The Triumph of Hilary Blachland

  CHAPTER FOUR.

  HERMIA.

  "I don't care. I'll say it again. It's a beastly shame him leaving youalone like this."

  "But you are not to say it again, or to say it at all. Remember of whomyou are speaking."

  "Oh, no fear of my forgetting that--of being able to forget it. All thesame, he ought to be ashamed of himself."

  And the speaker tapped his foot impatiently upon the virgin soil ofMashunaland, looking very hot, and very tall, and very handsome. Theremonstrant, however, received the repetition of the offence in silence,but for a half inaudible sigh, which might or might not have been meantto convey that she was not nearly so angry with the other as her wordsseemed to imply or their occasion to demand. Then there was silence.

  An oblong house, of the type known as "wattle and daub," withhigh-pitched thatch roof, partitioned within so as to form three rooms--a house rough and ready in construction and aspect, but far morecomfortable than appearances seemed to warrant. Half a dozen circularhuts with conical roofs, clustered around, serving the purpose ofkitchen and storehouse and quarters for native servants; beyond these,again, a smaller oblong structure, constituting a stable, the wholewalled round by a stockade of mopani poles;--and there you have a farmore imposing establishment than that usually affected by the pioneersettler. Around, the country is undulating and open, save for a notvery thick growth of mimosa; but on one hand a series of great granitekopjes rise abruptly from the plain, the gigantic boulders piled oneupon the other in the fantastic and arbitrary fashion which forms such acharacteristic feature in the landscape of a large portion of Rhodesia.

  "Well?"

  The woman was the first to break the silence--equally a characteristicfeature, a cynic might declare.

  "Well?"

  The answer was staccato, and not a little pettish. The first speakersmiled softly to herself. She revelled in her power, and was positivelyenjoying the cat and mouse game, though it might have been thought thatlong custom would have rendered even that insidious pastime stale andinsipid.

  "So sorry you have to go," she murmured sweetly. "But it's gettinglate, and you'll hardly reach home before dark."

  The start--the blank look which overspread his features--all this, too,she thoroughly enjoyed.

  "Have to go," he echoed. "Oh, well--yes, of course, if you want to getrid of me--"

  "I generally do want to get rid of people when they are sulky, anddisagreeable, and ill-tempered," was the tranquil reply. But theexpression of her eyes, raised full to his, was such as to take all thesting out of her words.

  Not quite all, however, for his mind was in that parlous state bestdefined as "worked up"--and the working-up process had been one, not ofhours or of days, but of weeks.

  "Well, then, good-bye." Then, pausing: "Why do you torment me likethis, Hermia, when you know--"

  "What's that? I didn't say you might call me by my name."

  "Oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs Blachland," was the reply, bitterly,resentfully emphatic. Then, thawing suddenly, "You didn't mind it theother day, and--well, you know what you are to me and always will be."

  "Until somebody else is more so," came the smiling interruption."Hark"--raising a hand suddenly, and listening intently. "Yes, it is.Will you be a very dear boy, Justin, and do something for me?"

  "You know I would do anything for you--anything in the wide world."

  "Oh, this is nothing very great. There are guinea-fowl over there inthe kopje--I can hear them. I only want you to take Hilary's gun, andgo and shoot me a few. Will you? The supplies are running low."

  "Of course I will," was the answer, as they both went inside, and JustinSpence, invested with an excellent Number 12 bore, and a belt full ofcartridges, started off on his errand of purveyor to the household, allhis ill-humour gone. He was very young, you see, and the next bestthing to glowing in the presence of his charmer was to be engaged inrendering her some service.

  She stood there watching his receding form, as it moved away rapidlyover the veldt in long elastic strides. Once he turned to look back.She waved her hand in encouragement.

  "How good-looking he is!" she said to herself. "How well he moves too--so well set up and graceful! But why was he so emphatic just now whenhe called me that? Was it accidental? I wonder was it? Oh yes, itmust have been. That's the worst of an _arriere pensee_, one is alwaysimagining things. No, the very fact of his putting such emphasis uponthe name shows it was accidental. He'd never have been so mean--Justinisn't that sort."

  She stood for a little longer, shading her eyes to gaze after him, againsmiling softly to herself as she reflected how easily she could turn himround her little finger, how completely and entirely he was her slave;and, indeed, Justin Spence was not the only one of whom this held good.There was a warm-blooded physical attractiveness about her which neverfailed to appeal to those of the other sex. She was not beautiful,hardly even pretty. Her dark hair was plentiful, but it was coarse andwavy, and she had no regularity of feature, but lovely eyes and a veryfascinating smile. Her hands were large, but her figure, of mediumheight, was built on seductive lines; and yet this strangeconglomeration of attractions and defects was wont to draw the maleanimal a hundredfold more readily than the most approved and faultlesstypes of beauty could ever have done.

  Still musing she entered the house. It was cool within. Strips of"limbo," white and dark blue, concealed the wattle and thatch, givingthe interior something of the aspect of a marquee. There were framedprints upon the walls, mostly of a sporting character, and a few framedphotographs. Before one of these she paused.

  "I think you are tired of me, Hilary," she murmured, as thoughaddressing the inanimate bit of cardboard. "I think we are tired ofeach other. Yet--are we?"

  Was there a touch of wistfulness in the words, in the tone as she gazed?Perhaps.

  The eyes which met hers from the pictured cardboard were the eyes whichhad been all powerful to sway her, body and soul, as no other glance hadever availed to do; the face was that which had filled her everythought, day and night, and as no other had ever held it. Ah, but thatwas long ago: and time, and possession, utterly without restriction, hadpalled the heretofore only dreamed-of bliss!

  "Yes, I think we are tired of each other," she pursued. "He never takesme anywhere with him now. Says a camp's no place for me, with nothingbut men in it. As if I'd go if there were other women. Pah! I hatewomen. He used not to say that. Ah, well! And Justin! he really is adear boy. I believe I am getting to love him, and when he comes back Ishall give him a--Well, wait till he does. Perhaps by then I shall havechanged my mood."

  She had dropped into a roomy rocking-chair--a sensuous, alluringpersonality as she lay back, her full supple figure swaying to therhythmic movement of the rocker, kept going by one foot.

  "It is as Justin said," pursued the train of her meditations, "anabominable shame--a beastly shame, he called it--that I should be leftall alone like this. Well, if I am, surely no one can blame me forconsoling myself. But what a number of them there have been, all mad,quite mad, for the time, though not all so mad as poor Reggie. No, Ioughtn't to be proud of that--still I suppose I am. It isn't everywoman can say that a man has blown his brains out for her--and such aman as that too--a man of power and distinction, and wealthy enough evenfor me. If it hadn't been for Hilary, he needn't have done it. And,now Hilary and I are tired of each other. Ah!"

  The last aloud. She rose and went to the door. The sound of a distantshot, then another, had given rise to this diversion. It came from awaybehind the granite kopjes. Her deputed hunter had got to work at anyrate, with what result time would show.

  The afternoon sun was declining. His rays swept warm and golden uponthe spreading veldt and the pioneer residence, the latter looking,within its stockade, like a miniature fort. The air was wonderfullyclear and pure; the golden effulgence upon the warm and balmy stillnessrendering life well-nigh a joy in itself. The distant mellow shouts ofthe native
herders, bringing in the cows; the thud of the hoofs ofknee-haltered horses, nearer home, driven into their nightly stabling--for lions were prone to sporadic visits, and nothing alive could withsafely be left outside; and then, again and again from time to time, thedistant crack of the gun away behind the great granite kopjes,--allseemed much nearer by reason of the sweet unearthly stillness.

  "He is doing me real service," said Hermia to herself, as she gazedforth over this, and as each far-away report of the double-barrel wasborne to her through the sweet evening air. "I think I can see him,sparing no pains--no trouble--climbing those horrid rocks, blown,breathless, simply because I--_I_--have asked him to do so."

  The sensuous glow of the rich African evening seemed to infect her. Shestood, the sunlight bathing her splendid form, in its easy but stillwell-fitting covering. She began to wrap herself in anticipation, evenas the glow of the declining day was wrapping her in its wondrous,ever-changing light. He would be back soon, this man whom she had sentout to toil through the afternoon heat in obedience to her behest. Whatwould he not do if she so ordained it? And yet, as a saving clause,there was ever present to her mind the certainty that in any great andcrucial matter his will would come uppermost, and it would be she whoshould have to receive instructions and follow them implicitly.

  But then, if no great or crucial matter ever arose, her regard for him,so far from growing would, in time, diminish. He was younger than shewas; his knowledge of the world--let alone his experience of life--immeasurably inferior to hers. Why, even his whole-souled and entiredevotion to herself was the outcome of a certain callowness, theadoration of a boy. But to her omnivorous appetite for adoration itcounted for something at any time, and here, where the article wasscarce, why, like everything else in that remote corner of the earth,its value stood vastly enhanced. Yet even she could not in candourpersuade herself that it contained the element of durability.

  And that other? Well, he was tired of her--and she was just a littletired of him. Yet she had at one time pictured to herself, and to him,that life, alone with him, such as she was now leading, would be simpleand unalloyed Paradise--they two, the world apart. She had looked up tohim as to a god: now she wondered how she could ever have done so; therewere times, indeed, when she was not careful to avoid saying as much.He had never replied, but there was that in his look which had told herplainer than words that she was fast driving nail after nail into thecoffin of their love. His absences had grown more frequent and moreprolonged. When at home he was graver, less communicative, neverconfidential.

  And yet--and yet? Could that past ever be slurred over? Had it notleft too deep, too indelible a mark on her, on both of them for that?This was a side, however, upon which Hermia never dwelt. Thoughphysically seductive beyond the average, she was lacking in imagination.This kept her from looking forward, still more from such unprofitablemental exercise as retrospect. In sum, she was little more than a mereanimal, enjoying the sunniness of life, cowering and whimpering when itsshadow came. Just now, sunshine was uppermost, and her strong,full-blooded temperament expanded and glowed with pulsating and generouslife.

  Her meditations were broken in upon, and that by the sound of distantwhistling, rapidly drawing nearer. Somehow the strains of "A bicyclemade for two," and "Ta-ra-ra boomdeay," seemed to frame a jarringharmony to the sweet sunset beauty of that green and golden sweep ofsurrounding--the feathery mimosa and the tropical mahobo-hobo tree, andthe grey granite piles, yonder, against the purple and red of thewestern sky--but the shrill whoop and dark forms of the Mashuna boysbringing in the cattle fitted in with the picture. But no eye or earhad she for any such incongruities, any such contrast. Justin Spencewas drawing nearer and nearer to the house, with rapid impatientstrides, and she could see that he was not returning empty-handedeither.

  Assuming her most seductive manner and most bewitching smile, shestrolled down to the gate to welcome him.