there is no love thatholds all--friendship, passion, worship?
"Such a love," she said, in her sweetest voice, "will fall on thesurface of strong, cold, selfish life as the sunlight falls on a torpidwinter world; there, where the trees are bare, and the ground frozen,till it rings to the step like iron, and the water is solid, and the airis sharp as a two-edged knife that cuts the unwary.
"But when its sun shines on it, through its whole dead crust a throbbingyearning wakes: the trees feel him, and every knot and bud swell, achingto open to him. The brown seeds, who have slept deep under the ground,feel him, and he gives them strength, till they break through the frozenearth, and lift two tiny, trembling green hands in love to him. And hetouches the water, till down to its depths it feels him and melts, andit flows, and the things, strange sweet things that were locked up init, it sings as it runs, for love of him. Each plant tries to bear atleast one fragrant little flower for him; and the world that was deadlives, and the heart that was dead and self-centred throbs, withan upward, outward yearning, and it has become that which it seemedimpossible ever to become. There, does that satisfy you?" she asked,looking down at Gregory. "Is that how you like me to talk?"
"Oh, yes," said Gregory, "that is what I have already thought. We havethe same thoughts about everything. How strange!"
"Very," said Lyndall, working with her little toe at a stone in theground before her.
Gregory felt he must sustain the conversation. The only thing he couldthink of was to recite a piece of poetry. He knew he had learnt manyabout love; but the only thing that would come into his mind now was the"Battle of Hohenlinden," and "Not a drum was heard," neither of whichseemed to bear directly on the subject on hand.
But unexpected relief came to him from Doss, who, too deeply lost incontemplation of his crevice, was surprised by the sudden descent ofthe stone Lyndall's foot had loosened, which, rolling against his littlefront paw, carried away a piece of white-skin. Doss stood on three legs,holding up the paw with an expression of extreme self-commiseration; hethen proceeded to hop slowly upward in search of sympathy.
"You have hurt that dog," said Gregory.
"Have I?" she replied indifferently, and re-opened the book, as thoughto resume her study of the play.
"He's a nasty, snappish little cur!" said Gregory, calculating from hermanner that the remark would be endorsed. "He snapped at my horse's tailyesterday, and nearly made it throw me. I wonder his master didn't takehim, instead of leaving him here to be a nuisance to all of us!"
Lyndall seemed absorbed in her play; but he ventured another remark.
"Do you think now, Miss Lyndall, that he'll ever have anything in theworld--that German. I mean--money enough to support a wife on, and allthat sort of thing? I don't. He's what I call soft."
She was spreading her skirt out softly with her left hand for the dog tolie down on it.
"I think I should be rather astonished if he ever became a respectablemember of society," she said. "I don't expect to see him the possessor ofbank-shares, the chairman of a divisional council, and the father ofa large family; wearing a black hat, and going to church twice on aSunday. He would rather astonish me if he came to such an end."
"Yes; I don't expect anything of him either," said Gregory, zealously.
"Well, I don't know," said Lyndall; "there are some small things Irather look to him for. If he were to invent wings, or carve a statuethat one might look at for half an hour without wanting to look atsomething else, I should not be surprised. He may do some little thingof that kind perhaps, when he has done fermenting and the sediment hasall gone to the bottom."
Gregory felt that what she said was not wholly intended as blame.
"Well, I don't know," he said sulkily; "to me he looks like a fool.To walk about always in that dead-and-alive sort of way, muttering tohimself like an old Kaffer witchdoctor! He works hard enough, but it'salways as though he didn't know what he was doing. You don't know how helooks to a person who sees him for the first time."
Lyndall was softly touching the little sore foot as she read, and Doss,to show he liked it, licked her hand.
"But, Miss Lyndall," persisted Gregory, "what do you really think ofhim?"
"I think," said Lyndall, "that he is like a thorn-tree, which growsup very quietly, without any one's caring for it, and one day suddenlybreaks out into yellow blossoms."
"And what do you think I am like?" asked Gregory, hopefully.
Lyndall looked up from her book.
"Like a little tin duck floating on a dish of water, that comes after apiece of bread stuck on a needle, and the more the needle pricks it themore it comes on."
"Oh, you are making fun of me now, you really are!" said Gregory feelingwretched. "You are making fun, aren't you, now?"
"Partly. It is always diverting to make comparisons."
"Yes; but you don't compare me to anything nice, and you do otherpeople. What is Em like, now?"
"The accompaniment of a song. She fills up the gaps in other people'slives, and is always number two; but I think she is like manyaccompaniments--a great deal better than the song she is to accompany."
"She is not half so good as you are!" said Gregory, with a burst ofuncontrollable ardour.
"She is so much better than I, that her little finger has more goodnessin it than my whole body. I hope you may not live to find out the truthof that fact."
"You are like an angel," he said, the blood rushing to his head andface.
"Yes, probably; angels are of many orders."
"You are the one being that I love!" said Gregory quivering. "I thoughtI loved before, but I know now! Do not be angry with me. I know youcould never like me; but, if I might but always be near you to serveyou, I would be utterly, utterly happy. I would ask nothing in return!If you could only take everything I have and use it; I want nothing butto be of use to you."
She looked at him for a few moments.
"How do you know," she said slowly, "that you could not do something toserve me? You could serve me by giving me your name."
He started, and turned his burning face to her.
"You are very cruel; you are ridiculing me," he said.
"No, I am not, Gregory. What I am saying is plain, matter-of-factbusiness. If you are willing to give me your name within three weeks'time, I am willing to marry you, if not, well. I want nothing more thanyour name. That is a clear proposal, is it not?"
He looked up. Was it contempt, loathing, pity, that moved in the eyesabove! He could not tell; but he stooped over the little foot and kissedit.
She smiled.
"Do you really mean it?" he whispered.
"Yes. You wish to serve me, and to have nothing in return!--you shallhave what you wish." She held out her fingers for Doss to lick. "Do yousee this dog? He licks my hand because I love him; and I allow him to.Where I do not love I do not allow it. I believe you love me; I toocould love so, that to lie under the foot of the thing I loved would bemore heaven than to lie in the breast of another. Come! let us go. Carrythe dog," she added; "he will not bite you if I put him in your arms.So--do not let his foot hang down."
They descended the kopje. At the bottom, he whispered:
"Would you not take my arm? the path is very rough."
She rested her fingers lightly on it.
"I may yet change my mind about marrying you before the time comes. Itis very likely. Mark you!" she said, turning round on him; "I rememberyour words: You will give everything, and expect nothing. The knowledgethat you are serving me is to be your reward; and you will have that.You will serve me, and greatly. The reasons I have for marrying youI need not inform you of now; you will probably discover some of thembefore long."
"I only want to be of some use to you," he said.
It seemed to Gregory that there were pulses in the soles of his feet,and the ground shimmered as on a summer's day. They walked round thefoot of the kopje and past the Kaffer huts. An old Kaffer maid kneltat the door of one grinding mealies. That she should see him walkingso made his heart beat so fast, that the hand on his arm felt itspulsation. It seemed that she must envy him.
Just then Em looked out again at the back window and saw them coming.She cried bitterly all the while she sorted the skins.
But that night when Lyndall had blown her candle out, and half turnedround to sleep, the door of Em's bedroom opened.
"I want to say good night to you, Lyndall," she said, coming to thebedside and kneeling down.
"I thought you were asleep," Lyndall replied.
"Yes, I have been asleep; but I had such a vivid dream," she said,holding the other's hands, "and that woke me. I never had so vivid adream before.
"It seemed I was a little girl again, and I came somewhere into a largeroom. On a bed in the corner there was something lying dressed in white,and its little eyes were shut, and its little face was like wax. Ithought it was a doll, and I ran forward to take it; but some one heldup her finger and said: 'Hush! it is a little dead baby.' And I said:'Oh, I must go and call Lyndall, that she may look at it also.'
"And they put their faces close down to my ear and whispered: 'It isLyndall's baby.'
"And I said: 'She cannot be grown up yet; she is only a little girl!Where is she?' And I went to look for you, but I could not find you.
"And when I came to some people who were dressed in black, I asked themwhere you were, and they looked down at their black clothes, and shooktheir heads, and said nothing; and I could not find you anywhere. Andthen I awoke.
"Lyndall," she said, putting her face down upon the hands she held, "itmade me think about that time when we were little girls and used to playtogether, when I loved you better than anything else in the world. Itisn't any one's fault that they love you; they can't help it. And itisn't your fault; you don't make them love you. I know it."
"Thank you, dear," Lyndall said. "It is nice to be loved, but it wouldbe better to be good."
Then they wished good night, and Em went back to her room. Long afterLyndall lay in the dark thinking, thinking, thinking; and as she turnedround wearily to sleep she muttered:
"There are some wiser in their sleeping than in their waking."