VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER FOUR.
"SO THE FACE BEFORE HER LIVED, DARK-SPLENDID..."
And what of her to whom this long, weary period had been so many yearsand so many months of terrible self-reproach? To her, though Time hadbrought no solace, it had brought a certain amount of resignation; andshe had been able to school herself to face the future as best shemight. Then suddenly, without so much as a moment's warning, this manwhom she had mourned as dead, whom she had wept and prayed for, nightand morning, as one whom she would never again behold here on earth,stood before her. She had looked up, expecting to see a stranger--andthere _he_ stood! No wonder the blood forsook her ashy face and herheart stood still.
And now, in the dark, silent hours, she can scarcely realise it. Itmust be a dream--such a one as she had many and many a time awakenedfrom to find her pillow wet with tears. Would she now awaken to findherself once more the dupe of one of those cruel hallucinations? No,this was real, she told herself; and looking back upon that meeting,awful in its suddenness, she wondered how she had so preserved hercalmness. And he--he had shrunk from her--stopped short as soon as herecognised her. No wonder. She had sent him away with bitter words,with hard, cruel words, as a last recollection. How could he tell theagonies of remorse, of repentance, of vain, passionate yearning, whichher life had since undergone? Time had gone by--perhaps he haderadicated from his heart the image of her who had made a plaything ofit, as it must seem to him; perhaps some other image had taken itsplace. Better she could have continued to mourn him as dead than that.She forgot, in her anguish, how he had been wandering ever since theytwo parted--wandering afar in the wild interior, among its wilderinhabitants, alone with his own thoughts and her memory. She forgot allthis as, the night through, she lay and tortured herself with these andkindred reflections.
And even if things were not so, and he had come back as he went, wasthere not the same barrier between them? Now that she was face to facewith it once more, could she be false to her word any more now thanthen? Did not the old obstacle once more arise? No, it did not. Fromthat fatal promise she had been absolved since then, absolved by theinexorable hand of Death--not always a merciless enemy--and at thismoment she was free, absolutely free. But what availed her freedom now?Years ago it would have meant everything--life, love, and happiness--but now--
One by one the stars paled overhead, a faint glow suffused the easternsky, and, with a chill tremor, the dawn swept clearer and clearer overthe sleeping earth. Very soothing to Lilian's tired brow was the fresh,cool air as she leaned out of the window, restless and fevered, after asleepless night. For a few moments thus she stood, watching the shadowslightening upon the hills around, then, dressing hurriedly, shedescended, intending to enjoy the early freshness before any one shouldbe astir.
Noiselessly unlocking the front door, she passed out; and never had thepure morning air seemed more grateful or invigorating. She walked tothe gate at the end of the _stoep_ and turned the key--tried to turn it,rather, for it was firm. Then she tried again with all the strength ofher two hands; but no; the wretched instrument moved not a hair'sbreadth, and she stood contemplating a deep-blue imprint on her owndelicate palm--the sole result of her attempt.
"Allow me," said a voice, and immediately the recalcitrant key yielded,with a creak and a snap, to the vigorous turn of a strong hand."There," said the new arrival, swinging open the gate. "Are you takingan early stroll?"
Upon what a startled ear had that voice fallen! Her first impulse wasto disclaim all intention of early exercise, and to go back indoors; butshe answered in the affirmative.
"I wonder if my company would bore you greatly?" went on Claverton."Singularly enough, I turned out early with the same intent, and Fateseems to have thrown us together."
Did he say this with a meaning? she wondered. Fate had indeed thrownthem together.
"It would be very ungrateful of me to refuse it," she answered, with asmile, "when you have just overcome such an obstacle in the way of mygoing out at all."
They walked along in silence for a few moments, side by side--those two,who had been so long parted.
"Do you find this place as pretty as Seringa Vale?" he asked.
The question somewhat took her aback. Why did he wish to recur to thepast? "No; I have never seen anything like that," answered she. "Stillthis is very beautiful in its way. Mr Payne thinks it the most perfectspot on earth."
"And--are you happy here, Lilian?"
"Yes; I have no right to be otherwise. In fact, I consider myself veryfortunate."
"Oh."
They had reached the little wooden bridge whence he had first caught thenotes of the old, familiar ballad the evening before. Crossing it, theyturned down a path between two high pomegranate hedges. Beyond was agarden--cool, leafy, and inviting--where birds twittered and chirped inthe morning air. A gleam beyond the Kei hills betokened the advent ofthe sun.
"It's marvellously warm for daybreak at this time of year," beganClaverton after a pause. "I hope it doesn't mean a storm in theafternoon, because that isn't exactly an auspicious opening to ajourney."
"A journey!" echoed Lilian, blank dismay in her face and in her tone."_You_ are not going away--to-day?" And moved by an uncontrollableimpulse she looked at him, and in that look was a world of entreaty, ofdespair, and of love; such a look as would be with him to his dying day.
"And is it not better so?" he said, gently. "Believe me, I did not comehere to make it uncomfortable for you--darling." Then, seeing theimploring look deepen in the white face, he went on in a strangelyaltered tone: "What? It cannot be! Oh, Lilian--tell me--am I to--?"
"Stay." The word was spoken in a low, thrilling voice. "Stay! unlessyou want to break my heart. It is only what I should deserve," and agreat sob convulsed the beautiful frame, which was instantly locked fastin Claverton's embrace; and heart beat against heart as he covered theshrinking face and the soft hair which lay against his shoulder withwild, delirious kisses.
Then the great, golden chariot of day mounted majestically above theeastern hills, and flamed from the azure vault, darting a bright beamupon those two happy ones as if in benediction, and flooding the valleywith light and gladness; and the bleat and low of the flocks and herdssounded from the fold, and the voices of humankind echoed cheerilythrough the morning air--and the day was begun. And in that quietgarden the birds fluttered and piped, bees droned in the sunlight asthey winged their way in search of the luscious store, and now and thenthe leaves would tremble in a faint breeze. Birds, insects, whisperingtrees, all seemed but to echo one voice, one glad, joyous refrain--"Wewill never part again, love, never, never."
Lilian was the first to break the silence.
"Oh, Arthur, is this, too, a dream?" she murmured. "Shall I wake up ina moment and find you vanished, as I have so often done?"
"Have you, sweetest?" he replied in a tone of reverent tenderness, as ifhe could not speak too softly, or too gently, to her. "It is realitynow--if ever anything was--sweet reality;" and at the picture which herwords opened up before his mind he clasped her again to his heart asthough he could never let her go.
"Let me have a look at you, darling," she said, suddenly raising herhead with a bright, lovely blush, and gazing into the firm, serious facebent over hers. "You have become so brown, and you are looking ever somuch older, and--"
"And am quite a battered and hardened campaigner."
"And are looking ever so much better--ever so much better than you usedto. There, you don't deserve that for interrupting me," she added, withone of her most bewitching smiles.
"Let's sit down here," he suggested, as, with his arm still round her,he drew her towards a rustic seat which might be twin brother to the oneunder the pear-tree where that dread parting had taken place those yearsago. "Now tell me all about yourself--about everything."
She did so. She told him of her life since they parted, and previous totheir first meeting; told him the story of that promis
e which hadentailed such misery upon both of them. It was the old story--a formersuitor--and the promise had been most solemnly given beside her mother'sdeathbed. The man was worthless to the core, selfish, dissipated, andunprincipled, but he was fascinating both in manner and appearance; andLilian, at any rate, fancied him genuine. Over her mother he had castthe spell of an extraordinary infatuation, and Mrs Dynevard had not alittle to do with the bringing about of her daughter's engagement.Certain it was that nothing else prevented that daughter from breakingit, for when--her stepfather dying shortly afterwards--Lilian could nolonger make her home at Dynevard Chase, this fair-weather suitor keptaloof. He was obliged to leave England, he explained, in order tobetter his fortunes, which were in a very bad way. By this time,however, Lilian had gained some insight into his real character, andthen the weight of that rash promise began to make itself felt. Onceshe appealed to him to release her from it, but met with a decidedrefusal, and, as though to rivet the bond still tighter, the manreminded her that her promise was not only given to him but also to herdead mother. So poor Lilian clung fast to her only hope, which was thathe might not think it worth his while to claim its fulfilment.Meanwhile she sacrificed herself to sentiment--as men and women have sosacrificed themselves at the faggot pile, or helpless and defencelessbefore ravening beasts in the arena. Then, like a lightning flash, hadcome the consciousness of real love, but still she immolated herself tothe sacredness of a rash promise.
Let us leave them there, those two, in the sunny garden, amid theunclouded glory of the new-born day. Their cup is full--full andbrimming with such happiness as this world rarely affords. Let themrevel in it while they may, for a dark cloud is rolling up, gathering asit rolls--a cloud whose edges are red with blood, and whose gruesomeshadow is fraught with desolation, with ruin, and with Death.
"Payne," quietly remarked Claverton, two hours later, as he and his hostwere standing at the gate of one of the sheep-kraals, the lattercounting: "I wonder if I shall succeed in astonishing you directly--bywhat I'm going to tell you."
"Twenty-three--five--seven--thirty-two--six," counted Payne. "Don'tspeak to a man on his stroke--or count. Nine--forty-one--forty-four--seven hundred and forty-four. Right, Booi. Now, off you go, and keepaway from old Smith's boundary. He's a cantankerous beggar, and I don'twant to have a tiff with him. What were you saying, Claverton?" hecontinued, making a playful cut at a native urchin with his whip, whichthe boy dodged, and gambolled away swinging his sheepskin kaross andgrinning from ear to ear.
"I was saying--would it surprise you greatly to learn that I am about toperpetrate matrimony?"
Payne whistled. "N-no--I don't know--most fellows fall victims sooneror later. And after all the knocking about you've had it'll do you goodto settle down for a bit. By the way--if it's not an impertinentquestion--who's the lady?"
"Lilian Strange."
"Eh?"
"Lilian Strange."
"The devil!"
"No--nothing of the kind. That's deuced uncomplimentary of you when Itell you a piece of news before I've imparted it to any one else. Infact, I call it downright shabby," replied Claverton in a tone of mockremonstrance, while his eyes sparkled with suppressed merriment. ForPayne was staring blankly at him as if he distrusted his sense ofhearing.
"But--but--Hang it all, how do you know she'll have you? Why, you neverset eyes on her till yesterday."
Claverton laughed. "I know it because I have it from the very bestauthority--her own lips. And I knew her--well, long before I had theadvantage of first beholding the light of your supremely honest andgenial old countenance," he said, quietly. "Come, don't stare at afellow as if you thought him a candidate for a glass-case, but saysomething decent. Make us a speech, you know."
"Why, of course, I congratulate you, old chap, and all that sort ofthing; but you've taken one a little aback. Hang it, it's as good as aplay. Aha! that's what we get up so dismally early for, hey?"
And, indeed, honest Payne was so taken aback by the announcement that hewalked beside the other speechless, with his hands in his pockets, andwhistling.
Never before had the duties of the schoolroom seemed so irksome toLilian as this morning. The warm, sunny air streamed in at the openwindows, and just audible was the hum of male voices in conversation,and her heart thrilled as every now and then her ear caught a low,gleeful laugh, which she had learned to know so well. Once, indeed, shewent to the window, in the hope of catching a glimpse of the talkers, orrather of one of them; but the result was lamentable, for she foundherself dogmatically asserting to her pupils that Pekin, not Paris, wasthe capital of France--they staring the while as if they did not quiteknow what to make of her.
"Miss Strange," exclaimed the eldest girl, "do let's have the map ofthis country instead. France and Germany, and all those, are so stupid.We can see where all the Kafirs live, who are coming to fight us."
"They're not going to fight us," struck in Harry, somewhat indignantly."Pa says they're not. They're funky."
Lilian smiled at this retort, and nipped in the bud an argument, whichpromised to wax warm, by producing a large map of the Eastern Province.
"Now look here, Harry," she said; "here's the River Kei, and here arewe. Here are all the Kafirs and--"
"But where's Fountain's Gap?" inquired Rose, aged nine.
"It isn't marked. Look. We'll put a pencil spot for it. Here's KingWilliamstown."
"What, all that way off?" said Harry.
"Yes. It is a long way off."
"But we should have to run there if the Kafirs came," protested thatdoughty youth.
"Aha! Who's funky now? Who wants to run away now--eh?" jeered hissister.
"Hush!" said Lilian, in that sweet, soothing way of hers, that stood herin far better stead than any amount of sternness. "You mustn't quarrelnow, you know." Suddenly the urchin fixed his gaze upon her, and, withmischief gleaming from his blue eyes, exclaimed:
"I saw you this morning--you and that man."
Lilian felt herself flushing all over. She tried to direct hisattention to the lesson, but the imp, with that mixture of mulishnessand malice which seems the invariable attribute of the infant prodigyoft-times petted, continued:
"I did. I saw you ki--"
"Harry!" cried Rose, making as if she would rush upon the delinquent."I'll go and tell mamma about you, at once. Send him out of the room,Miss Strange--do!"
Poor Lilian! Her delicate, sensitive nature was indeed undergoing acutelaceration at the tongue of this urchin, on whom she had lavishednothing but tenderness and care. Whether from perversity, or with asavage enjoyment of the pain he was inflicting, the cub went on:
"I don't care, Rose! I did see them. They were--"
What they were or were not doing remained unsolved, for the door opened,and Mrs Payne entered.
"I want you to give them a holiday to-day, Lilian," she said. "Nowthen, children, run away out into the garden. You can put your booksaway after. Out you go--quick."
They obeyed with double alacrity. For their mother, in spite of herwarm-heartedness, had a very decided will of her own at times. AndRose, taking into consideration all the circumstances, deemed itadvisable to say nothing about Master Harry's ill-conditionedness.
"Lilian, dear!" exclaimed the good-hearted little woman, as soon as thechildren had gone out, "I'm so glad about this. Directly I heard of itI came straight here. I couldn't let you remain drudging in hereanother moment, to-day. You must go out, and at once, or a certainperson will be getting so impatient that he'll be wanting to quarrelwith George, which would be a pity, as they have always been such goodfriends."
And then Lilian, somewhat unnerved by the recent juvenile disclosure,cried a little, and there was a good deal of kissing.
"By the way," exclaimed Mrs Payne, ruefully, "of course, I shall loseyou very soon, now; and I don't know how I shall get on without you atall, dear."