The Fire Trumpet: A Romance of the Cape Frontier

  VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

  "SUMMER HAS STOPPED."

  "No, it's of no use, old fellow. But look as much as you like, that'severybody's privilege. Deuced pretty girl, isn't she?"

  "Well, yes, now you mention it--that is, I think so."

  "Now I mention it! That's good. Of course it was all piety, pure andsimple, that trundled such a hardened reprobate as your redoubtable selfinto church on Sunday evening; an institution you, I make bold to say,have not patronised since the days of your downy youth. And, of course,it was by the merest accident that you happened to find a seat not farfrom the beautiful Miss Strange within that same tabernacle.Furthermore, it is purely accidental that she should be on one side ofthe street this morning, and you staring at her from the other. No, oldboy. In the words of the poet, it won't wash," ironically concludes thefirst speaker.

  A crowd has assembled in High Street to-day to witness the passagethrough Grahamstown of a body of men _en route_ for the seat of war,and, for the time being, those who can do so, leave their shop, orstore, or office, to come and look at this fresh batch of defenders, andgive them a good, hearty cheer as they file away up the KingWilliamstown road. Those who have time and inclination to do so, maketheir way along the said road to the point where the band, which,discoursing inspiriting music, precedes the intending warriors, will cutadrift from them, and where some of the honest townsmen will, in thefulness of their hearts, air their rhetoric in speeches of anencouraging order as they weep over their martial brethren. And amongthose assembled at this point, to witness the ceremonial, is Payne andhis household, and merged in the crowd about thirty yards away stand ourtwo speakers.

  "Bosh, Chadwick," answers the butt of the good-humoured raillery."Can't a fellow look at a girl without your trying to evolve a `case'?"

  The other laughs light-heartedly. He is a young fellow offive-and-twenty--slight, fair, and of middle height. His companion isten years older, and exactly his opposite in personal appearance.

  "A fellow can do anything he likes in that line--at least, a fellow likeyourself can," he replies. "But in this instance I fancy not. She'sbooked, my good friend--booked as deep as the Dead Sea--and you haven'ta chance. You're a day late for the fair."

  The elder man frowns slightly, which to conceal he half turns away.

  "Who's the fortunate individual?" he asks, carelessly, with a sneer.

  "A man named Claverton. He's away at the front now, and the fair Lilianis looking forward to the time when he shall come back `crowned withTriumph's flushing honours.' I deeply sympathise; but, barring thefriendly thrust of an assegai, or the good offices of a peripateticpot-leg discharged from the blunderbuss of the noble savage, you haven'ta chance. Not even then, for, from all accounts, I don't think she'dlet go the shadow of the departed Claverton in favour of the substanceof even such a fascinating dog as Ralph Truscott. It is with grief thatI say so."

  "It is with grief that I find myself constrained to listen to yourmaundering bosh. Now shut up for a moment, Chadwick, because I can'ttalk amid the infernal din of this tin-kettle band."

  Shrill shrieks of laughter, much chatter, and some vituperation, drowntheir voices as the ragged portion of the crowd--slatternly Hottentotwomen and impish dust-coloured brats--fall back precipitately before theadvancing _cortege_. Big drum puffs up the hill letting off a worthysense of the importance of the event in well-timed whacks lustily laidon; and red in the face, hot and breathless, and with loving thoughts ofthat cool brandy and soda awaiting their return at the "Masonic Hotel"bar, the gallant musicians do their utmost to render with effect thecheery quick-step march destined to invigorate the pilgrimage of theirbrethren, going--as one of the orators subsequently puts it--to defend"their 'arths, 'omes, and haltars." Then a halt is called, and, aftersome speech-making, the guard of honour--formed by a detachment ofvolunteer infantry--lining the road, presents arms, as the band strikesup the National Anthem, and the cavalcade of tough-looking, sunburntmen, two hundred and sixty strong, rifle on hip, and mounted on wiry,serviceable nags, files past, two deep, between the open ranks, andeverybody feels exuberantly patriotic, and hoorays, and waves hats andhandkerchiefs accordingly.

  "Good compact lot of men, that," is Payne's verdict, as he watches theretreating burghers somewhat wistfully, for he is tired of hanging aboutthe town, as he calls it, and would fain go to the front, only just atpresent he cannot. His wife detects the wistful expression, and rejoinsmischievously:

  "Yes. If anything, a trifle smarter than your old corps, George."

  "Not a bit of it," says Payne, stoutly. "But--I forgot--you never sawit. They were all away, and in the field, before I got back fromlooking after you womenfolk. As it was, you did me out of half thefun."

  "Of course. Look, Lilian. There's such a handsome man over there, whohas done nothing but stare at you. He almost seems as if he knew you."

  Lilian is gazing after the retreating troop. It is little more than afortnight since she bade farewell to her lover in the grey dawn, and nowshe is thinking that in three or four days that body of mounted men willbe his camp-fellows; for the forces in the field have been concentratedfor a combined movement. She has heard from him more than once--long,cheerful, tender letters, written during hours snatched from hishard-earned sleep, and despatched as opportunity served--rough scrawls,indeed, as was inevitable from the lack of appliances, and even of aknowledge of what time there would be to finish in--but to her soprecious. And to-day, as she stands here gazing up the road, with asoft love-light in her eyes reflecting the burden of her own reverie, itis no wonder that the beautiful figure in the cool summer dress, withthe dark, straight, patrician features, attracts many a look ofadmiration from several in the crowd. She starts, and softly twirlingthe handle of the open sunshade resting upon her shoulder--a prettytrick of hers when absent-minded--follows the direction of Annie Payne'sgaze. And a sudden flush suffuses her cheek, and fades, leaving itdeathly white. Her glance is riveted to the spot, and it seems as ifshe must fall to the ground beneath the suddenness of the shock, for shegazes upon a face which she had never expected to look upon again inlife. No, it could not be. He was dead, she had heard it for certain.It could not be. It must be a likeness--a marvellously startling one--but still a likeness. But on this point she is prevented fromreassuring herself, for the owner of the face has turned, and is walkingaway through the crowd.

  "Hallo!" says Payne, and it seems as if he was talking inside her brain."There's Truscott."

  "Who?" inquires his wife.

  "Truscott. A man I met in the town yesterday. He was asking a lotabout the war. Says he wants to raise a corps or something. That'shim--that tall fellow walking away."

  His wife manifests no further interest in the stranger, but with readytact begins to talk about other things. Poor Lilian's agitation has notescaped the kind-hearted little woman, who would rather die than doanything to increase it, as they return home. And Lilian, if she had adoubt before, Payne's words have mercilessly dispelled it; and now sheunderstands the foreboding of evil which came over her at the sight ofthe spy following them at King Williamstown for an unerring instinctleads her to connect that incident with the one of to-day. Her heartseems made of lead within her, and daring the walk home she hardlyspeaks, and even then at random. Even good-natured Payne notices it,but puts it down to the remembrances called forth by the sight of anumber of men going to the war; but the remembrances called forth are,in fact, of a very different nature. They go back to a time when shewas light-hearted and happy, and without a care or anxiety in the world;then to a time of love and trust succeeded by blank, bitterdisappointment; to a hard, uphill struggle for daily bread, alone,uncheered and unaided. Still her memory carries heron, over afreshstart in a sunny new world, free, indeed, all but for one shackle whichthe captive herself had riveted. Then a period of brief, contrabandhappiness, and long years of a kind of living death; the fetter fallsoff and she is free, and then the cup of life is
full--full tooverflowing. These are some of the memories which the sight of thatface in the crowd calls forth. Yet, why should she dread? What canharm her, secure as they are in each other's love--a love which has beentried, as by fire, and has come out brighter and more beautiful from theflame? Yet an unaccountable foreboding is upon her--a dread, chillpresentiment of evil to come.

  The day is overwhelmingly hot, and Payne playfully chides her forrunning the risk of sunstroke by standing all the morning on that dustyroad, in which event he would, by the first law of nature, be compelledto spend the rest of his days speeding about the habitable anduninhabitable globe, with Claverton six hours behind him, fiercely onhis trail with pistols and coffee. It is not fair of her to risk thelife of a respectable father of a family, he says, even if she is tiredof her own. As it is she is let down easy with a headache, whereat noone can wonder.

  Poor Lilian smiles, rather faintly. Yes, she has a bit of a headache,she says; nothing much, she will go and lie down for a little while.Once in her room, however, she does not lie down, but sits and thinks.Then she opens a writing-case and begins a long letter to her lover.She does not know when it may reach him, perhaps not for more than aweek, the movements of the Colonial Forces are so uncertain; but stillthe very fact of writing it is a source of comfort to her just now. Shewill tell him all about her foolish fears and forebodings, and as shedoes so it almost seems as if the calm, tender presence on which she haslearnt to lean is at her side now, and for two hours she writes on,feeling comforted and happy. She lays aside her pen at last, thinksawhile, and then begins to read over the letter. She will not send it;on second thoughts--no; she will not worry him with mere foolish andsuperstitious fancies such as these--why should she? Has he not enoughto think about up there, without having his mind troubled by suchchimeras, perhaps just at the time when it should be most undisturbed toattend to the more serious game of war? As it is, she looks back to theway in which she yielded to her imaginary fears before, and will nottrouble him with them now, when perhaps his life is in hourly danger.So with a sigh, she tears up and burns the letter which has taken herhours to write. Still, the composition of it has done her good, and herspirits have in great measure returned as she goes downstairs. Thehouse seems deserted, so quiet is it. Payne is lying fast asleep in ahammock which he has slang in the little garden at the back, and hiswife is either in the same blissful state of oblivion, or has gone out;the children are at school, and, meanwhile, quiet reigns. Lilianreaches the passage just as a man stands in the front doorway, holdingthe knocker in his hand as if about to knock, and, seeing her, refrains,and advances into the hall. She stops short, seeming rooted to theground. For the man to whom she made that fatal promise which hasblighted some of the best years of her life, is standing before her.

  "Why, Lilian," he exclaims, taking the hand which she mechanically holdsout. "You look as if you hardly knew me."

  "Do I? This is--rather sudden, you know. But, come in. I'll tell MrsPayne you're here."

  "By no means," says Truscott, quickly, placing himself between her andthe door--they are in the drawing-room by now. "This is the mostfortunate thing in the world. Couldn't have been better if we hadarranged it so. You don't suppose I want a third party present the veryfirst moment we are together again after all this time."

  This bracketing of them jars horribly on Lilian's ear; but she onlyanswers, somewhat irrelevantly:

  "I thought you knew the Paynes. You do; don't you?"

  "Confound the Paynes. Here have I been searching the world for youthese years and found you at last, and--hang it all, Lilian, you don'tseem in the least glad to see me."

  In fact, she is not. And the statement as to the comprehensiveness ofhis search she does not altogether believe. She cannot forget that whenshe was thrown upon the world, destitute almost, and alone, at a timewhen she most needed help, encouragement, protection, this man had heldhimself aloof from her, and now, when after years of desolation ofspirit and of a struggle almost beyond her strength, the battle is won,and she has found happiness and rest and peace, he jauntily tells herthat she doesn't seem in the least glad to see him. Her heart hardenstowards him; but she checks the impulse which arises to tell him inwords of withering scorn that she is not. Yet she does not contradicthim, for she remembers vividly with what relief she heard that news, andhow thankfully she had accepted the restfulness it brought her--arestfulness undisturbed until that morning.

  "H'm, well, you don't seem very glad. And yet I've come a good way tofind you, and had a narrow shave of my life, too--as narrow a shave as aman could well have and escape."

  "Yes? How was that?" she asks, hardly able to restrain her eagerness.He sees it and is gratified. The old interest is waking, he thinks;Lilian was always tender-hearted to a fault.

  "Why, out in California. Fact is, I was awfully down on my luck andwent wandering. Well, I got into one of these street rows and was hit--hit badly. For thirteen weeks I was lying in a hospital, the most awfullazar-house you could imagine, and at the end I crawled out more deadthan alive. The best of the joke is that my affectionate relativesthought I was dead, and advertised me accordingly."

  Lilian makes no answer. It was this advertisement that, seen haphazardtwo years ago, had emancipated her from her fatal bond.

  "But didn't you hear of all this?" he asks.

  "You know I have been out of the world for more than four years. Whendid it happen?"

  "Only a year ago," is his reply. And then she knows that he is lying toher--endeavouring to play upon her sympathies--for she has the number ofthe newspaper containing the advertisement safely locked up in an innerdrawer of her writing-table, and its date is rather more than two yearsprevious. "Those fools Grantham, the lawyers, could tell me nothingabout you, though I pestered them with inquiries, till at last I beganto suspect they were telling lies just for practice, to keep their handsin. But at last I've found you?" And there is a ring of real warmth,to Lilian's ear, in his voice, which fills her with dismay. Can it bethat he has not heard of her position now, that he comes upon hersuddenly like this and takes possession of her in his tone, so to say?At all risks she must tell him.

  Just then a cheery voice is heard in the passage, humming an oldcolonial song, and Payne walks into the room. He stops short on seeingthe visitor, snatching his pipe from his mouth with one hand, while withthe other he welcomes the unexpected guest.

  "How d'you do?" says Truscott, in his silkiest manner. "I was hoping tohave found Mrs Payne at home this afternoon. Meanwhile, I have beenfortunate enough to renew a very old acquaintance with Miss Strangehere."

  "So?" replies Payne, looking from one to the other. "Well, I'm gladyou've found your way up. I saw you this morning, at a distance, whenwe were seeing those men off to the front. Good all-round lot, weren'tthey?"

  "Yes, yes; a very fair lot indeed. I suppose there's a tidy number ofmen in the field by now?"

  "Too many. If it depended on mere numbers, the war would be finishedto-morrow; but it's the management--we always break down in that. If wewere allowed to go ahead in our own way, we should do the thingproperly; but there's such a tremendous lot of red-tape anddespatch-writing that the forces are kept doing nothing for weeks,eating their heads off in camp. By the way, have you heard anythingmore about your application?"

  "No, nothing. I suppose I shall in a day or two."

  They talked about the war for a little longer, and criticised theGovernment, the tactics, and the Commandant-General, and all connectedwith the campaign, and then Truscott got up to leave. He was sorry, hesaid, but he could not wait; perhaps another day he would be morefortunate. And so, with a cordial hand-shake from his host, on whom hehad made a golden impression, he took himself off.

  "I like that fellow!" said Payne, returning to the room. "No nonsenseabout him."

  "He can be very pleasant," assented Lilian, ambiguously.

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  Doubtless the reader is wondering how Truscott got out of durance vile,whither he had just been consigned when last we saw him. The method ofhis liberation is immaterial to this narrative; suffice it that he didget out--obviously, since here he is, at large in Grahamstown. And now,as he walks away from Payne's door, he is turning over in his mind theresults of the speculation. So far, he is bound to admit, they are notpromising. His influence with Lilian is evidently dead, and to reviveit, he feels, will be no easy task; but that everything depends upon hisability to revive it he is only too fully aware. Moreover, there is anadditional incentive to success which hitherto he had left entirely outof his calculations. He was prepared to find Lilian "gone off" inappearance; a number of years like that--how many he did not care toreckon--are apt to tell. But the hand of Time, so far from buffeting,had been laid caressingly on the soft but stately beauty, which hadgrown graver, indeed, but far more sweet and attractive than in theearlier days of girlhood; and when he met her eyes that morning in thecrowd a thrill shot through him as he thought how luck might throw intohis hands, at one _coup_, such loveliness combined with such areversion. Might? It should! And now, as he walked down the street,he revolved and elaborated his plans. He had never seen this lover ofhers, who, he more than feared, would be no ordinary rival; but then thefact of his absence was an immense advantage. He might be killed inaction, as the light-hearted Chadwick had airily remarked; and there'smany a true word spoken in jest, as we all know. But putting aside thiscontingency into the category of exceptional luck, he--Truscott--hadother cards to play, and that warily, for he would not endanger successby any rash move. If the worst came to the worst, he could always usethe double-edged weapon which chance had thrown into his hand in theshape of his scoundrelly friend, Sharkey; but win he must. Meanwhile,he would begin by sedulously ignoring Lilian's engagement. He wouldshow her the most marked attentions--in fact, compromise her--till atlength this absent lover of hers should hear of it, and hear of it, too,in such a way that a split would be inevitable. Not that he intended todo this all at once--oh, no. He would take time, and the while hisrival might be removed to a better sphere by accident or--well, thingscould not always be helped.

  So he lost no time in calling again at the Paynes'; and having, with theattractive manner that he could so well assume, won the heart of thathonest frontiersman, set himself to lay siege to that of his hostess,and succeeded. Not altogether, for Annie Payne was a shrewd littlewoman, and though she found this new acquaintance pleasant and amusing,watched him narrowly. She remembered the look which had passed betweenhim and Lilian, and held her true opinion of him in reserve. Meanwhile,she waited and watched.

  In his intercourse with Lilian, too, he was all that was kind andthoughtful--scarcely ever referring to the past, and only then with ahalf regretful, half aggrieved air that was the perfection of acting.But somehow or other he was seldom away from her. If she went out, shewas sure to meet Truscott; if she stayed at home, he was sure to call;or Payne would pick him up in the street--of course, by chance--andbring him home to lunch; and though she avoided him as much as shepossibly could, without being rude, yet somehow it seemed to her thatshe was never seen in public without this man at her side, till at lastthe gossips used to say to each other, with a wink and a smile, that "itwas a very convenient arrangement to have a lover away at the front, mydear, whose place could be so well supplied; and that really MissStrange, for all her demureness, was no better than the rest," and soon. Which tattle, however, fortunately or unfortunately, never reachedLilian's ears; and the intimacy between Truscott and the house of Paynegrew apace. Not that this state of things had come about all at once--Truscott was far too cautious for that; on the contrary, it had been oneof the most gradual growth--so gradual, indeed, that the plotter hadbeen inclined to blame himself for dilatoriness; but it was a fault inthe right direction. So he bided his time, and was rewarded. Thingswere progressing as smoothly as he could wish.

  To Lilian herself, his attentions are a terrible source of annoyance,and at times she feels as if the toils were closing in about her. Shehas never mentioned this new trouble in her letters to Claverton,thinking--and rightly--that it would bring him to her side at once; andshe does not wish that, for his sake, if it can be avoided; but for herown, oh, how she longs for it! Why should this man, whom she hadthought never to see again, return to persecute her? Had he notescaped--by a hair's breadth merely--blighting her whole life, afterembittering some of the best years of it? She feels that she isbeginning to hate him; and it is while in this vein that she goes downto the drawing-room one afternoon to fetch a book, for she has taken toremaining in her room when the Paynes are out, as they are now. To herintense mortification, Truscott is there.

  "Ah! At last!" is his greeting, in a tone which to her ear is provokingin its cool assurance. "I knew I should find you here, Lilian mine.The rest of the world has gone picnicking, hasn't it?"

  She had intended to make some excuse, and to leave him at once; but thatpossessive alters her plan. Now, once and for all, he must be made tounderstand her position, and that this tacitly assertive air ofownership which he has chosen to set up over her must cease.

  "I don't know why you should _know_ anything of the sort," she replies,very coldly.

  "Don't be angry, Lilian. You never used to fly out about trifles. WhatI meant was, we've had so little opportunity for a quiet talk togetherof late, that when I heard you had not gone with the others I thought itwould be a capital opportunity for one now."

  It happened that that day a picnic in a small way had been organised;but Lilian, somewhat to the Paynes' surprise, excused herself fromgoing. She felt she could not take part in anything approaching to afestivity at such a time as this. It might be only a silly fad of hers,she said, and no one need know of it; still, she would rather stayquietly at home.

  "But Lilian, child," objected Mrs Payne. "It'll do you a world ofgood, and, after all, it's a very mild form of festivity--not like aball, you know. And I'm sure Arthur wouldn't wish you to mope yourselfto death just because he is away."

  "It isn't because he's away, but because he's away _as_ he is," sheanswered. "He may be risking his life every moment, while I am enjoyingmyself as if no one I cared for in the world was in danger. Only think,he might be lying shot down in the bush at the very moment we are alllaughing and joking," and her voice sank to an awed whisper. "No. I'drather stay at home quietly to-day." And the good-hearted little womanhad kissed her, and vowed she was perfectly right; and then they hadgone, and Lilian had her way and the house to herself, instead ofaccompanying them to rove about the deep rocky recesses of Fern Kloofand to eat a scrambling luncheon beneath its tangled shade, lookingdown, as in a splendid panorama, on the sunlit plains of Lower Albany.

  The consciousness of this, in conjunction with Truscott's remark, causesher face to flush with something very like anger, and she answers,icily:

  "In other words, you thought I had remained at home to receive visitorsin Mrs Payne's absence. Thank you. I might have remembered--were itnot that our acquaintance was a matter of such a long time ago--thatthat would be just the interpretation Ralph Truscott might be expectedto put upon my actions."

  "Why will you always harp upon that string, Lilian? You know it wasn'tmy fault. You would run away from every one and bury yourself in thisbeastly country among Dutchmen, and niggers, and all that sort of thing,where it has taken me years to find you; and now, when I have found you,you turn the cold shoulder on me. But, perhaps, you don't believe thatI have done this?" he concludes, dashing his tone of sorrowful reproachwith a touch of irony.

  "No. I do not."

  She looks him straight in the face, and there is a shade of contempt inthe calm eyes. Why should the man tell her such a pitiful falsehood?

  "Oh, you don't?" he says, staring at her from the arm-chair in which heis lounging, fairly startled by her straightforwardness.

  "No. But why talk about tha
t?" she answers. Her hands nervously graspthe back of a chair as she stands, speaking in a low, rapid voice. "Itis past, and there is an end of it. What I have to say to you now is ofthe present, and it is best said frankly and without reserve. You havecome here and assumed a kind of possession over me, which I must ask youto discontinue. Of course I have no actual right to request you to dropyour intimacy with the Paynes, but I have a moral right as a defencelesswoman appealing to a gentleman, and therefore presumably an honourableman, to ask you to discontinue those very marked attentions by which youhave made me conspicuous of late. Whatever has been is past and donewith, nothing can alter that, and under the circumstances there can beno question even of intimacy between us. I do not wish to say anythingunkind, but it would be better for us not to meet again, much better,believe me."

  All this time Truscott's countenance has been wearing an expression ofblank and well-feigned amazement.

  "Better not to meet again? No question of intimacy between us? GoodHeavens! Why, Lilian, what _do_ you suppose I've come from one end ofthe world to the other for, then?"

  "I don't pretend to guess. But it must be even as I say, and I am sureyou will agree with me that it is best so."

  "Indeed, I am sure I shall do nothing of the sort," he cries. "You areonly playing with me, Lilian, only doing this just to try me. You are;say you are, my darling. It is not kind of you after I have come far tofind you."

  For all reply she shakes her head, sadly but firmly, and Truscott cansee that every particle of faith she ever had in him is dead and buried.

  "But your promise!" he cries. "I have your promise, at all events. Youcannot get out of that, nor do I intend to let you."

  "My promise!" she answers, and there is a scornful curve in thebeautiful lips and a hard ring in the rich voice. "My promise! To aman who woos in prosperity and deserts in adversity; who sees anunprotected girl thrown upon the world, lonely and unfriended; and makesno sign. Who, when she departs to live among strangers in a far-offland, suffers her to go without so much as a word of farewell andencouragement; and that, too, the girl whom in palmier days he professedto love. No, Ralph Truscott, you have cancelled my promise by your ownact, and, even if no other bar existed its conditions should never beyours."

  Truscott's face is white with rage. He sees that his game is playedout--that there is not a chance. He was prepared for some reproaches;in short, a good deal of unpleasantness, but not for such decision asthis. His whole being quivers beneath a sense of overwhelming defeat,mortification, disappointment--nay, despair--and now, as he sees theprize slipping from his grasp, he is not sure whether he hates or lovesher most.

  "So the good, the pious, the saintly Lilian Strange can perjure herselfin a way the most unregenerate would shrink from," he sneers. "Theprivilege of godliness, I suppose. Oh, so a `bar' does exist, does it?You should have told me that before."

  "It is impossible that you could not have known of it," she replies,gently, but with quiet dignity. "That I am plighted--to another."

  His answer is a harsh, jeering laugh.

  "Oh, I have heard some nonsensical story of the kind, but I knew itcouldn't be true. I thought you were only amusing yourself, in fact,knowing that anything serious was impossible, considering. So, ofcourse, I didn't believe it."

  "What do you mean?" says Lilian, outwardly calm, but with indignationand contempt in her voice, for there is something so maliciouslysignificant in his tone that she is disturbed in spite of herself."Don't deal in hints and innuendoes. Speak out--if you dare."

  "If I dare? Well, then, I will speak out," answers Truscott, stung tomadness by her scornful look. He will bring her to her knees, hethinks. "This is what I mean," dropping out his words deliberately. "Iknew it couldn't be true, because I knew it was impossible that LilianStrange could be engaged to an ex-pirate, a murderer, and what, in hereyes, is probably much worse."

  "Do you know of whom you are speaking?"

  "Of the man who calls himself Arthur Claverton."

  There is dead silence. The clock on the mantelpiece ticks loudly; thecrack of a waggon-whip in the High Street, and the harsh, long-drawnshout of the driver, sound plainly though distant through the stillafternoon, and in the little garden the bees hum drowsily.

  "You must be mad?"

  Every vestige of colour has fled from Lilian's face, as she stands coldand statuesque, looking down upon her lover's traducer. But she isperfectly calm, for she does not believe one word of this, though thebare suggestion has upset her. He shall speak more plainly, though.

  "Of course you don't believe me," he says. "I wasn't fool enough toexpect you would--without proof. To begin, then. How much has thisClaverton told you of his antecedents?"

  "As much as I wish to know. But this is not proof."

  "Wait a bit. All in good time. He came to South Africa four years ago;quite so. Now has he by chance ever told you where he spent the twoprevious years--what he was doing?"

  In spite of herself Lilian feels her heart sink somewhat. It happensthat concerning that very portion of his career her lover has beenconspicuously reticent. But she says carelessly:

  "I dare say he has."

  "Indeed! You surprise me. Then it will be no news to you to learn thathe was in Central Africa?"

  "I believe he has been there. Go on."

  For Truscott pauses. He is watching her narrowly--playing with her indevilish malice. But he goes on in affected commiseration.

  "Lilian, Lilian. I don't think I'll tell you any more. Forget what Ihave said. Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps my informants are mistaken asto the man. Let it pass."

  "No. You have made charges against one who is absent; you must notleave this room until you have proved them. Otherwise the gallantCaptain Truscott will stand branded as a liar and a coward."

  He stares at her in amazement, quite nonplussed. He never could havegiven Lilian Strange credit for so much firmness, he thinks. Yet thereshe stands over him, calm, even judicial, as she awaits his answer.

  "You would not dare to say these things if he were here," she adds.

  "If he is wise he will not give me the chance," is the prompt reply."To be brief, then, our friend, at that period of his history, incompany with seven other spirits more wicked than himself, let us say,dealt in ebony. Slaves, you understand."

  "Go on."

  "He made a good thing of it, I'm told--a very good thing. But then,unfortunately, by British law, and, indeed, by international law,slavery is piracy; and piracy is--a hanging matter."

  "I see," she answers in a dry, stony voice. "We have disposed of thepiracy, now let us get on to the murder; after that to the other thing."

  Truscott's astonishment knows no bounds. "Upon my word, Lilian, youhave a judicial mind. Why, you ought to be a Q.C.," he says,admiringly.

  She smiles slightly--a hard, defiant smile.

  "Well, then," he continues, "you recollect the affair with the _SeaFoam_? In case you don't, I'll just go over the facts again. The _SeaFoam_, then, was a gunboat stationed in Zanzibar waters, where there wasa good deal of dhow-running just at that time--in fact, several captureswere made. But it so happened that on one occasion four dhows got cleanoff, beating back the boats' crews with a loss of three men killed andseveral wounded. It was a secret expedition, betrayed to the captain ofthe man-of-war by a spy, and, but for one man, the whole concern wouldhave been captured red-handed. That man was Arthur Lidwell--thecommander of the slavers--now known as Arthur Claverton. Theauthorities, at that time, did not know who the leader was whosecoolness and daring caused their retreat, with loss; but they suspectedhim to be a renegade European, and a price was set on his head; but,with his usual luck, our friend escaped. Three men were killed, I say;and recollect our friend is a good shot, and, moreover, not likely tostand by with his hands in his pockets while fighting is going on,"concludes Truscott, significantly.

  Lilian remembers the circumstance perfectly. She had listene
dshudderingly while her stepfather read out the details from thenewspaper, one evening years ago in the cosy, lighted drawing-room atDynevard Chase, expressing a hope, as became "a fine, old Englishgentleman," that the scoundrels would all be caught and hanged, andespecially their rascally leader. And now this same leader--but it isincredible--her brain is dazed. Her eyes are fixed on Truscott's face,but she does not speak.

  "For the other thing," he goes on, narrowly watching her, "the next timeyou see Claverton ask him what became of Anita de Castro. Ask him, atthe same time, what made him suddenly give up so paying a thing as theslave trade."

  Lilian becomes a shade whiter, and Truscott, noting it, feels a fiendishdelight in having at length disturbed her equanimity.

  "Who is Anita de Castro?" she asks, still in a firm voice.

  "The daughter of the chief of the gang. Spanish or Portuguese; but,they tell me, a lovely girl. Our friend Claverton, to do him justice,is a man of taste, and, these Spaniards are terribly revengeful when youtake an undue advantage of them."

  Lilian stands in the same attitude as before. Her fingers clutch morenervously the back of the chair; but that is the only sign she shows ofhaving even heard. She would fain not believe this; but then, howconfidently this man speaks! He cannot have invented such a story, theway in which he tells it is enough to show that. And, in spite ofherself, recollections crop up of more than one hint which Claverton haslet fall to the effect that there is a chapter in his life's historywhich he would fain forget; mere nothings at the time, and which on oneor two occasions she even gently rallied him about, but now with whatfell significance do they stand out! She knows his bold and daringdisposition, his coolness and powers of administration or command; hiscynical vein, which might under adverse circumstances render himunscrupulous and even cruel; and all this seems to lend likelihood tothe other's statements. But, ah! how she loves him! Even if every wordof what she has just heard is true, she feels that, in spite of it all,she loves him if possible ten times more dearly than she did before.She remembers his neglected and uncared-for childhood and youth whichmight palliate, if not excuse, far worse crimes than these; and herwhole soul goes out in a pitying, tender yearning to make his life sodifferent, so happy with her love, and in time to lead him gradually andgently to what she reckoned a more lasting source of joy. She hardlysees Truscott; she is looking out through the open window beyond himwith a soft, pensive expression that is wondrously lovely, and he whowatches her gnaws his lip in fury, and the very fiend of mad burningjealousy shakes his soul. This prize was within _his_ grasp once, buthe threw it away.

  "Well?" he says, impatiently.

  She brings down her eyes to his, calm and serene as before. "Quite aromance. But, as yet, we are no farther than when we started. You havegiven me no proof."

  "Romance, eh? Well, like many romances, it may have a tragic ending. Ihave two witnesses. You remember the man you saw following you in thecrowd at King Williamstown?"

  Again Lilian grows ashy white. It was something more than instinct,then. And, like a flash, she remembers the troubled look which had comeover her lover's face when they met the man on the road during theirride, and how the two had been conversing under her window that lastSunday morning. Doubtless the fellow had been trying to trade on hisknowledge. Merciful heavens! That ruffian--and Arthur in his power!

  "Yes, I see you do. Now for the other. You don't suppose Anita deCastro would spare him?"

  Lilian gives an imperceptible shudder. "All this may, or may not be,"she replies. "But in the former event, it all happened years ago, andthe bare word of these people would go for nothing here. The idea isabsurd."

  "Ha, ha, ha! Really I shall have to retract what I said just now aboutyour having a judicial mind," sneers Truscott. "The bare word of thesepeople would go for just this much here. It would make out a strong_prima facie_ case for the committal of this precious scoundrel--bailrefused, of course--pending the making of inquiries and the procuring ofmore witnesses at Zanzibar, when he would be put upon his trial forpiracy--piracy in its worst phase, mind--and murder. What do you thinkof that, Lilian Strange? In either case a conviction is certain, and ineither case with the same result--the rope. So that is the fate instore for our gallows-bird before six months are over--a dance onnothing--and I shall get a pass to go into the gaol-yard and witness thefun."

  He has risen and is standing before her, his features working with alivid rage that is absolutely devilish. Suddenly the full, awful forceof the situation sweeps across Lilian's mind, and with a low cry, likethat of a stricken animal, and a shrinking motion, she drops her faceinto her hands.

  "Ah, good God! Spare him!" she moans. "Why will you harm him? _He_never injured you!"

  Heaven help her! She has let down her guard, and the enemy is prompt torush in over it. From that moment she is completely at his mercy.

  "Never injured me? What is she dreaming of? Good heavens! hasn't herobbed me of you--of you? Isn't that enough?" is the harsh, pitilessreply. "Ha, ha! Six months about will do it. It'll be winter then--June or July. The mornings are cold then. Perhaps, as a last kind act,I'll give the poor wretch a `nip' out of my flask, before he's swungoff, just to keep his spirits up, you know."

  "Demon," whispers Lilian, hoarsely, gazing at him in set, stony despair.

  "I am just what you and he have made me. It is your own doing. Youknow I was never one of your godly lot. If a man does me an ill turn Irepay it with interest, that is, if I am in a position to do so, which,in this case, fortunately I am. Five o'clock"--glancing at hiswatch--"I shall just have time to beat up my informant and take himround to the Public Offices before the magistrate goes away, or theClerk of the Peace will do as well; and by making his deposition thisevening we can get a warrant out and save the whole night by it. So youwill soon see our friend again, Lilian, sooner than you expected, eh?Now good-bye for the present. I am sorry you have driven me to this,but--" and he moves towards the door. Before he can reach it, shethrows herself in front of him. He cannot leave the room without actualviolence.

  "Stop! Have you no mercy? No pity--for me--for me whom you onceprofessed to love?" and the clear accents of her voice are wrung withdespair--with a sense of her utter helplessness.

  "None for _him_. None. Less than none. I _hate_ the man who hasrobbed me of you. He shall die, and I will go and witness his laststruggles."

  "No. Spare him, Ralph, spare him! In killing him you will be killingme. Ah, God! Why was I ever sent into this world? I am thedestruction of all whom I would gladly die for!" and she presses herhands tightly upon her temples, and a tremor of hopeless agony shakesthe tall, beautiful figure.

  Even the heart of that fiend in human shape smites him as he witnessesher awful grief, listens to her wild, despairing accents. But she isplaying into his hands now--perfectly. At one time he almost thoughtthe game a lost one, and was about to throw it up, when lo! one falsemove, and it is entirely his own.

  "All whom you would gladly die for," he repeats, echoing her words."Would you, then, die for this fellow?"

  "God knows I would--a hundred times over," she wails.

  "Well then, listen. I will not require you to do that. What I requireyou to do is to live for him."

  She looks up quickly--her face transformed in wonderment, which is onthe point of breaking out into joy. He is relenting.

  "I mean, to live for him by living without him. That is the only way inwhich you can save his life."

  Her head droops again, and a shudder runs through her frame at thisalternative, and Truscott, watching her, gloats over her anguish,remembering how she defied him at first.

  "The conditions are not so hard as they might be," he continues. "Ionly stipulate that you shall never see him again, never hold anotherword of communication with him, either orally, on paper, or through athird person, henceforth from this moment. On those conditions I sparehis life--otherwise--well, you know the alternative."

&
nbsp; "May I not even write him one line of farewell?" she asks, with a lookin her dry, tearless eyes that would melt a stone. Her tormentor seesit, and turns his glance away, fearing for his resolution. One word ofcommunication might undo the whole plot. At all costs he must separatethem now and for ever. So again he invokes the demon of jealousy to hisaid, and goads and lashes himself to his fiend-like work.

  "No. I will spare his life, but nothing else. Those are my conditions.Accept them or not. In three minutes it will be too late," and hestands holding his watch in his hand.

  Lilian is beside herself. An awful numbing sense of fatalism creepsover her. Is it to be? Ah, well, she will give her life for his, forthis will kill her.

  "Well? In another moment it may be too late."

  "I give in," she says, in the same dreamy, hopeless tone.

  "And you promise to hold no further communication whatever with ArthurClaverton from this day forward?"

  "I promise!"

  The agony of that moment, as with her own lips she dooms herself andhim!

  "If I were inclined to be hard, Lilian, I might remind you that you arenot wholly superior to the weakness of breaking your promises; but letthat pass. You will find my conditions are not so hard. I only askthat one thing." By-and-by he intended to ask one other thing--and toobtain it, too. For the present she had been tried as much as she wascapable of bearing. She would get used to the idea in time, and then,with the same hold on her as he had now, he would snatch the prize forwhich he had risked so much and plotted so wickedly.

  "Now I must go. Don't look like that, Lilian," he says in a kindertone. "You have gained one great object at any rate, and in this worldwe must be thankful for small mercies. So keep up your spirits."

  She makes no answer to this, at best, cruel mockery. She is leaningagainst the wall, with her hands still clasped over her face. Not atear falls, her grief is too great for that. He glances uneasily at heragain, for he is anxious to get away. He has already been here morethan two hours; and it would never do, under the circumstances, for himto be here still when the Paynes return. Besides, she might faint, andthat would still further complicate the situation.

  "Good-bye," he repeats. "Remember, now--everything depends on you."And she is left alone.

  How long she stands thus she cannot tell. At length the sound offamiliar voices, with many a happy laugh, approaching down the street,warns her of the return of the party, and gaining her room withstaggering, uneven steps, she locks herself in, and, throwing herself onthe bed, yields herself unrestrained to her terrible, hopeless agony."Oh God!" she prays, "let me die! let me die!" And beneath, the houseis filled with merry voices, laughing and talking all at once; and therein the golden eventide, while the soft flush gathers in its purplingsuffusion over the western mountains where fades the sun, the rivenheart quivers and throbs in its voiceless despair.