CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
"...AND THE WORLD IS CHANGED."
They stood for some moments watching the receding figure of the Kafir insilence. Eanswyth was the first to break it.
"What have you been talking about all this time, Eustace? Is it any newdanger that threatens us?"
"N-no. Rather the reverse if anything," and his features cleared up asif to bear out the truth of his words. "I don't see, though, why youshouldn't know it. That's the man we fell foul of in the _veldt_yesterday--you remember the affair of the white dog?"
"Oh!" and Eanswyth turned very pale.
"Now don't be alarmed, dearest. I believe he only loafed round here totry and collect some compensation."
"Is that really all, Eustace?" she went on anxiously. "You seemed verymuch disturbed, dear. I don't think I ever saw you look so thoroughlydisturbed."
There was no perturbation left in his glance now. He took her facelovingly between his hands and kissed it again and again.
"Did you not, my sweet? Well, perhaps there has never existed suchground for it. Perhaps I have never met with so inopportune aninterruption. But now, cheer up. We must make the most of this day,for a sort of instinct tells me that it is the last we shall have toourselves, at any rate for some time to come. And now what shall we dowith ourselves? Shall we go back to the house or sit here a littlewhile and talk?"
Eanswyth was in favour of the latter plan. And, seated there in theshade of a great acacia, the rich summer morning sped by in a goldendream. The fair panorama of distant hills and wooded kloofs; theradiant sunlight upon the wide sweep of mimosa-dotted plains, shimmeringinto many a fantastic mirage in the glowing heat; the call of birdvoices in the adjacent brake, and the continuous chirrup of crickets;the full, warm glow of the sensuous air, rich, permeating, life-giving;here indeed was a very Eden. Thus the golden morning sped swiftly by.
But how was it all to end? That was the black drop clouding thesparkling cup--that was the trail of the serpent across that sunny Eden.And yet not, for it may be that this very rift but served only toenhance the intoxicating, thrilling delights of the present--that thisidyl of happiness, unlawful alike in the sight of God or man, was ahundredfold sweetened by the sad vein of undercurrent running throughit--even the consciousness that it was not to last. For do we not, inthe weak contrariety of our mortal natures, value a thing in exactproportion to the precariousness of our tenure!
Come good, come ill, never would either of them forget that day: short,golden, idyllic.
"Guess how long we have been sitting here!" said Eanswyth at last, witha rapid glance at her watch. "No--don't look," she added hurriedly, "Iwant you to _guess_."
"About half an hour, it seems. But I suppose it must be more thanthat."
"Exactly two hours and ten minutes."
"Two hours and ten minutes of our last peaceful day together--gone. Ofour first and our last day together."
"Why do you say our last, dear?" she murmured, toying with his hair.His head lay on her lap, his blue eyes gazing up into her large greyones.
"Because, as I told you, I have a strong inkling that way--at any rate,for some time to come. It is wholly lamentable, but, I'm afraid,inevitable."
She bent her head--her beautiful stately head--drooped her lips to hisand kissed them passionately.
"Eustace, Eustace, my darling--my very life! Why do I love you likethis!"
"Because you can't help it, my sweet one!" he answered, returning herkisses with an ardour equalling her own.
"Why did I give way so soon? Why did I give way at all? As you say,because I couldn't help it--because--in short, because it was _you_.You drew me out of myself--you forced me to love you, forced me to.Ah-h! and how I love you!"
The quiver in her tones would not be entirely suppressed. Even he hadhardly suspected the full force of passion latent within this woman,only awaiting the magic touch to blaze forth into bright flame. And hishad been the touch which had enkindled it.
"You have brought more than a Paradise into my life," he replied, hisglance holding hers as he looked up into her radiant eyes. "Tell me,did you never suspect, all these months, that I only _lived_ when in thehalo-influence of your presence?"
"I knew it."
"You knew it?"
"Of course I did," she answered with a joyous laugh, taking his facebetween her hands and kissing it again. "I should have been no woman ifI had not. But, I have kept my secret better than you. Yes, my secret.I have been battling against your influence far harder than you haveagainst mine, and you have conquered." He started, and a look ofsomething like dismay came into his face.
"If that is so, you witching enchantress, why did you not lift me out ofmy torment long ago," he said. "But the worst is this. Just think whatopportunities we have missed, what a long time we have wasted whichmight have been--Heaven."
"Yet, even then, it may be better as things have turned out. My love--my star--I could die with happiness at this moment. But," and then tothe quiver of joy in her voice succeeded an intonation of sadness,"but--I suppose this world does not contain a more wicked woman thanmyself. Tell me, Eustace," she went on, checking whatever remark hemight have been about to make, "tell me what you think. Shall we notone day be called upon to suffer in tears and bitterness for thisentrancingly happy flood of sunshine upon our lives now?"
"That is an odd question, and a thoroughly characteristic one," hereplied slowly. "Unfortunately all the events of life, as well as thelaws of Nature, go to bear out the opinions of the theologians.Everything must be paid for, and from this rule there is no escape.Everything, therefore, resolves itself into a mere question of price--e.g., Is the debt incurred worth the huge compound interest likely to beexacted upon it in the far or near future? Now apply this to thepresent case. Do you follow me?"
"Perfectly. If our love is wrong--wicked--we shall be called upon tosuffer for it sooner or later?"
"That is precisely my meaning. I will go further. The term `poeticjustice' is, I firmly believe, more than a mere idiom. If we are doingwrong through love for each other we shall have to expiate it at somefuture time. We shall be made to suffer _through_ each other. Now,Eanswyth, what do you say to that?"
"I say, amen. I say that the future can take care of itself, that Idefy it--no--wait!--not that. But I say that if this delirious,entrancing happiness is wrong, I would rather brave torments athousand-fold, than yield up one iota of it," she answered, her eyesbeaming into his, and with a sort of proud, defiant ring in her voice,as if throwing down the gage to all power, human or divine, to comebetween them.
"I say the same--my life!" was his reply.
Thus the bargain was sealed--ratified. Thus was the glove hurled downfor Fate to take up, if it would. The time was coming when she--whenboth--would remember those defiant, those deliberate words.
Not to-day, however, should any forebodings of the Future be suffered tocloud the Present. They fled, all too quickly, those short, goldenhours. They melted one by one, merged into the dim glories of the past.Would the time come when those blissful hours should be conjured forthby the strong yearnings of a breaking heart, conjured forth to be livedthrough again and again, in the day of black and hopeless despair, whento the radiant enchantment of the Present should have succeeded the woeof a never-ending and rayless night?
But the day was with them now--idyllic, blissful--never to be forgottenas long as they two should live. Alas, that it fled!
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Tom Carhayes returned that evening in high good humour. He wasaccompanied by another man, a neighbouring settler of the name of Hoste,a pleasant, cheery fellow, who was a frequent visitor at Anta's Kloof.
"Well, Mrs Carhayes," cried the latter, flinging his right leg over hishorse's neck and sliding to the ground side-saddle fashion, "yourhusband has been pretty well selling up the establishment to-day. Whatdo you think of that? Hallo, Mi
lne. How 'do?"
"I've made a good shot this time," assented Carhayes, "I've sold offnearly three thousand of the sheep to Reid, the contractor, at a pound ahead all round. What do you think of that, Eustace? And a hundred andthirty cattle, too, heifers and slaughter stock."
"H'm! Well, you know best," said Eustace. "But why this wholesaleclearance, Tom?"
"Why? Why, man, haven't you heard? No, of course he hasn't. War!That's why. War, by the living Jingo! It's begun. Our fellows areover the Kei already, peppering the niggers like two o'clock."
"Or being peppered by them--which so far seems to be the more likelyside of the question," struck in Hoste. "A report came into Komghato-day that there had been a fight, and the Police had been licked.Anyhow, a lot more have been moved across the river."
"Wait till _we_ get among them," chuckled Carhayes. "Eh, Hoste? We'llpay off some old scores on Jack Kafir's hide. By the Lord, won't we?"
"_Ja_. That's so. By-the-by, Mrs Carhayes, I mustn't forget myerrand. The wife has picked up a cottage in Komgha, and particularlywants you to join her. She was lucky in getting it, for by now everyhole or shanty in the village is full up. There are more waggons thanhouses as it is, and a lot of fellows are in tents. They are going tomake a big _laager_ of the place."
Eanswyth looked startled. "Are things as bad as all that?" she said.
"They just are," answered Hoste. "You can't go on staying here. Itisn't safe--is it, Carhayes? Everyone round here is trekking, or havealready trekked. I met George Payne in Komgha to-day. Even he hadcleared out from Fountains Gap, and there's no fellow laughs at thescare like he does."
"Hoste is right, Eanswyth," said Carhayes. "So you'd better roll upyour traps and go back with him to-morrow. I can't go with you, becauseReid is coming over to take delivery of the stock. Eustace might driveyou over, if he don't mind."
Eustace did _not_ mind--of that we may be sure. But although no glancepassed between Eanswyth and himself, both were thinking the same thing.To the mind of each came back the words of that morning: "_A sort ofinstinct tells me it is the last day we shall have to ourselves for sometime to come_!" And it would be.
They sat down to supper. Tom Carhayes was in tremendous spirits thatevening. He breathed threatenings and slaughter against the whole ofthe Xosa race, chuckling gleefully over the old scores he was going topay off upon it in the persons of its fighting men. In fact, he was asdelighted over the certainty of an outbreak as if he held half a dozenfat contracts for the supply of the troops and levies.
"I'll keep a tally-stick, by Jove; and every nigger I pot I'll cut anick," he said. "There'll be a good few notches at the end of the war!It was a first-class stroke of luck doing that deal with Reid, wasn'tit, Eustace? We shall have our hands entirely free for whatever funturns up."
Eustace agreed. He had reasons of his own for wanting to keep his handsfree during the next few months--possibly, however, they were of adifferent nature to those entertained by his cousin.
"We can move the rest of the stock to Swaanepoel's Hoek," went onCarhayes. "Bentley will be only too glad to look after it for aconsideration. Then for some real sport! Eustace, pass the grog toHoste."
"That your Somerset East farm?" said the latter, filling his glass.
"Yes. Not a bad place, either; only too stony."
"You're a jolly lucky fellow to have a Somerset East farm to send yourstock to," rejoined Hoste. "I wish I had, I know. The few sheep I haveleft are hardly worth looking after. There are safe to be a lot ofDutchmen in _laager_ with _brandt-zick_ flocks, and ours will be coveredwith it by the time it's all over. Same thing with cattle. Red waterand lung sickness will clear them all out too."
"Well, we'll lift a lot from old Kreli to make up for it," saidCarhayes. "By the way, Eustace. Talking of Kreli--he's been summonedto meet the Governor and won't go."
"H'm. Small wonder if he won't. What was the upshot of his father,Hintza, being summoned to meet the Governor?"
"Oh, you're always harping on that old string," said Carhayesimpatiently. "Hang it all--as if a lot of red-blanket niggers are to betreated like civilised beings! It's ridiculous, man. They've got to doas they are told, or they must be made to."
"That's all very pretty, Tom. But the `making' hasn't begun yet. Bythe time it's ended, we shall have a longish bill to pay--and a goodmany vacant chairs at various household tables. Fair play _is_ fairplay--even between our exalted selves and `a lot of red-blanketniggers.'"
"Milne is right, Carhayes," struck in Hoste. "Milne is right so far.Kafirs have got long memories, and I, for one, don't blame old Kreli forsnapping his fingers at the Governor. But I don't agree with him thatwe haven't treated him fairly on the whole. Hang it, what have they gotto complain of?"
"I don't say they have anything in that line," said Eustace. "My remarkabout treating them fairly was only in answer to what Tom suggested.Still, I think it a mistake to have located the Fingoes and Gcalekasnext door to each other, with a mere artificial boundary between. Itwas safe to produce a shindy sooner or later."
Thus the ball of conversation rolled on. Carhayes, excited over theprospect of hostilities, took a glass or two of grog more than was goodfor him, and waxed extremely argumentative as they adjourned to the_stoep_ for an _al fresco_ smoke. So he and his guest began, continued,and ended the campaign according to a great diversity of plans, eachhighly satisfactory to its originators and proportionately disastrous tothe dark-skinned enemy.
In this conversation Eanswyth did not join. The sweet and soothinginfluences of the day just passed filled her mind--and all this noisytalk jarred upon her. To her also the prospect of the coming campaignwas a welcome one. After the events of the last twenty-four hours to goon living as heretofore would be a terrible strain. Her newly awakenedlove for the one man was so overwhelming as to engender in her aproportionate feeling of aversion towards the other. It was a fearfulposition. The temporary separation involved by the campaign would bemore than welcome. But separation from the one meant separation fromthe other. That was not welcome.
And that other--what if he were to fall? He was so fearless--sofoolhardy and confident. What if he undertook some insane mission andwas treacherously murdered?--O Heaven--what would life be without himnow? And a rush of tears brimmed to her eyes at the mere thought.
Eustace, who had remained behind for a moment, to light his pipe, lookedup and caught her glance.
"I suppose I had better arrange to drive you over to Komgha to-morrow?"he said, aloud and in an ordinary voice. Outside the other two weretalking and arguing at a great rate.
"Yes, I would not forego that for anything," she whispered. "But--leaveme now, or I shall break down. Quick! I wish it."
One glance, straight into her eyes, and he obeyed. But that glance hadsaid enough--had said more than many words could have done.
"By the way, Tom," said Eustace, joining the pair of wranglers outside."What about Nteya? You were going to have him run in, you know."
"So! Well, you see, it's this way: I got on that deal with Reid, firstthing, and that drove the other out of my head. I had a job to findReid, in the first place, but when you hear of a man willing to give alumping big price for what you want to sell, that man's worth somehunting for, I can tell you. So I let Nteya slide--until we reach theGaika location. Then I'll take it out of him, and a good many more ofthem too."
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Next morning, shortly after sunrise, the contractor arrived to takedelivery of the stock. So he and Carhayes were extremely busy, thelatter too much so to be able to afford more than an off-hand andhurried farewell to his wife.
But the same held not good of his cousin and partner. Indeed one wouldthink that Eustace had no concern whatever in the sale for all theinterest he took in it. Far more concerned was he to ensure thatEanswyth had every conceivable thing that might conduce to her comfortand conveni
ence during her journeying to and sojourn in the settlement,than to satisfy himself that Contractor Reid, a canny Scot and a knowingfile at a deal, should be allowed no loop-hole for climbing down from orgetting behind his bargain.
"I say, Milne," cried Hoste, while the horses were being inspanned."It's rather slow work riding by one's self. Let's span in my horse asa leader, and drive unicorn. There's room for my saddle if we tie it onbehind--and I can get in the cart with you. More sociable like. See?"
But Eustace didn't see, or rather didn't want to see. This was clearlya case of "two's company, three's a crowd."
Equally clearly was it a case wherein the third might be excused foromitting to apply the maxim.
"There's a goodish weight in the trap already," he replied dubiously.But Eanswyth struck in:
"We can make room for you, Mr Hoste. Certainly. And if we have theadditional pull of your horse it will neutralise the additional weight."
Eustace said nothing. If Eanswyth's mood had undergone something of achange since last night, that was only natural, he allowed. Thearrangement was not to his liking. But then, of most arrangements inthis tiresome world the same held good. With which reflection, being aphilosopher, he consoled himself.
There was not much sign of the disturbed state of the country during thefirst part of the drive. But later, as they drew nearer the settlement,an abandoned homestead--standing silent and deserted, its kraals emptyand the place devoid of life, or a trek of sheep and cattle raising acloud of dust in the distance, together with a waggon or two loaded withthe families and household goods of those, like themselves, hasteningfrom their more or less isolated positions to seek safety in numbers,spoke eloquently and with meaning. Now and again a small group ofKafirs would pass them on the road, and although unarmed, save for theirordinary kerries, there seemed a world of grim meaning in each darkface, a menace in the bold stare which did duty for the ordinarilycivil, good-humoured greeting, as if the savages knew that their timewas coming now.
It was a splendid day, sunny and radiant. But there was anoppressiveness in the atmosphere which portended a change, and ever andanon came a low boom of thunder. An inky cloud was rising behind theKabousie Heights, spreading wider and wider over the plains ofKafirland. A lurid haze subdued the sunshine, as the rumble of theapproaching storm drew nearer and nearer, and the blue electric flashesplayed around the misty hilltops where the ill-omened war-fires hadgleamed two nights before. Even so, in like fashion, the brooding cloudof war swept down upon the land, darker and darker.