BLUE ALOES

Stories Of South Africa

by

CYNTHIA STOCKLEY

Author of "Poppy, " "Wild Honey, " etc. 

G. P. Putnam's SonsNew York and London

The Knickerbocker Press1919

Copyright, 1919byCynthia Stockley

CONTENTS

 BLUE ALOES

 THE LEOPARD

 ROSANNE OZANNE

 APRIL FOLLY

Blue Aloes

The Strange Story of a Karoo Farm

PART I

Night, with the sinister, brooding peace of the desert, enwrapped theland, and the inmates of the old Karoo farm had long been at rest; butit was an hour when strange tree-creatures cry with the voices of humanbeings, and stealthy velvet-footed things prowl through placesforbidden by day, and not all who rested at Blue Aloes were sleeping. 

Christine Chaine, wakeful and nervous, listening to the night sounds, found them far more distracting than any the day could produce. Abovethe breathing of the three children sleeping near her in the big room, the buzz of a moth-beetle against the ceiling, and the far-off howlingof jackals, she could hear something out in the garden sighing withfaint, whistling sighs. More disquieting still was a gentle, intermittent tapping on the closed and heavily barred shutters, insidewhich the windows stood open, inviting coolness. She had heard thattapping every one of the three nights since she came to the farm. 

The window stood to the right of her bed, and, by stretching an arm, she could have unbolted the shutters and looked out, but she would havedied rather than do it. Not that she was a coward. But there was somesinister quality in the night noises of this old Karoo farm thatweighed on her courage and paralyzed her senses. So, instead ofstirring, she lay very still in the darkness, the loud, uncertain beatsof her heart adding themselves to all the other disconcerting sounds. 

Mrs. Van Cannan had laughed her lazy, liquid laugh when Christinespoke, the first morning after her arrival, of the tapping. 

"It was probably a stray ostrich pecking on your shutters, " said themistress of Blue Aloes. "You are strange to the Karoo, my dear. Whenyou have been here a month, you'll take no notice of night noises. "

There was possibly truth in the prophecy, but Christine doubted it. There were also moments when she doubted being able to last a week outat the farm, to say nothing of a month. That was only in the nightwatches, however; by day, she found it hard to imagine anycircumstances so unpleasant as to induce her to leave the three littlevan Cannan children, who, even in so short a time, had managed to twinetheir fingers and their mops of bronze hair round her affections. 

The tapping began again, soft and insistent. Christine knew it was nota branch, for she had taken the trouble to ascertain; and that a strayostrich should choose her window to peck at for three nights runningseemed fantastic. Irrelatively, one of the children murmured drowsilyin sleep, and the little human sound braced the girl's nerves. Thesense of loneliness left her, giving place to courageous resolution. She forgot everything save that she was responsible for the protectionof the children, and determined that the tapping must be investigated, once and for all. Just as she was stirring, the soft sighingrecommenced close to the shutters, followed by three clear taps. Christine changed her mind about getting out of bed, but she leanedtoward the window on her elbow, and said, in a low voice that trembleda little:

"Is any one there?"

A whistling whisper answered her:

"_Take care of the children. _"

With the words, a strangely revolting odour came stealing through theshutters. The girl shrank back, all her fears returning. Yet sheforced herself to speak again. 

"Who is it? What do you want?"

"_Mind the boy--take care of the boy, _" sobbed the whistling voice, andagain the foul odour stole into the room. It seemed to Christine thesmell of something dead and rotten and old. She could not bear it. Hatred of it was greater than fear, and, springing from her bed, shewrestled with the bolts of the shutters. But when she threw them openthere was--nothing! Darkness stood without like a presence, and seemedto push against the shutters, trying to enter as she hastily rebarredthem. 

Something was stirring in the room, too. With hands that shook, shelit the candle and, by its gleam, discovered Roderick, the eldestchild, sitting up in bed, his red-gold mop all tumbled, his eyes, fullof dreams, fixed on her with a wide stare. She crossed the room, andknelt beside him. 

"What is it, darling?"

"I thought my nannie was there, " he murmured. 

"Your nannie?" she echoed, in surprise, knowing that "nannie" was thecommon name for any black nurse who tended and waited on them. "Butshe is in bed and asleep long ago. "

"I don't mean _that_ one. I mean my nannie what's dead--Sophy. "

The girl's backbone grew chill. She remembered hearing that thechildren had been always minded by an educated old Basuto woman calledSophy, who had been a devoted slave to each from birth up, and becauseof whose death, a few months back, a series of English governesses hadcome and gone at the farm. 

She remembered, too, those fluty whispers that resembled no human voice. 

"Lie down, darling, and sleep, " she said gently. "I will stay by you. "

The boy did not instantly obey. He had a whim to sit up, watching. There was no fear in his wide grey eyes, but it was uncanny to see themsearching the shadows of the room and returning always, with a fixed, somnambulistic stare, to the window. Christine had a fancy thatchildren, with the memories of another world clinging to them, have avision of unseen things denied to older people; and she wonderedpainfully what was going on in the mind behind this handsome littleface. At last, she prevailed upon him to lie down, but it was longbefore he slept. Even then, she sat on, holding his hand, keepingvigil over him and the two other small sleepers. 

They were lovely children. Each head glowed red-gold upon its pillow, and each little profile was of a regularity almost classical, with thepure colouring peculiar to red-haired people. The boy's face was wellsprinkled with freckles, but five-year-old Marguerite and little Coral, of four, who were perfect little imps of mischief, had the daintysnow-pink look of daisies growing in a meadow with their faces turnedup to God. 

It was difficult to connect such fragrant, well-tended flowers with thewhistling horror out in the darkness. More, it was absurd, impossible. The girl decided that the whole thing was a bad nightmare which shemust shake off. The explanation of it could only be that, half asleep, she had dreamed she heard the tapping and the whispers, and smelled theevil odour. Why should a _Thing_ come and tell her to mind thechildren? "_Mind the boy. _" He was already minded--they were allhappy and well cared for in their own home. The boy Roderick must havebeen dreaming, too, and talking in his sleep. Thus, Christine's clearEnglish mind rejected the whole thing as an illusion, resulting fromweariness and the new, strange conditions of her life. Yet there wasan Irish side to her that could not so easily dispose of the matter. She remembered with what uneasiness her nights had been haunted fromthe first. How always, when the dark fell, she had sensed somethinguncanny, something unseen and menacing, that she could never track toits source. But tonight the sense of hovering evil had taken definiteform and direction. It was at the children that harm was directed; thewhistling, sighing words had concerned the children only. The girlshivered again at the horrid recollection. 

"Yet anything that cares about children cannot be altogether evil, " shethought. That comforted her a little, but the spell of horror thenight had laid upon her was not lifted until dawn came. Then sheslipped on some clothes and let herself out into the morning air. 

The garden that straggled about the farm was composed of a dozencentury-old oaks, a sprinkling of feathery pepper-trees, and manyclumps of brilliant-blossomed cacti. The veranda and outbuildings wereheavily hung with creepers, and great barrels of begonias and geraniumsstood about. Within a few hundred yards of the house, the green andglowing cultivation stopped as abruptly as the edges of an oasis in thedesert, and the Karoo began--that sweeping, high table-land, empty ofall but brown stones, long white thorns, fantastically shaped clumps ofprickly-pear, bare brown hills, and dried-up rivulets, and that yet isone of the healthiest and, from the farmer's point of view, wealthiestplateaux in the world. 

Between the farm and the far hills arose a curious line of shroudyblue, seeming to hover round the estate, mystically encircling it, andcutting it off from the rest of the desert. This was the century-oldhedge of blue aloes which gave the farm its name. Planted in a hugering of many miles' circumference, the great spiked cacti, with leavesthick and flat as hide shields, and pointed as steel spears, made abarrier against cattle, ostriches, and human beings that was impassableexcept by the appointed gaps. No doubt it had a beauty all its own, but beneath its fantastic, isolated blooms and leaves of Madonna blue, the gnarled roots sheltered a hundred varieties of poisonous reptilesand insects. That is why, in Africa, no one likes blue aloes--theyalways harbour death. 

Dawn on the Karoo more than compensates for its fearsome nights andtorrid noontides. The dew, jewelling a thousand spider-webs, thesparkling brightness of the air, the exquisite purity of theatmosphere, and grandeur of space and loneliness rimmed about byrose-tipped skies and far forget-me-not hills make a magic to catch theheart in a net from which it never quite escapes. 

Christine felt this enchantment as she wandered across the veld, hereyes fixed on the hills from behind which the sun would presentlyemerge to fill the land with a clear, pitiless heat that turnedeverything curiously grey. A dam of water reflecting pink cloud-tipslay bright and still as a sheet of steel. The fields of lucerne, underthe morning light, were softly turning from black to emerald, andbeyond the aloe hedge a native kraal that was scattered on the side ofa hill slowly woke to life. A dog barked; a wisp of smoke curledbetween the thatched huts, and one or two blanketed figures crept fromthe low doors. The simple yet secret lives of these people intriguedChristine deeply. She knew little of Kafirs, for she had been inAfrica only a few months; but the impassive silence of them behindtheir watching, alert eyes always fascinated her. They said so littlebefore their masters, the whites. Here, for instance, was a littlecolony of fifty or more people living in a kraal close to theiremployers. Some of them were grey-haired and had worked for a quarterof a century on the farm--the men on the land, the women at thehouse--yet, once their daily tasks were over, none knew what theirlives were when they returned to the straggling village of palisadesand low-doored huts. 

Musing on these things, Christine turned at last and sauntered slowlyhomeward. Everything was still very quiet, but smoke was rising fromthe solid farm chimneys, and, rounding the corners of some largeoutbuildings, she came suddenly upon more life--feathery, fantasticlife of spindlelegs and fluttering wings. Scores of baby ostriches, just released from their night shelter, were racing into the morninglight, pirouetting round each other like crazy, gleesome sprites. Christine stood laughing at their fandangos and the antics of theKafirs engaged in herding them. A man standing near, pipe in mouth, and hands in pockets, observing the same scene, was astonished that hersad yet passionate face could so change under the spell of laughter. He had wondered, when he first saw her, why a girl with such ardenteyes should wear such weariness upon her lips and look so disdainfullyat life. Now he saw that it was a mask she wore and forgot when shewas alone, and he wondered still more what had brought such a girl tobe a governess on a Karoo farm. 

But in a moment Christine's face changed, resuming, like a veil overits youth and bloom, the look of world-weariness. She bowed slightlyto him, with a somewhat cool response to his pleasant morning greeting, and made haste to resume her walk homeward. 

She knew him to be Richard Saltire, the government forest and landexpert, who was engaged in certain experiments on the farm. He shareda bungalow somewhere on the land with two young Hollanders who werelearning ostrich-farming, and came with them to lunch every day at thehouse. Already, his bold, careless face, with its sunbitten beauty, had separated itself in her memory from the faces of the other men, forit was a face and personality that could not leave a woman undisturbed. Incidentally, it had disturbed her in connection with an impression notaltogether agreeable. 

One of the first hints Mrs. Van Cannan had given the new governess wasthat the master of Blue Aloes did not care for any kind of intimacy toexist between the womenfolk of the farm and the men occupied about it. Christine had been long enough in South Africa to recognize that thiswas an odd departure from the general rule of friendliness andequality; but a hint to the proud has the same efficacy as a word tothe wise. Besides, she had no longing for the society of men, butrather a wish to forget that she had ever known any. Life had made ahole in her heart which she meant to fill if she could, but only withinanimate things and the love of children. So that Mr. Van Cannan'sunsociable restriction, far from being irksome, suited her perfectly. 

Mrs. Van Cannan apparently did not apply to herself her husband'sinjunction, for she was charming to everybody, and especially to Mr. Saltire. It was impossible not to notice this, and also that the factwas not lost upon the gloomy, fanatic glance of the master of the house. 

If Mr. Saltire showed bad taste in so openly returning Mrs. VanCannan's interest, it had to be admitted that it was the form of badtaste that is a law unto itself and takes no thought of the opinion ofothers. Although Africa had spoiled Saltire's complexion, it wasevident that she had never bowed his neck or put humility into his eyeor made him desist from looking over his boldly cut nose as though hehad bought the world and did not want it. 

But to Christine Chaine it seemed that to cause pain to a man rackedwith neuritis and jealousy for the sake of a mild flirtation with apretty woman was a cruel as well as a dangerous game. That was one ofthe reasons why the friendliness of his morning greeting had been metwith such coldness. She had known heartlessness before in her life, and wished no further acquaintance with it. That was the resolutionwith which she hurried back through the straggling garden, thewhitewashed porch, and massive front door to the nursery. 

The children, full of high spirits and wilfulness, were engaged intheir morning romp of trying to evade Meekie, the colored "nannie, "whose business it was to bathe them. 

They were extraordinarily lovable children, in spite of a certainelf-like disobedience which possessed them like a disease. It wasquite enough to tell them not to do a thing for them to be eaten upwith a desire to do it forthwith. Christine had discovered this, andhad learned to manage them in other ways than by direct command. 

"Take Roddy--no; take Coral, she is the dirtiest--no, no--Rita! Ritais the pig!" they shrieked, as they pranced from bed to bed. "Batheyourself, old Meekie--you are the blackest of all. "

Christine had her work cut out with them for the next half-hour, but atlast they were marshalled, sweet and shining, to breakfast, where shepresided, for their father always took an early breakfast, and Mrs. VanCannan never rose until eleven. Afterward, according to custom, theypaid a visit to the latter's room, to wish her good-morning. 

Isabel van Cannan was a big, lazy, laughing woman, with sleepy, goldeneyes. She spent hours in bed, lying, as she did now, amid quantitiesof pillows, doing absolutely nothing. She had told Christine that shewas of Spanish extraction, yet she was blond as a Swede. Her hair, which had a sort of lamb's-wool fluffiness, lay upon her pillows in twogreat ropes, yellow as the pollen of a lily. She took the children oneby one into a sleepy embrace, kissed and patted their cheeks, admonishing them to be good and obey Miss Chaine in everything. 

"Be sure not to go in the sun without your hats, " she adjured the twosmall girls. "Roddy doesn't matter so much, but little girls'complexions are very important. "

Rita and Coral stuck out their rose-pink chins and exchanged asparkling glance. Christine knew that she would have trouble with themand their hats all day. 

"Good-bye, " said Mrs. Van Cannan, and sank back among her pillows. Asthe children scampered out of the room, she called sharply, "Don't gonear the dam, Roddy!"

Christine had heard her say that before, and always with that sharpinflection. 

"I never let them go near the dam without me, " she said reassuringly. Mrs. Van Cannan did not answer, but a quiver, as if of pain, passedover her closed eyelids. 

Outside in the passage, Roderick pressed close to Christine andmurmured, with a sort of elfin sadness:

"Carol was drowned in the dam. "

The girl was startled. 

"Carol?" she echoed. "Who was Carol?"

"My big brother--a year older than me, " he whispered. "He is buriedout in the graveyard. I'll take you to see the place if you like. Letus go now. "

Christine collected herself. 

"We must go to lessons now, dear. Later on, you shall show me anythingyou like. "

But from time to time during the morning, sitting in thecreeper-trimmed summer-house they used for a school-room, with hercharges busy round her, Christine's thoughts returned to the strangelittle revelation. Roddy, with his red-gold brush of hair, bent overhis slate, was not the first-born, then! _He_ had been drowned in thedam--that peaceful sheet of walled-in water that reflected the pinktips of dawn and wherein, at eventide, the cattle waded happily todrink. This old Karoo farmhouse had known tragedy, even as she hadsensed. Small wonder Bernard van Cannan's eyes wore a haunted look!Yet his wife, with her full happy laugh and golden locks, lying amongher pillows, seemed curiously untouched by sorrow. Except for thatquiver of the eyelids, Christine had never seen her show anything but acontented face to life. 

Well--the history of Blue Aloes was a sealed book when the girl came toit, knowing nothing of its inmates beyond their excellent references asan old Huguenot family. Now the book, slowly opening page by page, wasrevealing strange things. 

The luncheon-hour always provided fresh material for a reflective mind. The dining-room was large and lofty, and the table must have dated backto the early days at the Cape, when every great family had its scoresof retainers and slaves. It was composed of time-stained teak, andcould have seated dozens, being curiously shaped like a capital E withthe middle branch of the letter missing. Only one of the branches wasnow in use, and at this Christine presided over her small charges, fortunately somewhat aloof from the rest, for they had many odd habitswhich it was her business to correct without drawing attention. Coraldid not like pumpkin, and would keep dropping it on the floor. Ritaloved to kill flies with a spoon. Roddy's specialty was sliding bitsof meat into the open jaws of a pointer--there were always severalunder the table--then briskly passing his plate for more. Once ortwice, looking up from correcting these idiosyncrasies, the girl foundthe blue eyes of Richard Saltire fixed upon her as if in ironicinquiry, and though she felt the slow colour creep into her face, shereturned the glance coldly. How dare he be curious about her, shethought rather angrily. Let him confine himself to making the lids ofhis hostess droop and her cheeks dimple. Not that Christine believedthere to be any harm in their open flirtation--Mrs. Van Cannan wasplainly devoted to her husband; perhaps it was natural that she shouldenjoy admiration. She possessed the kind of beauty only to be achievedby the woman who makes the care of her appearance an art, and spendshours in absolute repose of mind and body. Her face had not a line init of strain or sorrow. Faint pink tinted her cheeks. Her pink-linengown, open in a low V, showed the perfect contour and creaminess of herbreast. The restless, adoring eyes of her husband came back to heralways with that glance, vigilant and sombre, that was peculiar to them. 

With some assumption of state, he always sat in the centre of the bodyof the table, with his wife beside him. Saltire sat at her right, andSaxby, the overseer, was placed beside his host. Opposite them, on theother side of the table, were the two young Hollanders and a cheerfulScotch colonial called McNeil. 

These six men were expected to take both luncheon and dinner at thefarm, but only the Hollanders turned up in the evening, perhaps becausethe excellence of the fare was outbalanced by the long prayers andhymns with which the meal was prefaced and ended. Even at lunch-time, there was a Bible at the host's elbow, from which he read a number oftexts before pronouncing a long grace, while the visitors listened withexpressions that varied from embarrassment to impatience. RichardSaltire always looked frankly bored, but sometimes he and Mrs. VanCannan exchanged a smile of sympathy at having to listen to themaledictions of Job while the roast was getting cold. Hymns for lunchwere mercifully omitted. Bernard van Cannan, though plainly areligious fanatic, was also the owner of one of the wealthiest farms inthe colony, and no doubt he realized that the working-hours of hisemployees might be more profitably engaged than by chanting hymns. 

Saxby, the overseer, a dark, burly man of unusual height, was marked bythe thick lips and general fulness of countenance that suggests tothose who have lived long enough in Africa "a touch of colour. " He hadthe soft voice, too, and full, deep laugh of those who have a dash ofnative blood in their veins. His manner was melancholy, thoughcharming, and he imposed his society upon no man, but attended strictlyto his business. He was the best manager the farm had ever known. After being there for less than a year, he had so improved the stockand the land that Bernard van Cannan looked upon him as a little god, and his word was law on the farm. His private history, a rather sadone, Christine had already heard from Mrs. Van Cannan. It appearedthat his wife had been terribly disfigured in a fire and was not only asemi-invalid but a victim of melancholia. She lived with him in anisolated bungalow some way off, and he did everything for her with hisown hands as she shrank from being seen by any one, and particularlydetested natives. While her husband was away at his duties, sheremained locked in the bungalow, inaccessible to any one save Mrs. VanCannan, who sometimes went to sit with her. 

"But I can't bear to go often, " Isabel van Cannan told Miss Chaine. "She depresses me so terribly, and what good can I do her, poor soul?"

Unnecessary for her to add that she hated being depressed. It was badfor the complexion, she laughed. Laughter was never far from her lips. But, at the moment, there really seemed some trace of the morning'spain on her as she looked at her husband. 

"Bernard's shoulder is giving him so much trouble, " she saidappealingly to Saltire. "He wants to go to East London to see his oldspecialist, but I don't believe in that man. I think rest in bed isthe cure for all ills. Don't you agree with me, Mr. Saltire?"

"Bed has its uses no doubt, " laughed Saltire, with the cheerfulcarelessness of the thoroughly healthy man, "but a change of scene isbetter sometimes, for some people. "

Van Cannan, his shoulder and left eye twitching perpetually, turned asearching gaze upon the deeply tanned face of the forestry expert, asthough suspecting some double meaning in the words. Saltire bore thescrutiny undisturbed. Immaculate in white linens, his handsome fairishhead wearing a perpetually well-groomed look, perhaps by reason of abullet which, during the Boer War, had skimmed straight through hishair, leaving a perfect parting in the centre, he was a strikingcontrast to the haggard master of the house, who muttered morosely:

"There is some Latin saying--isn't there?--about people 'changing theirskies but not their dispositions. '"

"_In_disposition is a different matter, " remarked Saxby sagely, "andwith neuritis it is a mistake to let the pain get too near the heart. I think you ought to see a doctor, Mr. Van Cannan, but East London is along way off. Why not call in the district man?"

"He would prescribe a bottle of pink water and charge me a couple ofpounds for it. I need better treatment than that. I could not evenride this morning--had to leave my horse and walk home. The pain wasvile. "

Saxby looked at him sympathetically. 

"Well, try a couple of weeks' rest in bed, as Mrs. Van Cannan suggests. You know that I can keep things going all right. "

"And Mr. Saltire will continue to turn the prickly-pears into ogres andhags, " said his wife, with her childlike smile. "When you get upagain, he will have a whole army of shrivelled monsters ready for you. "

It is true that this was Richard Saltire's business on the farm--to ridthe land of that bane and pest of the Karoo, the prickly-pear cactus. The new governmental experiment was the only one, so far, that hadshown any good results in getting rid of the pest. It consisted ininoculating each bush with certain poisons, which, when they enteredthe sap of the plant, shrivelled and withered it to the core, makingits large, pale, flapping hands drop off as though smitten by leprosy, and causing the whole bush to assume a staggering, menacing attitudethat was immensely startling and grotesque. Many of the natives werenow afraid to go about on the farm after dusk. They said theprickly-pears threatened them, even ran after them, intent on revenge. 

Christine had heard Mr. Van Cannan say that his father knew the manwhose grandfather was the first Dutchman to introduce the prickly-pearinto the Karoo. It was a great treasure then, being looked upon asgood fodder for beast and ostrich in time of drought, and the boy usedto be beaten if he did not properly water the leaves which were beinglaboriously preserved on the great trek into the desert. Unfortunately, the preservation had been so complete that it was nowthe ruin of many a fine Karoo estate, springing up everywhere, smothering other growths and destroying, with its tiny multitudinousthorns, the stomachs of the cattle, who love too much its wateryleaves. Mr. Van Cannan was one of the farmers rich enough to takedrastic steps to save his farm. Saltire was doing it for him verythoroughly and efficiently. 

"How much longer do you expect to be?" asked van Cannan. 

"Oh, another three weeks ought to finish the job, " said Saltire. "But, as you know, they are most persistent things. When you think they aredone for, you find them sprouting green again below the wound, and haveto give them another dose. "

"Three weeks!" muttered van Cannan, with moody eyes. He looked toChristine like a man suffering with sickness of the soul. Everyonesupposed the rest-cure definitely settled on, but, with thecontrariness of an ailing child, he suddenly announced determinedly, "Ishall leave for East London this afternoon. "

The children were called to kiss him good-bye, and they clustered roundhim. 

"Take care of them for me, " he said, with a piercing wistfulness, toChristine. "Take care of my boy. "

Then he turned brusquely to Saxby, making arrangements for a mule-cartto be ready at two o'clock to drive him into Cradock, the nearest largetown, where he would have to spend the night before proceeding fartherby rail. 

Christine could not but be struck by the words he had used, and musedover them wonderingly while she tucked Rita and Coral under theirmosquito-curtains. It was her habit to spend this hour with Roddy anda story-book. But today he hovered restlessly, showing no inclinationto settle down, and seeming full of some suppressed excitement. Atlast, he whispered in her ear:

"Don't forget where you said you would come with me--to see Carol andthe others. " Christine wondered if old Sophy was one of the others, and, even in the noontide heat, she felt a chill. 

"All right, Roddy, " she agreed slowly. "Wait till I get a sunshade, though. It is dreadfully hot. "

She shaded him as much as herself while they threaded their way throughthe shrubs that seemed to simmer in the grey-brown heat. 

Almost every South African farm has its private cemetery. It is thecustom to bury the dead where they have lived, and often the graveyardis in the shadiest corner of the garden, where the women sit to sew, the men bring their pipes, and children spread their playthings uponthe flat, roughly hewn tombstones. 

At Blue Aloes, the place of the dead was hidden far from the haunts ofthe living, but the narrow, uncertain path led to it at last--a bare, sun-bleached spot, secluded but unshaded by a gaudy-blossomed hedge ofcactus. A straight, single line of graves, less than a dozen innumber, lay blistering in the sunshine. Some were marked with slabs oflime-worn [Transcriber's note: time-worn?] stone, upon whose fadedlettering little green rock-lizards were disporting themselves. Thelast two in the line had white marble crosses at their heads, eachbearing a name in black letters, and a date. The preceding one, too, was fairly new, with the earth heaped in still unbroken lumps upon it, but it bore no distinguishing mark of any kind. Death appeared to havebeen fairly busy in recent times at Blue Aloes. The date on the endgrave was no older than six months. 

Little Bernard Quentin van Cannan lay there, sleeping too soon at theage of three and a half. Roddy pronounced his brief but sufficientlyeloquent epitaph. 

"He was Coral's twin. A tarantula bit him--one of the awful bigpoisonous ones out of the aloe hedge. "

The next cross registered the resting-place of Carol Quentin vanCannan--drowned a year back, at the age of nine. Christine's sad gazetravelled to the third and unmarked mound. 

"Is that Sophy's grave?" she asked softly, for shrivelling on the lumpsof earth lay a bunch of poppies that she had seen Roddy gathering theday before, and now remembered wondering where he had disappeared toafterward. Roddy did not answer. He was staring before him withmanful eyes that winked rapidly but shed no tears. His lips werepursed up as if to whistle, yet made no sound. At the sight of him andthe withered poppies in the place where never a flower of memoryblossomed, hot tears surged to the girl's eyes. It was wistful tothink of a child remembering when all others forgot. 

"No one ever comes here but me, " he said, at last. 

Christine got rid of her tears by turning her back on him and pressingthem away with her fingers, for she knew that emotion embarrasses andpains children, and she wanted to help this small, brave man, not hurthim. 

"You and I will come here often, Roddy. We will turn it into a garden, and make it blossom like the rose--shall we?"

"Yes, yes!" he cried eagerly. "'Blossom like the rose'--that comes outof the Bible! I have heard daddy read it. But we must not talk aboutit to mamma. It makes her too sad to come here, or even talk about it. Mamma doesn't like sad things. "

Suddenly, the strange quietude of the place was invaded by the sound ofvoices. They were far-off voices, but both the girl and the childstarted as though caught in some forbidden act, and instinctively tookhands. A moment later they were hurrying away from the lonely spot, back by the way they had come. Half-way home they came upon RichardSaltire and the squad of Kafirs who carried his implements and liquids. Theirs were the voices that had been heard. Work had begun on theterritory so thickly sewn with prickly-pears that lay between farm andcemetery. 

Saltire, with sleeves rolled up, was operating with a syringe upon thetrunk of a giant bush, but he turned round to throw a smile to Roddy. 

"Hello, Rod!"

"Hello, Dick!" was the blithe response. "Gr-r-r! You giving it tothat old bush?"

"Rather! He's getting it where the chicken got the ax. Like to have ago at him?"

"Oh--oh--yes!"

Roddy delightedly grasped the syringe, and was instructed how to filland plunge it into the green, dropsical flesh of the plant. The Kafirsstood looking on with grave, imperturbable faces. Christine sat downon a rock and, from the rosy shadow of her parasol, observed the pair. She was astonished at this revelation of intimacy. Saltire's satiricalblue eyes were full of warm affection as he looked at the boy, andRoddy's manner toward him contained a loving familiarity and trust shehad never seen him exhibit to any one. It was interesting, too, towatch the man's fine, capable hands manipulating his instruments andhis quick eye searching each bush to select a vulnerable spot for thevirus of death. His movements had the grace and energy of one whoseevery muscle is trained by service and in perfect condition. Only menwho hail from cold climates retain this characteristic in Africa. Those born in its disintegrating heats are usually overtaken in theearly thirties by physical weariness or, as some choose to call it, "slackness" that only fine moral training can overcome. 

He was good to look at, too, this man in spotless white clothes, theblueness of his eyes throwing up the clear tan of his face, hisburnished hair lying close to his head. Christine thought rather sadlythat the presence on the farm of any one so sane and fearless-lookingwould have been a great comfort to her, if only he had not been one ofthe people whose ways troubled her most. 

It was with difficulty that she at last got Roddy away, he was soevidently under the forestry man's spell. Almost she felt that spellherself when he began talking to her, looking deep into her eyes whilehe explained his work; but suddenly it seemed to her that those blueeyes were explaining something quite different, and, flushingfuriously, she made haste to take Roddy's hand and end the interview bywalking away. 

There was considerable trouble during the afternoon with Rita andCoral. If Christine turned her back for a moment, they flew out intothe sunshine, hatless, disporting themselves like baby ostriches. Reproaches were received with trills of laughter, warnings ofpunishment with trusting, happy eyes. 

When, at last, Christine had them safely absorbed in a table-game, itwas to realize that Roddy had suddenly disappeared. Calling Meekie totake charge of the little girls, she hastened, with beating heart, insearch of the boy. Instinct took her in the direction of the dam, andshe caught him up just as he had reached its brink. He looked at herbrightly, no sign of shamefacedness or sulkiness on him, but would giveno further explanation than that he "only wanted to peep in. "

"But, Roddy, how could you be so disobedient, dear? And you rememberwhat your mother said this morning?"

"Yes, I remember; but I did not promise. If I had promised, I wouldnot have gone. "

"Well, will you promise me, darling?"

But at that he broke away from her and ran toward the house, singing, "Just a little peep-in--just a little peep-in. "

She felt more than slightly dispirited. There were three bad nightsbehind her, and the day had been particularly tiring. Though young andenergetic, and with an extraordinary sense of love and responsibilitytoward these naughty, attractive children, she wondered, for a wearymoment, whether she could stand the racket. The work of governessingwas new to her. Any work was new to her, and governessing in Africa isas different to governessing in England (which is bad enough) asplowing cultivated land is to opening up virgin soil. But life hadunexpectedly laid the burden of work upon Christine Chaine, and havingput her hand to the plow, she did not mean to turn back. Only, foronce, she was glad when nightfall brought the hour when she could leaveher charges for a while in someone else's care. 

Once the children were safely in bed, it was Meekie's task to sitbeside them until Christine had dined and rested, and chose to come tobed. Meekie belonged to the kraal people, but she had white blood inher, like so many natives, and spoke very good English. 

That all the men on the farm should turn up to dinner that evening didnot seem to Christine so much a cause for surprise as for contempt. Inher short but not too happy experience of life, she had, like a certaingreat American philosopher, discovered that the game of life is notalways "played square" when there is a woman in it. Of course, it wascomprehensible that all men liked a good dinner, especially when it wasnot marred by hymns and long prayers, fervent to the point offanaticism. Equally, of course, the pretty hostess, with a charmingword of welcome for everyone, was an attraction in herself. But, somehow, it sickened the clear heart of Christine Chaine to see thisjubilant gathering round a dinner table that was usually deserted, andfrom which the host had just departed, a sick and broken man. Shethought the proceedings more worthy of a lot of heartless schoolboysdelighting in a master's absence than of decent, honest men. 

And whatever she thought of the Hollanders and colonials, whosetraditions were unknown to her, it was certain that her scorn wasredoubled for the one man she knew to be of her own class and land. 

Yet there he sat at the elbow of his hostess, calm and smiling, no whitremoved from his usual self-contained and arrogant self. Christinegave him one long look that seemed to turn her violet eyes black; thenshe looked no more his way. She could not have told why she hated thisaction in him so bitterly. Perhaps she felt that he was worthy ofhigher things, but, if questioned, she would probably have laid it atthe door of caste and country. All that she knew, for a poignantmoment, was an intense longing to strike the smile from his lips withanything to hand--a wine-glass, a bowl, a knife. 

Mercifully, the moment passed, and all that most of them saw was ayoung girl who had come late to dinner--a girl with a rather radiantskin, purply black hair that branched away from her face as though witha life of its own, and violet eyes that, after one swordlike glance allround, were hidden under a line of heavy lashes. The black-velvetdinner gown she wore, simple to austerity, had just a faint rim oftulle at the edges against her skin. Only an artist or connoisseurwould have observed the milkiness of that skin and the perfect linesunder the sombre velvet. Small wonder that most eyes turned to thelady who tonight took the place of ceremony at the table, and who, asalways, was arrayed in the delicate laces and pinkish tints that seemedto call to notice the gold of the hair, the rose of her cheek, and thegolden-brown shadows of her eyes. 

The little cloud of sadness and loss that hovered over her, yet neverdescended, was like the rain-cloud that sometimes threatens a June day. It seemed everyone's business to drive that cloud away, and everyonebut Christine applied themselves nobly to the task. At the end of thelong dinner, all were so properly employed in this manner thatapparently no one noticed the departure of the silent, scornful-lippedgoverness, and she was able to make her exit without notice orremonstrance. 

For a little while she walked up and down in the garden under the raysof a new and early-retiring slip of moon. Then, with a pain at herheart that she had hoped it was for ever out of the power of life todeal her, she retired to the nursery, relieved the coloured nurse fromher watch, and went quietly to bed. 

For fully an hour afterward she heard the echo of laughter and voicesin the front veranda--sometimes the chink of glasses. Later, Mrs. VanCannan sang and played waltz-music to them in the drawing-room. Atlast the men departed, one by one. Mrs. Van Cannan was heard callingsharply for her night lemonade and someone to unlace her frock. Next, the servants shuffled softly homeward through the dusk. The old Capecook, who had quarters somewhere near the kitchen, went the rounds, locking up. The clang of the iron bar falling into its bracket acrossthe great front door echoed through the house. Then all was still. 

In the sinister, brooding peace of the desert that ensued, the nightnoises presently began to make themselves heard. 

A cricket somewhere in the house set up a sprightly cheeping. Far, faraway, an animal wailed, and a jackal distressfully called to its mate. Then something laughed terribly--rocking, hollow laughter--it mighthave been a hyena. 

Christine Chaine was a Catholic. She crossed herself in the darknessand softly repeated some of the prayers whose cadences and noblephrases seem to hold power to hush the soul into peace. She hoped atthis time they would hush her mind into sleep, but for a long whilemany impressions of the day haunted her. Sometimes she saw thetwitching shoulders and tormented gaze of a sick man, then the smilingblond-and-pink beauty of a woman. Sometimes a pair of blue eyes, withriddles in them that she would not read, held her; then graves--gravesin a long arid line. At last she slept, the sleep of weariness thatmercifully falls upon the strong and healthy like a weight, blottingout consciousness. 

Then--taps on the shutter, and words:

"_Mind the boy--take care of the boy!_"

They were soft taps and whispered words, but, like the torment ofdropping water, they had their effect at last. The girl sat up in bedagain, her fingers pressed to her temples, her eyes staring, listening, listening. Yes--they were the same eternal taps and words. With thedull desperation of fatigue, she got out of bed and approached thewindow. 

"Who are you? What are you? Tell me what to do, " she said quietly. 

In the long silence that followed, there was only one answer--thesubtle odour of rottenness stole into the room. 

She never knew afterward what possessed her to take the course she did. Probably if she had not gone to sleep in the strength and peace ofprayers, and awakened with the protection of them woven about her, shewould have taken no course at all. As it was, she knew she had got todo something to solve the mystery of this warning. It did not occur toher to get out of the window. The right thing seemed to be to make herway very quietly through the house, let herself out by the front door, and come round to the window where the warning thing waited. It wouldnot hurt her, she knew. It was a hateful Thing, but that itsintentions were benevolent was a conclusion that had forced itself uponher soul. 

Groping for her dressing-gown, she found it and put it on withoutstriking a light. And though she carried a box of matches in her hand, she believed she would not need them, for the way was perfectly simpleand well known to her--a long passage that led to the dining-room, atone end of which was the great, iron-barred front door. 

Her feet and hands found the way quietly, and she reached the frontdoor without incident, but when she felt for the great bar whosestrident clanging in its bracket had been a last signal of night withinthe house, her hand encountered nothing. Wonderingly she slid herfingers up and down the polished oak. At last she realized that thebar hung loose; the door was merely on the latch. Someone besideherself who dwelt within the house had business without its portalsthat night and was still abroad!

For the first time, the girl's purpose faltered. A slow fear piercedher, and her feet refused to take her farther. The thought flashedinto her mind that, if she passed the door, she might find herselflocked out, with the night--and she knew not what beside. 

Even as she stood there hesitating, trying to collect her courage, asound--the soft tread of a foot on gravel--told her that some otherbeing was close by. There came the same stealthy tread in the porch. Swiftly she shrank back into the embrasure of one of the long windows, thankful for the green blinds against which her dark dressing-gownwould give no sign. With one full sleeve, she shrouded her face. Shehad suddenly become terribly aware of being nothing but a slight girlin a nightgown and wrap, with bare feet thrust into straw slippers. She remembered stories she had heard of struggles in the darkness withpowerful natives, and her heart turned to water. 

It seemed to her the most horrible moment of her life while she stoodshrinking there in the shadow, listening to the door open and close, the bar being replaced, the quiet, regular breathing of that otherperson. Whoever it was, his movements were calm and undisturbed, butChristine could see nothing, only a large, dim outline that movedsure-footedly across the room, opened another door on the far side, closed it, and was gone. 

There were so many other doors, so many other passages. All Christinecould be certain of and thankful for was that it was not her door andher passage that had swallowed up the mysterious night-walker. It wassome little time before she collected sufficient fortitude to creepback whence she had come, her plan unfulfilled, her courage melted. She was bitterly ashamed, yet felt as if she had escaped from somegreat evil. Once in the nursery, she locked the door, lighted acandle, and, after she had looked to ascertain that the children weresleeping soundly, she opened her dressing-case and took out a littlebox of cachets that had been prescribed for her a year before whenbitter trouble had stolen sleep for many a night. She felt, and withsome reason, that this was an occasion when it would not be toocowardly to resort to artificial means of restoring her nerves bysleep. For though fright and surprise had bereft her, for the timebeing, of her nerve, her firm spirit was neither beaten nor cowed. Shemeant to see this thing through, and her last waking thought was amurmured prayer for help to steel her heart against terrors that walkedby night, and to resist to the utmost any menace of evil that shouldapproach the little children in her charge. 

PART II

There followed some tranquil days of which nothing broke the peacefulmonotony. The children were extraordinarily tractable, perhaps becauseMrs. Van Cannan seemed too preoccupied to lay any injunctions uponthem. True, Roddy made one of his mysterious disappearances, but itwas not long before Christine, hard on his heels, discovered himemerging from an outhouse, where she later assured herself that hecould have come to no great harm, for it was merely a big barn stackedwith grain and forage, and a number of old packing cases. Nothingthere to account for the expression he wore--that same suggestion oftears fiercely restrained which she had noticed when they were lookingat the unmarked grave in the cemetery. It wrung her heart to see hisyoung mouth pursed up to whistle a tune that would not come, the lookof longing in eyes where only happiness and the divine contentment ofchildhood should dwell; but the boy volunteered no information, and shedid not press him. She wanted his confidence, not to have him regardher as a sort of jailer. 

Every day, in the cool of the early morning, while the others werestill sleeping, he and she visited the graveyard, starting the goodwork of making it blossom like the rose, as Christine had promised. They planted lilies and geraniums over the little brothers, and edgedthe lonely, unmarked grave with a species of curly-leaved box common tothat part of the country and which grew rapidly. It was Roddy's fancy, too, to cover this grave with portulaca--a little plant bearing starryflowers of vivid hues that live for a day only. He chose plants thatbore only scarlet and golden blossoms. 

"She liked those two colours, " he told Christine, smiling. "She saidthat when we were babies we were all like that--very red, with yellowygolden hair. "

Christine, looking at the bright head and the fresh cheeks so rare in aSouth African child, readily understood. But she could not helpwondering, as before, at the loyal little heart that remembered so wellthe words and fancies of a dead woman--when all others forgot!

Nearly always on returning from these morning excursions they metSaltire, rapidly wreaking destruction upon the district. Already, scores of the prickly-pears through which they must wend their way wereassuming the staggering attitude characteristic of them as the sapdried and they died of their wounds. Sometimes, one side of a bushwould shrivel first, causing it to double up like a creature agonizing. Some crouched like strange beasts watching to spring. Others thrustthemselves ominously forward with projected arms, as if ready tograpple. Some brandished their flat leaves as the painter Wiertz, inhis famous picture of _Napoleon in Hell_, made wives and mothersbrandish their menacing fists at the man who had robbed them of theirloved ones. All wore a look that suggested both agony and revenge. Christine understood, at last, why the Kafirs hated to go about theland after dark, averring that the afflicted bushes threatened andchased them. She began herself to experience an inexplicable feelingof relief, as though at the overcoming of an enemy, when a great spireof smoke betokened the final uprooting and burning of a clump of bush. For fire was the ultimate element used to transform the pest from amalignant into a beneficent factor, and, as aromatic ash, it became ofservice to the land it had ruined so long. Almost, the process seemedan exposition of Job's words: "When thou hast tried me with fire, Ishall come forth as gold. "

It was a curious thing how the "personality" of the bushes appeared toaffect them all. Saltire at his work gave the impression of a fighterconcentrating on the defeat of an enemy. Roddy would dance for joybefore each staggering bush. The impassivity of the natives departedfrom them when they stood about the funeral pyres, and clapping ofhands and warlike chanting went heavenward with the smoke. Christineand Roddy often lingered to watch these rejoicings; indeed, it wasimpossible at any time to get the boy past Saltire and his gang withouta halt. The English girl, while standing somewhat aloof, wouldnevertheless not conceal from herself the interest she felt in theforestry man's remarks, not only on the common enemy, but his work ingeneral. 

"They have a great will to live, Roddy--much stronger than you and I, because we dissipate our will in so many directions. I've met thisdetermination before in growing things, though. There are plants inthe African jungle that you have to track and trail like wild beastsand do murder upon before they will die. And this old prickly-pear isof the same family. If a bit of leaf can break off and fly past you, it hides itself behind a stone, hastily puts roots into the ground, andgrows into a bush before you can say 'Jack Robinson. ' Your farm willbe a splendid place when we've got rid of all these and replaced themwith the spineless plant. Prickly-pear without spines is a perfectfood for cattle and ostriches in this climate. "

Thus he talked to Roddy, as if the latter were already a man and inpossession of his heritage--the wide lands of Blue Aloes; but alwayswhile he talked, he looked at and considered the girl who stood aloof, wearing her air of world-weariness like a veil over the youth and bloomof her. 

And she, on her side, was considering and reading him, too. She likedhim better, because, since that first night of Mr. Van Cannan'sdeparture, he had absented himself from the dinner-table. That showedsome glimmer of grace in him. Still, there was far too much arrogancein his manner, she thought, and decided that he had probably beenspoiled by too facile women. Nothing blunts the fine spiritual side ofa man's character so rapidly as association with women of low ideals. The romance of her own life had been split upon that rock. She hadknown what it was to stand by and see the man she loved with all thepure idealism of youth wrecked by the cheap wiles of a high-born womanwith a second-rate soul. Perhaps her misfortune had sharpened hervision for this defect in men. Certainly, it had tainted her outlookwith disdain. She sometimes felt, as Pater wrote of _Mona Lisa_, that"she had looked upon all the world, and her eyelids were a littleweary. " At any rate, when she found Dick Saltire's blue eyes lookinginto hers so straightly and significantly that it almost seemed as ifan arrow came glancing from him to her, she merely told herself, withan inward-smiling bitterness, that no doubt the same phenomenonoccurred when he spoke to Mrs. Van Cannan. 

Some days after the departure of the master of the farm for the coast, the post-bag arrived from Cradock, and, as Mrs. Van Cannan was stillsleeping, it fell to Christine, as it had sometimes done before, todistribute the mail. Among her own large batch of home letters it wasso unusual to find a South African one that she opened it immediately, and was astonished to discover it to be from Bernard van Cannan. Ithad been written from Cradock on the evening of the day he left thefarm. 

"DEAR MISS CHAINE:

"I want once more to commend to you the very special care of mychildren while I am away. My wife, not being very strong, is unable tosee as much of them as she would wish, and I do not like her to beworried. But there are many dangers on a farm, and I have already, bymost unhappy chance, lost two young sons. Both deaths occurred duringabsences of mine and were the result of accident, though, at the time, they were surrounded by every loving care and security. Perhaps, therefore, you will understand the kind of superstitious apprehension Ifeel about Roderick, who is the last and only one left to come after mein the old place. He has always needed special looking-after, beingextremely curious and impulsive while, at the same time, nervous andreticent. 

"Perhaps it is only my illness that makes me full of fears, but _I canassure you that had it not been for the great confidence you haveinspired in me from the first_, I should not have left the farm, soanxious do I continually feel about the welfare of my third and lastson. However, I trust in God I shall be back soon, better in health, to find that all is well. 

"Do not worry my dear wife with this matter. She is of a dispositionthat cannot cope with sorrow and trouble, and I would not for the worldcloud her happy outlook with my morbid fancies. Keep my confidence, and remember that I rely on you with all my heart to guard my littleones. 

"Sincerely yours, "BERNARD VAN CANNAN. 

"P. S. --I append my last London address, and if I am detained for anytime, I shall be glad to hear from you. "

A vision of the gloomy-eyed man, twitching with pain and nerves, roseup before her eyes as she folded the letter, and she resolved to writeto him at once, allaying his fears as much as possible by an assuranceof her devotion. She was sitting in the summer-house at the time, thechildren beside her, bent over their morning lessons. Through thecreeper-framed doorway, she could see the walls and veranda of the oldfarm, glaring white in the fierce sunlight, but with every lineexpressing such harmony as only the old Dutch architects seem to havehad the secret of putting into the building of South Africanhomesteads. Before the front door stood three gnarled oaks, which yetbore the marks of chains used by the early van Cannans to fasten up thecattle at night, for fear of the hostile Kafirs who at set of sun camecreeping over the kopjes. Scores of fierce, man-eating dogs were keptto deal with the marauders, and there were still loopholes in the whitewalls from which those within had watched and defended. 

But those days were long past. Nothing now in the gracious building, with its shady stoeps and high, red roof, toned melodiously by age, tobetoken battle, murder, and sudden death. It seemed strange thatsinister forebodings should attach themselves in any mind to suchharmony of form and colour. Yet Christine held in her hand the veryproof of such thoughts, and, what was more, knew herself to be obsessedby them when darkness took the land. For a moment even now, lookingout at the brilliant sunshine, she was conscious of a falter in hersoul, a moment of horrible loneliness, a groping-out for some humanbeing stronger than herself of whom to take counsel. A thought ofSaltire flashed across her. He looked strong and sane, kind andchivalrous. But could he be trusted? Had she not already learned inthe bitter school of life that "Ye have no friend but resolution!"

A shadow fell across the doorway. It was Saxby, the manager. He gaveher his pleasant, melancholy smile. 

"I wonder if Mrs. Van Cannan is up yet, " he said, in his full, richvoice. "There are one or two farm matters I want to consult her about. "

Christine looked at the watch on her wrist and saw that it was pasteleven. 

"Oh, I should think so, Mr. Saxby. The closing of all the shutters isusually a sign that she is up and about. "

It is, in fact, a practice in all Karoo houses to close every windowand shutter at about ten o'clock each morning, not throwing them openagain until sunset. This keeps the interiors extraordinarily cool, and, as the walls are usually whitewashed, there is plenty of light. 

"I expect I shall find her in the drawing-room, " Saxby remarked, andpassed on. Christine saw him leave again about half an hour later. Then the sound of waltz-music within the closed house told that Mrs. Van Cannan was beguiling away the rest of the long, hot morning in afavourite fashion. At noon, the heat, as usual, made the summer-houseuntenable, and its occupants were driven indoors. 

Lunch introduced the only excitement the quiet monotony of the day everoffered, when the men came filing into the soft gloom of thedining-room, bringing with them a suggestion of a world of work thatstill went on its way, come rain, come shine. All of them tookadvantage of the custom of the climate to appear coatless. Indeed, thefashion of shirts was sometimes so _décolletée_ as to be slightlyembarrassing to English eyes. Only Saltire paid the company thecompliment of unrolling his sleeves, buttoning the top button of hisshirt, and assuming a tie for the occasion. 

Everyone seemed of opinion that the summer rains were brewing and thatwas the reason of the insufferable heat. 

"We'll have a couple of days of this, " prophesied Andrew McNeil, "thendown it will come with a vengeance. "

"The land wants it, of course, but it will be a confounded nuisance tome, " remarked the forestry expert. 

"Oh, Mr. Saltire, you are insatiable in your work of murder, " smiledhis hostess. "Are you as merciless in all your dealings?" She lookedat him with provoking eyes. Christine hardened herself to hear ananswer in the same vein, but was as agreeably relieved as surprised. 

"I want to get the work done, " said Saltire briefly. 

"I never knew any one so anxious to leave us before, " grumbled Mrs. VanCannan prettily. "You must be terribly bored with us all. "

"Never less in my life. "

The answer was so impersonal as to be almost a sign of boredom initself, and Mrs. Van Cannan, little accustomed to have her charmingadvances met in such fashion, turned away with a pucker on her brow toa more grateful audience. At the same moment, an irresistible impulsedrew Christine's glance to Saltire in time to receive one of thosestraight, significant looks that indescribably disturbed her. Nothingthere of the impersonality his words had betrayed! It was a clearmessage from a man to a woman--one of those messages that only verystrong-willed people who know what they want have the frankness, perhaps the boldness, to send. Even an indifferent woman would havebeen stirred to a knowledge of dangerous sweetness, and she knew thatshe had never been quite indifferent to the personal magnetism of DickSaltire. As it was, she was shaken to the very soul of her. For amoment, she had the curious illusion that she had never lived before, never had been happy or unhappy, was safe at last in some sure, lovelyharbour from all the hurts of the world. It was strange in the midstof everyday happenings, with the talk and clatter of a meal going on, to be swept overwhelmingly away like that to a far place where only twopeople dwelt--she and the man who looked at her. And before theillusion was past, she had returned a message to him. She did not knowwhat was in her look, but she knew what was in her heart. 

Almost immediately it was time to take the children and go. Mrs. VanCannan delayed them for a moment, giving some directions for theafternoon. If Christine could have seen herself with the childrenclinging to her, she would have been surprised that she could appear sobeautiful. Her grace of carriage and well-bred face had always beenremarkable, but gone were disdain and weariness from her. She passedout of the room without looking again at Dick Saltire, though he rose, as always, to open the door for her. 

An afternoon of such brazen heat followed that it was well to be withinthe shelter of the shuttered house. But outside, in the turmoil ofdust and glare, the work of the farm went on as usual. Christinepictured Saltire at his implacable task, serene in spite of dust andblaze, with the quality of resolution in his every movement thatcharacterized him, the quality he had power to put into his eyes andthrow across a room to her. The remembrance of his glance sent herpale, even now in the quiet house. Only a strong man, sure of himselfand with the courage of his wishes, would dare put such a message intohis eyes, would dare call boldly and silently to a woman that _she_ washis _raison d'être_, that, because of her, the dulness and monotony oflife had never bored him less, that he had found her, that she musttake of and give to him. She knew now that he had been telling herthese things ever since they had met, but that she had turned from theknowledge, until, at last, in an unguarded moment, it had reached andoverwhelmed her, flooding her soul with passionate joy, yet filling herwith a peace and security she had never known, either in the oldfarmhouse or since the long-ago day when all her brave castles of youthand love had crashed down into the dust. Gone now was unbelief, anddisdain, and fear of terror that stalked by night; a rock was at herback, there was a hand to hold in the blackest darkness. Never anymore need she feel fear and spiritual loneliness. Withal, there wasthe passionate joy of adventure, of exploration in sweet, unknown landsof the heart, the launching of a boat upon a sea of dreams. Life sangto Christine Chaine like a nightingale under the stars. 

How tenderly and patiently she beguiled the heat-weary childrenthroughout that long afternoon! There was no feeling of haste uponher. She knew that sweetness was travelling her way, that "what is forthee, gravitates toward thee, " and is vain to seek before the appointedhour. It might come as even-song to a seemingly endless day, or dawnfollowing a fearsome night. But it was coming. That was all thatmattered!

The directions Mrs. Van Cannan had given, as they left the luncheon, were to the effect that, when the siesta hour was over, the childrenwere to have possession of the drawing-room until it was cool enoughfor them to go for their accustomed walk. This plan was to continue aslong as the hot weather lasted. 

"I think it is not very healthy for any of you, " she said amiably, "tostick all day in a room you have to sleep in at night. "

Christine could not help being surprised at her giving up the coolestand quietest room in the house, and one that had hitherto beenforbidden ground to the children. However, here they were, installedamong gaily cretonned furniture, the little girls dashing about likesquirrels in a strange cage, Roddy, apparently more at home, prowlingsoftly around, examining things with a reverent yet familiar air. 

"I remember when we used to come here every day, " said Rita suddenly, and stood stock-still with concentrated eyes, like one trying to catchthe memory of a dream. "When was it, Roddy?"

He looked at her steadily. 

"When our old nannie was here. "

Rita fixed her blue eyes on his. 

"There was someone else here, too, " she insisted. 

"Sophy always brought us here, " he repeated mechanically. 

"I remember old Sophy, " murmured Rita thoughtfully. "She crieddreadfully when she went away. She was not allowed to kiss us becauseshe had turned all silver colour. " She trilled into gay laughter. "Mamma told me that it might have turned us all silver, too. "

"I kissed her before she went, anyway!" burst from Roddy fiercely. "And I would not have cared if it had turned me to silver. "

Christine glanced wonderingly at him, astonished at this new theme ofsilver. 

"But if she went away, how is it that she is buried here, Roddy?"

"She isn't. "

"But the grave we covered with portulaca--" She stopped abruptly, forthe boy's face had assumed the look she could not bear--the look ofenduring that only those hardened to life should know. "Come andlisten to this story of a magic carpet on which two children werecarried over strange lands and cities, " she said gently, and drew themall round her, with an arm through Roddy's. 

The windows and shutters were thrown open at sunset, and the childrenhad their tea in the dining-room. Afterward, they went for a long walkacross the sands toward the kopjes, which had receded into distanceagain and in the west were turning purple with mauve tops. But therest of the sky was coloured a threatening greenish bronze, withmonstrous-shaped clouds sprawled across it; and the air, thoughsunless, was still sand-laden and suffocating, with the promise ofstorm. 

It would have been easy for Christine to take the children toward thevicinity in which Saltire was occupied and where he would now beputting up his instruments and dismissing his workers for the night, but some instinct half modest, half self-sacrificing made her postponethe happiness of seeing him again, and guided her feet in an oppositedirection. She was certain that, though he had refrained from diningat the farm except for the one night of Mr. Van Cannan's departure, shewould see him there that evening, and she dressed with special care andjoy in the beauty of her hair, her tinted, curving face, and the subtleglamour that she knew she wore as the gift of happiness. 

"How sweet it is to be young and desirable--and desired by the one manin the world!" was the half-formed thought in her mind as she combedher soft, cloudy black hair high above her face and fixed it with atall amber comb. But she would not converse too clearly with herheart. Enough that she had heard it singing in her breast as she hadnever thought to hear it sing again. She was glad of the excuse of theheavy heat to discard her usual black gown and be seen in a colour thatshe knew belonged to her by right of her black hair and violet eyes--adeep primrose-yellow of soft, transparent muslin. 

Saltire was late for dinner, but he came, as she had known he would, taking his usual place next to Mrs. Van Cannan and almost oppositeChristine, who, for the evening meal, was always expected to sit at themain body of the table. She was busy at the moment hearing from Mr. McNeil all about the process of ostrich-feather plucking which was tobegin next day, but she did not miss a word of the late comer'sapologies or the merry raillery with which they were met by hishostess. The latter, as usual, gathered unto herself every remarkuttered at the table, and the attentions of every man, though she neverbothered much about old Andrew McNeil. But if she had the lip-service, Christine was very well aware to whom was accorded, that night, theservice of the eyes. 

Every man there had become aware of the youth and beauty which, tillthat day, she had worn as if veiled, and they were paying the tributethat men will proffer until the end of time to those two gifts of thegods. She knew it without vanity, but also without embarrassment, forshe had tasted triumph before in a world more difficult to please thanthis, surrounded by opponents worthier of her steel than Isabel vanCannan. The little triumph only pleased her in that she could offer itas a gift to the man she loved. For here is another eternal truth, that all men are one in pride of possession of that which excites envyand admiration in other men. All women know this with a gladness thatis salted by sorrow. 

Saltire's eyes were the only ones she could not meet with serenity. She felt his glance on her often, but always when she tried to lifthers to meet it, her lids seemed weighted by little heavy pebbles. 

She meant to overcome this weakness, though, and look at him even asshe had answered at noon; but, in the middle of dinner, while she yetstrove against the physical inability, her resolution was disturbed bya strange occurrence. A wild scream of fear and horror came ringingfrom the nursery. Without a thought for anything but that it wasRoddy's voice, Christine sprang from the table. Down the long passageand into the nursery she ran, and, almost bursting into the room, caught the boy in her arms. He was not screaming now, but white asdeath and staring with fearful eyes at the bed, on which the bedclotheswere pulled back, with Meekie peering over it. The two little girls, round-eyed and frightened, were sitting up in their cots. For amoment, Roddy stayed rigid in her arms; then he hid his face againsther arm and broke into convulsive sobs. 

"It's a big spider--all red and black--like the one that bit Bernard!"

And, in fact, from where she stood, Christine could see the monstrousthing, with its black, furry claws, protruding eyes, and red-blotchedbody, still crouching there in a little hollow at the end of the bed. Only, the person leaning over examining it now was not Meekie butSaltire, who had reached the nursery almost on her heels. 

"I put my foot against it and touched its beastly fur!" cried Roddy, and suddenly began to scream again. 

"Roddy! How dare you make that abominable noise?"

Mrs. Van Cannan's voice fell like a jet of ice-cold water into theroom. Behind her in the doorway loomed the tall figure of Saxby, themanager, with McNeil and the others. Christine's warm heart wouldnever have suggested such a method of quieting the boy, but it had itspoints. Roddy, though still shaking and ashen, stood up straight andlooked at his mother. 

"All about a silly spider!" continued the latter, with cutting scorn. "I am ashamed of you! I thought you were brave, like your father. "

That flushed Roddy to his brows. 

"It has fur--red fur, " he stammered. 

"You deserve a whipping for your cowardice, " said Mrs. Van Cannancurtly, and walked over to the bed. "The thing is half dead, and quiteharmless, " she said. 

"Half dead or half drunk, " McNeil jocosely suggested. "I never saw atarantula so quiet as that before. "

"The question is how long would it have stayed in that condition?" saidSaltire significantly. "For you are mistaken about its harmlessness, Mrs. Van Cannan. It is one of the most poisonous and ferocious of itstribe. "

They had got the strangely sluggish beast off the bed by knocking itwith a stick into an old shoe, and were removing it. Christine onlyvaguely heard the remarks, for Roddy hid his eyes while it was beingcarried out, and was trembling violently against her. It seemedamazing to her that Mrs. Van Cannan did not realize that there was morethan mere cowardice in his behaviour. The trouble was so plainlypsychological--the memory of the loss of a loved little brother subtlyinterwoven with horror of that particular species of venomous insect. Christine herself had a greater hatred of spiders than of any creepingthings, and well understood the child's panic of disgust and fear. Itfilled her with indignation to hear Mrs. Van Cannan turn once more andlash the boy with a phrase before she swept from the room. 

"Miserable little coward!"

In a moment, the girl was kneeling on the floor beside the unhappychild, holding him tight, whispering words of love and comfort. 

"No, no, darling; it is only that she does not understand! We willexplain to her--I will tell her later why you hated it so. Wait tillyour daddy comes back. I am sure he will understand. "

So she strove to comfort him, while Meekie coaxed the little girls backto the horizontal attitude under their sheets. 

"Don't make me go back into that bed, " whispered Roddy fearfully. 

"No; of course not. Don't worry; just trust me, darling!" She turnedto Meekie. "I will stay with them now, Meekie. You may go. "

"But has the missy had her dinner?" asked the Cape woman politely. 

"I have had all I want, thank you, Meekie. "

The thought of going back to the dinner-table--to eat and join in thetalk and laughter while this small boy whom she loved stayed alone withhis wretchedness revolted her. Perhaps later, when he slept, she mightslip out into the garden for a while. In the meantime, she beguiledhim over to her own bed, and having taken off the coverlet to show himthat it held no lurking horrors, she made him get in and curl up, andshe knelt beside him, whispering softly so as not to disturb theothers, reassuring him of her belief in his courage whilstunderstanding his horror, confessing her own hatred of spiders, buturging him to try and fight against his fear of them. She told himstories of her own childhood, crooned little poems to him, and sang oldsongs softly, hoping and praying that he would presently fall asleep. But time slipped by, and he remained wide-eyed, gripping her handtightly, and only by the slightest degrees relaxing the nervous rigourof his body under the coverlet. Suddenly, he startled her by a strangeremark:

"If I could only get into the pink palace with Carol, I'd be all right. "

The girl looked down into the distended pupils gazing so wistfully ather, and wondering what new psychological problem she had to deal with. She knew she must go very warily, or defeat her own longing to helphim. At last, she said very tenderly, "The world is full of pink palaces, Roddy, but we do not always findthem until we are grown up. "

He looked at her intently. 

"Carol found one at the bottom of the dam, " he whispered slowly. "Heis there now; it's only his body that is buried in the graveyard. "

She smoothed his hair gently with her hand. 

"Carol is in a more beautiful palace than any we find here on earth, darling. "

The secret, elfin expression crossed his face, but he said nothing. 

"And you must not believe that about the dam, " she warned him gravely. "There is nothing at the bottom of it but black mud, and deep waterthat would drown you, too, if you went in. "

"I _know_ the palace is there, " he repeated doggedly. "I have seen it. The best time to see it is in the early morning or in the evening. Allthe towers of it are pink then, and you can see the golden wings of theangels shining through the windows. "

"That is the reflection of the pink-and-gold clouds in the sky at dawnand sunset that you see, dear silly one. Will you not believe me?"

He squeezed her hand lovingly. 

"Mamma has seen it, too, " he whispered. "You know she was with Carolwhen he fell in, and she saw him go into the door of the palace and bemet by all the golden angels. She tried to get him back, but shecannot swim, and then she came running home for help. Afterward, theytook Carol's body out and buried him, but, you know, he is really therestill. Mamma has seen him looking through the windows--she toldme--but you must not tell any one. It is very secret, and once Ithought I saw him, too, beckoning to me. "

Christine was staggered. That so dangerous an illusion had beenfostered by a mother was too bewildering, and she hardly knew how tomeet and loyally fight it. It did not take her long to decide. Withall the strength at her command, she set to work to clear away from hismind the whole fantastical construction. He clung to it firmly atfirst, and, in the end, almost pleaded to be left with the belief thathe had but to step down the dam wall and join his brother in the fairpink palace. She realized now what tragedy had been lurking at herelbow all these days. Remembering the day when she had caught him upat the brink of the dam, she turned cold as ice in the heat-heavy room. A moment later, she returned to her theme, her explanations, herprayers for a promise from him that never, never would he go lookingagain for a vision that did not exist. At last he promised, and almostimmediately fell asleep. 

As for Christine Chaine, she stayed where she was on the floor, herhead resting on the bed in sheer exhaustion, her limbs limp. Allthought of going into the garden had left her. Sitting there, stiff-kneed and weary, she thought of Saltire's eyes, and realized thatthere had come and gone an evening which she must count for ever amongthe lost treasures of her life. Yet she did not regret it as she roseat last and looked down by the dim light on the pale, beautiful, butcomposed little face on the pillow. 

She lay long awake. Roddy's bed was too short for her, and there wasno ease in it, even had her mind and heart been at rest. All thefantasies she had beguiled from the boy's brain had come to roost inher own, with a hundred other vivid and painful impressions. Thenight, too, was fuller than usual of disquietude. The wind, which hadbeen rising steadily, now tore at the shutters and rushed shriekingthrough the trees. There was a savage rumble of thunder among thehills, and, intermittently, lightning came through the shutter-slats. 

When, above it all, she heard a gentle tapping, and sensed thewhispering presence without, her cup of dreadful unease was full. Butshe was not afraid. She rose, as she had done one night before, andput on her dressing-gown. For a while, standing close to the shutters, she strained her ears to catch the message whose import she knew sowell. The idea of speaking to someone or something as anxious asherself over Roddy had banished all horror. She longed for aninterview with the strange being without. There was nothing to do butattempt, as before, to leave the house by the front door. 

Down the long passage and through the dining-room she felt her way, moving noiselessly. When she came to the door, she found it once againwith the bar hanging loose. More, it was ajar, and stirring(sluggishly, by reason of its great weight) to the wind. But her handfell back when she would have opened it wide, for there were two peoplein the blackness of the porch, bidding each other good-night withkisses and wild words. Clear on a gust of wind came Isabel vanCannan's voice, fiercely passionate. 

"I hate the place. Oh, to be gone from it, Dick! To be gone with you, my darling! When--when?"

He crushed the question on her lips with kisses and whisperings. 

Christine Chaine stole back from whence she came, with the strange andterrible sensation that her heart was being crushed between ironfingers and was bleeding slowly, drop by drop, to death. Once more, life had played her false. Love had mocked her and passed by on theother side. 

Some of the men wondered, next day, how they could have had theillusion that Miss Chaine was a beautiful girl. The two Hollanders, who were great friends, discussed the matter after lunch while theywere clipping feathers from the ostriches. One thing was quite clearto them both: she was just one of those cold Englishwomen without adrop in her veins of the warmth and sparkle that a man likes in awoman. Mrs. Van Cannan now--she was the one! Still, it was a funnything how they should have been taken in over Miss Chaine. Someoneelse had been taken in, too, however, and with a vengeance--that fellowSaltire, with his "sidey" manners. _He_ had got a cold douche, if youlike, at the hands of the proud one. They had all witnessed it. Thusand thus went the Dutchmen's remarks and speculations, and theychuckled with the malice of schoolboys over the discomfiture ofSaltire. For it was well known to them and to the other men that theEnglishman had ridden off, in the cool hours of the dawn, to FarnieMarais' place about ten miles away, to get her some flowers. He wantedto borrow an instrument, he said, but it was funny he should choose togo to Marais', who was more famous for the lovely roses he grew for themarket than for any knowledge of scientific instruments. Funny, too, that all he had been seen to bring back was a bunch of yellow rosesthat must have cost him a stiff penny, for old Farnie did not growroses for fun. 

No one had seen Saltire present the roses (that must have happened inthe dining-room before the others came in); but all had marked thecareless indifference with which they were scattered on the table andspilled on the floor beside the governess's chair. She looked oncalmly, too, while the little girls, treating them like daisies, pulledseveral to pieces, petal by petal. Only the boy Roderick had appearedto attach any worth to them. He rescued some from under the table, andwas overheard to ask ardently if he might have three for his own. Theanswer that he might have them all if he liked was not missed by anyone in the room, though spoken in Miss Chaine's usual quiet tones. Itmight have been an accident that she walked over some of the spilledroses as she left the room, but certainly she could not have shown hermind more plainly than by leaving every single one behind her. Roddyonly, with a pleased and secret look upon his face, carried three ofthem away in a treasured manner. 

Whatever Saltire's feelings were at the affront put upon him, he gaveno sign. He was not one who wore his emotions where they could be readby all who ran, or even by those who sat and openly studied him withmalice and amusement. His face was as serene as usual, and his enviedgift of turning events of the monotonous everyday veld life intointeresting topics of conversation remained unimpaired. He had evenrisen, as always, with his air of careless courtesy, to open the doorfor the woman who walked over his flowers. 

The fact remained, as the manager said to the foreman after lunch, thathe had certainly "caught it in the neck, " and must have felt itsomewhere. Perhaps he did. Perhaps he merely congratulated himselfthat the little scene when he had given the roses to Miss Chaine hadbeen lost by everyone except the children, who were too young andself-engrossed to value its subtlety. 

Either by accident or design, he had come to lunch a little earlierthan usual, and as Miss Chaine and the children were always in theirseats a good ten minutes before the rest of the party, it was quitesimple for him, entering quietly and before she even knew of hispresence, to lay the bunch of fragrant roses across her hands. A sweepof heavy delicious perfume rose to her face, and she gave a littlerapturous "Oh!"

"I thought you might like them, " said Saltire, with a sort of boyishdiffidence that was odd in him. "They are just the colour of the dressyou wore last night. "

In an instant, her face froze. She looked at him, with eyes from whichevery vestige of friendliness or liking had completely disappeared, andsaid politely, but with the utmost disdain:

"Thank you, I do not care for them. Pray give them where they will beappreciated. "

She pulled her hands from under the lovely blooms and pushed them awayas if there were something contaminating in their touch. Some fell onthe table, some on the floor. For a moment, Saltire seemed utterlytaken aback, then he said carelessly:

"Throw them away if you like. They were meant for you and no one else. "

She gave him a curiously cutting glance, but spoke nothing. As thesound of voices told of the approach of the other men, he walked to hisplace without further remark, and had already taken his seat when Mrs. Van Cannan, followed by Saxby, entered. They were talking aboutSaxby's wife, and Mrs. Van Cannan looked infinitely distressed. 

"I am so sorry. I will go and sit with her this afternoon and see if Ican cheer her up, " she said. 

"It will be very kind of you, " said Saxby gratefully. "I have neverknown her so low. "

"It must be the weather. We are all feeling the heat terribly. Ifonly the rains would break. "

"They are not far off, " said Andrew McNeil cheerfully. "I prophesythat tonight every kloof will be roaring full, and tomorrow will seethe river in flood. "

"In that case, the mail had better go off this evening at six, " saidMrs. Van Cannan. "It may be held up for days otherwise. I hopeeveryone has their letters ready? Have you, Miss Chaine?"

"I have one or two still to write, but I can get through them quicklythis afternoon. "

Christine avoided looking directly at her. She felt that the womanmust see the contempt in her eyes. It was hard to say which shedetested more of the two sitting there so serenely cheerful--thefaithless wife and mother, or the man who ate another man's salt andbetrayed him in his absence. It made her feel sick and soiled to be insuch company, to come into contact with such creeping, soft-footed, whispering treachery. She ached to get away from it all and wipe thewhole episode from her mind. Yet how could she leave the children, leave Roddy, desert the father's trust? She knew she could not. Butvery urgently she wrote after lunch to Mr. Van Cannan, begging him toreturn to the farm as soon as his health permitted and release her fromher engagement. She expressed it as diplomatically as she was able, making private affairs her reason for the change; but she could not andwould not conceal the fervency of her request. 

There was a brooding silence in the room where she sat writing andthinking. Roddy, for once, tired out from the night before, sleptunder his mosquito-net, side by side with the little girls, andChristine, looking at his beautiful, classical face and sensitivemouth, wondered how she would ever be able to carry out her plan toleave the farm. Who would understand him as she did, and protect him?Even the father who loved him had not known of the secret, fantasticdanger of the dam. And the woman who should have destroyed the fantasyhad encouraged it! But God knew what was in the heart of that strangewoman; Christine Chaine did not--nor wished to. All she wished wasthat she might never see her again. As for Saltire, her proud resolvewas to blot him from her memory, to forget that he had ever occupiedher heart for a moment. But--O God, how it hurt, that empty, desecrated heart! How it haunted her, the face she had thought sobeautiful, with its air of strength and chivalry, that now she knew tobe a mockery and a lie!

She sat in the shuttered gloom, with her hands pressed to her temples, and bitter tears that could no longer be held back sped down hercheeks. In all the dark hours since she had stolen back to thenursery, overwhelmed by the discovery of a hateful secret, she had notwept. Her spirit had lain like a stricken thing in the ashes ofhumiliation, and her heart had stayed crushed and dead. "Cold as astone in a valley lone. " Now it was wakened to pain once more by thescent of three yellow roses carefully placed by Roddy in a jug on thetable. The scent of those flowers told her that she must go woundedall her life. She could "never again be friends with roses. " He hadeven spoiled those for her. How dared he? Oh, how dared he come toher with gifts of flowers in his hands straight from a guilty intriguewith another man's wife?

The children stirred and began to chirrup drowsily, and she hastilycollected herself, forcing back her tears and assuming theexpressionless mask which life so often makes women wear. She was onlyjust in time. A moment later, Isabel van Cannan came into the roomwith a packet of letters in her hands. 

"Oh, Miss Chaine, " she said, with her pretty, child-like air, "would itbe too much to ask you to take down these letters to the storepresently? The mail is to leave about four o'clock. I have to go outmyself by and by, but the Saxbys' house is in the opposite direction, as you know, and I am really not able to knock about too much in thisheat. "

"Certainly I will take them, " said Christine. "But the children?"

"They must not go, of course. Indeed, I would not ask you to go out inthis blaze, but I don't like to trust letters with servants. There isno hurry, however. Finish your own letters first, then bring thechildren to my room. They will amuse themselves there all right. "

By the time Christine had donned a shady hat and gloves, Mrs. VanCannan had made out a long list of articles she required at the store. The household things were to be sent in the ordinary way, but shebegged Christine to choose some coloured cottons that she required fornew pinafores for the little girls and bring them along, also to lookthrough the stock of note-paper for anything decently suitable, as herown stock had given out. It was the type of errand Christine wasunaccustomed to perform and plainly foreign to her recognized duties;but it was difficult to be unobliging and refuse, so she took theletters and the list and departed. 

The store was a good half-mile off and the going (in hot weather) notvery fast. Then, when she got there, the storekeeper was busy with hisown mail, and she was kept waiting until various goods had been packedinto the cart before the door and driven away with the mail behind fourprancing mules. Looking out cottons and writing-paper occupied somefurther time. Stores on farms are poky places, and the things alwayshidden away in inaccessible spots. At any rate, the best part of anhour had passed before Christine was again on her way home, and she hadan uneasy feeling that she had been too long away from the children, especially from Roddy. Suddenly, her haste was arrested by anunexpected sight. A tiny spot of colour lay right in her pathway onthe ground. It was only a yellow rose-leaf, but it brought a catch inChristine's breath and her feet to an abrupt halt. How had it comethere? If it had fallen from one of Roddy's roses, it meant that hehad been out of doors since she left! That set her hurrying on again, but, as she walked, she reflected that of the many roses left in thedining-room, some might easily have been carried off by the servantsand leaves dropped from them. Still, she was breathless and ratherpale when she reached the house, wasting not a moment in finding herway to Mrs. Van Cannan's room. 

Rita and Coral were amusing themselves happily, winding up a tangle ofbright-coloured silks. But Roddy was gone! Neither was Mrs. VanCannan there. 

Christine sat down rather suddenly, but her voice gave no sign of thealarm she felt. 

"Where is Roddy?"

"He went out, " answered Rita, perching herself upon Christine. "Mammais going to give us each a new dolly if we get this silk untangled forher. "

"How long ago did Roddy go?"

"Just after you went. But you mustn't be cross with him; Mamma gavehim permission. "

"Mamma is gone, too, to see poor Mrs. Saxby, " prattled Coral. 

Christine put them gently away from her. 

"Well, hurry up and earn your new dollies, " she counselled, smiling;"I'll be back very soon to help you. "

In the dining-room, she looked for the discarded roses and found themgathered in a dying heap on a small side-table. In the nursery, shefound two of Roddy's roses in the jug. The third was missing!

Of one thing she felt as certain as she could feel of anything in theshifting quicksands of that house, and that was that Roddy had not goneto the dam, for he had promised her earnestly, the night before, thatnever again would he go there without her. Could he, then, have goneto the cemetery? Even that seemed unlikely, for he loved her to gowith him on his excursions thither. Where else, then? The rose-leafshe had passed on the road stuck obstinately in her memory, and now shesuddenly remembered that the place she had seen it was near the barnfrom whence she had once found Roddy emerging. Perhaps he had gonethere to amuse himself in his own mysterious fashion. He might evenhave been there when she passed. Oh, why had she not looked in? Butthe omission was easily rectified. In two minutes she was out of doorsagain, walking rapidly the way she had come. 

Roddy was not in the barn, however, and it seemed at a glance asharmless a place as she had thought it before. An end of it was fullof forage, and one side piled high with old farm-implements and emptycases. Rather to the fore of the pile stood one large packing case, sacking and straw sticking from under its loose lid. Christine hadjust decided there was nothing here to warrant her scrutiny when, lyingin front of this case, she saw something that drew her gaze like amagnet. It was another yellow rose-leaf. 

"Roddy!" she cried, and was astonished at the sharp relief in hervoice, for she had suddenly made up her mind that the boy was therehiding from her. There was no answer to her call. Very slowly thenshe went over and lifted the lid of the case. It was quite loose, andedged with a fringe of strong nails that had once fastened it to thebox, but which now were red with rust. A quantity of sacking, of thekind used for winding about fragile goods, lay heaped at the top andcame away easily to her hand, exposing that which lay firmly wedged atthe bottom. What she had expected to find she did not know. What shedid find astonished her beyond all things. It was a beautifullychiselled white marble tombstone in the shape of a cross. The whole ofthe inscription was clear of dust or any covering save one fadingyellow rose. Awed, deeply touched, and feeling herself upon the vergeof a mysterious revelation, Christine lifted Roddy's yellow rose andread the simple gold-lettered inscription:

 TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED WIFE, CLARICE VAN CANNAN (BORN QUENTIN), WHO DIED AT EAST LONDON, JUNE 7, 19--, AND WAS BROUGHT BACK TO REST NEAR HER SORROWING HUSBAND AND CHILDREN. (AGED 27)

The date of death was two years old. 

Much that had been dark became clear to Christine. She understood atlast. The woman whose sad fate was here recorded, cut off attwenty-seven--that fairest period in a happy woman's life--was Roddy'smother, the mother of all the little van Cannan children, living anddead. The woman who had ousted her memory from all hearts save loving, loyal Roddy's was the second wife and stepmother. 

Much in the attitude of the big, blond, laughing woman who reigned nowat Blue Aloes, false to her husband, careless of the fate of hischildren, was accounted for, too. The sorrows of the van Cannans hadnever touched her. How should they? Had not Christine heard from herown lips, the night before, the confession of her love for another, andher hatred of Bernard van Cannan's home. How, then, should she loveBernard van Cannan's children?

The cruel taunt of cowardice she had flung at Roddy was explained. Theboy's sensitive, loyal nature was a book too deep for her reading, thememory of his loved ones too sweet and tenacious for her to tamperwith. Nevertheless, she had understood him well enough to set a bondon his honour never to speak of the dead woman who slept in theunmarked grave while her tombstone lay in the rubble of an outhouse. The spell by which she had won the man to forgetfulness and neglect wasnot the same as that by which she had induced silence in the boy. Apromise had been wrung from him--perhaps even under duress! Suddenly, terror swept over Christine Chaine. It was revealed to her, as in avision, that the pink-and-white woman who laughed with such childlikeinnocence by day and whispered so passionately to her lover by nightcould be capable of many things not good for those who stood in the wayof her wishes. 

Why had two of the van Cannan sons died sudden deaths? Why was thelure of a pink palace at the bottom of the dam fostered in the third?How had the tarantula come into his bed, and why had someone said thatit acted like a thing drugged or intoxicated, and that, when it wokeup, it would have been a bad lookout for Roddy?

"God forgive me!" cried the distracted girl to herself. "Perhaps I ammore wicked than she, to harbour such thoughts!"

Then, as if at a call that her heart heard rather than her ears, shefound herself running out of the barn and across the veld in the hot, stormy sunshine, in the direction of the Saxbys' bungalow. 

She had never been there before, though often, in their walks, she andthe children had passed within a stone's throw of the littlewood-and-iron building. The door was always shut, and the windowshidden by the heavy creeper that covered in the stoep. She had oftenthought what a drab and dreary life it must be for a woman to livehidden away there, and even the children never passed without acompassionate allusion to "poor Mrs. Saxby, always shut up there alone. "

A dread of seeing the sad, disfigured creature seized her now, as shereached the darkened stoep, and held her back for a moment. She stoodwondering why she had come and how she could expect to find Roddy therewhere the children had never been allowed to penetrate. But, in thevery act of hesitation, she heard the boy's voice ring out. 

"No, mamma; _please don't make me do it!_"

In a couple of swift steps she was in the stoep and her hand on theknob of the door. But the door would not open. There were two narrowwindows that gave onto the stoep, and, without pause, she flew to theone that she judged to be in the direction of the child's voice andlaid hands upon it. It was closed and curtained with thick bluemuslin, but there were no shutters, and to her forceful push the lowerpart jerked up, and the curtains divided. She found herself standingthere, the silent spectator of a scene in which all the actors weresilent, too amazed or paralyzed by her unexpected appearance. 

PART III

The room was a common little sitting-room with a table in the centre, at either end of which sat Mrs. Van Cannan and Mr. Saxby. Roddy wasbetween the table and the wall, and Christine's first glance showed himwhite-faced and staring with fascinated, fearful eyes at a largecardboard box, with a flat-iron on its lid, which stood on the table. The two elder people were each holding small knobkerries, that is, stout sticks with wired handles and heavy heads made by the natives. Arevolver lay at Saxby's elbow. 

The little tableau remained stationary just long enough for Christineto observe all details; then everyone acted at once. Roddy flew roundthe table and reached her at the window, sobbing:

"Oh, Miss Chaine! Miss Chaine!"

Saxby laid his knobkerrie on the table and lit a cigarette, and Mrs. Van Cannan, rising from her seat with an air of dignity outraged beyondall bounds, addressed Christine. 

"What is the meaning of this intrusion, Miss Chaine? How dare you comebursting into Mr. Saxby's house like this?"

"I heard Roddy call out, " was the firm answer, "and I consider it myduty to protect him. " She had the boy well within her reach now, andcould easily have lifted him out of the low window, but it seemed anundignified thing to do unless it became absolutely necessary. 

"Protect him! From what, may I ask?" The woman's voice was like aknife. 

"I don't know from what. I only know that he was in grave fear ofsomething you were about to do. "

Saxby interposed with a soft laugh. 

"You surely cannot suppose Roddy was in any danger from his mother, Miss Chaine--or that I would harm him?"

He certainly did not look very harmful with his full, handsome featuresand melancholy smile. 

"Your action is both ridiculous and impertinent, " continued Mrs. VanCannan furiously. "And I can tell you that I will not stand that sortof thing from any one in my house, " she added, with the air of onedismissing a servant: "You may go. Roddy, come here!"

Roddy gave a wild cry. 

"Don't leave me, Miss Chaine. They've got a snake in that box, andthey want me to let it out. "

There was blank silence for a moment; then Christine spoke withdeliberation. 

"If this is true, it is the most infamous thing I have ever heard. "

Even Isabel van Cannan was silenced, and Saxby's deprecating smilepassed. He said gravely:

"Mrs. Van Cannan has a right to use what methods she thinks best tocure her boy of cowardice. "

"Cowardice!" Christine answered him scornfully. "The word would bebetter applied to those who deliberately terrify a child. I amastonished at a man taking part in such a vile business. "

She was pale with indignation and pity for the boy who trembled in herarms, and in no mood to choose her words. 

Saxby shrugged his shoulders with a sort of helpless gesture toward hiscompanion as if to say he had only done as he was told. Mrs. VanCannan gave him a furious glance before returning to Christine. 

"Can't you see, " she said violently, "that we have sticks here ready tokill the thing, and a revolver if necessary? Not that it ispoisonous--if it had bitten that miserable little worm!" She cast awithering glance at Roddy. He shrank closer to Christine, who judgedit time to pull him safely from the room to her side on to the veranda. 

"There is nothing miserable about Roddy, " she said fiercely, "excepthis misfortune in having a step-mother who neither loves norunderstands him. "

That blenched the woman at the table. She turned a curious yellowcolour, and her golden-brown eyes appeared to perform an evolution inher head that, for a moment, showed nothing of them but the eyeball. 

"That will do, " she hissed, advancing menacingly upon Christine. "Ialways felt you were a spy. But you shall not stay prying here anotherday. Pack your things and go at once. "

"Come, come, Mrs. Van Cannan, " interposed Saxby soothingly; "I am sureyou are unjust to Miss Chaine. Besides, how can she go at once? Thereis nothing for her to travel by until the cart returns from Cradock. "

But the woman he addressed had lost all control of herself. 

"She goes tomorrow, cart or no cart!" she shouted, and struck oneclenched fist on the other. "We will see who is mistress at BlueAloes!"

Christine cast at her the look of a well-bred woman insulted by abrawling fishwife, and with Roddy's hand tightly in hers, walked out ofthe veranda without deigning to answer. 

But though her mien was haughty as she walked away from Saxby'sbungalow holding Roddy's hand, her spirits were at zero. She hadburned her boats with a vengeance, and come out into the open to facean enemy who would stick at nothing, and who, apparently, had everyoneat the farm at her side, including the big, good-natured-seeming Saxby. 

It would be difficult to stay on at Blue Aloes and protect Roddy if hisstepmother insisted on her departure, and she did not see how she wasgoing to do it. She only knew that nothing and no one should budge herfrom the place. Something dogged in her upheld her from dismay anddetermined her to take a stand against the whole array of them. Shewas in the right, and it was her plain duty to do as Bernard van Cannanhad besought, and not go until she could place Roddy in his father'shands with the full story of his persecutions. 

"Tell me about it, Roddy, " she said quietly, as they walked away. "Don't hide anything. You know that I love you and that your fatherhas trusted you to my care. "

"Yes, " he assented eagerly; "but how did you know about my real mammiebeing dead?" His natural resilience had already helped him to surmountthe terror just past, and he was almost himself again. "I wanted totell you, but I had promised mamma not to tell any one. "

It was as Christine had supposed. She explained her finding of thetombstone and the yellow rose, but not the rest of her terribleconclusions. 

"I put it there, " he said shyly. "She always loved yellow and redflowers. I was keeping the other two for her and Carol in thegraveyard. "

Christine squeezed the warm little hand, but continued her questionssteadily. 

"What happened after you had been to the outhouse?"

"Mamma was waiting for me on the stoep. She said she wanted me to comewith her to see Mrs. Saxby. " He added, with the sudden memory ofsurprise: "But we _didn't_ see Mrs. Saxby. I wonder where she was. "

The same wonder seized Christine. Where could the unhappy, distraughtcreature have been hiding while the trial of Roddy was in process?

"What happened then?"

"We just went into the sitting-room, and Mr. Saxby got the box and theknobkerries and his revolver, and mamma said, 'Now, Roddy, there is asnake in that box, and I want you to prove you are not a coward likelast night by taking off the lid. '" He shuddered violently. "But Icouldn't. Oh, Miss Chaine, am I a coward?" he pleaded. 

"No, darling; you are _not_, " she said emphatically. "Nobody in theirsenses would touch a box with a snake in it. It was very wrong to askyou to. "

He looked at her gratefully. 

"Then you opened the window. Oh, how glad I felt! It was just like asif God had sent you, for my heart felt as if it was calling out to youall the time. Perhaps you heard it and that made you come?"

"I did, Roddy, " she said earnestly, "I ran all the way from theouthouse, because I felt you were in need of me. "

They were nearly home when they saw Saltire and his boys close besidetheir path. Roddy was urgent to stop and talk, but Christine made thefact that heavy rain-drops were beginning to fall an excuse forhurrying on, and indeed in Saltire's face there was no invitation tolinger, for, though he smiled at Roddy, Christine had never seen him socold and forbidding-looking. 

"He knows that I know, " she thought, "and, base as he is, that disturbshim. " The bitter thought brought her no consolation. She feltdesolate and alone, like one lost in a desert, with a great task toaccomplish and no friend in sight or sign in the skies. In the house, she collected the little girls, and they spent the rest of theafternoon together. The storm had broke suddenly, and thelong-threatened rain came at last, lashing up the earth and batteringon the window-panes amid deafening claps of thunder and a furious galeof wind. 

When bath-time came for the children, Christine stayed with them untilthe last moment, superintending Meekie. She would have given worlds toavoid going in to dinner that night. No one could have desired foodless, or the society of those with whom she must partake of it. Yetshe felt that it would be a sign of weakness and a concession to theenemy if she stayed away, so she dressed as usual and went in to facethe dreary performance of sitting an hour or so with people whom sheheld in fear as well as contempt, for she knew not from moment tomoment what new offence she might have to meet. Only great firmness ofspirit and her natural good breeding sustained her through that tryingmeal. 

Saltire did not put in an appearance, for which small mercy she wasfain to thank God. Deeply as he had wounded and offended her, shehated to see his face as she had seen it that afternoon. Mrs. VanCannan, oddly pallid but with burning eyes, absolutely ignored thepresence of the governess, and her lead was followed by all save AndrewMcNeil, who was no man's man but his own, and always treated the girlwith genial friendliness. As a matter of fact, there was but littleconversation, for the sound of the rain, swishing down on the roof andwindows and tearing through the trees without, deadened the sound ofvoices, and everyone seemed distrait. 

Christine was not the only one who finished her meal hurriedly. As sherose, asking to be excused, Mrs. Van Cannan, rising too, detained her. 

"I wish to make arrangements with you about your departure tomorrow, Miss Chaine, " she said, loudly enough for everyone's hearing. "Kindlycome to my room. "

There was nothing to be gained by not complying. Christine did notmean to leave the next day, and this seemed a good opportunity forstating her reasons and intentions; she buckled on her moral armour asshe followed the trailing pink-and-white draperies down the longpassage, preparing for an encounter of steel on steel. 

"Close the door, " said Isabel van Cannan, and went straight to a tabledrawer, taking out a small bag full of money. 

"I shall give you a month's salary instead of notice, " she announced, counting out sovereigns, "though, as a matter of fact, I believe youare not entitled to it, considering the scandalous way you havebehaved, plotting and spying and setting the children against me. "

Christine disdained to answer this lying charge. She only said quietly:

"It is useless to offer me money, Mrs. Van Cannan. I have no intentionof leaving the farm until Mr. Van Cannan returns. "

"What do you mean? How dare you?" began the other, with a return ofher loud and insolent manner. 

"Don't shout, " said Christine coldly. "You only degrade yourself anddo not alarm me. I mean what I have said. Mr. Van Cannan engaged me, and entrusted his children to my care, not only when I came but byletter since his departure. I do not mean to desert that trust orrelegate it to any hands but his own. "

"He never wrote to you. I don't believe a word of it. "

"You are at liberty to believe what you choose. I have the proof, andshall produce it if necessary. In the meantime, please understandplainly that I do not intend to be parted from Roddy. "

A baffled look passed over the other's features, but she laughedcontemptuously. 

"We shall see, " she sneered. "Wait till tomorrow, and we shall see howmuch your proofs and protests avail you. "

"As we both know each other's minds and intentions, there is no use inprolonging this very disagreeable interview, " answered Christinecalmly, and walked out. 

The dining-room was silent and dim. The men had evidently braved therain for the sake of getting early to their own quarters, and no onewas about. In the nursery, the lamp by which she sometimes read orwrote at her own table had not been lighted. Only a sheltered candleon the wash-hand stand cast a dim shadow toward the three little whitebeds under their mosquito-nets. Meekie had gone, but the quietbreathing of the children came faintly to the girl as she sat down byher table, thankful for a little space of silence and solitude in whichto collect her forces. She saw violent and vulgar scenes ahead. Mrs. Van Cannan, now that her true colours were unmasked, and it was nolonger worth while to play the soft, sleepy rôle behind which she hidher fierce nature, would stick at nothing to get rid of Christine andset the whole world against her. Though the girl's resolution heldfirm, a dull despair filled her. How vile and cruel life could be!Friendship was a mockery; love, disillusion and ashes; nothing heldsweet and true but the hearts of little children. An arid conclusionfor a girl from whom the gods had not withdrawn those two surpassingand swiftly passing gifts--youth and beauty. 

"To be a cynic at twenty-two!" she thought bitterly, and looked at herwhite, ringless hands. "I must have loved my kind even better thanChamfort, who said that no one who had loved his kind well could failto be a misanthrope at forty. And I thought I had left it all behindin civilized England! Cruelty, falseness, treachery! But they areeverywhere. Even here, on a South African farm in the heart of adesert, I find them in full bloom. "

She bowed her head in her hands and strove for peace and forgetfulness, if for that night only. In the end, she found calmness at least, byreciting softly to herself the beautiful Latin words of her creed. Then she arose and took the candle in her hand for a final look at thechildren before she retired. The day had been terrible and full ofsurprises, but fate had reserved a last and staggering one for thishour. Roddy's bed was empty!

The shock of the discovery dazed her for a moment. It was too horribleto think that she had been sitting there all this time, wastingprecious moments, while Roddy was--where? O God, where, and in whatcruel hands on this night of fierce storm and stress? When was it thathe had gone? Why had not Meekie been at her post as usual? She caughtup the light and ran from the nursery into one room after another ofthe house. 

All was silent. The servants were gone, the rooms empty. No sound butthe pitiless battering of the rain without. At last she came to Isabelvan Cannan's room and rapped sharply. There was no answer, and shemade no bones about turning the door-handle, for this was no time forceremony. But the bedroom, though brightly lighted, was empty. Shedid not enter, but stood in the doorway, searching with her eyes everycorner and place that could conceivably hide a small boy. But therewas no likely place. Even the bed stood high on tall brass legs, andits short white quilt showed that nothing could be hidden there. Oneobject, however, that Christine Chaine had not sought forced itselfupon her notice--an object that, even in her distress of mind, she hadtime to find extraordinary and unaccountable in this house ofextraordinary and unaccountable things. On the dressing-table was awig-stand of the kind to be seen in the window of a fashionable_coiffeur_. It had a stupid, waxen face, and on its head was arrangeda wig of blond curly hair with long golden plaits hanging down on eachside, even as the plaits of Isabel van Cannan hung about her shouldersas she lay among her pillows every morning. The thing gave Christine athrill such as all the horrors of that day had not caused her. Soinnocent, yet so sinister, perched there above the foolish, waxenfeatures, it seemed symbolical of the woman who hid cruel and terriblethings behind her babylike airs and sleepy laughter. 

Atop of these thoughts came the woman herself, emerging _en déshabillé_from her adjoining bathroom. The moment she saw Christine, she flung atowel across her head, but too late for her purpose. The girl had seenthe short, crisp, almost snowy curls that were hidden by day under thegolden wig, and realized in an instant that she was in the presence ofa woman of a breed she had never known--mulatto, albino, or somestrange admixture of native and European blood. The golden hair, assisted by artificial aids to the complexion, and her largegolden-brown eyes had lent an extraordinary blondness to the skin. Butthe moment the wig was off, the mischief was out. The thickness ofeyelids and nostril, and a certain cruel, sensuous fulness of the lipsand jaw told the dark tale, and Christine wondered how she could everhave been taken in, except that the woman before her was as clever asshe was cruel and unscrupulous. A tingling horror stole through herveins as she stood there, sustaining a malignant glance and listeningdumfounded to an insolent inquiry as to what further spying she hadcome to do. 

"I beg your pardon, " she stammered. "I knocked, and, getting noanswer, opened the door, hardly knowing what I did in my distress. Roddy is missing from his bed, and I don't know where to look for him. "

The other had turned away for a moment, adjusting the covering on herhead before a mirror. She may still have believed that her secretremained unrevealed. 

"I haven't the faintest notion of Roddy's whereabouts, " she said, "andif he is lost out in this storm, perhaps drowned in one of the kloofs, yours will be the blame, and I will see you are brought to book forit. " She spoke with the utmost malice and satisfaction. "Now, get outof my room!"

Christine went. Indeed, she was convinced that for once the womanspoke truth and that Roddy was not there or anywhere in the house. Itwas out-of-doors that she must seek him. So back to her room on wingedfeet to get a waterproof and make her way from the house. For once, the front door was barred! Outside, the rain had ceased as suddenly asit had burst from the heavens. Only the wind swished and howled wildlyamong the trees, tearing up handfuls of gravel to fling against thedoors and windows. Afar off was a roaring sound new to her, that, later, she discovered to be the rushing waters in the kloofs that weretearing tumultuously to swell the river a few miles off. Clouds hadblotted out moon and stars. All the light there was cameintermittently from whip-like lightning flashes across the sky. Ithelped Christine a little as she stumbled through the darkness, cryingout Roddy's name, but she found herself often colliding with trees, andprickly-pear bushes seemed to be rushing hither and thither, wavingfantastic arms and clutching for her as she passed. The idea had cometo her suddenly to seek Andrew McNeil and ask for his help. He was theonly friendly soul of all those on the farm that she could turn to. True, another face presented itself to her mind for one moment, but shebanished it with scorn, despising herself for even thinking of DickSaltire. 

She fancied that McNeil lodged at the storekeeper's place, and setherself to find the route she had taken that afternoon--no easy task inthe darkness that surrounded her. But at last she saw a twinkle oflight, and, approaching closer, found that, by great good luck, she hadindeed happened on the store. The door stood open, and she could seethe man behind the counter talking to McNeil, who, seated on anupturned case, was smoking peacefully. Someone else was theretoo--someone whose straight back and gallant air was very familiar toher. Saltire was buying tobacco from the storekeeper. But Christinehad no word for him. She went straight to McNeil with her story. 

"Roddy is lost!" she cried. "You must please come and help me findhim. "

The men stared, electrified at her appearance. White as a bone, herbeautiful violet eyes full of haunting fear; her hair, torn down by thewind and flickering in long black strands about her face, far below herwaist, she looked like a wraith of the storm. 

"Roddy lost!" McNeil and the storekeeper turned mechanically as oneman to Saltire. It was only the girl who would not turn to him. 

"Come quickly!" she urged. "He may be drowning somewhere, even now, inone of the swollen streams. " She imagined the tragedy to herself asshe spoke, and her voice was full of wistful despair. 

"Get her a hot drink. " Saltire, flinging the command to thestorekeeper, spoke for the first time. "I'll round up the boys and getlanterns for a search. " In a few moments there was a flicker oflanterns without, and the murmur of voices. 

"Come along, Niekerk!" commanded Saltire, and the storekeeper began toput his lights out. "McNeil, you take Miss Chaine back to the farm. "

"No, no; I must come, too!" she cried. 

"Impossible, " he said curtly. "You will only be a hindrance. "

"Then I will go home alone, " she said quietly, "and free Mr. McNeil toaccompany you. "

"Very well--if you think you can find your way. Here is a lantern. "

She took it and went her way while they went theirs. Long before shereached the garden round the house, the lantern in her unskilful handshad gone out and she was groping by instinct. 

All the weariness and strain of the day had suddenly descended upon herin a cloud. She knew she was near the end of her tether. This life atBlue Aloes was too much for her, after all; she must give it best atlast; it was dominating her, driving her like a leaf before the wind. These were her thoughts as she crept wearily through the garden, butsuddenly she heard voices and was galvanized into hope, tinged withfear. Perhaps Roddy was found! Perhaps her terror and suffering hadbeen unnecessary. She listened for a moment, then located the speakersclose to her in the stoep. 

"Dick, " a voice she knew was saying, "I am sick of it. Bernard _may_die down in East London, but we shall never get rid of the boy whilethat English Jezebel is here. And she knows too much now. We hadbetter go. Blue Aloes will never be ours to sell and go back to ourown dear island. Everything has gone wrong. "

"Nonsense, Issa. You are too impatient. Van Cannan will never comeback. He is too full of antimony. As for Roddy, poor kid, he isprobably drowned in one of the kloofs and speeding for the river bynow--just the sort of adventure his queer little mind would embark on. No one can blame us for _that_, at least. You are far too easilydiscouraged, my darling. Wait till the morning. " The voice was thesoft, sonorous voice of Saxby, and a lightning flash revealed to thegirl cowering among the trees that it was he who held Isabel van Cannanin his arms. 

There were two "Dicks" at Blue Aloes, and Christine, not knowing it, had been guilty of a grave injustice to Richard Saltire! Aghast as shewas by the revelation, all her love and faith came tingling back in asweet, overwhelming flood. For a moment or two she forgot Roddy, forgot where she was, forgot all the world but Saltire, and herattention was withdrawn from the pair in the stoep--indeed, she had nodesire to hear their words, now that she was sure they knew no more ofthe boy's whereabouts than she herself. But the muffled clang of thebar across the front door broke through her thoughts, and she becameaware that Saxby had left and Mrs. Van Cannan gone in. She was alonein the gaunt darkness, barred out, and with no means of getting intothe house; all other doors were locked, as well she knew, and allshutters firmly bolted, including those of the nursery. However, thefact did not worry her greatly, for the thought of being snug and safewhile poor Roddy roamed somewhere in the blackness had no appeal forher. Out here, she seemed, somehow, nearer to him, and to the man whomshe now knew she had deeply wronged. Lanterns, twinkling likewill-o'-the-wisps in every direction, told of the search going forward, and she determined to stay in the summer-house and wait for what newsmight come. It was very obscure there, and she knew not what loathlyinsects might be crawling on the seats and table, but, at any rate, itwas shelter from the rain, which now again began to fall heavily. 

It seemed to her hours that she sat there while the storm swept roundher and the rushing of many waters filled her ears. As a matter offact, it was less than half an hour before she determined thatinactivity was something not to be borne another moment and that shemust return and join in the search for Roddy. So out she stumbledacross the veld again, in the direction of the lanterns, evading asbest she could the prickly-pear bushes, stubbing her feet against rocksand boschies, drenched and driven by the storm. It was old AndrewMcNeil whom she found first, and he seemed an angel from heaven afterthe vile and menacing loneliness, although he was but ill pleased tosee her. 

"You should be in your bed, lassie, " he muttered. "The poor bairn willnever be found this night. We've searched everywhere. There's nothingleft but the water. "

"Oh, don't say that!" she cried woefully, and peered, fascinated, atthe boiling torrent rushing down a kloof that but yesterday was aninnocent gully they had crossed in their walks, in some places sonarrow as to allow a jump from bank to bank. Now it was a turbulentflood of yellow water, spreading far beyond its banks and roaring witha rage unappeasable. While they stood there, staring, Saltire came up. 

"You, Miss Chaine! I thought I asked you to return to the farm. " Histones, were frigid, but his eyes compassionate. No one with anyhumanity could have failed to be touched by the forlorn girl, pale andlovely in the dim light. 

"I had to come. I could not stay inert any longer. "

"We have searched every inch of the land inside the aloes, " he said. "He has either fallen into one of the streams or got out beyond thehedge into the open veld--which seems impossible, somehow. At anyrate, we can do no more until it is light. " He dismissed the nativeswith a brief: "Get home, boys. _Hamba lalla!_" then turned to McNeil. "Take Miss Chaine's other arm, Mac; we must see for ourselves that shegoes indoors. "

She made some sound of remonstrance, but he paid no attention, simplytaking her arm, half leading, half supporting her. There was a longway to go. They walked awhile in a silence that had hopelessness init; then Christine asked:

"Did you search every outhouse and barn?"

"Every one, and the cemetery, too, " answered Saltire. "There's not aplace inside or out of the farm-buildings we haven't been over--exceptSaxby's bungalow, and he's hardly likely to be there. "

"He was there this afternoon, " said Christine slowly. It seemed to hertime to let them into the truth. 

"What!"

Both men halted in amazement. Such a thing as any one but Mrs. VanCannan going to Saxby's was unknown. Briefly she recounted theincidents of the afternoon. The men's verdict was the same as hers hadbeen. 

"Atrocious!"

"Infamous! After that, we will certainly visit Saxby's, " decidedSaltire. "But, first, Miss Chaine must go home. "

"No, no; let me come, " she begged. "It is not far. I _must_ know. "

So, in the end, she got her way, and they all approached the bungalowtogether. It was in utter darkness, and the men had to rap loud andlong before any response came from within. At last Saxby's voice washeard inquiring who the deuce, and what the deuce, etc. , etc. , at thattime of the night--followed by his appearance in the doorway with acandle. 

"We want to come in and look for Roddy, " said Saltire briefly, and, without further ado, pushed the burly man aside and entered, followedby McNeil. Christine, too, entered, and sat down inside the door. Shewas very exhausted. Saxby appeared too flabbergasted to move for amoment. Then he remonstrated with considerable heat. 

"What do you mean by this? You don't seem to know that you are in myhouse!"

But the other two had already passed through the empty sitting-room tothe one beyond, and were casting lantern-gleams from side to side, examining everything. 

"You must be crazy to think the boy is here, " Saxby blustered, as theyre-emerged. They paid not the slightest attention to him, butcontinued their search into the kitchen, the only other room of thehouse. 

"No, " said Saltire, very quietly, as he came back into the room and setthe light on the table; "the boy is not here. But where is Mrs. Saxby?"

Saxby's face had grown rather pallid, but his jaw was set in a doggedfashion. 

"That is _my_ business, " he said harshly. 

It was Saltire whose face and manner had become subtly agreeable. 

"Oh, no, Saxby; it is all of our business at present. What I find sostrange is that nowhere in the house is there any sign or token that awoman lives here, or has ever lived here. It seems to me that needs alittle explaining. "

"You'll get no explanation from me, " was the curt answer. 

"I think you had better tell us something about it, " said Saltirepleasantly. He held the lantern high, and it lighted up a shelf uponwhich stood some curious glass jars with perforated stoppers. "I seeyou have a fine collection of live tarantulas and scorpions. Iremember now I have often seen you groping among the aloes. Curioushobby!"

"Get out of my house!" said Saxby, with sudden rage. 

"And is the snake still in the box?" asked Saltire, approaching thetable where the cardboard box still occupied its central position, withthe heavy iron on top of it. 

"Don't touch it, for God's sake!" shouted Saxby, lunging forward tostop him, but the deed was already done, though Saltire himself wasunprepared for what followed on his lifting the iron. The lid flew up, and, with a soft hiss, something slim and swift as a black arrow dartedacross the air, seemed to kiss Saxby in passing, and was gone throughthe open door into the night. 

The big man made a strange sound and put his hand to his throat. Heswayed a little, and then sank upon a long cane lounge. Christinenoticed that his eyes rolled with the same curious evolution as theeyes of Mrs. Van Cannan had performed that afternoon. It was as thoughthey turned in his head for a moment, showing nothing but the whiteeyeball. She wondered why the other men rushed to the sideboard andopened a brandy-bottle, and while she stayed, wondering, Saxby spokesoftly, looking at her with his beautiful, melancholy brown eyes. 

"I shall be dead in half an hour. Fetch Isabel. Let me see her facebefore I die. "

She knew him for a bad man, false friend, one who could be cruel to alittle child; yet it seemed he could love well. That was something. She found herself running through the darkness as she had never run inher life, to do the last behest of Richard Saxby. 

When she and Isabel van Cannan returned, they found him almost gone. Saltire and McNeil had worked over him until the sweat dripped fromtheir faces, but he who has been kissed by the black mamba, deadliestof snakes, is lost beyond all human effort. The light was fast fadingfrom his face, but, for a moment, a spurt of life leaped in his eyes. He held out his aims to the woman, and she fell weeping into them. Christine turned away and stared out at the darkness. Saltire had beenwriting; a sheet of paper upon which the ink was still wet lay upon thetable, and in his hand he held a packet of letters. 

"I have told everything, Issa, " muttered the dying man. "I had toclean my soul of it. "

She recoiled fiercely from him. 

"'Told everything?'" she repeated, and her face blanched with fury anddespair. It seemed as if she would have struck him across the lips, but McNeil intervened. 

"Have reverence for a passing soul, woman, " said he sternly. "Black ashis crimes are, yours are blacker, I'm thinking. He was only the toolof the woman he loved--his lawful wife. "

"You said that?" she raved. But Saxby was beyond recriminations. Thatdark soul had passed to its own place. She turned again to the others, foaming like a creature trapped. 

"It is all lies, lies!"--then fell silent, her eyes sealed to the newlywritten paper on the table under Saltire's hand. At last, she saidquietly: "I must, however, insist upon knowing what he has said aboutme. What is written on that paper, Mr. Saltire?"

"If you insist, I will read it, " he answered. "Though it is scarcelyin my province to do so. "

"It is only fair that I should hear, " she said, with great calmness. And Saltire read out the terse phrases that bore upon them the stamp ofDeath's hurrying hand. 

"I am a native of the island Z---- in the West Indies. Isabel Saxby, known as van Cannan, is my wife. While travelling to the Cape Colonyon some business of mine, she met van Cannan and his wife and stayedwith them at East London. When she did not return to Z----, I came tolook for her and found that, Mrs. Van Cannan having died, she hadbigamously married the widower and come to live at Blue Aloes. I lovedher, and could not bear to be parted from her, so, through herinstrumentality, I came here as manager. The eldest boy was drownedbefore my arrival. The youngest died six months later of a bite fromone of my specimen tarantulas. The third boy is, I expect, drownedtonight. I take the blame of all these deaths and of Bernard vanCannan's, if he does not return. It was only when all male van Cannanswere dead that Blue Aloes could be sold for a large sum enabling us toreturn to Z----. We would have taken the little girls with us. 

"With my dying breath, I take full blame for all on my shoulders. Noone is guilty but I. 

"[Signed. ] RICHARD SAXBY. "

"Poor fellow!" said the listening woman gently. "Poor fellow to havedied with such terrible delusions torturing him!" She passed her handsover her eyes, wiping away her tears and with them every last trace ofviolence and anger. Subtly her face had changed back to the babylike, laughing, sleepy face they all knew so well--the face that had held thedead man in thrall and made Bernard van Cannan forget the mother of hischildren. 

"You will please give me that paper, Mr. Saltire, " she pleaded, "andyou will please all of you forget the ravings of poor Dick Saxby. Itis true that I knew him in the past, and that he followed me here, butthe rest, as you must realize, are simply hallucinations of a poisonedbrain. "

Andrew McNeil's dour face had grown bewildered, but softened. Christine--if she had not seen a little too much, if she had not knownthat lovely golden hair hanging in rich plaits about the woman'sshoulders covered the crisped head of a white negress, if she had notoverheard impassioned words at midnight, if she had not loved Roddy sowell--might have been beguiled. But there was one person upon whom theartist's wiles were wasted. 

"I'm afraid it can't be done, Mrs. Saxby, " said Saltire gravely. "Thetestimony of a dying man is sacred--and Saxby's mind was perfectlyclear. "

"How could it have been? And do not call me 'Mrs. Saxby, ' please. "She still spoke patiently, but a smouldering fire began to kindle inher eyes. 

"You see, " he continued, exhibiting the packet of letters to which henow added the testimony, "I have here the certificate of your marriageto Saxby six years ago in the West Indies--and also proof of thepossession by you of a large amount of antimony. You may, of course, be able to explain away these things, as well as Saxby's testimony, butyou will understand that I cannot oblige you by handing them over. " Asilence fell, in which only her rapid breathing could be heard. "Thereis one thing, however, you can do, that will perhaps help a little. Tell us where Roddy is--if you know. "

The smouldering fires leaped to flame. She glared at him like atigress. 

"Oh, you, and your Roddys!" she cried savagely. "If I knew where hewas, I would kill him! I would kill any one I could who stood in myway--do you understand? That is how we are made in my land. Oh, thatI ever left it, to come to this vile and barren desert!"

She gave one swift, terrible look at the dead man and swept from thehouse. That was the last time any one of them ever saw her. 

When, a little later, Saltire, McNeil, and Christine came out of thedead man's house and left him to his long silence, the black wings ofnight were lifted, the storm was past, and a rose-red dawn veiled insilver bedecked the sky. The hills were tender with pearl and azure. The earth smelled sweet and freshly washed. A flock of wild duck rosefrom the dam and went streaking across the horizon like in a Japaneseetching. All the land was full of dew and dreams. It was almostimpossible to despair in such an hour. Christine felt the wings ofhope beating in her breast, and an unaccountable trust in the goodnessof God filled her. 

"Joy cometh in the morning, " she said, half to herself, half to the menwho walked, sombre and silent, beside her, and the shadow of a smilehovered on her lips. They looked at her wonderingly. The night ofterror had taken toll of her, and she was pale as the last star beforedawn. Yet her white beauty framed in hanging hair shone like some rarething that had passed through fire and come out unscathed and purifiedin the passing. "_Il faut souffrir pour être belle_" is a frivolousFrench saying, but, like many frivolous phrases, has its basic roots inthe truth. It was true enough of Christine Chaine in that hour. Shehad suffered and was beautiful. Dour old Andrew McNeil gave a sigh forthe years of life that lay behind him, and a glance at the face of theother man; then, like a wise being, he said, "Well, I'll be going on down. "

So Christine and Dick Saltire walked alone. 

"Let us hurry, " she said suddenly, quickening her pace. "I feel asthough something may have happened. "

But all was silent at the farm. It was still too early even for theservants to be astir, and the big front door stood open as she and theother woman had left it an hour or so agone. 

She left Saltire in the stoep and went within. The little girls sleptpeacefully, ignorant of the absence of their brother. 

All seemed unchanged, yet Christine's searching eye found one thingthat was unusual--a twist of paper stuck through the slats of theshutter. In a moment, she had it untwisted and was reading the wordsprinted in ungainly letters upon it. 

"Do not worry. Roddy quite safe. Will come back when his fatherreturns. "

"I knew, " she whispered to herself, "I knew that joy cometh. " Shelooked in the mirror and was ashamed of the disarray she saw there, yetthought that, even so, a man who loved her might perhaps find her fair. As a last thought, she took Roddy's two yellow roses and stuck them inthe bosom of her gown. Then she went back to the stoep and, showingSaltire the paper, told him the story of the whispering thing that hadsighed so often for Roddy's safety outside her window. 

"I feel sure, somehow, that, after all, he is safe, and with thatfriend who knew more than we did, who knew all the tragedy of themother and the other two little sons, and feared for Roddy from thefirst. "

Saltire made no answer, for he was looking at the roses and then intoher eyes; and when she tried to return the look, the weight of thelittle stones was on her lids again, and her lips a-quiver. But heheld her against his heart close, close--crushing the yellow roses, kissing the little stones from her lids and the quiver from her lips. Then he left her swiftly; for it is a sweet and terrible thing to kissthe lips and crush the roses and go, and a better thing to hasten thehour when one may kiss the lips and crush the roses--and stay. 

So she did not see him again for three days. But from the faithfulMcNeil she heard that the flooded river had been forded and a telegramsent recalling Bernard van Cannan, that a search had been institutedfor the mistress of Blue Aloes, who was missing, that a party offarmers had been collected to "sit" upon the body of Richard Saxby, andhad pronounced him most regrettably dead from the bite of a blackmamba. Whereafter he was buried in a quiet spot near the hedge of bluealoes, from which he had collected so many rare specimens of poisonousreptiles and insects. 

On the third day, one of the kloofs on the farm gave up a wig of goldenhair, all muddy and weed-entangled. The natives hung it on a bush todry, and there was much gossip among them that day, hastily hushed whenany European person came by. 

At nine o'clock the same evening, Roddy was found peacefully sleepingin the bed with Meekie carefully adjusting the mosquito-curtains overhim as though he had never been missing. In the morning, he toldChristine he had had an awfully funny dream. 

"I dreamed I was with my old 'nannie' again--you know--Sophy. She wasall covered up, and I could only see her eyes looking through holes ina white thing. She was living all by herself in a hut. I didn't staywith her, but with another old woman, but she used to come and see meevery day, and sometimes Meekie used to come, too, and Klaas and Jacoopand all the farm-boys to talk to me. The old woman kept giving me sometea made of herbs that made me feel very quiet and happy, and Sophytold me I should come back soon to the farm when daddy was home again. She was always covered up with white clothes, and I could only see hereyes, and I love Sophy very much, Miss Chaine, but I can't say shesmelled very nice in my dream. It was a very funny dream, though, andlasted an awful long time. "

It had indeed lasted three days, but Roddy would never know that, during those three days, he had been incarcerated in the Kafir kraal onthe hillside, outside the aloe hedge. It was only when the golden wigwas washed up from the river that the mysterious kraal people, silentand impassive, seemingly ignorant of all but their duties, yet knowingevery single thing that passed at the farm, even down to the use of thefalse hair (though Bernard van Cannan himself had never suspectedthis), gave him back to those who awaited. 

If Dick Saltire had not so thoroughly understood the native mind andinspired the confidence of his boys, the truth might never have beenknown. As it was, it lay in his power to relate to those whom itconcerned that a certain woman named Sophy Bronjon, formerly nurse tothe van Cannans, and sent away by them to be conveyed to Robin Islandbecause she had developed leprosy, had never left the precincts of thefarm, but stayed there, brooding over the little ones she loved. Thekraal people to whom (though a mission-educated woman) she belonged hadhidden and sheltered her. Through Meekie's instrumentality, sheundoubtedly knew all that passed on the farm, and as surely as she hadnoted the fate of the van Cannan heirs, she recognized Christine as anally and friend, and had warned her as best she could of the dangersthat beset Roddy. It was she who had sighed and whispered through theclosed shutters, frightening Christine at first, but in the endengendering trust, and it was she who, on hearing of the narrow escapeof Roddy from the tarantula, had made up her mind to spirit him, withthe aid of Meekie and the storm, from the farm and its dangers untilthe return of his father. 

With the disappearance of Mrs. Van Cannan and the death of Saxby, themenace was removed and the child brought back as silently as he hadbeen taken away. Even he knew no more than that he had dreamed astrange dream. 

Saltire went to meet Bernard van Cannan at Cradock, taking with him thepapers left in his care by Richard Saxby. There was not so much toexplain to the owner of Blue Aloes, as might have been expected. Thedoctor who treated him for neuritis and found him dying of slowpoisoning by antimony had lifted the scales from his eyes, and a littleclear thought, away from the spell of the woman known as Isabel vanCannan, had done much to show him that the sequence of tragedies in hishome was due to something more than the callousness of fate. Thus hewas, in some measure, prepared for Saxby's confession, though not forthe fact that the woman he had adored to fanaticism had never been hiswife, or more to him than might have been an adder gathered from hisown aloe hedge, with all the traits and attributes peculiar to adderswho are gathered to the bosom and warmed there. 

He came back to a home from which the spell of the golden, laughingwoman was lifted. The evil menace that had hung for so long over theold farm was lifted for ever. Part was buried by the blue-aloe hedge;part of it, plucked from the dregs of an ebbing river, lay in a fargrave with no mark on it but the plain words, "Isabel Saxby. " Whilethe sad watcher in the kraal had no more need to walk and whisperwarnings by night. 

It was the children who laughed now at Blue Aloes, merry and free aselves in a wood. There was a glow came out of Christine Chaine thatcommunicated itself to all. She and Saltire were to be married as soonas a Quentin aunt, who was on her way, had settled down comfortablywith the children. Afterward, Roddy would live with them at the Capeuntil his schooldays were over. In the meantime, they walked in agarden of Eden, for the rains had made the desert bloom, and lifeoffered them its fairest blossoms with both hands. 

The Leopard

PART I

It was nine o'clock, and time for the first waltz to strike up. Thewide, empty floor of the Falcon Hotel lounge gleamed with a waxen glazeunder the brilliant lights, and the dancers' feet were tingling tobegin. Michael Walsh, who always played at the Wankelo dances, satdown at the piano and struck two loud arresting bars, then gentlycaressed from the keys the crooning melody of the _Wisteria Waltz_. Two by two, the dancers drew into the maze of music and movement, andbecame part of a weaving rhythmic, kaleidoscopic picture. 

There was not an ill-looking person in the room. The men were of atanned, hard-bitten, adventurous brand; the women were nearly allpretty or attractive or both, and mostly young. These are the usualattributes of women in a new country like Rhodesia; for men do not takeugly, unattractive women to share life with them in the wilds, andgirls born in such places have a gift all their own of beauty and charm. 

Many of them were badly dressed, however, for that, too, is anattribute of the wilds, where women mostly make their own clothes, unless they are rich enough to get frequent parcels from England. There was this to be noted about the gowns: When they were new, theywere patchy affairs, made up at home from materials bought in Rhodesianshops; but when well cut, they were battered and worn. Take, forinstance, Mrs. Lisle's gown of pale-green satin and sequins. She hadbeen an actress before she married Barton Lisle and came out to the upsand downs of a mining speculator's life, and all her clothes were_réchauffées_ of the toilettes in which she had once dazzled provincialaudiences. Gay Liscannon's frock of pale rose-leaf silk, with a skirtthat was a flurry of delicious little frills and a bodice of lace, sewnwith little paste dew drops that folded around her fresh young formlike the filmy wings of a butterfly, had Bond Street stamped all overit, as they who ran might read; but it had not been paid for, althoughit was already tumbling into little tears and tatters. For Gay was noPenelope to sit patiently at home and ply the nimble needle. She hadworn it to six dances already, and would probably wear it another sixbefore she summoned up the nerve to present her father with the bill. 

Berlie Hallett possessed a London godmother in the shape of an aunt whosent her an occasional frock, and her white-tulle-and-forget-me-notswas all that it should have been except that it had turned to an ashencreamy hue, possessed a long tear down the back (unskilfully concealedby a ribbon sash), lacked about six yards of lace (accidentally rippedoff the flounces), and was minus a few dozen posies of forget-me-nots(now in the possession of various amorous young men). Berlie no morethan her friend Gay was a sit-by-the-fire-and-mend creature. They werereal, live, out-of-door, golfing, hard-riding girls, full of spiritsand gaiety and _joie de vivre_. 

Berlie, at that moment, was dancing with all her soul as well as herfeet, melted in the arms of Johnny Doran, a rich rancher who hadproposed to her eight times and whom she intended should proposeanother ten before she finally refused him. But Gay, the best dancerin Rhodesia, was not dancing. Her feet were tingling, and the musicwas in her brain like wine, and her heart was burning, and her eyes, though not turned that way, were watching, with impatient wrath, thedoor across the room. But with her lips she smiled at the little groupof clamouring, protesting men about her, and gave out one briefstatement. 

"My shoe hurts me. "

"Which one?" they clamoured, like a lot of school-boys. "And why?It's the same pair you danced to the dawn in last week--why should ithurt you now? And why does one hurt you? Why not two? Who will betthat it won't stop hurting after this dance?" they inquired of oneanother, "and who is the man it is hurting for?"

Gay surveyed them dispassionately with her misty, violet eyes. 

"Don't be silly, " said she serenely; "my shoe hurts. "

They gave her up as hopeless and faded away, one by one, bent onfinding someone to finish the waltz with. Men out-numbered girls byabout four to one in Wankelo. Only Tryon stayed, lounging against thewall, smiling subtly to himself. 

"There's Molly Tring just coming in, " said Gay to him. "You'd bettergo and get a dance from her, Dick. "

"By and by, " said Tryon, with his cryptic smile. "I'm waiting forsomething. "

Even as he spoke, Gay saw across the room the face she had beenwatching for. A tall man had come into the doorway and stood casting acasual but comprehensive eye about him. He was not in evening dress, but wore a loose grey lounge suit of rather careless aspect, and hisshort, fairish, curly hair was ruffled as though he had been runninghis fingers through it. Accompanying him was a small black dog with alarge stone in its mouth, which came into the ballroom and sat down. Gay gave one look at the pair of them, and the colour went out of herface. There was more than a glint of passion in the eyes she turned toTyron, who was smiling no longer. 

"I'll finish this dance with you, if you like, Dick. "

"My shoe hurts, " said Tryon. 

She flung away from him in a rage and a moment later, was lost amongthe rest of the dancers in the arms of one Claude Hayes, a man not tooproud to take the goods the gods offered, even if they were shortratio. Tryon sauntered over to the doorway tenanted by the man ingrey, who appeared to be delightfully impervious to the fact that hewas the only person on the scene not in evening dress. 

"Hello, Tryon!" said he. 

"Hello, Lundi! Thought you meant to turn up and dance tonight?"

"Yes, so I did, " said Lundi Druro, looking at Tryon with the blithe andfriendly smile that made all men like him. "But I forgot. "

"I won't ask what you were doing, then, " was Tryon's dry comment. Towhich Druro responded nothing. He was one of those who did before thesun and moon that which seemed good unto him to do, with a sublimeindifference to comments. Everyone knew what he was doing when he"forgot, " and he didn't care if they did. 

"Lundi meant to get married, but he forgot, " was a household jest inRhodesia, founded on a legend from home that, at a certainsupper-party, a beautiful actress had inveigled him into making her anoffer of marriage, and the ceremony had been fixed for the followingday. But, though bride and wedding-party turned up at the appointedhour, the bridegroom never materialized. He had gone straight from thesupper-party at the Savoy to the Green Room Club and fallen into a gameof poker that lasted throughout the night and all the next day, withthe result that all memory of the proposed wedding had faded from hismind. The lady, very much injured in her tenderest feeling(professional and personal vanity), had sued him for a large sum ofmoney, which he had paid without blinking and returned to South Africa, heart-free, to make some more. 

"Did you pull in the pot?" asked Tryon, who was a poker player himself. 

"No, " said Druro regretfully; "hadn't time. I left the game and cameaway as soon as I remembered this blessed dance. "

Just then the waltz came to an end, its last notes trailing off intonothingness and blowing away like a handful of leaves on a breeze. Thekaleidoscopic patterns sorted themselves and turned into a circle ofperambulating couples, and Gay and her partner passed the two men inthe doorway. 

"Hi! I want to speak to you, " said Druro, whose manners were unique, making an imperious sign at Gay. She looked at him with eyes likefrozen violets and walked on. Druro, looking after her, observed thatshe and her partner passed out of a door leading to the east veranda. 

"H'm!" said he, reflective but unperturbed. Then he turned to Tryon. "Go and get Hayes away from her, Tryon. "

"That's a nice job!" commented Tryon. 

"Go on, old man!" said Druro, kindly but firmly. "Tell him there's aman in the bar wants to see him on a matter of life and death. He'llthank you for it afterward. "

Tryon went grumbling through the ballroom, and Druro stepped back outof the front hall into the street and made a circuit of the hotel. Bythe time he had reached the east veranda, Tryon was gently leading awaythe unresisting Hayes, and a rose-leaf shoe, visible between two potsof giant croton, guided the stalker to his prey. He sat down on a seatbeside her. 

"Did you mean it when you cut me in that brutal manner just now--or wasit an accident?" he asked reproachfully. 

Gay did not answer or stir. His manner changed. 

"Gay, I am most awfully sorry and ashamed of myself. Will you forgiveme?"

The girl sat up straight in her chair at that, and looked at him. Shewas too generous to ignore a frank appeal for pardon, but she had thatwithin which demanded propitiation. 

"Have you any explanation to offer?" she asked, and he answered:

"I clean forgot all about it. "

She stared at him in exasperation and scorn, her eyes sparkling withanger, and he returned her gaze with his frank and fearless smile. "_M'Schlega_, " the natives called him--"the man who always laughswhether good or bad comes to him. "

Gay at last withdrew her face into the shadows where he could no longersee it clearly. 

"I suppose you think that disappointing a girl and making her lose adance is nothing, " she said quietly. 

"You misjudge me. If I had thought about it at all, it would neverhave happened. But the whole thing went clean out of my mind until itwas too late to dress and get down here in time. Do you think I would_purposely_ miss such a keen pleasure as it is to dance with you--andthe honour of having your first waltz given me?"

She did not answer, but slowly her anger began to fade. 

"I came down here as hard as I could belt, as soon as I remembered. "

More anger melted away. 

"I haven't even had my dinner yet. "

Gay sprang up like a whirlwind. 

"Oh, how detestable you are, " she said, in a low, furious voice, "withyour dinner and your wretched excuses! Do you think I don't know whatyou were doing that you forgot? Everyone knows what you are doing whenyou forget your engagements--playing poker and drinking with a lot oflow gambling men, wasting your money and your time and all that is finein you!"

Druro had stood up, too, and faced her with the first bolt she flung. They were quite alone, for the trilling notes of a two-step had swiftlyemptied the veranda. He still wore a smile on his lips, but itssingularly heart-warming quality had gone from it. His red-brown facehad grown a shade less red-brown, and his grey, whimsical, good-naturedeyes looked suddenly hard as rock. He addressed her as if she weresomeone he had never met before. 

"You are very plain-spoken!"

"You need a little plain-speaking, " she said passionately. 

"It is a pity to waste wit and wisdom on an object so unworthy. Obviously, I am past reforming"--his smile had a mocking turn to itnow--"even if I wanted to be reformed. "

"_Of course_ you don't want to be reformed, " said Gay. "No drunkardand gambler ever does. "

Her voice was hard, but there was a pain in her heart like the twist ofa knife there. She pressed her hand among the laces of her dress, andall the little paste jewels twinkled. Druro noticed them. Theyengaged his attention, even while he was swallowing down her words likea bitter dose of poison. He was deeply offended. She spoke to him asif he were some kind of a pariah, and it was unpardonable. If she hadbeen a man, he would have known what to do, and have done it quick. But what could be done with a slip of a girl who stood there with afolded lace butterfly around her and looked like a passionate tea-rosetwinkling with dewdrops? Nothing, except just smile. But only theself-control gained in many a hard-won and ably bluffed game of life(and poker) enabled him to do it, and to say, with great gentleness:

"I'm afraid that I am as I am. You must take me or leave me at that. "

"I'll leave you, then, " she said burningly, and slipped past him. Atthe door of the ballroom she looked back and flung him a last word, "Until you are a different man from the present Lundi Druro. "

Druro, entirely taken aback by her decisive retort and action, stoodstaring long after she had disappeared. 

"Well, by the living something or other!" he muttered at last, andwalked away from the hotel, filled with wholesale rage and indignation. "The little shrew! Who asked her to take me, I wonder? Or for heropinions on my ways of living? Of all the cheeky monkeys! Pitchinginto me like that--just because she missed her blessed waltz!_Certainly_ it was rotten of me--I don't say it wasn't. _But Iforgot_. I _told_ her I forgot. Didn't I come straight down here andtell her? Left those fellows--left a jack-pot! O my aunt! And that'sall I get for it--a decent and reasonable fellow like me to be calledsuch names just because I distract myself with the only one or twothings that can delude one into believing that life is worth living inthis rotten country! Drunkard and gambler--fine words to fling at aman like bomb-shells!"

Thus it was with Druro, whom all men hailed as "well-met, " and allwomen liked, and all Rhodesia called "Lundi, " though his Christiannames were really Francis Everard. No one had ever called him anythingbut Lundi since the day he jumped into the Lundi River to save hisdog's life. He was on a shoot with half a dozen other men, and theyhad heavily dynamited a portion of the river to bring up some freshfish for dinner. Druro's dog, thinking it was a game he knew, jumpedin after one of the sticks of dynamite to bring it out to his master, and Druro, like a flash, was in after him and out again, just in timeto save himself and the dog from being blown to smithereens. "Thebravest action he had ever seen in his life, " one of the witnessesdescribed it--and he had been through several native wars and knew whathe was talking about, just as Druro, who was a mining expert, knew therisk he was taking when he jumped in among the dynamite. 

This was the man who was filled with rage and desolation of heart atthe words of "a little monkey of eighteen or nineteen--old dissipatedDerek Liscannon's daughter, I thank you! Nice school to come to fortemperance lectures! Not that she can help being Derry's daughter, andnot that old Derry is a bad sort--far from it--but as hard a drinker asyou could find in a day's march. And young Derry hits it up a bit, too, though one of the nicest boys in the world. I've always said thatGay was the sweetest, prettiest little kid in Rhodesia--in Africa, ifit comes to that--and now she turns on me like this--blow her buttons!"

He strode along the soft, dusty roads that still had a feel of the veldin them, neither looking nor listing whither he went. It was a soft, plaintive voice that brought him to a standstill, and the realizationthat he was close to the Wankelo railway station. 

"Oh, _can_ you tell whether the Falcon Hotel is far from here?"

"The Falcon Hotel, madam?" His hand went instinctively to his head, but there was no hat upon it. "There is surely a bus here that willtake you to it, " he said, looking about him. 

She gave a little laugh. 

"Yes; but I don't want my poor bones rattled to pieces in a bus if itis not too far to walk. "

Dimly he could see a slight figure swathed in velvety darkness of fursand veils that gave out a faint perfume of violets, and the suggestionof a pale, oval face. Her voice was low and sweet. 

"It is not very far, " said Druro. "I will gladly show you the way, ifyou will allow me. "

"That is so very kind of you, " she answered softly, and fell into stepby his side. 

As they walked, she told him, with the simple aplomb of a well-bredwoman of the world, that she had just arrived by the train fromBuluwayo and was going on to a place called Selukine for a week or two. It was not necessary for her to tell him that she was recently fromhome, for he knew it by her air, her voice, her accent, her rustlygarments, the soft perfume of fur and violets, and a dozen littleintangible signs and symbols that all had an appeal for him. For Drurowas one of those Englishmen who love England from afar a great dealbetter than they do when at home. He had lived in Rhodesia, off andon, for ten years, and the veld life was in the very blood and bones ofhim. Yet he always spoke of it as a rotten country, and gravelyaffirmed that it was bad luck to have to live away from England. 

"Give me London lamp-posts, " he was in the habit of saying, "and youcan have all the veld you want for keeps. " And he went home everyyear, declaring that he was finished with Africa and would never comeback. Yet he came back. Also, he had built himself a lovely littleranch-house in the midst of five thousand acres of Sombwelo Forest, where there were no lampposts at all, only trees and a silent, deepriver full of crocodiles. It is true that he had never lived there. He only went there and mooned by himself sometimes, when he was "out"with the world. It had occurred to him, since his _rencontre_ withGay, that he would go there very shortly. But now this rustling, softly perfumed lady made him remember his beloved lampposts. It was ayear since he had been home, and she meant home. 

She was London; she was Torment; she was Town. 

Curiosity to see her face consumed him. He felt certain that she wasbeautiful. No plain woman could be so self-possessed and sure ofherself, could give out such subtle charm and fascination. After thebrutal and unexpected treatment he had received at the hands of GayLiscannon, he felt himself under some sweet, healing spell. 

They reached the hotel all too soon. The bus, with her luggage on it, had passed them by the way, and host and porters were awaiting her atthe front door. In the light she turned to thank him with a charmingsmile, and he saw, as he expected, that her face was subtly beautiful. 

"I hope we shall meet again, Mr. ----" She paused smiling. 

"Druro, " he supplied, smiling too, "and this is Rhodesia. I'm afraidyou can't miss meeting me again--if you try. "

He, too, as she very well observed, was good to behold, standing therewith the light on his handsome head. She did not miss the potency ofhis smile. Nor, being a woman who dealt in lights and shades herself, was the flattering significance of his words wasted upon her. 

"_Tant meiux!_" she said, and, in case he was no French scholar, repeated it in English, as she held out her slim gloved hand--"All thebetter!"

Gay and a man she had been dancing with came out and passed them asthey stood there smiling and touching hands--a handsome, debonair manand a subtly beautiful woman. Gay took the picture of them home withher, and stayed long thinking of it when she should have been sleeping. Long she leaned from her bedroom window, gazing at the great greyspaces of veld that she loved so much, but seeing them not. All shecould see was Druro's face turned cold, the rocklike expression of hiseyes when he stared at her as though she had been some stranger--she, who had loved him for years, ever since, as a girl of sixteen, straightfrom England and from school, she first saw him and found in his clear, careless face and fearless ways the crystallization of all her girlishdreams. Lovely and spirited, decked in the bloom of youth, she hadmore, perhaps, than her fair share of admirers and adorers. Every manwho met her fell, to some extent, in love with her. "Gay fever" it wascalled; and they all went through it, and some recovered and some didnot. But Gay's fever was for Lundi Druro, though she hid it wellbehind locked lips and a sweet, serene gaze. She could not see himriding down the street, or standing among a group of his fellows (forother men always clustered about Druro), or even catch a glimpse of hisbig red Argyle car standing outside a building, without a tingling ofall the life in her veins. 

But she was neither blind nor a fool. Her spirit brooded over Drurowith the half-mystical and half-maternal love that all true womenaccord to the beloved; but she knew very well that he had never lookedher way and that the chances were he never might. He was a man's man. He liked women, and his eyes always lit up when he saw one, but heforgot all about them when they were not there, forgot them easily incards and conviviality and the society of other men. Once, whensomeone had attacked him about his indifference to women, he hadanswered:

"Why, I adore women! But I prefer the society of men--there are fewerregrets afterward. "

There was no doubt that he exercised a tremendous personal magnetismupon other men--attracted them, amused them, and influenced them, evenobsessed them. The way he could make them do things just out of sheerliking for him almost amounted to mesmerism. It must be added that, though they were often unpractical, crazy, unwise, even dangerousthings he influenced others to do, they were never shameful or in anyway shady. There wasn't a shameful instinct or thought in the whole ofLundi Druro's composition. Gay, however, divined in him that his powerof obsessing the minds of other men had become, or was on the way ofbecoming, a temptation and obsession to himself. She was wise enoughto realize that hardly any man in the world can stand too muchpopularity, also to see the rocks ahead for Druro in a country wheremen drink and gamble far too much, and are fast in the clutches ofthese vices before they realize them as bad habits. It was not fornothing that she was Derek Liscannon's daughter and Derry Liscannon'ssister. 

She had her worries and anxieties, poor Gay, though she carried themwith a stiff lip and never let the world guess how often her heart wasaching behind her smile. But, of late, the worst of them had come tobe in the fear that Lundi Druro was going the way so many good men goin Rhodesia--full-tilt for the rocks of moral and physical ruin. 

This was the reason for her attack on him. She had long meditatedsomething of the kind, though quite certain that he would take itbadly. But she had thought that his friendship with her family andherself warranted (she knew that her love did) her doing a thing fromwhich her soul shrank but did not retreat--hurting another human soulso as to help it to its own healing. And it had all ended indisappointment and despair. Nothing to show for it but the picture ofhim standing happy and gay, his eyes admiringly fixed on another woman!Perhaps the beautiful stranger would solace him for the wound Gay'shand had dealt? Who could she be? the girl wondered miserably. 

But, by the next afternoon, everyone in Wankelo knew that Mrs. Hading, beautiful, unattached, and travelling for her pleasure, was staying atthe "Falcon"; and Beryl Hallett, who was also staying there, hadalready met her and prepared a complete synopsis of her character, clothes, and manners (not to mention features, complexion, and hair)for the benefit of her friend, Gay Liscannon. 

"My dear, she has lovely, weary manners and lovely, weary eyes, with anexpression as if she doesn't take any interest in anything; but you betshe does!" said Beryl, whose language always contained a somewhatsporting flavour. "You bet she takes an interest in clothes and menand everything that's going! Nothing much gets past those weary eyes. And she is as _chic_ as the deuce. Never have we seen such clothes uphere. She smells so delicious, too--not scented, you know, but justlittle faint puffs of fragrance. I wish I knew how to do it. But Idon't think you _can_ do it without sachets in your corsets and a maidto sew them into all your clothes, and salts and perfumes for yourbath, and plenty of tin to keep it all going! Blow! How canpoverty-stricken wretches like us contend with that kind of thing, I'dlike to know?"

"We don't have to contend with it, " said Gay indifferently. 

The two girls were sitting in Berlie's mother's private sitting-roomupstairs. Gay was in riding-kit and had come to beguile Berlie to gofor a canter. 

"Oh, don't we?" said the latter emphatically. "You should just see thepile of men that came in to lunch here today--just to have a look ather. The story of her glory has gone forth. She came over to ourtable and asked if we minded if she sat with us, and then she wound herlovely manners all around mother so that mum thinks she's a dream andan angel. But _I_ don't cotton to her much, Gay--and I can feel shedoesn't like me, either, though she was as sweet as honey. My dear, she will nobble all our men--I feel it in my bones. "

"Let her, " said Gay listlessly. 

"She even has old Lundi Druro crumpled up--what do you think of_that_?" Gay's charming face turned to a mask. "That gives you anidea of her power, " continued Beryl dolorously, "if she can keep LundiDruro amused. She is sitting in the lounge with him now. They've beenthere ever since lunch, and he was to have gone out to his mine earlythis morning. "

Gay jumped up from her chair. 

"Are you coming for that ride or not, Berlie? I'm sick of scorchingindoors. " There were, indeed, two spots of flame in her cheeks. 

"Oh, Gay, I can't; I am too G. I. For anything. " "G. I. " is Rhodesianfor "gone in, " a common condition for both men and women and things inthat sprightly land of nicknames and nick-phrases. 

"I'm off, then, " said Gay hurriedly. 

"Wait a minute--I'll come down with you!" said Beryl, and, rushing tothe mirror over the mantel, began to pat her pretty _cendré_ hair flatto her head, in unconscious imitation of Mrs. Hading's coiffure. 

The two girls went downstairs together. Beryl's arm thrust through herfriend's. Gay's horse stood at the side entrance, facing thestaircase. She instinctively quickened her pace as they reached thelounge door, but, before she could pass, it opened, and Mrs. Hallettcame out. 

"Oh, I was just coming to look for you girls. Mrs. Scott is in fromUmvuma, Gay, and dying to see you. "

Gay gave an inward groan. Mrs. Scott was an old friend of her deadmother's, and about the only woman in the world for whom the girl wouldhave entered the lounge at that moment. As it was, she followedBeryl's mother swiftfoot through the swing door, very upright and smartin her glossy tan riding-boots, knee-breeches, and graceful long coatof soft tan linen. In the matter of riding-kit, Gay always went nap. A ball or day gown she might wear until it fell off her back, but whenit came to habits, she considered nothing too good or too recent forher. 

For a moment, Marice Hading looked away from the man who sat opposite, amusing her with apt and cynical reflections on life in Rhodesia, andshot a soft, dark glance at the straight back of the girl inriding-kit. Her cleverly appraising eye took in, with theinstantaneousness of photography, every detail of Gay's get-up, and herbrain acknowledged that she had seldom seen a better one either inCentral Park or Rotten Row. But no expression of any such opinionshowed in her weary, disdainful eyes or found its way to her lips, forin the art of using language to conceal her thoughts, Marice Hading hadfew rivals. What she said to Druro, whose glance had also wanderedthat way, was:

"One cannot help noticing what a hard-riding, healthy-looking crowd thewomen of this country are. "

The words sounded like a simple, frank statement; but somehow theyrobbed Gay of some of the perfection of her young and charmingensemble, and made her one of a crowd in which her distinction waslost. Druro felt this vaguely without being able to tell exactly howit happened. He knew nothing of the subtleties of a woman's mind. Hehad thought that Gay looked rather splendidly young and sweet, and, because of it, a fresh pang shot through him at the remembrance of herscornful dismissal of him the night before. But, with Mrs. Hading'swords, the impression passed, and he got a quick vision of Gay as justan ordinary girl who had been extremely rude to him. This helped himto meet with equanimity the calm, clear glance she sent through him. 

"Don't you know the little riding girl?" asked Mrs. Hading softly, butsomething in Druro's surprised expression made her cover the questionwith a faintly admiring remark: "She's quite good-looking, I think. Who is she?"

"The daughter of an old friend of mine--a Colonel Liscannon, " saidDruro, speaking in a low voice and rapidly. He would have preferrednot to discuss Gay at all, but his natural generosity impelled him toaccord her such dignity and place as belonged to her and not to leaveher where Mrs. Hading's words seemed to place her--just the other sideof some fine, invisible line. 

"Ah, one of the early pioneers? They were all by way of being captainsand colonels, weren't they?" murmured Marice Hading, still weavingfine, invisible threads. 

Druro frowned slightly. "Colonel Liscannon is an old service-man----"

"May I beg for one of those delicious cigarettes you were smoking afterlunch?" she said languidly. "And do tell where to get some like them. I find it so difficult to get anything at all smokable up here, exceptfrom your clubs. "

Thus, Colonel Liscannon and his daughter were gracefully consigned tothe limbo of subjects not sufficiently interesting to hold theattention of Mrs. Hading. If she could not, by reason of Druro'snatural chivalry, put Gay just over the wrong side of some subtlesocial line she had drawn, she could, at least, thrust her out of theconversation altogether and out of Druro's mind. This was always apastime she found fascinating--pushing someone out of a man's mind andtaking the empty place herself--and one at which long practice had madeher nearly perfect. So it is not astonishing that she succeeded sowell with Druro that, when Gay left her friends and slipped out to herwaiting horse, he did not even notice her going. He was busy trying topersuade Mrs. Hading to come for a spin around the Wankelo kopje in hiscar, and he was not unsuccessful. Only, they went further than thekopje. About six miles out they got a glimpse of a solitary riderahead, going like the wind. A cloud of soft, ashen dust rising fromunder the horse's heels floated back and settled like the gentle dewfrom heaven upon the car and its occupants. Druro was on the point ofslackening speed, but Mrs. Hading's pencilled brows met in a line aboveher eyes, and one of her little white teeth showed in her underlip. 

"Get past her, please, " she said coldly. "I object to other people'sdust. "

Druro was about to object in his turn, though, for a moment, hephilandered with the delightful thought of getting even with Gay bycovering her with dust and petrol fumes. Unfortunately, his gallantresistance to this pleasant temptation would never be known, for Gaysuddenly and unexpectedly wheeled to the left and put her horse's headto the veld. The swift wheeling movement, with its attendant extrascuffling of dust, sent a further graceful contribution of fine dirt onto the occupants of the car. It would have been difficult to accuseGay of doing it on purpose, however, for she appeared blandlyunconscious of the neighbourhood of fellow beings. She gave a littleflick of her whip, and away she went over a great burnt-out patch ofveld, leaving the long, white, dusty road to those who had no choicebut to take it. 

Mrs. Hading did not love Gay Liscannon any better for her score, butshe would have disliked her in any case. Because she was no longeryoung herself, youth drove at her heart like a poisoned dagger. One ofthe few keen pleasures she had left in life was to bare her foils tothe attack of some inexperienced girl, to match her wit and art andbeauty against a fresh cheek and ingenuous heart, and prove to theworld that victory was still to her. But when she had done it, victorywas dust in her palm and bitter in her mouth as dead-sea apples. Forshe knew that the wolf of middle age was at her door. 

Marice Hading was one of those unhappy women who have drained to thedregs every cup of pleasure they can wrench from life and fled from thehealing cup of pain. Now, with the chilly and uncompromising hand offorty clutching at her, pain was always with her--not ennobling, chastening pain, but the pain of those who, having been overfull, musthenceforth go empty. 

Small wonder that, weary-eyed and dry-souled, she roamed the earth infeverish search of solace and refreshment. Her husband, a generous, affectionate man, condemned by her selfishness to a waste of arid yearsempty of wife-love or children, had died of overwork, dyspepsia, andgeneral dissatisfaction some eight years before, leaving his widow withan income of two thousand pounds a year, a sum she found all too smallfor her requirements. 

In her fashion, she had been in love several times during herwidowhood, but never sufficiently so to surrender her liberty. Horrorof child-bearing and a passion for the care and cultivation of her ownbeauty were further reasons for not succumbing to the temptation totake another man slave in marriage. She had contented herself withholding the hearts of the men who loved her in her hands and squeezingthem dry of every drop of devotion and self-sacrifice they couldgenerate. 

But the harvest of hearts was giving out, and the wolf was at the door. She had had very bad luck in the last year or two. The hearts that hadcome her way were as selfish as her own, and knew how to slip elusivelyfrom greedy little hands, without yielding too much. For a long timeit had seemed to her that the world had become bankrupt of big, generous-giving hearts, and that there were no more little games oflife worth playing. Now, suddenly and unexpectedly, she happened uponWankelo, a green spot in the desert. Here were girls to act ascounters in the game she loved to play, and here, too, unless she weregrievously mistaken, was a man who had the best of sport to offer. With the hunter's sure instinct for the prey, she recognized unerringlythe big, generous qualities of Druro's nature. Here was a heart thatcould be made to suffer and to give. Besides, he was extremelygood-looking. She felt a kind of hopeful certainty that he could offerher jaded heart something new in the way of emotions. 

In consideration of these things, she decided to pitch her tent for awhile in Wankelo. Selukine could wait. Her projected visit there was, in any case, only one of speculation and curiosity. She had heard ofthe place as being thick with small gold mines closed down for want ofcapital, and it had occurred to her that the possibility of finding agold mine cheaply, and a capitalist for nothing at all, was quite onthe cards. Besides, discreet inquiry, or, rather, discreet listeningto the frank discussion of other people's affairs, which is one of thefeatures of Rhodesian life, had elicited the happy information thatDruro was on the way to becoming a very wealthy man. The Leopard reef, report said, was making bigger and richer at every blast, and theexpectation was that it would be the richest thing in the way of minesthat Rhodesia had yet known. Luck, like nature, has her darlings. 

The Leopard mine was Druro's own property and the darling of his heart, next to his dog Toby. He had taken forty thousand pounds sterling fromit in one year and spent it in another. That was the time he stayedaway a whole year among the lamp-posts, "forgot" to get married, andcame back without a bean. He declared there were plenty more fortythousands to be got out of the Leopard, and perhaps there were, but, unfortunately, during his absence the reef had been lost. As he wasthe only man who believed it would ever be found again, he hadencountered some difficulty in getting together sufficient capital torestart the mine, for, of course, it had been shut down on the loss ofthe reef. But, on the strength of his personality, he had succeededwhere most men would have failed. After many months, operations werein full swing. It was said that the mine was panning three ounces overa width of four-six, and a strike of a thousand feet proved, with thereef at the bottom of the shaft, richer and stronger than ever. ButDruro himself gave away little information on the subject, beyondadmitting sometimes in the bitters-time before dinner at the club, thatthe mine was looking all right. Rumour did the rest. 

For a few days after Mrs. Hading's arrival, Lundi Druro disappearedfrom every-day life in Wankelo. It was a way he had of doing, andeveryone who sought him at such times would find him at the Leopard inpants embroidered with great holes burned into them by cyanide andacids, a disreputable shirt without any buttons or collar, and face andhands blackened beyond recognition with the machine-oil and grimeinseparable from a large mining plant. He always did his own assaying, taking both time and trouble over it. It must certainly be admittedthat, if he knew how to play when he played, he also worked some whenhe worked. 

During this time, Mrs. Hading was busy in many ways, but chiefly inwinding her lovely manners about people whom she decided would beuseful to her, and prosecuting a further acquaintance with BerylHallett and Gay Liscannon. It was quite unavoidable that she and Gayshould meet, however averse they might be to one another, and eachaccepted the fact with an outward calm that gave no indication ofinward fires. Mrs. Hading was charming to Gay, as was her invariablepractice while searching for chinks in the opponent's armour. Herhands blessed, even while her fingers were busy feeling for the softspots in the victim's skull. Gay, on her side, was pleasant, polite, and interested, while guarding her heart behind a barrier as fine as ashirt of steel mail. For, though of a frank and generous disposition, she was not a fool, and life had taught her a few things about theattitude of mind of most pretty unattached women toward young girls inthe same case. 

At eleven o'clock one morning, they were all gathered round Mrs. Hallett's tea-table--Gay, Berlie, Mrs. Hading, and several men, for 11A. M. Is the "off" hour in Rhodesia, when everyone leaves his business, if he has any, to take tea in the pleasantest society he can find. AtWankelo, most people sallied forth to the lounge of the "Falcon, " theclub-room of the town, where morning tea was a ceremony, almost a rite. 

Someone had just remarked on the prolonged absence of Lundi Druro whenhis car rolled up to the door, and, a moment later he strolled in andcame over to the circle of tea-drinkers, cool and peaceful in theirwhite clothes and shady hats. Unfortunately, his dog, Toby, chose thisas a suitable occasion for saying a few pleasant words to Gay's dog, Weary. In a moment chairs were being pushed out of the way; teacupsand scones and buttered toast were flying in every direction; men weretangled up with a revolving, growling mass of black and brown fur, andhalf a dozen feminine voices were crying pitifully:

"Oh, save Toby!" "Don't let Weary kill him!" "Poor little Toby, hehas no teeth!"

Toby was not the dog Druro had fished out of the Lundi River--to thatbull-terrier there had been many successors, and all had come to badand untimely ends. Druro, indeed, had sworn that he would neveracquire another dog; but Toby had sprung from none knew whence andacquired him. He was a little black, limping fellow of no breed atall, whose eyes had grown filmy from long gazing at Lundi Druro as ifhe were a sun-god or something that dazzled the vision. He usuallycarried a sacrificial offering in the shape of an enormous stone culledon his travels, and, with this in his mouth, would sit for hours, gazing at his god playing poker or otherwise engaged. The only time herelinquished this stone was when he had a fight on hand, a ratherfrequent occurrence, as his perpetual limp and partially chewed-offears testified. For, though his teeth were worn away by thestone-habit, he had a soul of steel and was afraid of nothing in thedog line. Gay's dog was one of those from whom he would stand nononsense, and they never met without attempting to settle their feudfor once and all. Druro usually settled it by banging Weary on thenose until he let go, for the latter was a powerful beast, and ifallowed to work his wicked way, Toby would not have had a hope. Buttoday, for some reason known to himself, Druro had an objection tohitting Gay's dog and contented himself with wrenching Weary's jawsapart, a dangerous and not very easy feat to accomplish. Weary, however, came in for several sound kicks and cuffs from otherdirections, and his mistress was in by no means an angelic frame ofmind by the time she had her champion safe back between her knees, heldby his collar. 

"Why don't you keep your wretched little mongrel at home?" she inquiredbitterly of Druro. 

"It's a free country, " responded Lundi blandly, wiping his damp browand Toby's bloody ear with the same handkerchief. "You should trainyour bully to go for dogs of his own size. "

"You know Toby always starts it. "

"Well, I don't say he doesn't, " admitted Druro. "But he does it onprinciple. He's a born reformer--aren't you, Tobe? Picks a scrap withany one he considers a disreputable, dissipated character. " Toby'smaster smiled mockingly at Weary's mistress. 

"Reformation, like charity, should begin at home, " she flashed back, and the instant she had uttered the words could have bitten off hertongue. For everyone was smiling delightedly. A few quarrels andscandals give a zest to life in Rhodesia, and are always warmlywelcomed. No one knew the real foundation of Gay's and Druro'smisunderstanding, but it had been plain for some time that there wasone. 

"We were talking about getting up a picnic, " said peace-loving Mrs. Hallett. "Mrs. Hading must be shown a real Rhodesian picnic. "

"I want it to be a moonlight one!" cried Berlie. "They are twice asmuch fun. "

"Yes; but there won't be a moon for nearly a month, " someone complained. 

"Well, we must have a day picnic now, and a moonlight one next month. We shall want your car, Lundi. "

"You can have it any time. Where do you think of going?"

"Either to Sombwelo Forest or Selukine. "

Everyone agreed that Mrs. Hading must see both of these lovely places. 

"I have to go to Selukine anyway, on business, " said Mrs. Hading, whohad no idea of letting her plan to motor through that district inDruro's company be interfered with by picnics, "so please let it beSombwelo. "

"You can have my ranch there as a base of operations, " proffered Lundi, "and make my boys do the work. "

They all applauded this except Gay, who submitted that a picnic was nota picnic unless conducted on alfresco lines, with all the cooking andeating done out of doors by the picnickers themselves. Drurounderstood that she objected to his ranch and was sorry he had spoken, especially as some of the others looked at her with understanding eyesalso. However, she was outvoted, everyone crying that if she likedhard work and out-door cooking, and spiders and ants running over thetable-cloth and mosquitoes biting her ankles, she could have them, butthey would have the ranch. To Druro's surprise and relief, she laughedand gave in quite pleasantly. Being a man, he could not know that, atthat very moment, she was dismally deciding that, considering all thathad passed, she could not possibly go to Druro's ranch. 

"I shall have to be taken ill at the last moment, " she reflected, andcould have wept, for she loved picnics, and Druro's ranch had a secretcall for her heart. But she laughed instead, and helped, with acheerful air, to draw up the lists of those who were to supply cars, chickens, cakes, crockery, and all the other incidentals that go to themaking of a successful picnic. The tea-party had by this time becomeenlarged to the size of a reception, and with everybody talking andarguing at once, no one (except Gay) noticed that, after a little quietconversation, Mrs. Hading and Druro withdrew and disappeared. Ittranspired later that they had ordered an early lunch and started forSelukine in the Argyle. 

And that was only the beginning of it. In the week that followed, itbecame more usual to see Mrs. Hading in Lundi Druro's car than out ofit. 

Gay, staunch to her resolve, absented herself from the festivity atSombwelo. It was no great exaggeration to plead that she was ill, forher spirit was sick if her body was not. But no one spared her thedetails of a successful and delightful day. It seemed that Druro hadbeen a perfect host and Mrs. Hading a graceful and gracious guest. And, from that time forward, never a day passed in which the two didnot spend some, at least, of its hours together. When Marice was notby Druro's side in the big red car, sometimes learning to drive, sometimes just tearing through the air, _en route_ to some mine orother which she wanted to see, they might be found in the "Falcon"lounge, playing bridge with another couple or just sitting alone, talking of London lamp-posts. Sometimes they played two-handed poker, for Marice not only sympathized but shared with Druro his passion forcards. Perhaps this drew their hearts as well as their heads together. At any rate, to lookers-on they seemed absorbed in one another. 

Mrs. Hading essayed skilfully and very winningly to draw Gay into herintimate circle, and it vexed her to realize how she evaded her plans. Berlie, she had already subjugated and made a tool of; but Gay stoodaloof and would not be beguiled. While perfectly courteous to Mrs. Hading and whole-heartedly admiring her beauty, she had yet distrustedand disliked her from the first. Now her dislike deepened, for she sawthat the widow was harming Druro. She kept him from his work, andsympathized and pandered to the passions that already too greatlyobsessed him. There were always cocktails and cards on the tablebefore them. Druro was drawing closer round him the net of hisweaknesses from which Gay had so longed to drag him forth. Between thelatter and Lundi Druro there now existed a kind of armed peace whichappeared to be based, on his side, in indifference, and, on hers, inpride. There was often open antagonism in their eyes as they facedeach other. She despised him for lingering and lagging at the heels ofpleasure, and he knew it. Sometimes, when he was not actively angrywith her, he thought she had grown older and sadder in a short while, and wondered if she were having trouble about young Derry, who wasup-country, or whether old Derek was going the pace more than usual athome. It must be these secret troubles, he thought, that had suddenlychanged her from the laughing girl he knew into a rather beautiful butcold woman. Cold, yes, cold as the east wind! Sometimes her cleareyes chilled him like the air of a certain little cold hour of the dawnthat he very much dreaded; it was a relief to turn away from them tothe warm and subtle scents and frondlike ways of Marice Hading. 

For weeks now, he had divided his time so carefully between Mrs. Hadingand poker at the club, that there was nothing at all left for theLeopard mine. His partner, M. R. Guthrie, commonly known as "Emma, "sometimes came from the mine to look for him, pedalling moodily intoWankeloon a bicycle, and always pedalling away more moodily than hecame. He was a shrivelled-up American with a biting tongue, and theonly man in the country from whom Druro would take back talk. 

"What is this wine-woman-and-song stunt you are on now, Lundi?" heinquired, late one night, when he had cornered Druro in the club with asmall but select poker-party of the hardest citizens in the country. Druro gave him a dark glance. 

"That's my business, " he said curtly. 

"Have you any other business?" asked Emma bitterly. "You don't happento own a mine, I suppose?"

"What are mines compared to jack-pots?" inquired Druro gravely. "Besides, what are you on that mine for, Emma? A decoration? Or doyou think you are my wet-nurse? I don't remember engaging you in thatcapacity. "

Guthrie rose, offended. 

"All right, my boy--go to blazes your own way!"

"I can get there without leading-strings, anyway, " Lundi retortedcheerfully. 

"But not without apron-strings, " muttered his partner, departing on thefaithful bicycle. "I dunno what's come to the fellow!"

In truth, Druro hardly knew himself. A kind of fever had takenpossession of him, a fever of unrest and discontent with himself andall things. He couldn't remember how it began or when, but it seemedto him that life, in one moment, from being interesting and vivid, hadturned old and cold and tasted like a rotten apple in his mouth. Andhe did not care how many drinks he took to wash the flavour away. Heknew that he was drinking too much and neglecting his work, andjeopardizing other people's money as well as his own by so doing, buthis soul was filled with a bitter carelessness and indifference tothese facts. He was anxious not to inquire too deeply within himselfon the matter of what ailed him, being dimly aware of a something atthe back of his mind that could inform him only too well. He wished toavoid all discussion with that something, sitting like a veiled, watching figure, waiting for some unoccupied hour. Up to now, he hadbeen very successful in dodging the appointment, but he had premonitionthat he would be caught one of these days soon--in some little colddawn-hour perhaps. 

There came a day when Mrs. Hading decided to return the hospitalityshown her in Wankelo by giving an entertainment of her own. Shementioned her intention lightly to Druro. 

"I really must try and arrange to give a little jolly of my own inreturn for all the big jollies people here have given me. "

In reality, she had determined on something in the nature of "asurprise to the natives" that would put all their little picnics anddinner-parties entirely in the shade, and duly impress not only Wankelobut Rhodesia and, incidentally, Lundi Druro. For, after several weeksof close intercourse with the latter, she had come to the conclusionthat she might do very much worse than marry him. More, she actuallydesired to do so. The stimulus of his insouciant gaiety andoriginality, good looks and unfailingly good spirits had come to be anecessary part of her existence. She needed him now, like a bracingcocktail she had grown used to taking so many times a day and could nolonger do without. Besides, the Leopard was panning out well, at therate of a thousand pounds sterling per month, and had the prospect ofdoing far better. 

These were good enough reasons for Mrs. Hading's decision that Druro, as well as Wankelo, should be impressed by the finished splendour andgrace of her "little jolly. " She intended to show him that, when itcame to choosing a wife who could spend his thousands graciously and tothe best effect, he could never do better than Marice Hading. To whichend, she concentrated her whole mind on the purpose of making herentertainment a complete and conspicuous success. 

A little group of those people whom she favoured with her intimacy werecalled into council, theoretically to help her with advice, though inpractice she needed little of them but admiring applause. They metevery morning in a corner of the lounge which, by introducing her ownflowers, books, and cushions, she had made peculiarly hers. Here overmorning tea the plans for her "jolly" were projected and perfected, andhere were always to be found Berlie Hallett and her mother, Cora Lisle, Johnny Doran, Major Maturin, and one or two lesser but useful lights. 

Druro, though he did little more than decorate the assembly with hisgood-tempered smile, was a most necessary feature of it, and Dick Tryonwas more often than not to be found there also, though whether he cameto scoff or bless, no one was quite certain. His position in thecircle of Mrs. Hading's satellites had never been clearly defined. Hewas supposed by some people to be hopelessly in love with GayLiscannon, and that supposition alone was enough to make Marice Hadinganxious to attach him to her personal staff. Besides, he was aninteresting man and a clever lawyer--always a useful combination in afriend. At any rate, he was one of those who helped to applaud theprogramme of Mrs. Hading's jolly, which she eventually decided was totake the form of a bridge tournament followed by supper and a dance. 

This sounds a simple enough affair, but, under Mrs. Hading's treatment, it became rarefied. A chef for the supper had been commanded fromJohannesburg, a string orchestra for the dance from Salisbury, andexquisite bridge prizes were being sent from a jeweller's at the Cape. The hotel dining-room was to be transformed into a salon for the cardtournament, the lounge decorated as a ballroom, and an enormous marqueeerected for the supper. 

The day dawned at last when, all these arrangements being completed, there was nothing for the select council to do but congratulate eachother on the prospect of a perfect evening. Druro, however, who hadfor some days been showing (to the initiated eyes of his male friends, at least) signs of restlessness, not to say boredom, marred the harmonyof this propitious occasion by absenting himself, thereby causing thepresident of the meeting palpable inquietude and displeasure. Shemissed her laughing cavalier, as she had a fancy for calling him, fromher retinue. Plainly _distraite_, she sat twisting her jewelledfingers and casting restless glances toward the door until certainemissaries, who had been sent forth, returned with the news that no onehad seen Druro since eleven o'clock the night before, when he had goneoff in a car with some mining men. The widow hid her annoyance under apretty, petulant smile and the remark:

"He must be given a penance this afternoon. " After which she abruptlydismissed the audience until tea-time. 

When tea-time came, however, with its gathering in Mrs. Hallett'ssitting-room (the lounge being in preparation for the evening'sfestivities), there was still no Druro. Further inquiry had elicitedthe fact that the men he had gone off with were from the Glendora. TheGlendora was a mine owned by an Australian syndicate and run entirelyby Australians, a hard-living, hard-drinking crowd, who, by reason oftheir somewhat notorious ways and also because none of them had wives, were left rather severely alone by the Wankelo community. One or twoof the managers, however, belonged to the club, and it was with thesethat Druro had disappeared. 

Mrs. Hading, whose petulance was not quite so pretty as in the morning, rather gathered than was told these things, and she saw very plainlythat she had not gathered all there was to tell. Men have a curiousway of standing back to back when women want to find out too much. Butshe did not need a great deal of enlightening, and when a man said withcareless significance, "I expect he has forgotten all about tonight, "and the other men's eyes went blank, she guessed what was at the bottomof it all. She had learned by now what were the occasions on whichDruro so poignantly _forgot_, and she was furious, not because gamblingmight be bad for his bank account or his immortal soul, but that heshould dare to have a more burning interest than herself. 

"What about sending someone to remind him?" suggested Maturin. MariceHading regarded him coldly. 

"He is engaged to open the ball with me this evening. I do not thinkhe is likely to forget. " There was more than a ring of arrogance inher tone, and, looking straight past him into the eyes of GayLiscannon, she added acridly, "Whomsoever he may have thusdistinguished in the past. "

Gay, who, by some mischance, had happened accidentally upon themeeting, was taken off her guard by this direct attack, as the readyflush in her cheek clearly told. A moment later, she was her pale, calm self. But Mrs. Hading saw that her arrow shot at a venture haddrawn blood. She really knew nothing of Gay's quarrel with Druro, andher venture was based on a remark Berlie had let fall. But she wasaware of a shadow between Gay and Druro that her sharp and curious eyeshad never been able to penetrate, and that infuriated her. Tryon, lazily examining his shoes, here interposed a casual remark. 

"I am willing to prophesy that what has happened once can happenagain--in spite of William De Morgan. "

It was Marice Hading's turn to flush. 

"If I do not dance with Mr. Druro tonight, it will not be because he isabsent, " she said, with cold arrogance. 

"_Nous verrons, _" he answered agreeably. She gave him an insolentlook. He had declared sides at last, and she knew where she stood. 

Gay dressed for the dance with but little enthusiasm. Pride made herput aside her longing to stay at home with her own wretchedness--prideand bitter curiosity, but, above all, a haunting fear of what theevening might bring forth. She had a strange premonition thatsomething final and fatal was going to happen to her love for Druro. It was to be given its death-thrust, perhaps, by the announcement of anengagement between him and the widow. Surely, Marice Hading'ssignificance had meant that if it had meant anything! This fete was tobe the scene of her triumph. She meant to brandish Druro as atrophy--fastening him publicly to the wheels of her chariot. Strangelyenough, what Gay dreaded still more was that Druro would not turn up atall. She felt a miserable foreboding about the gang at Glendora. Andit was based on good grounds. They had once lured her brother Derryout to that camp, and what he had told her of his experiences there hadleft her with a wholesome dread and detestation of the Australians. 

"I wonder I got out with my skin, " said Derry. "They rooked me rightand left. There isn't a finer set of sharpers outside of MexicoCity--and the whole gang ready to eat you up alive if you show by thetwitch of an eyelash that you are 'on' to them. There's one piratethere--Capperne--who's worse than all the rest. Nothing can beat him. You know he's sharping you all the time, but he's so slick you cannever catch him out. And it wouldn't be wise to, either. "

These were the men that Druro had gone out to play poker with--LundiDruro, with his love of fair play and easily roused temper andcarelessness of consequences. It was a heavy and apprehensive heartthat the girl hooked up inside her ball gown. 

The "Falcon" was a fairy-land of softly shaded lights and flowers ofevery shade of yellow and gold. Few flowers except those of thehardiest kinds could be got in any quantity at Wankelo, so Mrs. Hadinghad cleverly decided to use only those of one colour, choosingsunflowers, marigolds, and all the little yellow children of the Zinniafamily. These, mingled with the tender green of maidenhair fern, ofwhich quantities had been obtained from Selukine, massed against wallsdraped with green, made an exquisite setting for her entertainment andher own beauty. She glided here and there among the amber lights, welcoming her guests and setting them at the little green-clad cardtables, a diaphanous vision of gold-and-orange chiffons, her perfectneck and shoulders ablaze with diamonds, and her little flat-coiffedblack head, rather snakelike on its long throat, banded by a chain ofyellow topazes. 

Everything blended in the picture she had made for herself, and thepicture was perfect to behold. But, unfortunately, the person whom ithad been created chiefly to impress was missing. Druro had not come. 

The bridge tournament waned to an end, and the dainty and expensiveprizes were awarded; the guests flowed in a gentle, happy tide to thesupper marquee and partook of such a collation of aspics and salads, and soufflés and truffles, and such a divine brew of cup and amazingbrand of cocktails as Wankelo had never before dreamed of in itsphilosophy; then back they ebbed, more happily and hilariously thanthey had flowed, to the ballroom, where, on the stroke of midnight, thespecial string orchestra from Salisbury strung out sweet, tremoloopening bars of the first waltz. And Druro had not come!

Mrs. Hading gracefully surrendered herself to the arms of a great manwho had been obliging enough to drop in accidentally by the eveningtrain from Buluwayo, and, floating down the room, opened the ball. Herpartner was a very great man indeed, both in South African and Englishpolitics, and it was a feather of no small jauntiness in MariceHading's cap that she had been able to secure him for the vacant seatat her supper-table and afterward beguile him to the ballroom and intoasking her to dance. His presence lent a final note of distinction toan extraordinarily successful evening, and she had every reason to beproud and triumphant--except one! But it was that one thing thatpoisoned all. No triumph could quench her rage and humiliation atDruro's defection. 

"He shall pay! He shall pay!" were the words that beat time in herbrain, all the while she was floating and gliding among her guests, full of graceful, weary words and charming, tired smiles, the onlycolour in her face showing on her bitter lips. 

"He shall pay me my price for this, " she promised herself softly, "andit shall not be a light one. "

(Hugh Hading had paid his price for her girlhood; Lundi Druro shouldpay for the rest of her life!)

Only one thing could put her right with her own pride and before thelittle world which had witnessed the slight, and that she wouldexact--the announcement that he was hers, body and soul, to do with asshe pleased. That the honour would be an empty one, this evening's_déroute_ would seem to have demonstrated; he had proved once more thathe was no man's man, and no woman's man, either; he belonged to hissins, and his weaknesses, and his failings. But, for the moment, itwould be enough for Marice Hading that he should propose to her and beaccepted. Her time would come later--afterward. There were many modesof recompense of which she was past mistress, many subtle means ofrepayment for injuries received. Such a mind as hers was not lackingin refined methods of inflicting punishment. It would be proved tohim, in bitter retribution, that Marice Hading could not be trifledwith and neglected--_forgotten for a game of cards_!

In the meantime, she eased her anger a little by snubbing Tryon, whenhe came to claim a waltz she had given him early in the week. Lookingat him with cool and lovely disdain as she leaned on the arm of thegreat politician who still lingered with her, she disclaimed allrecollection of any such engagement. 

"You should be careful not to make such mistakes, Mr. Tryon, " she saidhaughtily. 

"_Soit_! The mistake is mine as well as the loss, " he murmuredgracefully, knowing very well what was his real crime. "But prophetsmust be prepared for losses. In olden days they have even been knownto lose their heads for prophesying too truly. " And on that he made abow, and returned to Gay, whom he had left in their sitting-out place, which was his car. She had danced but little all the evening andseemed lost in dark thoughts. 

"Tired?" he asked, leaning on the door beside her. 

"No; but I'm sick of this dance, " she said fiercely. "Take me for aspin, Dick. "

"Right. But the roads are pretty bad in the dark, you know. "

Gay pondered a moment. 

"The Selukine road isn't bad"--she paused a moment, then slowly added, "and the road to Glendora. "

It was Tryon's turn to ponder. The road to the Glendora was the worstin the country, but it didn't take him long to read the riddle. 

"Come on, then!" he said abruptly. "Shall I get your cloak?"

"No; let me wear your things, Dick. " She took up a big motor-coat anddeer-stalker from the driving-seat and slipped into them. Therose-pink gown disappeared and was lost under the darkness of tweed, and the cap covered her bright hair. She sat well back in the shadowsof the tonneau. 

Tryon set the car going, climbed moodily into the lonely driving-seat, and steered away into the darkness just as the music stopped and acrowd of dancers came pouring out of the ballroom. 

The Glendora lay west of the town, and the road to it ran past theclub. As luck would have it, a man coming from the latter place, andpushing a bicycle before him, almost collided with them, causing Tryonto pull up short. 

"Is that you, Emma Guthrie?" he called irritably. 

"Yep!" came the gloomy answer. 

"Seen anything of Lundi?"

"Nope!" on a deeper tone of gloom. Gay touched Tryon's shoulder. 

"Make him come, too, " she whispered. 

"I'm just taking a run out to the Glendora, " announced Tryon. "Want tocome?"

"I do, " said Guthrie, with laconic significance, and climbed in besidethe driver. They flipped through the night at thirty miles an hour, which was as much as Tryon dared risk on such a road. The Glendora wasabout ten miles off. Gay, furled in the big coat and kindly darkness, could hear the two men exchanging an occasional low word, but littlewas said. It was doubtful whether Guthrie knew who Tryon's otherpassenger was. 

In time, the clanking and pounding of a battery smote their ears, andthe twinkling myriad lights of a mining camp were spread across thedarkness. One large wood-and-iron house, standing alone on risingground, well back from the road, was conspicuously brilliant. Thedoors were closed, but lights and the sound of men's voices raised inan extraordinary uproar streamed from its open, unblinded windows andfanlights. Abruptly Tryon turned the car so that it faced for home, halted it in the shadow of some trees, and jumping out, strode towardthe house, followed by Guthrie and Gay. 

Almost as they reached it, the door was flung open, and a man came outand stood in the light. He was passing his hand over his eyes andthrough his hair in an odd gesture that would have told Gay who he was, even if every instinct in her had not recognized Druro. Thepandemonium in the house had fallen suddenly to a great stillness, butas Guthrie and Tryon reached the house, it broke forth again withincreased violence, and a number of men rushed out and laid hands onDruro as if to detain him. He flung them off in every direction; acouple of them fell scrambling and swearing over the low rail of theveranda. Then, several spoken sentences, terse, and clean-cut ascameos, fell on the night air. 

"Come on home, Lundi; we have a car here. "

"I tell you he has killed Capperne! Capperne is dead as a bone!"

"All right!" came Druro's voice, cool and careless. "If he's dead, he's dead. I am prepared to accept the consequences. "

The Australians stood off, grouped together, muttering. Guthrie andTryon moved to either side of Druro, and between them he walked calmlyaway from the house. When they reached the car, he took the seatbeside Tryon, Guthrie climbed in next to Gay, and they drove awaywithout a word being spoken. The whole nightmare happening had passedwith the precision and ease of a clockwork scene played by marionettes. Now the curtain was down, and nothing remained but the haunting, fateful words still ringing in the ears of them all. Small wonder theysat silent as death. As the car entered the precincts of the town, Druro said to Tryon:

"I must go to the police camp and report this thing, Dick. But, firstdrive to the 'Falcon, ' will you? I've just remembered that I had anappointment there and must go and apologize. "

They drew up at a side entrance of the hotel and Druro stepped out andturned almost mechanically to open the door for those behind. So farhe had shown no knowledge of Gay's presence, but he now looked straightinto her eyes without any sign of surprise. He held out his hand tohelp her to descend, and, in the same instant, swiftly withdrew it. 

"I forgot, " he said, and, for an instant, stood staring at his palm andthen at her in a dazed, musing sort of way. "There is blood upon it!"

Gay could not speak. Her heart felt breaking. It seemed to her that, in that moment, with the shadow of crime on him, he had suddenlychanged into a bright-haired, innocent, wistful boy. She longed, withan infinite, brooding love that was almost maternal, to shelter andcomfort him against all the world. But she could do nothing. Even ifshe could have spoken, there was nothing to say. Only, on an impulse, she caught the hand he had drawn back, and, for a moment, held it closebetween her warm, generous little palms. Then she slipped away intothe darkness, and he went into the hotel, walking like a man in a dream. 

PART II

Cold-blooded nerve, otherwise intrepid cheek, is a much admired qualityin that land of bluffs and _blagues_ called Rhodesia. Therefore, whenLundi Druro walked into Mrs. Hading's ballroom in his old grey loungesuit, with ruffled hair and the distrait eyes of a man dreaming ofother things, and proceeded, in casual but masterly fashion, to detachhis hostess from the tentacles of a new admirer, Wankelo silentlyawarded him the palm of palms. But no one who saw Mrs. Hading's faceas she walked out of the ballroom by his side envied him his job ofconciliation. 

However, they could not know that her cold looks were for their benefitrather than Druro's. Banal upbraidings would not bring off the _coup_she had planned, and she did not intend to employ them. When she andDruro were out of earshot in a far corner of the veranda, the face sheturned to him wore nothing on it but an expression of lovely and tenderpain that he found much harder to contend with than anything she couldpossibly have said. 

Contritely he proffered his profound apologies and regrets. But whenall was said and done, it boiled down to the same old lame duck of anexcuse that was yet the simple and shameful truth. 

"I forgot all about it. "

Like Gay under similar circumstances, she was infuriated by thecombined flimsiness and sincerity of the plea. But, unlike Gay, shewas too clever to give herself away and ruin her plans by an outburstof indignation. She only fixed her sad and lovely dark eyes on his andsaid quietly:

"Is that all you have to say to me, Lundi? With everyone laughing atmy humiliation and disappointment--my foolishness!"

He flushed at the use of his name, the tone of her voice, the inferencein her words. 

"I am most frightfully sorry, " he repeated, deeply embarrassed. "Itwas unutterably caddish of me. I can never forgive myself, or expectyou to forgive me. "

"I think you know by now that I can forgive you anything, " sheanswered, in a low voice. 

His embarrassment increased. 

"I'm not worth a second thought from any woman, " he asseverated firmly. 

"But if I think you are?" There was a little break in her voice, andsuddenly she put out her hands toward him. "If I cannot help----"

"Mrs. Hading, " he interposed hastily, "you don't know what you aresaying. I am a blackguard--a scamp, unfit to touch a woman's hand. "

"Let me be judge of that, " she said. 

"I have not even told you everything about tonight. When you hear whathas happened, you won't want to speak to me again. " She suddenly tookout a little lace handkerchief and began to cry. He stared at her withhaggard eyes. "Do you know that I have killed a man tonight?" he saidsombrely. 

That gave her pause. Her nerves went taut and her face rigid behindthe scrap of lace. Even _her_ cold soul balked at murder, and herplans of mingled revenge and self-advancement rocked a little. Shelooked at him direct now, with eyes full of horrified enquiry. 

"I did not mean to distress you with the story, " he said. "But Istruck a man over the card-table, and they say he is dead. "

It seemed to her that she caught a sound of relief, even triumph in thestatement--almost as though he was glad to have such a reason forstemming the tide of her words, and not taking the clinging hands sheput out to him. Her keen mind was on the alert instantly. What was atthe bottom of it all? Perhaps the man was not dead. Perhaps this wasjust a little trick of Druro's to slip the toils he felt closing roundhis liberty--her toils! Being a trickster herself, she easilysuspected trickery in others. Rapidly she turned the thing over in hermind. She had no intention of involving herself with a man who had gotto pay the penalty for committing a crime--but nothing simpler for herthan to repudiate him if anything so unpleasant should really arise. On the other hand, in case he was juggling with the truth, she mustestablish a hold, a bond that, being a man of honour, he would not beable to repudiate. The situation called for the exercise of all thefinesse of which she was mistress. She put away her handkerchief andlooked at him gravely. 

"There must be some dreadful mistake. "

He shrugged his shoulders rather wearily. 

"I don't think so. " His manner inferred, "And I don't much care, either. "

"But you must care, " she said urgently. "You must fight it, Lundi. Ifyou won't do it for your own sake"--she came a step nearer to him--"Iask you to do it for mine. " He was staring moodily into the gloom ofthe night and the deeper gloom of his own soul. "To make up to me forthe humiliation you have put upon me tonight, " she said, almost in awhisper, "I think I have a right to claim so much. "

That jerked him from his dreams. He looked her straight in the eyes. 

"If anything I can say or do will make up to you for that, you willhave no need to claim it, " he said firmly, and, bowing over her hand, took his leave. People who saw him go thought he looked more haggardthan when he came. But this was accounted for when, within the hour, news of the happenings at Glendora sped like wildfire through the town. 

Before morning, however, there were certain hopeful tidings to minglewith the bad, and Marice Hading had cause to congratulate herself onher foresight in establishing her bond. Capperne was not dead. Andthere was hope of saving him. Half his teeth were knocked down histhroat; in falling he had struck his head and cut it open; his heart, weakened by dissipation, had all but reached its last beat, and lungcomplication had set in. But the chances were that, being a worthless, useless life, precious to no one but himself, he would pull through andlive to "sharp" another day. The doctors, at any rate, worked liketigers to insure this end. For there was no doubt that, if he died, the consequences must be extremely unpleasant for Druro. It was highlyimprobable that the latter would pay the penalty with his life, but averdict of manslaughter against him could scarcely be avoided. He hadstruck Capperne down after a violent dispute in which the Australian, accused of sharping, had given him the lie, and Capperne's friends, theonly witnesses of the fracas, were prepared, if Capperne died, to swearaway Druro's life and liberty. As it was, they moved heaven and earthto have him put under arrest--"in case of accidents"--but their effortswere crowned with neither appreciation nor success, and Druro wentabout much as usual, careless, amusing, and apparently not undulydepressed. Still, it was a dark and doubtful period, and that hisfuture hung precariously in the balance, he was very well aware, and sowere his friends. 

The only thing noticeably unusual in his habits was a certain avoidanceof the Falcon Hotel and the society of womankind; and this, of course, was very well understood. It was natural that a man under astorm-cloud that might burst any moment and blot him out should wish tokeep out of the range of women's emotional sympathy. Men's sympathy isof a different calibre. Even when it is a practical, living thing thatcan be felt and built on, it is often almost cold-bloodedlyinarticulate and undemonstrative, which is the only kind of sympathyacceptable to a man in trouble, especially a man of Druro's type, whodid not want to discuss the thing at all, but just to take what wascoming to him with a stiff lip. 

One good result of it all was that now, at last, his mine was getting alittle attention. Once more he donned blue overalls and a black faceand embroidered his pants with cyanide burns. And Emma Guthrie wascontent, or as content as Emma Guthrie could be. Rumour now said thatcrushing would be commenced on the mine in two months' time, and thatten stamps were to be added to the milling-plant already existing. This looked good for Druro's financial prospects, however gloomy hissocial ones might be. But he never talked. Emma Guthrie was the manwho did all the bucking about the mine and its future. Rumour did therest handsomely, and it was unanimously accorded that fate would beplaying a shady trick indeed on Lundi Druro if, just when his futurewas painting itself in scarlet and gold with purple splashes, he was tobe put out of the game by the death of a waster like Capperne. 

On the day, then, that Capperne was at last pronounced to be out of thewood, there was almost general rejoicing in Wankelo. The littletownship threw its hat up into the air, and everyone burst into bubblesof relief and gaiety. In the club and hotels men valiantly "breastedthe bar, " vying with each other in the liquid celebration of Druro'striumph and the defeat of the enemy at Glendora, and all the womenrushed to tea at the "Falcon" to discuss the news and, incidentally, tosee how Mrs. Hading took it, and whether any further developments wouldnow arise with regard to herself and Druro. 

As soon as Mrs. Hading realized that Druro meant to absent himself fromthe felicity of her society during his period of uncertainty, she hadthought out a pose for herself and assumed it like a glove. It was thepose of a woman who withdraws a little from the world to face hersorrows alone--or almost alone. A few admiring friends were admittedinto her semi-devotional retreat. Mrs. Hallett was allowed to read toher awhile every day, and Berlie to arrange her flowers. Major Maturinbrought her the English papers and any news that was going. A quietgame of bridge was sometimes indulged in, but Marice spent much of hertime reading and writing, and a straight-backed chair with a cushionbefore it and a beautifully bound book of devotions lying on it hintedat deeper things. A certain drooping trick of the eyelids lent her anair of subdued sadness and courage that was attractive. A pose wasalways dearer to Marice Hading than bread, and this one gave herspecial pleasure--first, because it was becoming; secondly, because itwas a restful way of getting through the hot weather, and, thirdly, because it conveyed to people the idea to which she wished to accustomthem--that she and Druro were something to each other. She was nolonger to be seen in the lounge. Having successfully impressed Mrs. Hallett with her sorrowful mien, that lady had placed her sitting-room, the only private one in the hotel, at Marice's disposal, and it wasthere, surrounded by flowers and books of verse, that she received thefew friends she allowed to see her and wrote a daily letter of greatcharm and veiled tenderness to Druro. He nearly always responded withabout three lines, making one note answer three letters, sometimesmore. Druro was no fancy letter-writer. He could tell a woman heloved her, fervently enough, no doubt, either on or off paper, if thespirit moved him. But he never told Marice anything except that he wasall right, and chirpy, and pretty busy at the mine, and hoped to seeher one of these days when the horizon looked a little clearer. Briefand frank as were these missives, she studied them as closely as ifthey had been written in the hieroglyphics of some unknown language, and had often nearly bitten her underlip through by the time shereached the end of them. 

With the growing conviction that Capperne would recover, her letters toDruro grew more intimate and perhaps a shade insistent on hisover-sensitiveness in absenting himself for so long from the society ofhis best friends. It was natural that, when the good news wasdefinitely confirmed, she should expect him to present himself, andperhaps that was why she came down to the lounge that day for tea, instead of having it served in the private sitting-room as usual. 

She was looking radiant. The systematic rest-cure, combined with theservices of her maid, a finished _masseuse_, had done wonders for her, and a gown of chiffon shaded like a bunch of pansies and so transparentthat most of her could be seen through it successfully crowned herefforts. 

Druro felt the old charm of lamp-posts stealing like a delicate, narcotizing perfume over his senses as he took her hand and listened toher soft murmurs of congratulation. After all, it is true that almostany woman can marry any man if she has a few looks, a few brains, andthe quality of persistence. Besides, Marice had him safely bonded. The shrouded figure at the back of his mind that was waiting for somequiet hour in which to discuss the mess he was making of his life wouldhave to be narcotized, too, or denied and driven forth. 

Gay Liscannon came in with a riding party of noisy people, whoclattered over, clamouring for tea and clapping Druro on the shoulderwith blithe smiles. She gave him a friendly hand-clasp and said:

"Glad to see you're all right again, Lundi. "

That was the spirit of all their welcomes. No one said openly:"Hooray! You're out of the jaws of the law. " But they welcomed himlike a long-lost brother turned up from the dead, and immediately beganto talk about getting up some kind of "jolly" for him. It must beadmitted that Rhodesians are always on the look-out for an excuse for ajolly, but this really seemed a reasonable occasion. They told him helooked gloomy and needed a jolly to cheer him up. 

"A picnic is the thing for you, " said Berlie Hallett, who loved thisform of diversion better, even, than flirting. "Let us give him apicnic in his own district, Selukine. "

A thoughtful look crossed Marice Hading's face. 

"What about his own mine?" she said. "Can't we come and picnic there, Lundi? I have never seen the Leopard. "

The idea was ardently welcomed. 

"Yes--the Leopard mine! We'll take our own champagne and baptize thenew reef and Lundi's future fortunes. It shall be the great Leopardpicnic--the greatest ever!"

It was furthermore suggested that, as there was a moon, it should be amoonlight picnic with a midnight supper at the mine. 

Lundi was fain to submit, whether he liked, it or not. He wondered alittle what Emma Guthrie would say at having the mine invaded, butpersonally he did not care a toss. The narcotizing spell had fallensuddenly from him again, and life and his future fortunes lookeduninterestingly grey. He became aware of the shrouded figure tappingfor attention at the back of his brain. Gay was the cause of it, somehow. He abruptly got up to go, saying he must get back to the mine. 

"Emma will want some talking over before he will allow any picnickingaround there, " he said. "I think I had better go and start on himright away. "

"Oh, don't go yet!" they cried, and Marice Hading looked at himchidingly. But he had no heart for their gay arrangements, and tookhimself off after finally hearing that the date was fixed for twonights later, all cars to be at the "Falcon" at eight o'clock in theevening and the start to be made from there. 

Only a legitimate reason would have kept Gay away from a jolly given inDruro's honour. But she expected to have that reason in theindisposition of her father, who had been ailing for some time. Shewas not sorry, for she felt a shrinking from what the picnic mightbring forth, just as she had felt on the night of Mrs. Hading's dance. 

However, fate was not inclined to spare her anything that was due toher. Colonel Liscannon was so much better that he could easily beleft, and, moreover, an old crony had come in from the country to spenda couple of days with him. So there was no chance of Gay's evasionwithout a seeming rudeness to Druro. But she was very late in arrivingat the "Falcon, " where she was to be a passenger in Tryon's car. 

At the last, it was a matter of ordering something at the chemist's forher father and sending off a telegram that detained her, and she didnot reach the hotel until nearly a quarter to nine. Long before shegot there, she saw that all the cars were gone except one which sheeasily recognized as Tryon's. 

"Dear old Dick! He is always to be relied on, " she said, and had ahalf-finished thought that she would rather be with him that night thanany one, except----

Then she went quickly into the lounge, where, no doubt, he would bewaiting, and found him indeed, but sitting around a little table withcoffee and liqueurs in the company of Druro and Mrs. Hading, the latterlooking none too pleased. 

"Ah, " said she, with acerbity, as Gay came in, "at last! We werebeginning to think you were never coming. "

"But why did you wait for me?" inquired Gay, politely bewildered. "Ithought Dick----"

"Some idiot has walked off with my car, " explained Druro. "So Tryon istaking us all. "

"And we are waiting for petrol as well as you, " smiled Tryon; "so sitdown. " He put a chair for her next to Mrs. Hading, but that lady, after a swift glance into a mirror on the wall, skilfully manoeuvredher seat until she was opposite instead of next to the girl. Gay, in alittle white frock of soft mull, with a cascade of lace falling belowher long, young throat, resembled a freshly-gathered rose with all thefragrance and dewiness of the garden of Youth upon her. When Maricelooked at her, she felt like a Borgia. She would have liked to press acup of poison to the girl's curved red lips and force her to drink. Inthat glimpse in the mirror, she had seen that her own face, above adelicate shroudy scarf with long flying ends, rose like some tiredhothouse orchid, beautiful still, but fading, paling, passing; and shehated Gay's youth and freshness with a poignant hatred that was likethe piercing of a stiletto. She wondered why she had been such a foolas to wear that gown of purplish amethystine tulle tonight. It was acolour that made her face look hard and artificially tinted. True, herbare neck and shoulders, which were of a perfection rarely seen outsideof an art gallery, showed at their best through the mazy shroudings, and her throat looked as if it had been modelled by some cunningItalian hand and sculptured in creamy alabaster. Her throat, indeed, was Marice Hading's great beauty, and her pride in it the most sinfulof all her prides. She spent hours in her locked room massaging it andsmoothing it with soft palms, working snowy creams into it, modellingit with her fine fingers, as though it were of some plastic materialother than flesh and blood. She watched for the traces of time on itand fought them with the art and skill of a creature fighting for itslife. Indeed, when a woman makes a god of her beauty, it is her lifefor which she is fighting in the unequal battle with time. 

Night was naturally the time at which this reverenced beauty of hersshone most effectively to the dazzlement of women and the undoing ofmen. Day was not so kind. The South African sun is ruthless toexposed complexions, and has an unhappy way of showing up the presenceof thick pastes and creams which have been worked into contours indanger of becoming salients. So, although Marice never wore a collar, but always had her gowns cut into a deep V both back and front, sheinvariably shrouded herself with filmy laces and chiffons. She drewthese about her now and rose wearily. It seemed to her she had noticedDruro looking at Gay with some strange quality in his glance. 

"If we don't make a move, we shall never get there at all, " she saidsharply. 

Everything was going wrong tonight. Here she was stuck with two peoplewhom she detested, after specially planning to make the drive alonewith Druro!

"Come along; I expect the car is fixed up by now, " said Tryon, and theyall moved out. A black porter was patrolling the stoep. 

"Has my boy been here with petrol for the car?" asked Tryon. 

"Yas, sar. "

"And filled it?"

"Yas, sar. "

They approached to get in, and a fresh annoyance for Mrs. Hading arose. Druro said casually:

"How are we going to sit?"

"You are driving, of course, " stated Marice, in an authoritative tone. 

"No, " said Tryon dryly; "I never let any one handle my car but myself. "

Now, nothing would make Marice renounce the comfort of the front seat. Even if she would have done it for the sake of sitting with Druro, sheknew that the jarring and jolting so unavoidable on African roads wouldput her nerves on edge for the evening. So there was nothing furtherto be said, but she felt, as she flung herself into the seat besideTryon, that this was verily the last straw. For a time she showed herdispleasure with and disdain of Tryon by sitting half turned andconversing with Druro, who was obliged to lean forward uncomfortably toanswer her remarks. But she soon tired of this, for the strong windcaused by the car cutting through the air tore her flatly arranged hairfrom its appointed place and blew it over her eyes in thin blackstrings. This enraged her, as the dishevelment of a carefully arrangedcoiffure always enrages a fashionable woman. She loathed wind at anytime; it always aroused seven devils in her. She longed to box Tryon'sears. But the best she could do was to sit in haughty silence at hisside, while the wind took the long ends of her scented tulle scarf andtore it to rags, fluttering them maliciously in the faces of the twosilent ones behind. Every now and then Druro mechanically caught holdof these ends, crumpled them into a bunch, and stuffed them behind Mrs. Hading's shoulders, but a few minutes later they would be loose again, whipping the wind. Once, when he was catching the flickering thingsfrom Gay's face, his hand touched her cheek, and once, when they bothput out their hands together, they clasped each other's fingers insteadof the fragile stuff. But they never spoke. And their silence at lastbegan to weigh on the two in front. They found themselves strainingtheir ears to hear if those two would ever murmur a word to each other. And if they did not, _why didn't they_?

"Has he got his arm round her?" wondered Tryon savagely. (He too hadcounted on tonight and the long, lonely drive with Gay, and was in nonetoo pleasant a mood with life. )

"Is he holding her hand?" thought Marice Hading, and ground her teeth. "Has there ever been anything between them?"

But Druro and Gay were doing none of these things--only sitting verystill, and thinking long, long thoughts. And whatever it was theythought of, it put no gladness into their eyes. Any one who could havepeered into their faces in the pale moonlight must have been struck bythe similarity in the expression of their eyes, the vague, staringmisery of those who search the horizon vainly for something that willnever be theirs, some lost city from which they are for ever exiled. 

The African horizon was wonderfully beautiful that night. As they cameout from the miles of bush which surround Wankelo into thehill-and-valley lands of Selukine, the moon burst in pearly splendourfrom her fleecy wrappings of cloud and showed long lines ofsilver-tipped hills and violet valleys, and, here and there, great openstretches of undulating space with a clear view across leagues andleagues to the very edge, it seemed, of the world. As one such greatstretch of country rolled into view from a rise in the road, Drurospoke for the first time, in a low voice, vaguely and half to himself. 

"There is the land I love--_my_ country!"

With his hand he made a gesture that was like a salute. After all, hewas a Rhodesian, and this was his confession of faith. The story ofthe lamp-posts was only a bluff put up to disguise the hook Africa hadput in his heart, the hook by which she drags all those who love herback across the world, denying, reviling, forswearing her even untoseventy times seven, yet panting to be once more in her adored arms. All Rhodesians have this heart-wound, which opens and bleeds when theyare away from their country, and only heals over in the sweet veld air. 

Gay did not answer. He had hardly seemed to address the remark to her;yet it went home to her heart because she, too, was a Rhodesian, andthis was the land she loved. 

Suddenly they swept down once more into a tract of country thick withbush and tall, feathery trees. Here the rotting timbers of some oldmine-head buildings and great mounds of thrown-up earth inked againstthe sky-line showed that man had been in these wilds, torn up the earthfor its treasure, and passed on. Near the road an old iron house, thathad once been a flourishing mine-hotel, was now almost hidden by atangle of wild creepers and bush, with branches of trees thrustingtheir way through gaping doorways and windows. 

"This was the old Guinea-Pig Camp. It is 'gone in' now, but once itwas a great place--this old wilderness, " said Tryon to Mrs. Hading, andmisquoted Kipling. 

 "They used to call it a township once, Gold-drives and main-reefs and rock-drills once, Ladies and bridge-drives and band-stands once, But now it is G. I. "

He stopped, and the car having reached the foot of the hill that ledout of the valley stopped, too, as if paralysed by its owner's effortsat parody. It had been jerking and bucking like a playful mustang forsome time past, and behaving in an altogether curious manner, but nowit was stiller than the dead. Tryon waggled the levers to no avail, then flung himself out of the car and got busy with the crank. Not amove. Druro then got out and had a go at the crank. No good. Thereafter, the two made a thorough examination of the beast, butpoking and prying into all its secret places booted them nothing. Asfar as the eye of man could see, nothing was wrong with the thing butsheer obstinacy. It was more from habit than a spirit of inquiry thatDruro finally gave a casual squint into the reservoir. Then themischief was out. It was empty; the boy had never filled it. It wasdoubtful whether he had put in any petrol at all. The two men staredat each other aghast. 

"Well, of all the rotten niggers in this rotten country!" breathedTryon, at last, and, with the words, expressed all the weight of thewhite man's burden in Africa, mingled with rage at his presentpowerlessness to smite the evil-doer. Druro grinned. It was not hisfuneral, and, to the wise, no further words were necessary. But Mrs. Hading had not been long enough in Africa to be wise. This finalcalamity seemed all part and parcel of the mismanagement of theevening, and she did not care to conceal her annoyance. 

"I cannot imagine any one but a fool allowing himself to be placed insuch a predicament, " she said, looking at Tryon with the utmost scorn. 

He shrugged his shoulders, dumb with mortification. Druro, smilingwith his usual native philosophy, now got his portion. 

"Is there anything to do besides standing there smirking?" she inquiredacridly. 

"I should think we had better foot it to the Guinea-Pig. " To do himjustice, he had been thinking as well as smirking, but Marice was in nomood to be just. "A fellow called Burral lives there and has atelephone. He may have some petrol. All may not yet be lost!" Hecontinued to smile. Not that he felt cheerful--but the situationseemed to him to call for derision rather than despair. 

"Foot it? Do you mean walk through this wild bush? Good Heavens! Howfar is it?"

"Only about a mile or so, and there is quite a good path. Still, ifyou think it better to stay here in the car with Tryon while I go----"

"No; I'll go, " said Tryon hastily. 

"No you don't, " persisted Druro. "I know the way better than you do. "But Mrs. Hading put an end to the argument as to who should escape herrecriminations. 

"I refuse to be left in this wild spot with any one, " she declared, andflung one last barb of hatred at Tryon. "How could you be such a fool?"

But Tryon's withers could be no further wrung. He merely felt sorryfor Druro. The widow was showing herself to be no saint underaffliction. Not here the bright companion on a weary road who isbetter than silken tents and horse-litters!

They started down the path to Burral's, Druro and Mrs. Hading ahead. Gay and Tryon following at a distance too short not to hear the widow'svoice still engaged in acrid comment. 

"What a fuss to make about nothing!" said Gay, a trifle disdainfully. "I'm afraid Africa won't suit her for long, if that's how she takesincidents of every-day life. "

"I don't think she'll suit Africa, " rejoined Tryon savagely. "Still, I'm not denying that I am a first-class fool to have trusted thatinfernal nigger. I could kick myself. "

"Kick the nigger instead, tomorrow, " laughed Gay, adding in theRhodesian spirit, "what does it matter, anyway?"

The path now became narrower and overhung with wandering branches andcreepers. The brambles seemed to have a special penchant for Mrs. Hading's flying ends of tulle and lace, and she spent most of her timedisengaging herself while Druro went ahead, pushing branches out of theway. Poor Marice! Her feet ached in their high-heeled shoes, and herFrench toilette was created for a salon and not out-of-door walking. Truly, she was no veld-woman. What came as a matter of course to Gaywas a tragedy to her. 

"How stupid! How utterly imbecile!" she muttered bitterly. "A hatefulcountry--and idiots of men!"

"Cheer up!" said Druro, with an equability he did not feel. Nothingbored him more than bad temper. "We'll soon be dead--I mean, we'llsoon be at Burral's. "

"I find your cheerfulness slightly brutal, " she remarked cuttingly, "and the thought of Burral's does not fill me with any delight. "

"I'm sorry, " he began, but his apology and the stillness of the nightwere both destroyed by a sudden loud crack of a rifle. 

"By Jove! Who's that, I wonder?" exclaimed Druro. "There's nothingmuch to shoot about here. " Then, to Mrs. Hading, "Stand still aminute--will you?--while I reconnoitre. " He went a few yards ahead andgave a halloo. They all stood still, listening, until the call wasreturned in a man's voice from somewhere not far off. At the sametime, a soft cracking of bushes was heard near at hand. 

"It must be Burral out after a buck!" called out Tryon. He and Gaywere still some way behind. Marice half-way between them, and Drurowas apparently trying to disentangle her flickering, flutteringchiffons from a fresh engagement with the bushes when the terriblething happened. The lithe, speckled body of a leopard came sailing, with a grace and swiftness indescribable, through the air and, leapingupon the fluttering figure, bore her to the ground. A scream of terrorand anguish rent the night, and Gay and Tryon, galvanized by horror, powerless though they were to contend with the savage brute, rushedforward to the rescue. But Druro was there before them. They saw himstoop down and catch the huge cat by its hind legs, and, withextraordinary power, swing it high in the air. Snarling and spitting, it twisted its flexible body to attack him in turn, and, even as itwent hurtling over his head into the bush behind, it reached out a pawand clawed him across the face. At the same moment, a man with a guncame crashing through the undergrowth, followed the flying body of theleopard into the bush, and with two rapid shots gave the beast itsquietus. Reeking gun in hand, he returned to the party in the pathway. 

"Got the brute at last, " he panted. "Only wounded him the first shot;that's why he came for you people. My God! Who's hurt here?"

No one answered. Mrs. Hading lay moaning terribly on the ground, withTryon and Gay bending over her. Druro was stumbling about like adrunken man. "Is it you, Lundi Druro? Did that devil get you, too?Where are you hurt?"

"It's Burral, isn't it?" said Druro vaguely. "Yes; I got a flickacross the eyes. Never mind me. Get that lady to your place, Burral, and telephone to Selukine. Tell them to send a car and a doctor and todrive like mad. "

"My throat--oh, my throat!" keened Marice Hading. Tryon supported her. Gay was tearing her white skirt into strips and using them forbandages. Druro came stumbling over to them. 

"For God's sake, get her to Burral's place, Dick!" said he. "Burral'swife is a nurse and will know what to do. Can you two fellows carryher? I would help you--but I can't see very well. I'll come onbehind. "

Gay helped to lift Marice into the two men's arms, and they went aheadwith their moaning burden; then she came back to Druro, who wasstaggering vaguely along. 

"Let me help you, Lundi. Lean on me. "

He put out an arm, and she caught it and placed it around her shoulders. 

"I can't see, Gay, " he said, in a voice that was quite steady yet hadin it some quality of terrible apprehension. She peered into his face. The moon had become obscured, but she could see that his eyes were wideopen with torn lids. There was a great gash down his cheek. 

"Come quickly!" she cried, her voice trembling with tears. "Oh, comequickly, Lundi! We must bathe and dress your wounds as soon aspossible. Leopard wounds are terribly poisonous. "

"All right, " he said. "Sure you don't mind my leaning on you? I hopethey get a doctor at once for Mrs. Hading. "

They went forward slowly, he taking curiously uneven steps. She wastall, but he had to stoop a little to keep his hold on her. 

"There hasn't been a leopard in these parts for nearly two years, " hemused. "The last was shot on my mine the day we struck the reef--thatis why we called it the Leopard. You remember, Gay? Do you think Mrs. Hading is badly wounded?"

"Her throat and chest are very much torn, but I don't think the woundsare deep. "

"Poor woman! Good Lord; what bad luck!"

"Try and hurry, Lundi. "

"But I can't see. Perhaps if I could wipe the blood out of my eyes, Gay--where the deuce is my handkerchief?"

"Here is mine--let me do it for you. Sit down for a moment on thisant-heap. "

She knelt by his side and gently wiped away the blood. By the sweatthat was pouring down his face, she knew that he must be sufferingintense pain, and was almost afraid to touch the wounded eyes. 

"Is that better? Can you see now?" she asked fearfully. 

"No, " he said quietly. There was a moment of anguished silence betweenthem, then he laughed. 

"Cheerful if I am going to be blind!"

The words tore her heart in two, appealing to all that was tender andnoble in her nature, and to that brooding maternal love that was almoststronger in her than lover's love. She seemed, as once before whentrouble was on him, to see him as a bright-haired boy with innocenteyes, whom life had led astray, but who was ready with a laugh on hislips to face the worst fate would do. And she cried out, with a greatcry, tenderly, brokenly:

"No, no, Lundi; you shall not be blind!"

She put her arms round him as if to ward off the powers of darkness andevil, and he let his bloody face rest against the soft sweetness of herbreast. Leaning there, he knew he was home at last. Her warm tears, falling like gentle rain upon his wounded eyes, slipped down into hisheart, into his very soul, cleansing it, washing away the shadows thathad been between them. Now he knew what the shrouded figure at theback of his mind had waited for so long to say to him--that he lovedthis girl and should make his life worthy of her. He had always lovedher, but had been too idle and careless, too fond of the ways andpleasures of men to change his life for her. Now that he held her inhis arms, and could feel the blaze of her love burning through thewalls of her, meeting the flame in his own heart, it was too late. Fate, with lightnings in her hand, had stepped between them, and awoman who held his promise intervened. 

"Gay, " he said gently, her name felt so sweet on his lips, "by aterrible mistake I have destroyed your happiness and mine. Forgive me. "

"There is no question of forgiveness, Lundi, " she whispered; "I willhelp you to stand by it. "

He held up his blurred eyes and torn, bleeding lips, and she kissed himas one might kiss the dead, in exquisite renouncement and farewell. Only that the quick are not the dead--and cannot be treated as such. Amore poignant misery waked in both their hearts with that kiss. Hecould not see her--that was terrible--but the satiny warmth of hermouth was so dear, so exquisitely dear! He suddenly remembered her asshe was that night in her little rose-leaf gown with all the dewdropstwinkling on her. He wondered if he would ever see her again in allher beauty. 

"You were so sweet that night of the dance, Gay, " he said, "in yourlittle pinky gown, with the dewdrops winking on you!"

She understood that he was wondering if he should ever see her again. 

"You shall--you shall!" she cried. "Oh, hurry! Come quickly! Let usget to the house and to help. "

The serene and careless philosophy characteristic of him came back. 

"If I am to be blind, all right, " he said quietly. "I'll accept itwithout a kick, because of this hour. "

Once more they stumbled deviously and slowly on. A light showed nearernow, in a house window, and presently the other two men were on theirway to meet them with lanterns and a brandy-flask. In a short time, Druro was established in Mrs. Burral's sitting-room, having his eyesbathed and bandaged by her skilful hands. 

"What about Mrs. Hading?" had been his first question. Marice's lowmoans could be plainly heard from behind the curtain which divided theone room of the little iron house. 

"Her throat and shoulders are very much lacerated, " said Mrs. Burral. "I think we have avoided the danger of blood-poisoning for you both, asI was able to clean the wounds so quickly with bichloride. But shewill be dreadfully scarred, poor thing! And you, Mr. Druro, I'mafraid--I'm afraid your eyes are badly hurt. "

It seemed years to them all, though it was scarcely more than half anhour before assistance came from Selukine. All tragedies take place inthe brain, it has been said, and poignant things were happening behindseveral foreheads during that bad half-hour of waiting. Marice Hading, lying on Mrs. Burral's bed, hovered over by that kind woman, wassuffering more acutely in the thought of her ravaged beauty than fromthe pain of her wounds. Druro's bandaged eyes saw with greaterclearness down the bleak avenues of the future than they had ever seenin health. Tryon was afraid to look at Gay. He was outwardlyattentive to Burral's tale of the leopard's depredations--chickens tornfrom the roost, a mutilated foal, a half-eaten calf--and of the finalstalking and unlucky wounding of the beast, rendering it mad with therage to attack everything it met; but his brain was occupying itselfwith a thought that ran round and round in it like a squirrel in acage--the thought that Gay was lost to him for ever. He had seen herlooking at Lundi Druro with all her tortured soul in her eyes. Now shestood at the window, staring into the night. 

When, at last, the whir of motor-wheels was heard on the far-off road, each of them hastened to recapture their wretched minds and drag themback from the lands of desolation in which they wandered, to face oncemore the formalities of life behind life's mask of convention. Therecame a sound of many voices--subdued, deploring, anxious, inquiring. The picnickers had heard of the accident and were returning in force tosuccour the lost ones. It was a sorry ending to the great Leopardpicnic. 

Mrs. Hading and Druro were driven to the Wankelo Hospital, and doctorsand nurses closed in on them. Specialists came from Buluwayo and theCape, and, after a time of waiting, it was known that the danger ofblood-poisoning was past for both of the victims. But whether LundiDruro was to walk in darkness for the rest of his days could not be soquickly told or what lay behind the significant silence concerning Mrs. Hading's injuries. It was known that her condition was not dangerous, but she saw no one, and, in the private ward she had engaged, shesurrounded herself with nurses whose business it was not to talk, anddoctors, even in Rhodesia, do not gratify the inquiries of the merelycurious. So, for a long period of waiting, no one quite knew how thetragedy was all to end. 

In another part of the hospital, Druro sat in his room with bandagedeyes and Toby on his knees, gossiping with the friends who came tobeguile his monotony, giving no outward sign that hope had been draggedfrom his heart as effectively as light had been wiped from his eyes. From the black emptiness in which he sat, he sent Marice Hading a dailymessage containing all the elements of a mental cocktail--a jibe atfate, a fleer at leopards in general, and a prophecy of merrier timesto come as soon as they were out of their present annoyances. Inreply, she wrote guarded little notes (that were read to him by hisnurse), making small mention of her own injuries but seeming feverishlyanxious concerning his sight. All he could tell her was that heawaited the arrival and verdict of Sir Charles Tryon, the famouseye-specialist, now somewhere on his way between Madeira and Wankelo. It was Dick Tryon, who, knowing that his brother was taking a holidayat Madeira, had cabled asking for his services for Druro. 

Poor Dick Tryon! He blamed himself bitterly for the whole catastropheon the grounds that, if he had only looked into the petrol-tank insteadof taking a Kafir's word, the car would never have been held up or theencounter with the leopard occurred. It was no use Lundi Druro'stelling him that such reasoning manifested an arrogant underrating ofthe powers of destiny. 

"You are a very clever fellow, Dick, but even you can't wash out thewriting on the wall, " philosophized the patient, from behind hisbandage, "nor scribble anew on the tablet of Fate, which is hung roundthe neck of every man. If the old hag meant me to be blind, she'dfixed me all right without your assistance. "

But Tryon could not be reasoned with in this wise. Perhaps it was theshipwreck in Gay's eyes that would not let him rest. Druro could notsee that; but it was part of Dick Tryon's penance to witness it everyday when he fetched Gay and her father in his car to visit thehospital. She always came laden with flowers and cheery words, andleft an odour of happiness and hope behind her. But Tryon had seenwhat was in her eyes that night at Burral's, and behind all her hopefulsmiling he saw it there still. He realized that she and Druro hadfound each other in the hour of tragedy, and that for him there was norôle left but that of spectator--unless he could prove himself a friendby helping them to each other's arms, in spite of Marice Hading. Asfor Druro and Gay, they had never been alone together since thatnight--and never meant to be. They had had their hour. 

Another of Tryon's self-imposed jobs was to motor to Selukine and bringback Emma Guthrie to see his partner. For there were moments whenDruro could stand no one's society so well as the bitter-tonguedAmerican's. 

"Go and bring in Emma to say a few pleasant words all round, " he wouldenjoin, and Emma would come, looking like a wounded bear ready to eatup everything in sight. But, strange to say, after the first two orthree visits, his words were sweeter than honey in the honeycomb, andall his ways were soothing and serene. He had nothing but good news todispense. The novelty first amused then exasperated Druro, and heended up by telling Guthrie to clear out of the hospital and never comeback. 

Emma did come back, however, and every time he showed his face, it wasto bring some fresh tale of the sparkling fortunes hidden in the bosomof his Golconda. The mine was a brick, a peach, a flower. Zeusdropping nightly showers of gold upon Danaë was nothing to the miraclesgoing on at the Leopard. 

One evening after dinner, while Druro was sitting alone with his owndark thoughts, a message was brought to him--a message that Mrs. Hadingwould be glad to see him. It appeared that she had been up and abouther room for some days, and was as bored as he with her own society. 

Leaning on the arm of his nurse, he walked down the long veranda andcame to her big, cool room, delicately shaded with rose lights and fullof the scent of violets and faint Parisian essences. He could not seeher of course, or the rose lights, but he sensed her sitting there inher long chair, looking languorous and subtle, with colours and flowersand books about her. The nurse guided him to a seat near her and leftthem together. 

"Well, here we are, Lundi--turned into a pair of wretched, broken-downcrocks!"

The words were light, but the indescribable bitterness of her voicestruck at him painfully. 

"Only for a little while, " he said gently. "We'll both be back in thegame soon, fitter than ever. "

"Never!" There was the sound of a shudder in the exclamation. "Howcan one ever be the same after _that_----"

"You've been a brick! You mustn't give way now, after coming throughso bravely. "

"How I hate Africa!" she exclaimed fiercely. 

Druro could not help smiling. 

"Poor old Africa! We all abuse her like a pickpocket and cling to herlike a mother. "

"I don't cling. All I ask is never to see her again. "

"I don't wonder. She has not treated you too well. "

The smile faded from his lips, leaving them sombre. It was likelooking into a dark window to see Lundi Druro's face without the gaietyof his eyes. At the same time, their absence threw up a quality ofstrength about his mouth and jaw that might have gone unobserved. Hewas conscious of her attention acutely fixed upon him, but he could notknow with what avid curiosity she was searching his features, or guess, fortunately for him, at the cold, clear thought that was passingthrough her mind. 

"How awful to have to drag a blind husband about the world! Still--themoney will mitigate. I can always pay people to----" Then a thrill ofpleasure shot through that bleak and desert thing which was her heart. "He will never see me as I am now. "

Yes; this reflection actually gave her pleasure and content in Druro'stragedy. He, of all the world, would still think of her as she hadbeen before the leopard puckered her throat and scarred her cheek withterrible scars. At the thought, her vanity, which was her soul, suddenly flowered forth again. Her voice softened; some of the oldglamour came back into it. 

"Will you take me away from this cruel country, Lundi--as soon as weare both better?"

To leave Africa, and that which Africa held! All Lundi Druro's bloodcalled out, "No, " but his firm lips answered gently:

"Yes; if you wish it, " then closed again as if set in stone. 

"And never come back to it again?"

"That is a harder thing to promise, Marice, " he said. "One never knowswhat life and fate may demand of one. My work might call me back here. "

"Yes, yes; that is true, " she said peevishly. "The main thing is thatyou will never expect me to come back. But, of course, if you areblind, it will not be much use your coming either. "

The blow was unexpected, but he did not flinch. 

She was the first person who had taken such a probability for granted;but he had long faced the contingency himself. 

"If I am to be blind, we must reconstruct plans and promises, Marice. They are made, as far as I am concerned, conditionally. "

"No; no conditions!" she cried feverishly. "I am going to marry you, whether your eyes recover or not. Promise me you won't draw back, ifthe worst comes?"

She could not bear to lose him--this one man in all the world who wouldstill think her beautiful. All her soul which was her vanity cried outpassionately to him. 

"Of course I will promise you, dear, if you think it good enough, " hesaid, "if you still want me and think a blind man can make you happy. "

"Yes; I want you blind, " she answered strangely. "You can make me veryhappy. " Then she reached for the bell-button and pressed it. Hernerves were giving out, and she needed to be alone. But the future wasarranged for now, and she could rest. She made a subtle sign to theentering nurse, and Druro never guessed that he was being evicted byany one but the latter in her professional capacity. To be deceived isdoubtless part of the terrible fate of the blind. 

She had succeeded in deceiving Druro in more than this. Confirmed nowin the belief that he was necessary to her happiness and that to fulfilhis promises to her was the only way of honour, he knew that he mustthrust the thought of Gay out of his mind for ever. Even in the greymisery of that decision, he could still feel a glow of gratitude towardthe woman who loved him enough to face the future with a blind man. Because his mind was a jumble of emotions fermented by the humilityborn of sitting in darkness and affliction, for many days he spoke alittle of it to Tryon, who came, as was now his custom, to help passaway the evening. So Tryon was the first person in Wankelo to hear ofMarice Hading's greatness of heart--and the last person in the world tobelieve in it. But he did not say so to Druro. He had long ago sizedup Marice Hading's subtle mind and shallow soul, and it was not verydifficult for him to read this riddle of new-born nobility. Druro andhis rich mine were to pay the price of her lost beauty. What booted itif he were blind? So much the better for the vanity of a woman whoworshipped her beauty as Mrs. Hading had done. It was certain that, blind or whole, she meant to hold Druro to his bond, and that she wouldeventually make hay with his life, Tryon had not the faintest doubt. Destruction for Druro--shipwreck for Gay! A woman's cruel, skilfullittle hands had crumpled up their happiness like so much waste paper, and Tryon, with the best will in the world, saw no clear way to save itfrom being pitched to the burning. The best he could do, for thatevening at least, was to shake Druro's hand warmly at parting and tellhim that he was a deuced lucky fellow. 

Two days later, Sir Charles Tryon arrived, a short, square man withmost unprofessional high spirits and a jolly laugh that filled everyonewith hope. It was late in the afternoon when he got to Wankelo, and, after a cursory test of Druro's eyes, he announced himself unable togive a decisive verdict until after a more complete examination thefollowing day. He then departed to his brother's house for dinner anda good night's rest after his long journey. 

No sooner had Dick tucked him safely away than he was back again at thehospital, for he had a very shrewd notion of the brand of misery Druro, condemned to a night's suspense, would be suffering. And he guessedright. Emma Guthrie, just arrived, was in the act of "cheering him up"with an account of the mine's output from the monthly clean-up that day. 

"How many ounces?" asked Druro indifferently. The prosperity of themine bothered him far less than the fate of his eyes, for he knewhimself to be one of those men who can always find gold. If one minegave out, there were plenty of others. 

"Five hundred, as usual, " said Guthrie jubilantly. "Here it is--feelit; weigh it. "

From a sagging coat pocket he abstracted what might, from its size andshape, have been a bar of soap but for the yellow shine of it, andplaced it in Druro's right hand. The latter lifted it with a weighinggesture for a moment and handed it back. 

"That's all right. "

"All right! I should say!" declaimed the bright and bragful Emma. "Two thousand of the best there, all gay and golden! I tell you, Lundi, we've got a peach. And she hasn't done her best by a longchalk. She's only beginning. You buck up and get your eyes well, myboy, and come and see for yourself. " He began to hold forth intechnical terms that were Greek to Tryon concerning stopes, cross-cuts, foot-walls, stamps, and drills. Every moment his voice grew gayer andmore ecstatic. He seemed drunk with success and unable to contain hisbubbling, rapturous optimism, and that Druro sat brooding with thesinister silence of a volcano that might, at any instant, burst intoviolent eruption did not appear to disturb him. Fortunately, someother men came in and relieved the situation; when Guthrie took hisleave, a few moments later, Tryon made a point of accompanying him tothe gate. He was getting as sick as Druro of Emma's perpetual gaietyand came out with the distinct intention of saying so as rudely aspossible. 

"What do you mean by bringing your devilish good spirits here? Haveyou no bowels? Kindly chuck it for once and for all. "

Guthrie, squatting on his haunches, feeling his bicycle tyres, turnedup to him a face grown suddenly rutted and haggard as a Japanesegargoyle. 

"That drum-and-fife band is only a bluff, Dick, " he said quietly. "TheLeopard is G. I. , and if that boy loses his eyes as well, neither of uswill ever climb out of the soup again. "

Tryon came out of the gate and stared at him interestedly. 

"What do you mean? How can the Leopard----"

"I mean that the reef is gone--for good, this time. "

"The reef gone?" reiterated Tryon stupidly. "Why--good Lord, I thoughtyou'd found it richer and stronger than ever!"

"So we did. But, my boy, mining is the biggest gamble in the world. It pinched out, sudden as a stroke of apoplexy, a few days afterLundi's accident. We've got a month's crushing in hand now, and whenthat's gone, we'll have to shut down. We're bust!"

"But what about that five-hundred-ounce clean-up you handed him?"

"All bluff! I drew two thousand quid for native wages and threw itinto the melting-pot. That lovely button goes back to the banktomorrow. They've got to be bluffed, too, until Lundi's able to standthe truth. "

"I don't know if he'll thank you for it, Emma, " said Tryon, at last. 

"I don't say he will; I don't say Lundi can't take his physic when he'sgot to, as well as any man. But I can reckon he's got an overdosealready. I'll wait. "

Tryon stared a while into the shrewd, wizened face, then saidthoughtfully:

"I think you're quite right. There are moments when enough is toomuch, and I haven't a doubt but that a little extra bad luck would justfinish what chance he has of seeing again. Keep it up your sleeveanyway, until we hear my brother's verdict. "

"Oh, I'll keep it, " said Emma grimly. "Once his bandages are off, we'll let the hornets buzz, but not before. "

"Meantime, " remarked Tryon, "if you like to make me a present of theinformation, I will promise to use it carefully and for nothing butDruro's benefit. "

Guthrie gave him a long, expressionless glance. 

"There are worse things than having your eyes clawed out by a leopard, "continued Dick enigmatically. 

"What worse?"

"You might, for instance, have your heart plucked out by a vulturewhile you're lying helpless. "

"Poison the carcass!" Emma elegantly advised. "That'll finish thevulture before it has time to gorge full. " And, as he straddled hisbattered bicycle, he added a significant remark, which showed that hevery well knew what he was talking about. "Lundi'll always be blindabout women, anyway. "

Tryon did not return to Druro's room, but went thoughtfully toward thatwing of the hospital in which he knew the quarters of the young andpretty matron to be situated. Having found her, he put before her sourgent and convincing an appeal for an interview with Mrs. Hading thatshe went herself to ask that lady to receive him. A clinching factorwas an adroit remark about his brother's interest in Druro's chances. He guessed that such a remark repeated would bring him into MariceHading's presence quicker than anything else, and he was right. Withinfive minutes, he was in the softly shaded, violet-scented room whereDruro had groped his way some nights before--the difference being thathe could see that which Druro had mercifully been spared. 

The beauty of the woman sitting in the long chair had been torn fromher like a veil behind which she had too long hidden her real self. Now that she was stripped, a naked thing in the wind, all eyes couldsee her deformities and read her cold and arid soul. The furies ofrage and rancour were grabbling at her heart, even as the leopard hadscrabbled on her face. It was not the mere disfigurement of the angry, purplish scars that twisted her mouth and puckered her cheeks. Ashining spirit, gentle and brave in affliction might have transformedeven these, robbing them of their hideousness. But here was one whohad "thrown down every temple she had built, " and whose dark eyes wereempty now of anything except a malign and bitter ruin. It was asthough nothing could longer cover and conceal her cynical dislike ofall things but herself. The face set on the long, ravaged throat, onceso subtly alluring, had turned hawklike and cruel. It seemedshrivelled, too, and, between the narrow linen bandages she still wore, it had the cunning malice of some bird of prey peering from a barredcage. 

Tryon looked once, then kept his eyes to his boots. He would havegiven much to have fled, and, in truth, he had no stomach for his job. It seemed to him uncommonly like hitting at some wounded creaturealready smitten to death. But it was not for himself he was fighting. It was for Gay's sweet, upright soul, and the happiness of a man toogood to be thrown to the vultures of a woman's greed and cruelty. Thatthought hardened his heart for the task he had in hand. 

Marice came to the point at once. It seemed that, with her beauty, shehad lost or discarded the habit of subtle attack. 

"What does Sir Charles think of his chances?"

It was Tryon who had to have recourse to subtlety. Juggling with hisbrother's professional name was a risky business, and he did not meanto get on to dangerous ground. 

"He can't tell yet--he was afraid to be certain, tonight--is going tohave another go at them tomorrow. But----"

"But?" She leaned forward eagerly. "There is not much hope?"

There was no mistaking her face and voice. It was as he had guessed;_she did not want Druro to recover_. Tryon had no further qualms. 

"_I_ am not going to give up hope, anyway, " he said, with that air ofdogged intent which is often founded on hopelessness. She gave alittle sigh and sat back among her cushions, like a woman who has takena refreshing drink. 

"Dear Druro, it is very sad for him!" said she complacently, andpresently added, "but I shall always see that he is taken care of. "

Something in Tryon shuddered, but outwardly he gave no sign, onlylooked at her commiseratingly. 

"It is that we are thinking of--Guthrie and I. Are you strong enoughphysically and well-enough off financially to undertake such a burden?"She regarded him piercingly, a startled look in her eyes. "Doubtlessyou are a rich women--and, of course, no one could doubt yourgenerosity. Still, a blind man without means of his own----"

"_What?_" She fired the word at him like a pistol-shot. 

"He does not know, " said Tryon softly. "We are keeping it dark forsome days yet. The two shocks together might----" He paused. 

"What--_what_?" she panted at him, like a runner at the end of his lastlap. 

"The mine is no good. They are dropping back into it every penny theyever made, and the reef has pinched out. Guthrie told me this tonighton his oath. " The woman gave a long, sighing breath and lay backpainfully in her chair. But Tryon had a cruel streak in him. He wouldnot let her rest. "He is a ruined man, and may be a blind man, but, thank God, he has you to lean on!"

"You are mad!" said she, and burst into a harsh laugh. Tryon's facewas full of grave concern as he rose. 

"Shall I send your nurse?"

She pulled herself together sharply. 

"Yes, yes; send her--but, before you go, promise me, Mr. Tryon, neverto let Druro know you told me. "

("Is it possible that she has so much grace in her?" he pondered. )

"Never!" he promised solemnly. "He shall find out the greatness ofyour love for himself. "

Like fate, Tryon knew where to rub in the salt. As he went down theveranda, he heard the same harsh, cruel laugh ringing out, somewhatlike the laugh of a hyena that has missed its prey. 

After Sir Charles had gone, Druro sat for a while silent, elbows on thetable, thinking. He had insisted upon getting up as usual, though theyhad tried to keep him in bed. He was not going to take it lying down, he said. So now he sat there, alone, except for Toby, who sat on hisknee and, from time to time, put out a little red tongue and gentlylicked his master's ear. 

The nurses who came softly in to congratulate him slipped away softlierstill, without speaking. They could understand what it meant to him toknow that he would see the sunshine again, the rose and primrose dawns, the great purple shadows of night flung across the veld. What they didnot know was that, in spirit, he was looking his last on the land heloved and seeing down a vista of long years greyer than the veld on thegreyest day of winter. His lips were firmly closed, but they wore abluish tinge as he sat there, for he was tasting life colder than iceand drier than the dust of the desert between his teeth; and theserpent of remorse and regret was at his heart. 

But not for long. Presently he rose and squared his shoulders, like aman settling his burden for a long march, and said quickly to himselfsome words he had once read, he knew not where. 

"'A man shall endure such things as the stern women drew off thespindles for him at his birth. '"

His nurse, who had been waiting in the veranda, hearing his voice, nowcame in and greeted him gaily. "Hooray, Mr. Druro! Oh, you don't knowhow glad we all are! And the whole town has been here to wish you luckand joy on the news. But Sir Charles made us drive them all away. Hesays you may see no more than two people before you have lunched andrested, and he has selected the two himself. "

"What cheek!" said Druro. "And what a nice soft hand you've got, nurse!"

"Be off with you now!" laughed the trim Irish nurse. "And how can Iread you the letter I have for you with one hand?"

"Try it wid wan eye instid, " said he, putting on a brogue to match herown. She laughed and escaped, and, later, read the letter, at his wish. 

LUNDI DEAR:

I grieve to hurt you, but it is no use pretending. I can never live inthis atrocious Africa, and I feel it would be cruel to tear you awayfrom a country you love so much. Besides, after deep consideration, Ifind that my darling husband's memory is dearer to me than any livingman can be. Forgive me--and farewell. 

MARICE. 

"She left by the morning's train, " said the nurse. "You know she hasbeen well enough to go for more than a week. "

As Lundi did not answer, she went away and left him once more sittingvery still. But with what a different stillness! The whole worldsmelled sweet in his nostrils and spoke of freedom. His blood chanteda paean of praise and hope to the sun and moon and stars. An old cryof the open surged in him. 

"Life is sweet, brother! There is day and night, brother, both sweetthings, sun, moon, and stars, all sweet things; there's likewise a windon the heath!"

The voice of Tryon broke in on his communings. 

"How do you feel, old man?"

"That you, Dick?" Druro stooped down and felt for Toby once more. "Ifeel inclined to run out into the street and throw my hat into the air, and yell out that I'll fight any one, play poker against any one, andmatch my girl and my dog against all comers. "

"Indeed! Then I'll leave you, for you're certainly suffering from adangerous swagger in the blood. "

Tryon's smile had more than a tinge of sadness in it as he turned togo. This action of his was one of those that smell sweet and blossomin the dust, but, as yet, he was too near it to savour much more thanits bitterness. The path is narrow and the gate is straight for thosewho serve faithfully at Love's high altar. As he went from the room, he looked with tender eyes at the flower-like girl who had come in withhim and stood now with smiling lips and eyes full of tears looking atthe man and the dog. 

"You ought to give him a lecture, Gay. It isn't good for a man to beso puffed up with pride. "

"Gay!" said Druro, standing up and letting Toby down with a rush. 

"Yes, Lundi. Dick fetched me. I had to come and tell you how glad----"

She slid a hand into his, and he drew her into his arms and began tokiss her with those slow, still-lipped kisses that have all the meaningof life and love behind them. 

Toby, having trotted out into the garden, now returned with a largestone which he had culled as one might gather a bouquet of flowers topresent upon a triumphant occasion. 

Rosanne Ozanne

PART I

Although the Ozannes kept an hotel in Kimberley, they were not of theclass usually associated with hotel-running in rough mining-towns. Itwas merely that, on their arrival in the diamond fields, they hadaccepted such work as came to their hands, in a place where people likeCecil Rhodes and Alfred Beit were washing blue ground for diamonds intheir own claims, and other men, afterward to become world-famousmillionaires, were standing behind counters bartering with natives orserving drinks to miners. 

John Ozanne, the honest but not brilliant son of an English clergyman, did not disdain to serve behind his own bar, either, when his barmanwas sick, and his wife, in servantless days, turned to in the hotelkitchen and cooked the meals, though such work was far from her tasteand had not been included in her upbringing as a country doctor'sdaughter. In fact, the pair of them were of the stuff from which goodcolonials are made, and they deserved the luck that gradually came tothem. 

In time, the little hotel grew into a large and flourishing concern. John Ozanne was seen no more in his bar, and his wife retired into theprivacy of her own wing of the building, though her capable hand wasstill felt in the hotel management. It was at this period that thelittle twin daughters were born to them, adding a fresh note ofsweetness to the harmony that existed between the devoted andprosperous couple. 

They were bonny, healthy children, and very pretty, though not at allalike--little Rosanne being very dusky, while Rosalie was fair as alily. All went well with them until about a year after their birth, when Rosanne fell ill of a wasting sickness as inexplicable as it wasdeadly. Without rhyme or reason that doctors or mother could layfinger on, the little mite just grew thinner and more peevish day byday, and visibly faded under their eyes. Every imaginable thing wastried without result, and, at last, the doctors grown glum and themother despairing were obliged to admit themselves beaten by themysterious sickness. 

Late one afternoon, Mrs. Ozanne, sitting in her bedroom, realized thatthe end was near. The child lay on her lap, a mere bundle of skin andbone, green in colour and scarcely breathing. The doctor had just leftwith a sad shake of his head and the conclusive words:

"Only a matter of an hour or so, Mrs. Ozanne. Try and bear up. Youhave the other little one left. "

But what mother's heart could ever comfort its pain for the loss of oneloved child by thinking of those that are left? Heavy tears fell downMrs. Ozanne's cheek on to the small, wasted form. Her trouble seemedthe more poignant in that she had to bear it alone, for her husband wasaway on a trip to the old country. She herself was sick, worn to ashadow from long nursing and watching. But even now there was noeffort, physical or mental, that she would not have made to save thelittle life that had just been condemned. Her painful brooding wasbroken by the sound of a soft and languorous voice. 

"Baby very sick, missis?"

The mother looked up and saw, in the doorway, the new cook who had beenwith them about a week, and of whom she knew little save that the womanwas a Malay and named Rachel Bangat. There was nothing strange in hercoming to the mistress's room to offer sympathy. In a South Africanhousehold the servants take a vivid interest in all that goes on. "Yes, " said the mother, dully. The woman crept nearer and looked downon the little face with its deathly green shadows. 

"Baby going to die, missis, " she said. 

Mrs. Ozanne bowed her head. There was silence then. The mother, blindwith tears, thought the woman had gone as quietly as she came, butpresently the voice spoke again, almost caressingly. 

"Missis sell baby to me for a farthing; baby not die. "

The mother gave a jump, then dashed the tears from her eyes and staredat the speaker. In the dusky shadows of the doorway the woman, in herwhite turban and black-and-gold shawl, seemed suddenly to have assumeda fateful air. Yet she was an ordinary enough looking Malay, of stout, even course, build, with a broad, high cheek-boned face that wore thegrave expression of her race. It was only her dark eyes, full of asinister melancholy, that differed from any eyes Mrs. Ozanne had everseen, making her shiver and clutch the baby to her breast. 

"Go away out of here!" she said violently, and the woman went, withouta word. But within half an hour the languorous voice was whisperingonce more from the shadow of the doorway. 

"Missis sell baby to me for a farthing; baby get well. "

The mother, crouching over the baby, straining her ears for itsfaltering heart-beats, had no words. In a sort of numb terror shewaved the woman off. It was no more than fifteen minutes later thatthe Malay came again; yet it seemed to Mrs. Ozanne that she waitedhours with cracking ear-drums to hear once more the terms of thestrange bargain. This time, the words differed slightly. 

"Missis sell baby to me for two years; baby belong all to me; missis notouch, no speak. " In the dark palm she proffered lay a farthing. "Take it quick, missis; baby dying. "

Sophia Ozanne cast one anguished glance at the face of her child, thengave it up, clutched the farthing and fell fainting to the floor. 

An hour later, other servants came to relate that the baby was stillalive and its breathing more regular. In another hour, they reportedit sleeping peacefully. The heart-wrung mother, still weak andquivering from her collapse, crept through the hotel and came falteringto the kitchen threshold, but dared not enter. Near the fire, on arough bed formed of two chairs and a folded blanket, the child laysleeping. Even from the door she could see that its colour was betterand the green shadows gone. The atmosphere of the kitchen was gentlywarm. Rachel Bangat, with her back to the door, was busy at the tablecutting up vegetables. Without turning round, she softly addressed themother. 

"You keep away from here. If you not remember baby my baby for twoyears, something happen!"

That was all. But under the languor of the voice lay a dagger-likemenace that struck to the mother's heart. 

"Oh, I'll keep the bargain, " she whispered fervently. "Only--be kindto my child, won't you?"

"Malays always kind to children, " said Rachel Bangat impassively, andcontinued peeling vegetables. 

It was true. All Malay women have a passion for children, and considerthemselves afflicted if they have never borne a child. Illegitimateand unwanted babies will always find a home open to them in the Malayquarter of any South African town. The mother, comforted in some sortby the knowledge, stole away--and kept away. 

Within two weeks the child was sitting up playing with its toes. Within a month it was toddling about the kitchen, though the littlesister did not walk until some weeks later. The story got aboutKimberley, much as Mrs. Ozanne tried to keep it secret. For one thing, the child's extraordinary recovery could not be hidden The doctor'samazement was not less than that of the friends who had watched theprogress of the child's sickness and awaited its fatal termination. These, having come to condole, stayed to gape at the news that Rosannewas better and down in the kitchen with the cook. Later, Mrs. Ozanne'snurse appeared regularly in the Public Gardens with only one baby, where once she had perambulated two. Little Rosanne was never seen, and, indeed, never left the back premises of the hotel except on Sundayafternoons, when Rachel Bangat arrayed her in gaudy colours and tookher away to the Malay Location. The child's health, instead ofsuffering, seemed to thrive under this treatment, and she was twice thesize of her twin sister. Mrs. Ozanne had means of knowing, too, that, though Rosanne gambolled round in the dust like a little animal allday, she was well washed at night and put to sleep in a clean bed. That was some comfort to the poor mother in her wretchedness. She knewthat Kimberley tongues were wagging busily and that, thanks to theservants, the story had leaked out and was public property. There werenot wanting mothers to condemn her for what they variously termed herfoolishness, ignorant supersitition, and heartlessness. But there wereothers who sympathized, saying that she had done well in a badsituation to trust to the healing gift some Malays are known to possesstogether with many other strange powers for good and evil. The doctorhimself, after seeing little Rosanne with a pink flush in her cheeks, had said to her mother:

"It's a mystery to me--in fact, something very like a miracle. But, asit turns out, you did quite right to let the woman have the child. Ishould certainly advise you to leave it with her for a time. "

Even if he had not so advised and had there been no sympathizers, inthe face of all opposition Mrs. Ozanne would have stuck to her bargain. She knew not what dread fear for her child's safety lay shuddering inthe depths of her heart, but this she knew: that nothing could make herdefy that fear by breaking bond with Rachel Bangat. 

Even her husband's anger, when he returned from England, could not makeher contemplate such a step. She had written and told him all aboutthe matter from beginning to end, describing the gamut of emotionsthrough which she had passed--anxiety, suffering, terror, and dreadfulrelief; and he had sympathized and seemed to understand, evenapplauding her action since the sequel appeared so successful. 

But, apparently, he had never fully realized the main fact of thebargain until he returned to find that, while one little daughter wasdainty and sweet under a nursemaid's care, the other, dressed in thegaudy bandanas and bangles of a Malay child, gambolled in the back yardor crawled in the kitchen among potato peelings and pumpkin pips. First aghast, then furious, he brooded over the thing, held back by histerrified wife from making a move. Then, at the end of three days, hebroke loose. 

"It's an outrage!" he averred, and stamped to the back regions with hiswife hanging to his arm trying to stay him. In the kitchen no sign ofRachel Bangat, but the child was sitting in a small, rough-dealsugar-box, which served for waste and scraps, using it as a go-cart. Amidst the debris of vegetable and fruit peelings, she sat gurgling andbanging with a chunk of pumpkin, while the other chubby hand held ahalf-eaten apple. John Ozanne caught her up. 

"Leave her, John; for God's sake, leave her!" pleaded his wife, white-faced. At her words a sound came from the scullery, and the cookbounded into the doorway and stood looking with a dark eye. 

"You take my baby?" she asked. Perhaps it was the gentleness of hertone that made John Ozanne stop to explain that it was not fitting foran Englishman's child to be dragged up in a kitchen, and that the thingcould not go on any longer. 

"I quite understand that you've been very good, my woman, and I shallsee that you are well re----"

"You take her; she be dead in twenty-four hours, " said Rachel Bangatimpassively. Her deep languorous voice seemed to stroke its hearerslike a velvety hand, yet had in it some deadly quality. To JohnOzanne, unimaginative man though he was, it was like hearing the clickof a revolver in the hand of an enemy who is a dead shot. His graspslackened round the child, and his wife took her from him and set herback in the box. They went out alone. Never again was an attempt madeto break the two years' compact. 

At the end of the allotted time, Mrs. Ozanne returned the farthing tothe Malay, who received it in silence but with a strange and secretsmile. Little Rosanne, healthy and strong, was taken into the bosom ofher family, and John Ozanne, with scant ceremony or sentiment, paidRachel Bangat handsomely for her services and dismissed her. Presumable the Malay Location swallowed her up, for she was seen nomore at the hotel, and the whole strange episode was, to all outwardappearance, finished. 

These happenings having been overpast for some fifteen years, manychanges had come, in the meantime, to the Ozanne family. The head ofit--that good citizen, husband, and father, John Ozanne--after amassinga large fortune, had severed his connection with the hotel and retiredto enjoy the fruits of his industry. Fate, however, had not permittedhim to enjoy them long, for he was badly injured in a carriage accidentand died shortly afterward, leaving everything to his wife anddaughters. The latter, having enjoyed the advantages of education inEngland and France, were now returned to their mother's wing, and thethree lived together in a large, cool stone residence which, pleasantlysituated in Belgravia (even then the most fashionable part ofKimberley), was known as Tiptree House. 

Both girls were extremely pretty, with all the bloom and grace of theireighteen years upon them, and moved in the best society the placeafforded--a society which, if not more cultured, was at least morealive and interesting than that of the average English country town. For Kimberley continued to be the place where the most wonderfuldiamonds were to be picked out of the earth, as commonly as shells offthe beach of a South Sea Island, and the adventurous and ambitiousstill circulated there in great numbers. There was no lack of gaietyand excitement, and the Ozanne girls joined in all that went on, andwere extremely popular, though in different ways and for differentreasons. Rosalie, blond, with a nature as sunny as her hair, and allher heart to be read in her frank, blue eyes, was beloved by herfriends for her sympathy and sweetness; while the feelings that Rosanneexcited were more in the nature of admiration and astonishment at herwit and fascination, and the verve with which she threw herself intolife. She was always in demand for brilliant functions, which she madethe more brilliant by her presence; but, though she had the art ofattracting both men and women, she also possessed a genius for searingand wounding those who came too close, and she was not able to keep herfriends as Rosalie did. Her dark beauty was touched with somethingwild and mysterious that repelled even while it charmed, and her wayswere as subtle and strange as her looks. Indeed, though she livedunder the same roof with her mother and sister, and to all outwardappearance seemed to be one with them in their daily life andinterests, she was really an exile in her own family, and all threewere aware of the fact. Rosalie and Mrs. Ozanne, being single-hearted, simple people, were in complete accord with one another; but there wasno real intimacy between them and Rosanne, and though they had (forlove of the latter) tried for years to break down the intangiblebarrier that existed, all efforts were vain and usually resulted inpain to themselves. It was as though Rosanne dwelt within thefortified camp of herself, and only came glancing forth like a blackarrow when she saw an opportunity to deal a wound. 

Mrs. Ozanne, in brooding over the matter--as she often did--silentlyand sadly, assigned this secret antagonism in Rosanne to the strangeepisode of the girl's babyhood, and bitterly blamed the Malay woman forstealing her child's heart and changing her nature. Sometimes sheactually went so far as to wonder if it would not have been better tohave let Rosanne die than have made the uncanny bargain that hadrestored her to health. Once she had even pondered over thepossibility of the Malay having tricked her by exchanging the realRosanne for another child, but it was impossible to entertain such anidea long; Rosanne bore too strong a resemblance to her father's sideof the family, and there were, besides, certain small birthmarks whichno art could have imitated. 

Still, indubitably a _something_ existed in Rosanne that was foreign toher family. And the cruel streak in her character which betrayeditself in cutting comments, as bright as they were incisive, and tinyacts of witty malice were incomprehensible to her kindly-natured motherand sister. Furthermore, her hatred, when it was aroused, seemed topossess the mysterious quality of a curse. For instance, it appearedto be enough for her to give one dark glance at someone she intenselydisliked or who had crossed her wishes, for that person to fall sick, or suffer accident or loss or some unexpected ill. Mrs. Ozanne hadnoticed it times out of number; in fact, she secretly kept a sort ofblack list of all the things that had happened to people who had beenso unfortunate as to offend Rosanne. At first, it had seemed to themother impossible that there could be anything in the thing, but theevidence had gradually mounted up until now it was almost overwhelming. Besides, Mrs. Ozanne was not alone in remarking it. Rosalie, too, knew, and conveyed her knowledge in round-about ways to her mother, forthey would never speak openly of this strangeness in one they dearlyloved. But it was through Rosalie that the mother heard that the samething had gone on at school. There, the other girls hadsuperstitiously but secretly named Rosanne "The Hoodoo Girl, " becauseto have much to do with her always brought you bad luck, especially ifyou fell out with her. In fact, whenever you crossed her in any way, "something happened, " the girls said. 

"_Something happen!_" Those had been the Malay cook's words that hadhaunted and intimidated Mrs. Ozanne. And that was what it all amountedto. Rosanne had, in some way, acquired the power of her foster-motherfor making things of an unpleasant nature happen to people she did notlike. Kind-hearted Mrs. Ozanne, with mind always divided between sternconviction and a wish to deride it, suffered a mental trepidation thatgrew daily more unbearable, for what had been serious enough whenRosanne was younger began to be something perilously sinister now thatshe was turning into a woman and her deeper passions and emotions beganto be aroused. In fact, the thing had come home to Mrs. Ozanne withrenewed significance lately, and she was still trembling withapprehension over several strange happenings. 

This was one of them: Pretty Mrs. Valpy, an intimate of the family, andby way of being one of the only two close friends Rosanne could boast, had fallen out with the latter at a ball where she was chaperoning thetwo girls. From a little misunderstanding about a dance, a seriousquarrel had arisen. Rosanne, considering herself engaged for theseventh waltz to Major Satchwell, had kept it for him only to find thatMrs. Valpy, having in error written his name down for the same danceinstead of the next, had kept him to it, with the result that Rosannewas obliged to "sit it out, " a proceeding not at all agreeable to heras the best dancer in Kimberley. She had been in a fury, and, when thetwo came to her at the end of the dance, she did not disguise herannoyance. Major Satchwell apologized and explained the error away asbest he could, knowing himself in the wrong for having been prevailedupon by Mrs. Valpy; but the latter aggravated the offence by laughingmerrily over it and saying, with a touch of malice:

"After all, you know, Rosanne, I'm the married woman, and if there_was_ a doubt I should have the benefit of it before a mere girl. Besides, I'm sure it did you good to see, for once, what it feels liketo be a wall-flower. "

Rosanne gave her a look that quenched her merriment, and, she declared, made her feel queer all the evening; and when, in the dressing-roomlater, she tried to make it up with Rosanne, she was coldly snubbed. She then angrily remarked that it was the last time she would chaperona jealous and bad-tempered girl to a dance, and left the sisters to gohome with another married friend. 

The next day her prize Pom, which, because she had no child, shefoolishly adored, disappeared and was never seen again; and a few dayslater her husband fell very ill of pneumonia. On the day of thebiggest race-meeting of the season, he was not expected to live, and onthe night of the club ball he had a serious relapse, so that VioletValpy, who adored racing and dancing, missed both these importantfixtures. In the meantime, Major Satchwell was thrown from his horseand broke a leg. 

Of course it was foolish, even blasphemous, to point any connectionbetween Rosanne and these things--Mrs. Ozanne said so to herself tentimes an hour--but, in their procedure, there was such a strikingsimilarity to all Rosanne's "quarrel-cases, " that the poor woman couldnot help adding them to the black list. Just as she could not helpobserving that, after the three events, Rosanne cheered up wonderfullyand came out of the gloomy abstraction which always enveloped her whenshe was suffering from annoyance at the hands of others and left herwhen the offence had been mysteriously expiated by the offenders. Mrs. Ozanne was indeed deeply troubled. The disappearance of the Pom wasbad enough; but, after all, George Valpy had nearly died, while poorEverard Satchwell would limp for life. It had once been supposed thathe and Rosanne were fond of each other and might make a match of it. Mrs. Ozanne herself had believed that the girl liked him more than alittle; but evidently this was not so, or--the worried woman did notfinish the thought, even in her own mind, which was now busy withfurther problems connected with her beautiful, dark daughter. 

Rosanne had always shown a great love for jewels. As a child, colouredstones were most popular with her, but since she grew up she hadtransferred her passion to diamonds, and, though her mother pointed outthat such jewels were not altogether suitable to a young girl, she hadgradually acquired quite a number of them and wore them withextraordinary keenness of pleasure. Some she had obtained in exchangefor jewels that had been gifts from her mother or birthday presentsfrom old friends of the family, her devouring passion for the white, sparkling stones apparently burning up all sentimental values. Even astring of beautiful pearls--one of two necklaces John Ozanne hadinvested his first savings in for his twin daughters--had gone by theboard in exchange for a couple of splendid single-stone rings. Anemerald pendant that had come from Mrs. Ozanne's side of the family, and been given to Rosanne on her seventeenth birthday, had been partedwith also, to the mother's intense chagrin, Rosanne having thrown itinto a collection of jewels which she exchanged, with an additional sumof money, for a little neck-circlet of small but very perfect stonesthat was the surprise and envy of all her girl friends. 

She possessed, also, a fine pendant and several brooches, and was, moreover, constantly adding to her stock. It was her mother's beliefthat most of her generous allowance of pocket-money went in thisdirection, and more than once she expostulated with her daughter on thesubject. But, as may have been already guessed, Rosanne was not madeof malleable clay, or the mother's hands of the iron that mouldsdestinies. So the strange, dark daughter continued to do as she chosein the matter of jewels and, indeed, every other matter. 

Not the least of the reasons for Mrs. Ozanne's disapproval of herdaughter's jewel transactions was the fact that they took the girl intoall sorts of places and among odd, mean people. She was hand and glovewith every Jew and Gentile diamond-dealer in the place, but she alsoknew a number of other dealers of whom reputable dealers took nocognizance, and who dwelt behind queer, dingy shops whose windowsdisplayed little, and where business was carried on in some gloomyinner room. Certainly, Mrs. Ozanne neither guessed at the existence ofsuch people nor her daughter's acquaintance with them. It was enoughfor the poor woman that the sight of Rosanne sauntering in and out ofjeweller's shops, leaning over counters, peering at fine stones orholding them up to the light, was a well-known one in Kimberley, andthat many people gossiped about the scandal of such proceedings andblamed Mrs. Ozanne for letting the headstrong girl do these things. 

However, it was not the thought of people's criticism on this pointthat was now troubling Mrs. Ozanne, but a matter far more disquieting. She had begun to realize that Rosanne, though she had long sinceexchanged away all her earlier jewels for diamonds, was stillincreasing her stock of the latter in a way that could not possibly beaccounted for by her dress allowance; for she was fond of clothes, andher reputation as the best-dressed girl in Kimberley cost heavily. Buteven if she had spent the whole year's allowance in lump at thejewellers', it would not have paid for the beautiful stones she hadlately displayed. 

On the night of the club ball, for instance, in a room packed withpretty women beautifully gowned and jewelled, Rosanne blazed forth, aradiant figure that put everyone else in the shade. In a particularlyrare golden-red shade of orange tulle, her faultless shoulders quitebare, her long throat and small dark head superbly held and ablaze withjewels, she was a vision of fire. She looked like a single flame thathad become detached from some great conflagration and was swaying anddancing through the world alone. She shone and sparkled and flickered, and was the cynosure of all eyes. Mrs. Ozanne had never been so proudof her--and so perturbed. For where had that new diamond spray ofmaidenhair fern come from, that shone so gloriously against the glossybands and curls of dark hair; and whence the single stone, that, like agreat dewdrop, hung on her breast, suspended by a platinum chain sofine as to be almost invisible? Other people were asking thesequestions also, and once the distracted mother, lingering in a coolcorner of the balcony while her daughters were dancing, heard the voiceof an acquaintance saying acidly:

"What a fool the mother is! She must be ruining herself to buy thatgirl diamonds to trick herself out in--like a peacock!"

Rosanne did not look like a peacock at all, but like fire and watermade incarnate. The diamonds she wore seemed as much a part of hernatural element as her hair and eyes and the tinted ivory flesh of her. Mrs. Ozanne knew it, and so did the speaker, who was also the mother ofthree plain daughters. But that did not bring balm to Sophia Ozanne'sheart, or did it comfort her soul that Sir Denis Harlenden, thedistinguished traveller and hunter, after some weeks of apparentdangling at Rosanne's heels, was now paying such open and unmistakablecourt that all other mothers could not but sit up and enviously takenotice. Rosalie, too, it was plain, had a little hook in the heart ofRichard Gardner, a promising young advocate and one of the best matchesin Kimberley. But what booted it to Sophia Ozanne to triumph overother mothers when her mind was filled with forebodings and unhappyproblems? She tried solving one of these on arriving home after theball, but with no very great success. 

In the dim-lit hall of Tiptree House--a lofty, pleasant room arrangedas a lounge--they all lingered a few moments. Rosalie, with a dreaminglook in her blue eyes, stood sipping a glass of hot milk. Rosanne hadthrown off her white velvet cloak and flung herself and her crushedtulle into a great armchair. Mrs. Ozanne, with a cup of chocolate inher hand, looked old and weary--though in point of years she was stilla young woman. 

"Rosanne, " she ventured, "a lot of people were remarking on yourdiamonds tonight. "

"Yes?" said the girl carelessly. Her thoughts seemed elsewhere, andshe did not look happy, in spite of the success that had been hers thatevening. 

"Yes; even Dick--" put in Rosalie timidly, then correctedherself--"even Mr. Gardner noticed them, and rather wondered, I think, how you came to be wearing such beautiful stones. "

Rosanne sat up swiftly. 

"Dick Gardner had better mind his own business, " she said quickly, "orhe will be sorry. I never liked that man. "

Rosalie turned pale. Mrs. Ozanne braced herself to the defence of hergentle, little, fair daughter. 

"But, my dear, it is not only Mr. Gardner; I heard many people sayingthings--that I must be ruining myself to buy you such jewels, andthat----"

"Well, you're not, mother, are you?" Rosanne had risen and stood, smiling her subtle, ironical smile. 

"No, dear, of course not; but I feel very uneasy, and I should like toknow----"

"You need never feel uneasy about me, mother. I am well able to takecare of myself and mind my own affairs"--she began to move out of theroom--"and I also know how to deal with interfering people who try tomind them for me. Don't worry, mother dear, but go to bed. You looktired. "

The door closed behind her. Rosalie threw herself into her mother'sarms. 

"Oh, mother, she meant that for Dick!" she cried, and burst into tears. Mrs. Ozanne, trembling herself, strove to comfort her child. 

"Nonsense, darling, she's only cross and tired. She did not meananything. Besides, what can--" She faltered and broke off. 

"What can't she do?" sobbed Rosalie. "And Dick did, he _did_ say thateveryone was amazed at her diamonds--and so they were. "

"But what is all this about Dick, dear?" asked her mother, with atender little smile. The subject was changed, as she meant it to be. 

"Oh, mummie, we're engaged! I was only waiting for Rosanne to go totell you; and I was so happy. "

"And you will go on being happy, darling. He is a splendid fellow--anda good man, too. Nothing shall happen to prevent your being thehappiest pair alive, " comforted Mrs. Ozanne, and, with crooning, motherly words, herded Rosalie to bed. But she herself stayedsleepless for many hours. 

"Rosanne, " she said, at lunch the next day, before Rosalie came in, "Ithink you ought to know that your sister is engaged to Richard Gardner. "

Rosanne started and stared at her mother in silence for a moment. Iteven seemed to Mrs. Ozanne that a little of the bright colour left hercheek. 

"It happened last night, and he is coming to see me this afternoon. "

Then Rosanne said a queer thing. 

"I can't help that. " Her face had a brooding, enigmatic look, and sheseemed to be staring at her mother without seeing her. "I'm sorry, butI can't help it, " she repeated slowly. 

"Help it!" Mrs. Ozanne's eyes took on a haggard look. "What do youmean, dear?"

"Nothing, " said the girl abruptly, and began to talk about somethingelse as Rosalie came into the room. No more was said about theengagement, and Rosanne, after hurrying through her lunch and barelyeating anything, jumped up and hurried away with the announcement thatshe was going down to Kitty Drummund's and would not be back to tea. 

Kitty Drummund was that other close friend of whom mention has alreadybeen made. A young married woman, her husband was manager of one ofthe big compounds belonging to the De Beers Company. A compound is anenormous yard fenced with corrugated iron, inside which dwell severalhundreds of natives employed down in the mines. These natives are keptinside the compounds for spells of three to six months, according tocontract, and during that time are not allowed to stir out for anypurpose whatsoever, except to go underground, the shaft-head being inthe enclosure. At the end of their contracts, they are allowed toreturn to their kraals, after having been rigorously searched to makecertain that they have no diamonds on them. Scores of white men areemployed in the business of guarding, watching, and searching thenatives, and it was over these men and, indirectly, over the natives, also, that Leonard Drummund was manager, his job obliging him and hiswife to live far from the fashionable quarter of Kimberley. 

Their house, in fact, though outside the compound, was close beside itand within the grounds of the company, being fenced off from the townby a high wire fence. The only entrance into this enclosure was anenormous iron gate through which all friends of the Drummunds orvisitors to the compound had to pass, under the scrutinizing stare ofthe man on guard, who had also the right to challenge persons as towhat business took them into the company's grounds. It was thus thatDe Beers guarded, and still do guard to this day, the diamond industryfrom thieves and pirates, and would-be members of the illicitdiamond-buying trade. 

Through this big gate, on the afternoon after the club ball, Rosannepassed unchallenged, as she was in the habit of doing four or fivetimes a week, being well known to all the guards as a friend of Mrs. Drummund's. Many of the guards were acquaintances of hers, also, for, when they were not in the act of guarding, they were young men abouttown, qualifying for bigger positions in the company's employ. Theyoung fellow on guard that day had danced with Rosanne the nightbefore, and when she went through she gave him a smile and a friendlynod. He thought what a lovely, proud little face she had, and thatthat fellow Harlenden would be a lucky man to get her, even if he werea baronet. 

Kitty Drummund, among cushions and flowers, behind the green blinds ofher veranda, was waiting in a hammock for her friend. For a very happyreason she had been obliged to forego gaieties for a time; but herinterest in them remained, and she was dying to hear all about theball. Rosanne, however, seemed far from being in her usual vein ofquips and quirks and bright, ironical sayings about the world ingeneral. Indeed, her conversation was of the most desultorydescription, and Kitty gleaned little more news of her than she hadalready found in the morning newspaper. Between detached snatches oftalk, the girl fell into long moments of moody silence, and even teaand cigarettes did not unknit her brow or loose her tongue. Kitty, whonot only expected to be entertained about the dance but had alsoexcellent reasons for supposing she should hear something very excitingand important about Rosanne herself, was vaguely troubled anddisappointed. At last she ventured a gentle feeler. 

"What about Sir Denis, Nan?"

Rosanne turned a thoughtful gaze on her, and this time a little of herold mockery glimmered in it. 

"He still survives. "

"Don't be silly, darling. Len heard this morning at the club--whateveryone is saying--_you_ know--how much he is in love with you, andthat he's sure to propose soon. "

"He proposed last night, Kit. We are engaged. "

Kitty sat up with dancing eyes. 

"And you've been keeping it back all this time! Oh, Rosanne, how couldyou? Such a darling man! You are lucky. What a lovely bride you'llmake! You must put it off until I can come. Shall you be married inbright colours, as you always said you would? And you'll be LadyHarlenden!"

Kitty was not a snob, but titles didn't often come her way and shecouldn't help taking a whole-hearted delight in the fact that Rosannewould have one. 

"I shall never be Lady Harlenden. I don't mean to marry him, Kit. "

"Don't mean to marry him!" Kitty Drummund's lips fell apart and allthe dancing excitement went out of her eyes. She sat and stared. Atlast she said wonderingly but with conviction:

"But you care for him, Rosanne!"

"I know, " said the other sombrely. "I love him. I love him, and Ican't resist letting him know and taking his love for a little while. It is so wonderful. Oh, Kit, it is so wonderful! But I can nevermarry him. I am too wicked. "

"Wicked!"

Kitty stared at her. The lovely dark face had become extraordinarilydistorted and anguished, and seemed actually to age under Kitty's eyes. The girl put up her hands and pressed them to her temples. 

"Oh, I am so unhappy, " she muttered, "and I can't tell any one! Motherand Rosalie don't understand----"

Kitty Drummund was only frivolous on the surface. At core she wassound, a good woman and a loyal friend. She took the girl's hands. 

"Tell _me_, dear, " she said gravely; "I'll try and help. "

But Rosanne shook her head. The agonized, tortured look passed slowlyfrom her features, and her face became once more composed, though whiteas ashes. Her eyes were dull as burnt-out fires. 

"I can't, " she said heavily. "I can't tell any one; I don't evenunderstand it myself. "

She fell into silence again, but presently turned to Kit with a sternlook, half commanding, half imploring. 

"Swear you'll never tell any one what I've said, Kit--about theengagement or anything else. "

Kitty promised solemnly. 

"Not even Len, " insisted Rosanne. 

"Not even Len. But, oh, Nan, I shall pray that it will all come right!"

"Prayers are no good, " said Rosanne, with abrupt bitterness. "Godknows I've given them a fair chance!"

"Darling, one never knows when a prayer may be answered, but it _will_be--sometime. "

Rosanne began suddenly to talk of something else, and the strangeincident ended; for when Rosanne wished to drop a subject she droppedit, and put her foot on it in such a way that it could not be picked upagain. Besides, this was scarcely one on which Kitty, however much shedesired to help, could press her friend. So she did the wisest thingshe could think of under the circumstances--made the girl go indoors tothe piano and play to her. She knew that Rosanne gave, and was givento, by music in a way that is only possible to deep, inarticulatenatures such as possess the musician's gift. One had only to listen toher music, thought Kitty, to know that there were depths in her that nowoman would ever fathom, though a man might, some day. Denis Harlendenmight--if she would let him. 

Listening, as she lay in her hammock, to the wild, strange chords flungfrom under Rosanne's fingers, and again the plaintive, tender notesthat stole out like wounded birds and fluttered away on broken wings tothe sunlight, Kitty realized that she was an ear-witness to theinterpretation of a soul's pain. Though she had never heard of JeanPaul Richter's plaint to music--"_Thou speakest to me of those thingswhich in all my endless days I have found not, nor shallfind_"--something of the torment embodied in those exquisitely bitterwords came to her through Rosanne's music, and she was able to realizesome tithe of what the girl was suffering. 

Yet, in the end, Rosanne came out of the drawing-room with the shadowsgone from her face and all the old mocking, glancing life back in it. If she had given of her torment to music, music, whether for good orill, had restored to her the vivid and delicate power which made up herstrangely forceful personality. She was hurriedly drawing on hergloves. 

"I've just remembered the Chilvers' dinner-party tonight and must fly. You know how Molly Chilvers nags if one is late for her dull oldbanquets. "

She kissed Kitty, tucked a rug round her, for the cool of evening wasbeginning to fall, and went her ways. But as she followed the paththat led through the blue-ground heaps, past the iron compound, anddown to the big gate, she was thinking that if Molly Chilvers' banquetswere dull, the banquet of life was not, and it was the banquet of lifeshe had put her lips to since she knew and loved Denis Harlenden. Shewas to meet him tonight! That thought had power enough to drive outthe little snakes of despair and desolation that had been eating herheart all day. Let the morrows, with their pain of parting, take careof themselves! Today, it was good to be alive! That was herphilosophy as she went, light-foot, through the blue-ground heaps. 

There was no one about in the big outer enclosure. The monotonouschanting of Kafir songs came over the iron walls of the compound, themurmuring of many voices, clank of pot and pan, smell of fires, and thesoft, regular beat of some drumlike native instrument. The day-shiftboys had come up from the mines and were preparing their evening meal. 

Passers-by were never supposed to go near to the walls of the compound, but in one place the path wound within a yard or two of it, and, as ithappened, this spot was just out of eye-reach of the towers which stoodat the four corners of the compound (unless the guards popped theirheads out of the window, which they rarely did). True, the guard atthe gate commanded a full view of the spot, but if he had been lookingwhen Rosanne reached it, he would only have seen her stooping to tie upher shoe. He was not looking, however. It was not his custom, eventhough it might be his duty, to spy on Mrs. Drummund's visitors, especially such a visitor as Miss Ozanne. Therefore, no one saw that, when she had finished tying up her shoe, she leaned forward from thepath and slid out her hand to a tiny mound of earth that lay near thecompound wall--a little mound that might very well have been pushed upby a mole on the other side--dived her fingers into the earth, andwithdrew a small package wrapped in a dirty rag. Then, swiftly shethrust something back into the earth, smoothed the little heap level, rose from tying her shoe, and lightly sauntered on her way. The nexttime she had occasion to use her handkerchief she slipped the littlepackage into her pocket, and so, empty-handed except for her sunshade, she passed through the big gate. 

At seven o'clock that evening, the carriage stood before the door ofTiptree House, waiting to convey the Ozanne family to the Chilvers'dinner-party, and Mrs. Ozanne, in black velvet and old lace, waited inthe hall for her two daughters. She sat tapping with her fan upon alittle Benares table before her, turning over in her mind, as she hadbeen doing all the afternoon, two sentences from a letter RichardGardner had sent her. It was an honourable and manly letter, puttingforward his feelings for Rosalie and the fact that he had already askedher to be his wife. He had meant, he wrote, to call that afternoon onMrs. Ozanne and ask verbally for her consent to the engagement, butsomething had happened to prevent his coming. However, he hoped, allbeing well, to call instead on the following day and put his positionbefore Mrs. Ozanne. 

"_Something has happened!_" "_All being well!_"--those were thephrases that repeated themselves in Sophia Ozanne's mind over and overagain, rattling like two peas in an empty drum. It was on account ofthem that she had refrained from showing Rosalie the note; but herprecaution was wasted, for the girl had also received a letter from herlover, and, curiously enough, it contained the two sentences which wereso vividly present in Mrs. Ozanne's consciousness. Rosalie hadrepeated them to her mother at tea-time, and in the quiet drawing-room, as the two women sat looking at each other with apprehensive eyesacross the teacups, the seemingly innocent words sounded strangelypregnant of trouble. 

Perhaps that was why Rosalie looked less pretty than usual as she camein and joined her mother. Her white satin gown gave her a ghostly air, and the forget-me-not eyes had faint pink rims to them that wereunbecoming. The mother had barely time to make these mentalobservations when Rosanne entered. To their surprise, she was still inher afternoon gown and hat. 

"I'm not going to the Chilvers' tonight, " she said rapidly. "I'vealready sent Molly a message, but please make her my further excuses, mother. "

"But, my dear, " exclaimed Mrs. Ozanne reproachfully, "you'll spoil herparty! I think you ought to make an effort, even if you are late. "

"Oh, no, mother; I can't. Besides, it was silly of her to give a partythe night after a ball, when everyone is fagged out. " She looked thepicture of glowing health as she said it--more like some bright wildmountain-flower than a girl. 

"I'm quite sure you are not so tired as either Rosalie or myself, "pursued her mother warmly, "and I think that at least you might havelet me know of your decision earlier. "

"Yes, mother; I suppose I might, though I don't quite know whatdifference it would have made. I beg your pardon, anyway. But I don'tsee why you go, either, if you are tired. Rosalie looks dead beat. "She was looking at her sister in an oddly tender way. 

"Nothing wrong, I hope, Rosie?" she asked, in a voice so soft andappealing that Mrs. Ozanne would not have been astonished if the gentleand easily moved Rosalie had responded by pouring out her heart. But, instead, she turned away, biting a trembling lip, and put on her wrapswithout speaking. Rosanne shrugged her shoulders and went out of theroom in her rapid, silent way. 

"Mother, I feel I hate her!" Rosalie muttered, with burning eyes. Hermother was profoundly shocked. 

"Oh, hush, my darling!" she whispered. "You don't know what you aresaying. "

Linking her arm in her daughter's, she led the way in silence to thecarriage. 

Rosanne, meanwhile, went into the dining-room and had something coldbrought to her there by Maria, the old Cape cook. All the otherservants were out for the evening, as was the rule on the rareoccasions when the family did not entertain. Having dined, the girlwent to her bedroom. The house was of the bungalow type--everything onthe ground floor and no upper stories. All the bedrooms gave on to thegreat veranda that ran round the house, but Rosanne's room, being atthe corner, had two French windows, one facing the front garden with afull view of the tennis-courts and drive, the other, shaded by creepersand a great tree-fern, looked out to the clustered trees and windingpaths of the side gardens. It was from this door that Rosanne emerged, half an hour later, dressed in something so subtly night-coloured thatshe looked like a grey moth flickering through the trees of the garden. Softly she let herself out of the little side gate chiefly used by theservants, and, slipping from shadow to shadow in the dim lights ofquiet back streets, she made her way toward the commercial part of thetown. The main street--that same Du Toit's Pan Road where JohnOzanne's hotel had once flourished--was brightly lighted by largearc-lamps, but never once did Rosanne come within range of these. Itwas in a dingy lane giving off from the big thoroughfare that she atlast stopped before a shop whose shuttered window bore thelegend--"Syke Ravenal: Jeweller. " Upon an undistinguished looking sidedoor she knocked gently, distinctly, three times. It opened as if bymagic, and, like a shadow, she slipped into the darkness behind it. 

Harlenden was a little early. Rosanne had said nine o'clock, and itwanted, perhaps, twenty minutes to the hour when he rang at TiptreeHouse and was told by Maria, after a few moments' waiting, that shecould not find Miss Rosanne anywhere. 

"Very well; I'll wait here, " he said, and, lighting a cigar, sat downin one of the deep chairs in the dimly lighted veranda. 

He was a lean, fair, well-groomed man, with a hard-cut face that toldnothing. You had to make your own deductions from a pair of stone-greyeyes, a mouth close-lipped without being cold, and a manner not wantingin indications of arrogance that yet pleased by a certain carelessgrace and sureness. As Emerson says, "Do as you please, and you may doas you please, for, in the end, if you are consistent you will pleasethe world. " Perhaps it was his unfailing habit of following out thisrule that made the world respect Denis Harlenden, even if it were notpleased with him. Certainly, his people would not be very pleased thathe had chosen a Kimberley hotel-keeper's daughter to carry on the lineof one of the oldest baronetcies in England. But, to speak with truth, he had given neither his people nor the Kimberley Hotel a thought inthe matter. He loved Rosanne for her wit, her beauty, her courage, acertain sportsmanlike daring which showed in all her actions, and herunlikeness to any other woman he had ever known. Moreover, he wascertain that she was the one woman who could keep his love withoutboring him. He, like Kitty Drummund, was aware of unfathomed depths inher, and he was not at all sure that he should like everything he foundin those depths if he ever fathomed them. But, in any case, hepreferred them to shallows. A shallow woman could not have kept DenisHarlenden's heart for a week--or a day. He also valued surprises, andRosanne was full of surprises. 

She gave him one now. At the sound of a slight, crushing of gravelunderfoot, he had risen and stepped toward the end of the veranda, and, standing there beside the great tree-fern, he saw her coming from theside garden into the faint rays of light from the house. She had hertwo hands folded over her breast as though holding something preciousthere, and her face was rapt. He had never before seen her in thatodd, sheathlike garment of silver-grey velvet. It gave her, hethought, with that brooding look on her face and her faintly smilingmouth, an air of moon-like mysteriousness. Almost as silently as amoonbeam, she slid into the veranda and would have passed on into herroom but that he put his arms round her and drew her to his heart. 

The thought had come over him suddenly to test her courage and coolnessthus, and she did not disappoint him. For a moment he felt her heartfluttering like a wild bird against his; then she gave a little lowlaugh. 

"Oh, Denis!" she whispered, against his lips. But when he let her gohe saw that her face was white as milk. 

"You _were_ frightened, then?" he questioned. 

"No, no; I knew at once it was you--by the scent of your dear coat. "She stroked it with one hand, then made to move away, but he still heldher. What had made her turn white, then, if she were not afraid?

"Let me go away and change my gown, " she said, trying to edge away intothe dark. 

"But why? I love it. You are like a witch of the moon in it. "

"No; it isn't a nice gown, " she insisted childishly and still tried toescape, but he could be obstinate, too. 

"I want you to keep it on--and, darling, darling, don't waste any ofthe moments we may be together! You told me yourself it could only bean hour. "

She gave a deep sigh. It was true. Moments spent with him were tooprecious to waste. There might not be so many more. Still, she didnot abandon her plan to get away from him to her room, if only for aminute. Gently she resisted his half-movement to lead her to a chair. He knew, by now, that she was holding something in her left hand whichshe did not wish him to see. They remained standing by the tree-fern, each will striving for supremacy. In the meantime, he went on speakingin his extraordinary charming voice that had power to make her heartache with even the memory of its dear sound. 

"Not that I can see why I should only have an hour. "

"Mother will be back by ten, " she said. 

"Why shouldn't she know at once? I don't like this hole-and-cornerbusiness, Rosanne. It is not good enough for you. " He kissed her onthe lips, and added, "Or me. "

Her face was in shadow, but his was not, and she could see that fireswere lighted in the stone-grey eyes that banished all its masklikeimpassivity and brought a wonderful beauty into it. She stoodtrembling to his kiss and his voice and the magic of her love for him. Almost it seemed as if she must do as he wished. But she knew she mustnot. If her mother once knew, everyone would have to know, and howbrutal that would be to him when she had to tell him that it must allcome to an end, that she could not and would not marry him!

"You must let me tell her tonight, " he was saying, with quiet firmness. 

"No, no!" she faltered. 

"Yes. And there is another thing; give me your left hand, Rosanne. "

She did not give it so much as that he drew it from behind her. It wastightly clenched. Holding it in his own, he drew her to a chair atlast. She seemed to have no more strength to resist. Then, sittingdown before her, he gently unclenched one finger after another untilwhat she had hidden there lay sparkling in the night. Almost as if ithad been something evil, he shook it from her palm into her lap, andtaking her hand to his lips, kissed it, then placed upon the thirdfinger a ring. 

"You must only like the jewels I give you, Rosanne, " he said, withunveiled meaning. 

They sat there for a long, aching, exquisitely silent moment, her handin his, the great square emerald set in a wonderful filigree andscrolling of gold on her finger, the other thing gleaming with abaleful light between them. Then the spell broke with the roll ofcarriage wheels on the drive. A minute later, Mrs. Ozanne came intothe veranda, Rosalie clinging to her arm. Harlenden was on his feetinstantly, and, before Rosanne could intervene, had proffered hisrequest to speak to her mother. The latter looked as much dazed by hiswords as his presence. 

"Not tonight, Sir Denis, please. "

"It is rather important, " he pleaded, looking very boyish. But sheseemed to notice nothing, and shook her head. 

"Some other time--my poor Rosalie is ill--in trouble; she has heardsome distressing news. "

He drew back at once, apologizing, and a few minutes later was gone. Rosanne followed her mother and sister into the house, a strangelyyearning, sorrowful look upon her face. Nothing was said. Rosalieseemed half-fainting, and her mother, still supporting her, led her tothe door of her bedroom. They disappeared together. Rosanne staredafter them, but made no attempt to help. When they had gone, she satstill in the hall, waiting. Sometimes she looked at the sparklingthing in her hand (she had caught it up from her lap when her mothercame into the veranda), a slim, flexible string of diamonds for weavingin the hair--glowing and glimmering like spurts of flame imprisonedwithin frozen dewdrops. Sometimes she looked at the great emeraldDenis Harlenden had set on her finger. But her eyes had something ofthe fixed, unseeing stare of the sleep-walker. At last Sophia Ozannecame back and stood beside her. Neither looked at the other. 

"What is it mother?" she asked, in a low voice. 

"Richard Gardner is very ill. They hoped it was only a sore throatthat would soon yield to treatment; but he went to a specialisttoday--that Doctor Stratton who came out to see the Cape governor'sthroat--and he seems to think--" Poor Mrs. Ozanne halted and choked asif she herself were suffering from an affection of the throat. Rosannestill sat silent and brooding. 

"He seems to think it is something malignant--and, in that case, he andpoor Rosalie--" She broke down. 

"Will never be able to marry, mother?" asked Rosanne, not curiously, only sadly, as if she knew already. Her mother nodded. 

"Who told you?"

"Richard's brother was at the Chilvers'; he thought we had better knowat once. "

Mrs. Ozanne sat down by the little Benares table and, resting her faceon her hands, began to cry quietly. Rosanne stared before her with anabsorbed stare. She seemed in a very transport of grave thought. WhenMrs. Ozanne at length raised her eyes for an almost furtive glance, shethought she had never seen anything so tragic as her daughter's face. Her own was working horribly with misery and some urgent necessity. 

"Rosanne!" she stammered at last, afraid of the sound of her own words. "Couldn't you do something?"

The girl removed her dark gaze from nothingness and transferred it toher mother's imploring, fearful eyes. 

"Oh, mother!" she said quietly. "Oh, mother! I am more unhappy thanyou or Rosalie can ever be!"

PART II

Rosalie Ozanne kept her bed for a week or more. She had sunk into asort of desolate lethargy of mind and body from which nothing couldrouse her. Her mother was in despair. Richard Gardner was too ill tocome to see the girl he loved, and he did not write. The blow that hadfallen upon his promising and prosperous life seemed to have shatteredhis nerves and benumbed his initiative. He had no words of hope forRosalie; so he said nothing. Thus, in silence and apart, the two weresuffering their young agony of wrecked hopes and love laid on its bier. 

Rosanne, meanwhile, to all appearances, went on her way rejoicing. Fora moment, in the shock of mutual grief over Rosalie's trouble, she andher mother had drawn nearer in spirit, and strange words of sorrow andsympathy, as though dragged from her very depths, had come falteringfrom the girl's lips. But the next day all trace of such unaccustomedsoftness had disappeared. She was her gay, resilient self once more, bright and hard as the stones she loved to wear, and more reserved andwithdrawn from her family than ever. She avoided both her mother andsister as much as possible, spending most of her time in her own roomor with her friend Kitty Drummund. As usual, too, she was often outriding and driving--but no longer with Denis Harlenden. MajorSatchwell had been received back into the favour of her intimatefriendship, and it was he who was always to be found riding or limpingat her side. 

Harlenden had not called at Tiptree House since the night when, afterthe Chilvers' dinner-party, he had requested an interview with Mrs. Ozanne and been asked to wait until a more propitious moment. Indeed, the latter, with mind full of foreboding and sorrow for her strickenchild, had almost forgotten that he had ever made such a request. ButRosanne had not forgotten. And Rosanne knew why her lover stayed awayfrom Tiptree House. He had made his reason sufficiently clear in aletter she had received the morning after their last meeting in theveranda. The terse sentences of that letter were like himself--coldand quiet without, but with the burn of hidden fires beneath thesurface. 

"Until you are prepared to let the world know how things are with us, Ishall not come again. And another thing, Rosanne: I love you. Yourkiss is on my lips, and no other woman's lips shall ever efface itsexquisite memory You love me, too, I think. But do you love me morethan certain other things? If not, and if you cannot be the Rosanne Iwish you to be, caring only for such things as are worthy of yourbeauty and my pride, this love of ours can never come to its perfectionbut will have to be rooted out and crushed as a useless, hopelessthing. When you see this as I do, send for me. I shall not be long incoming. "

Curiously enigmatic words if read by any but the eyes for which theywere intended. But Rosanne knew what they meant, and read them withher teeth dug into her lip and cheeks pale as a bone. The first timeshe read them she burst into a furious, ringing laugh, and crushing theletter into a ball, flung it into the waste-paper basket and went out. That was the afternoon on which she renewed her friendship with EverardSatchwell. But when she came home she sought the waste-paper basket, and taking out the letter, uncrumpled it and read it again. Thereaftershe read it many times. Sometimes she went to bed with it crushed toher breast. But she never answered it. Instead, she wrote to EverardSatchwell and completed the work, already begun, of beguiling him backinto her life just as he was beginning to hope he could do without her. 

One day, when she was out riding with him, they met Harlenden ridingalone. He had a moody, lonely look that wrenched at her heart for amoment until she saw the civilly indifferent smile with which hereturned her half-appealing glance and Satchwell's cheery greeting. Astheir eyes met, his were so empty of what she knew they could containfor her that her heart turned cold in her breast. For the first time, the well-bred impassivity of his face irked and infuriated her. Shedoubted, almost hated him. She could have struck him with herriding-whip because he gave no sign of the hurt she had dealt him, but, instead, her face grew almost as smilingly masklike as his own; onlywhen she got home, within the refuge of her bedroom walls, did itchange and become distorted with pain and rage, its beauty marred andblotted out with tears. 

That he should ride coolly by and give no sign, while _her_ heart achedas if a knife were in it, while she drained to the dregs the cup oflonely love! That was bitter. But bitterer still the knowledge thatwithin herself lay the reason of their separation, as well as the powerto end it. She could bring him back this very hour if she wished, washer thought. Yet, could she? Were not those other bonds that held hersoul in slavery stronger than herself--stronger (as he had suggested inhis letter) than her love for Denis Harlenden?

Miserably, her face lifeless and pale as the face of one who has lainamong the ashes of renouncement and repentance, she rose from the bedwhere she had flung herself weeping, and creeping to an old-fashionedoak bureau of heavy make, sat down before it and began to unlock itsmany drawers and take therefrom a number of little jewel-cases. One byone she opened these and spread before her the radiant, sparklingthings they contained with their myriad points of light and dancingcolour. She ran the things through her fingers and bathed her hands inthem like water. Then she curved her palms into a cup and held themfilled to the brim with such a sparkling draught as only a god coulddrink--a draught with fire and ice in it, blood and crystal water, purity and evil. The roses of life and the blue flowers of death wereall intermingled and reflected in that magic draught of frozen fire andliquid crystal. As the girl gazed into it, colour came back to herpale face, and her eyes caught and returned the flashing beams oflight. It almost seemed as if she and the stones, able to communicate, were exchanging the signals of some secret code. 

One jewel was more beautiful than all the rest, the lovely, flexiblechain of stones she had been holding to her breast that night whenHarlenden surprised her coming from the garden into the veranda--thething he had shaken from her hand into her lap as if it had been atoad. She remembered Harlenden, now, as she gazed into the iridescentshapes of light, seeming to see in their brilliant, shallow depthsworlds of romance that every-day life knew not of. At last she caughtthe thing up and kissed it burningly, then pressed it against her heartas if it possessed some quality of spikenard to ease the pain she stillfelt aching there. The sound of the dinner-gong shook her from herstrange dreams, and hastily, yet with a sort of lingering regret, shebegan to gather up the jewels and lay them once more into their downynests of white velvet. Her fingers caressed and her eyes embracedevery single stone as she laid it away. 

"I must get some more, " she murmured feverishly to herself; "I must getsome more--soon!"

She had forgotten Denis Harlenden now. Her lips took on a hungry, aridline, and her eyes were suddenly hard and more brilliant than thestones she handled. The lust of diamonds, which is one of the greatestand most terrible of all the lusts, had got her in its scorpion-clawsand was squeezing love from her heart and beauty from her soul. 

"Rosanne, your sister is worse, " her mother said, at dinner. They hadreached dessert, but these were the first words that had passed betweenthem. Rosanne's shoulders moved with the suggestion of a shrug. 

"I think she gives way, " she remarked coldly. "She could shake offthat illness with the exercise of a little self-control. "

"It is easy to talk like that when you are not the sufferer, dear. Youforget that her whole heart is wrapped up in Dick. I believe that ifhe dies, she will--. " The mother's words ended in something very likea sob. She looked utterly worn out and wretched. Her eyes wistfullysearched Rosanne's, but the latter's mood appeared to be one ofcomplete _sang-froid_. 

"You always look on the worst side of things, mother, " she said calmly. "If Dick dies, and I daresay he will--cancer of the throat is nearlyalways fatal, I believe--Rosalie will get over it in time and marrysome other man. "

"Rosanne, I never thought you could be so heartless!"

"Nonsense, mother; it isn't heartlessness but common sense, and I thinkyou ought not to encourage Rosalie by being sympathetic. A littlebracing brutality is what she needs to pull her out of her misery. "

Mrs. Ozanne rose, her eyes shining with anger as well as tears. 

"I forbid you to speak to me of your unhappy sister unless you canspeak kindly, " she said, and added harshly; "I sometimes think, Rosanne, that you are either not my child or that that Malay womanbewitched and cast some evil spell over you when you were a baby. "

Rosanne looked at her with musing eyes. 

"I have sometimes thought so myself, " she said slowly, "and that, instead of you reproaching me, it is I who have the right to reproachyou for bartering me away to witchcraft rather than letting me die aninnocent little child. "

Sophia Ozanne's lips fell apart, and the colour died slowly out of herhandsome, wholesome-looking face. She said nothing while she stoodthere gazing for a long minute at her daughter; but her breath camelaboriously, and she held her hand over her heart as if she hadreceived a blow there. At last, in silence, she walked heavily fromthe room. 

Rosanne helped herself daintily to fruit salad, but when she had it onher plate she did nothing but stare at it. After a few moments sherang the bell and sent out a message to the stables that she wouldrequire the carriage for an hour. 

"And tell my mother, if she asks, that I have gone to Mrs. Drummund's, "she directed old Maria, as she went away to her room to put on a hatand wrap. 

"It is pretty awful at home now, " she complained to Kitty Drummund, some twenty minutes later. "The whole house is wrapped in gloombecause Dick Gardner has a sore throat. One might as well live in amausoleum. "

"Dearest, it is a little more than a sore throat, isn't it? Len sawTommy Gardner today, and he says Dick is in awful pain and can't speak. They are sending him away to the Cape tonight, as a last hope. DoctorRaymond, there, is supposed to be wonderfully clever with affections ofthe throat, though I must say I don't believe it will be much good, since Stratton has condemned him. "

"Oh, talk about something else, Kit, for heaven's sake!" cried Rosanne, with a sudden access of desperate irritation. "I can't bear any moreDick Gardner. "

Kitty stroked the hair and bare shoulders of the girl sitting on thefloor beside her. 

"I know you're not really heartless, Nan, but you do sound sosometimes. I expect all this trouble at home is on your nerves alittle bit. Tell me, how are your own affairs, darling? Is theengagement still going on?"

"No; the engagement is finished. I told you I never meant to marryhim. "

"I think you are making an awful mistake, Nan. He's the only man foryou--the only man who can----"

"Can what?" asked Rosanne, with fierce moodiness. "Save my soul alive?"

"How strange! Those were the very words I was going to use, though Idon't know why. They just came into my head. "

"Everyone seems to be hitting the right nail on the head tonight, "commented Rosanne dryly. "First, my mother; now, you. I wonder who'llbe the third. All good things run in threes, don't they?"

Kitty knew better than to try to cope with her in that mood, so sheremained silent until Rosanne rose and caught up her hat. 

"Oh, don't go yet, darling! Do stay and see Len. He had to go outdirectly after dinner, but he promised not to be long. Fancy! They'rehaving such excitement up at the compound. But I don't know whether Iought to tell you, though, " she finished doubtfully. 

"Oh, yes, do!" said Rosanne, wearily ironical. "Do tell me somethingthat will make life seem less of an atrocious joke than itis--especially if you oughtn't to tell. "

"Well, we're not supposed to breathe anything like this outside thecompound walls, you know. Len told me not to mention it to a soul; butI don't expect he meant to include you, for, of course, you are allright. "

"Of course!" Rosanne smiled mockingly at herself in the mirror beforewhich she was arranging her hair preparatory to posing her hat upon it. 

"Well, my dear, just think! They've discovered a Kafir boy in thecompound who has been stealing thousands of pounds' worth of diamondsfor months, and passing them to someone outside. They caught him inthe act this afternoon. "

"How frightfully exciting!" Rosanne had put her hat on now, but wasstill manoeuvring to get it at exactly the correct angle over her righteye. "How did he do it?"

"He made a little tunnel from under his sleeping-bunk to the outside ofthe compound wall, about a yard and a half long, and through that hewould push a parcel of diamonds by means of a stick with a flat pieceof tin at the end of it, something like a little rake and exactly thesame length as the tunnel. He always pushed a little heap of earththrough first, so as to cover the diamonds up from any eyes but thoseof his confederate outside. When the confederate had removed thediamonds, he pushed back the earth against the tin rake, which the boyalways left in place until he had another packet of diamonds ready toput through. In this way the hole was never exposed, except during thefew moments, once a week, when the boy was putting in a fresh packet. "

"But how awfully thrilling!" exclaimed Rosanne. 

"Yes; isn't it? What they want to do now is to catch the confederatewho is, of course, the real culprit, for encouraging an ignorant Kafirto steal. "

"Who could it possibly be?"

"Goodness knows! Such heaps of people come inside this outer compound, tradespeople, servants with messages, and so on. But just think of it, Nan! Thousands of pounds' worth, and the Kafir boy only got ten poundsfor each packet he pushed through. "

"Well, what would a Kafir do with thousands of pounds, anyway?" saidRosanne, laughing irrelevantly. "I think ten pounds was quite enough. "

"That's true--too much for the wretch, indeed! However, he hasconfessed and told everything he could to help our people to trap theother wretch. Unfortunately, that is not very much. "

"No?"

"No; he says he has never seen the man who fetches the diamonds. Theonly one he has ever seen was a man he is not able to describe becausehe is so ordinary-looking, who came to his kraal in Basutoland aboutseven months ago, and made the whole plan with him to come and work oncontracts of three months at a time as a compound-boy, steal as manydiamonds as he could, and pass them out in the way I have described. Each parcel was to cost ten pounds and to contain no less than tendiamonds. No money passed between them, but every time a parcel wasput through the tunnel, the confederate on the other side put a bluebead in its place among the sand. The boy found the bead and kept itas a receipt, and when he came out at the end of every three months'contract he wore a bracelet of blue beads on his wrist. Naturally, theauthorities didn't take any notice of this when they searched him, fornearly all Kafirs wear beads of some kind. These beads were quite acommon kind to look at; only when they were examined carefully werethey found to have been passed through some chemical process which dyedthe inside a peculiar mauve colour, making it impossible for the Kafirto cheat by adding ordinary blue beads (of which there are plenty forsale in the compound) to his little bunch of 'receipts. '"

"How clever!" said Rosanne. "And how are they going to catch theconfederate? Put a trap-parcel, I suppose, and pounce on him when hecomes to fetch it?"

She had seated herself again, opposite Kitty, her arms resting on theback of the chair, her face vivid with interest. 

"Cleverer than that, " announced Kitty. "They are going to put the trapand watch who fetches it. But they won't pounce on him; they mean tofollow him up and arrest the whole gang. "

"Gang?"

"Len says there's sure to be a gang of them, and for the sake ofgetting them all, parcel after parcel of stones will be put through thetunnel, if necessary, until every one of them is traced and arrested. "

"Rather risky for the diamonds, I should think!"

"They'll only put inferior ones in. Besides, the Kafir boy's contractis up in a week's time, and if all the gang aren't caught by then, they're going to let the boy go out and meet his confederate to deliverhis beads, and then the arrest will be made. "

"Surely the Kafir was able to describe him, if he had been in the habitof meeting him every three months?"

"He says he was a young white boy, very thin, who wears a mask and anovercoat. They have met twice at night, in an old unused house in theMalay compound, the other side of Kimberley. Can you imagine any onerunning such awful risks for the sake of diamonds, Nan? But Len saysit goes on all the time--this illicit diamond-buying business--and thecompany loses thousands of pounds every year and is hardly ever able tocatch the thieves. They're as clever as paint! They have to be, forif they are caught it means ten to twenty years' imprisonment for them, as they know. Mustn't it be awful to live in such a state of risk anduncertainty, never knowing when you're going to be found out, for, ofcourse, there are plenty of detectives on the watch for illicit buyingall the time?"

"Awful--yes, but terribly exciting, " Rosanne said musingly. "Don't youthink so?" she added quickly, and began to pull on her gloves. 

"Ah, don't go, yet!" cried Kitty. "Len will be dreadfully disappointedto find you gone. "

"Tell him you told me the story, " laughed Rosanne. "That will cheerhim up. "

"I don't think I shall, " said Kitty soberly. "I'm afraid he'd beawfully mad with me, after all, even though it is only you I've told. He'll say women can't keep things to themselves, and that you're sureto tell someone else, and so the whole thing will get about. "

"You needn't worry, dear. It will never get about through me, " saidRosanne quietly, and, kissing Kitty good-night, she went her ways. 

As she passed through the brightly lit outer compound, stepping brisklytoward the big gate, she was aware of more than one lurking shadowbehind the blue-ground heaps. Also, it seemed to her that variousguards were more alert than usual in their guardhouses. But she gaveno faintest sign of observing these things, greeted the guard at thegate pleasantly, and, passing out to the street, stepped into thewaiting carriage and was driven home. It wanted a few minutes tomidnight when she stole from the veranda door of her room once more, dressed in her dim, straight gown of moonlight velvet with a swathe ofcolourless veil about her head and, sliding softly through the garden, went out into the quiet streets of the town until she came, at last, toa little indistinguished door next to a jeweller's window, whereon wasneatly inscribed the name, "Syke Ravenal. " On knocking gently threetimes, the door opened mechanically to admit her. Inside all was dark;but a few paces down a passage brought her to a door that opened into asmall but brightly lighted room. An elderly man was seated at a tableengaged in beautifully illuminating a parchment manuscript. This wasSyke Ravenal. 

"You are very late, my child, " he said, in a gently benevolent tone. His voice was rich and sonorous. 

"It was not safe to come before. "

"Safe?" His dark, hawk-like face did not change, but there was a soundin his voice like the clank of broken iron. 

"They've caught Hiangeli, " she said. 

"Ah!" He carefully folded the manuscript between two protecting sheetsof blotting-paper and placed it in the drawer of his table. His handsshook as if with ague, but his voice was as perfectly composed as hisface when he spoke again. 

"Tell me all about it, my child. "

"They got him in the compound today, as he was putting the parcelthrough. He has confessed as much as he knows about your son going tothe kraal, and the blue beads, and the old house in the Malay compoundwhere he was paid. They have now set a trap-parcel of stones and aresitting in wait to catch the confederate. " She sank down in a chairopposite to him and leaned her elbows on the table. "To catch me, " shesaid slowly. 

He looked at her keenly. Her face was deadly pale, but there was notrace of fear in it. Whatever Rosanne Ozanne may have been, she was nocoward. Neither was the man opposite her. 

"Ah! They have no inkling, of course, that it was you who met Hiangeliand paid him?"

"No; he was not able to tell them any more than that it was a whiteboy. " She added, with the ghost of a smile, "A thin, white boy, in amask and an overcoat. "

"Well, that's all right. They won't catch you, and they won't catchme, and Saul is safe in Amsterdam. Luck is on our side, as she alwaysis on the side of good players. Hiangeli must foot the bill, becausehe played badly. "

Rosanne sat listening. It was plain that Hiangeli's fate was a matterof indifference to her, but some storm was brewing behind hersmouldering eyes. Ravenal went on calmly:

"It's been a good game while it lasted. The pity is that it must cometo an end. "

Then the storm broke forth. 

"But it must not come to an end!" she burst out violently. "I can'tlive without it!"

The man looked at her reflectively. 

"You're a great sport. I've never known a woman with finer nerve. But, just the same, the game has got to come to an end. "

"Game! You don't understand. It is meat and drink to me. I _must_have diamonds. " She sounded like a woman pleading for some drug todeaden pain, memory, and conscience. Her voice was wild; she put outher hands to him in an imploring gesture. "I have given up everythingfor them--everything!"

He shook his head. 

"We can't do any more of it, " he said inflexibly. "Not for a year, atthe outside. "

Her hands fell on the table. She shivered as though she already feltcold and hunger. 

"Suffer torment for a year?" she muttered. "It is impossible. Ican't. I have nothing else. I've sacrificed everything to it--_duty, friendship, love_!" She leaned her head in her hands, and Ravenal didnot hear the last words. 

"Pull yourself together, my child. It is not like you to give way likethis. Listen: Go home now and sit tight. Nerve and a quiet goingabout your ways are what are needed for the next few weeks. Don't comenear me unless you have anything important to communicate; then come inthe ordinary way to the shop with some jewel to be mended. Butremember: There is no possible channel through which they can connecteither of us with Hiangeli, and nothing in the world to fear. "

"It is not fear I feel, " she said dully. 

"I know. It is disappointment. You are broken-hearted because theblack diamonds cannot be handed over to you. "

She did not speak, but if ever a woman's face betrayed hunger andpassionate longing, hers did at that moment. All her beauty was gone. There was nothing but a livid mask with two burning eyes. A pityinglook crossed Ravenal's face. He was not an unkindly man. 

"Poor child, " he said gently, "it's hard on you!" For a moment heseemed to hesitate, then, coming to a swift decision, rose and wentover to a safe embedded in the wall, and unnoticeable by reason of apiece of Oriental embroidery pinned above it and a chair standingcarelessly before it. Unlocking it, he brought to the table a smalljewel-case. 

"I'll tell you what I'll do. I can't let you have it for good, becauseit's not earned yet. Twenty more rough stones are wanted from youbefore this is yours. That was the bargain. But, considering all thecircumstances, I'll _lend_ it to you for a while. "

Before he had finished speaking she had seized the case from his handsand pressed it open. A magnificent pendant gleamed up at her with allthe smoky, mysterious beauty of black diamonds. 

"I know I can trust you with it, for I have trusted you with more thanthat. My life is in your hands, just as much as yours is in mine. Sokeep the thing, and finish paying for it when you can. If we're neverable to get any more rough diamonds from the mine, you'll have to payin money. "

She hardly seemed to hear, so wrapped was she in the contemplation ofher new treasure, brooding and crooning over it like a mother with achild. He watched her for a moment, then rose and fetched the greyveil she had cast off on entering. 

"Come now, my child; it is late, and you must be gone. Be careful. Iknow I need not remind you of the oath between us three. "

"Silence--and suicide, if necessary, " she murmured mechanically. Shehad taken the jewel from its case and was threading it on a chain roundher throat, "Death rather than betray the other two. "

"That's it, " said the other, with cheerful firmness. "Now, good-night. "

He lowered the lights and opened the door of the room. She passed intothe dark passage, and he returned to the table and pressed a buttonwhich opened the front door. When he heard it softly close, he knewthat she was out of the house and on her way home. 

But her adventures were not yet over. Before she had gone very far shewas aware of being followed. A mirror in a shop window reflected, afaroff, the silhouette of the only other person besides herself in the nowsilent street--a tall man in a slouch hat. Apparently he had on shoesas light as her own, for his feet made no more noise than hers, thoughher fine ear detected the steady beat of them behind her. For thefirst time, she knew terror. Supposing it were a detective who hadtracked her from Syke Ravenal's door, and was now waiting to arrest heras she entered her own home! She realized that her courage had lain inthe knowledge of absolute security, for now, at the menace ofdiscovery, her heart was paralyzed with fright and she could scarcelybreathe. Instinct told her to run, but acquired self-control kept herfrom this madness, and, by a great effort, she continued walkingquietly as before. Gradually her nerve returned. She determined, byfeint, to discover whether the man were really following her or if hispresence were due to accident. Having now arrived at the residentialpart of the town, where every house stood back from the road and wassheltered by a garden, she coolly opened a gate at random and walkedboldly in. The man was still some way behind, and she had ample timeto pass through the garden and reach the veranda before he drew near. 

It was a house strange to her, and she had not the faintest idea wholived there. All the windows and doors were closed and shuttered, butlight showed through a fanlight over the hall door. The veranda, blinded by heavy green mats, contained the usual array of chairs, andshe sank down on one, her heart beating like a drum, her ears strainedto hear her pursuer pass. Instead, to her horror, she heard the gatebriskly unlatched and footsteps on the path. Terrified by thisunexpected move, and sure, now, that the end had come, she sprang toher feet and stood waiting like a straight, grey ghost for the man toenter the veranda. The light above the hall door fell full on him, andit is hard to say whether dismay or horror were strongest in her whenshe recognized Harlenden. 

"Denis!" she stammered. 

"Why are you here, Rosanne?" he asked quietly. "Do you need me?"

Astonishment kept her dumb for a moment, then, with a realization ofthe position, came anger. 

"How dare you follow me?" she exclaimed, in a low, tense voice. 

"I live in this house. "

"_You live here?_" she faltered, and sat down suddenly, trembling fromhead to foot. 

"Yes; and I have just returned from the club. "

"Then it was _not_ you following me?"

At that she sprang up and threw herself into his arms in a frenzy offear. 

"Who was it, then? Oh, Denis, Denis, save me; take me into yourhouse--hide me!"

"Hush!" he said gently, and, keeping a supporting arm about her, guidedher round the veranda, took a key out of his pocket, and let her andhimself in by a side door. He closed and locked the door behind them, put her into a chair, then examined the window to make sure it wasclosed as well as shuttered. It was a man's sitting-room, full of thescent of leather and tobacco. Going to a spirit-stand on the table hepoured out some brandy. 

"Drink this, " he said, in the same firm tone he had used all along, andmechanically she obeyed him. 

"Where are we?" she murmured. "Whose house is this? I thought youlived at the club?"

"So I did until last week, when this house was lent me. Don't beafraid. The servants are all in bed, and there is no one about. Youare much safer here than roaming about the streets at one in themorning. "

"Then you _were_ following me?"

"Certainly I was following you. I saw you come out of Syke Ravenal'sshop and I walked behind you, but only because your way and minehappened to be in the same direction. "

She passed her hand over her eyes with a hopeless gesture. It seemedas though this endless day of terrors and surprises would never bedone, and she was weary, weary. He sat regarding her with grave eyes. She looked like a little, tired, unhappy child, and his heart was sickwith longing to gather her in his arms and comfort her and take hersorrows on himself. But he knew that there were things beyond his helphere, unless she gave him her full confidence and cast her burdens intohis hands. 

"Rosanne, " he said, at last, "I ask you to trust me. "

She looked at him with wretched eyes and a mouth tipped at the cornersas though she would weep if she could. In truth, the enchantment ofthis man's love and her love for him was on her again, and the poignanttorment of it was almost too exquisite to bear. His voice stolethrough her senses like the music of an old dream. His lean, strongframe, the stone-grey eyes, and close-lipped mouth all spoke of thatpower in a man which means safety to the woman he loves. Safety! Onlysuch a storm-petrel as Rosanne Ozanne, weary, with wings beaten andtorn by winds whose fateful forces she herself did not understand, could realize the full allure of that word. She felt like a sailordrowning in a wild sea, within sight of the fair land he never wouldreach. That fair land of safety was not for her feet, that hadwandered down such dark and shameful paths. But, oh, how the birdssang on that sweet shore! How cool were the green pastures! Smallwonder that her face wore the tortured misery of a little child. DenisHarlenden's heart turned to water at the sight of it, and the bloodthrummed in his veins with the ache to crush her to his breast and keepher there against the world and against herself, spite of all theunfathomed things in her which estranged him. But he was strong enoughto refrain from even touching her hands. Only his voice he could notstay from its caresses. 

"Is not love enough for you, Rosanne?"

She trembled under it like leaves in the wind and lifted her eyes tohis. They looked long into each other's souls through those windowswhich can wear so many veils to hide the truth. But, in that moment, the veils were lifted, and both saw Truth in all her naked terror andbeauty. What he saw scorched and repelled but did not daunt him;instead, a nobler love, chivalrous and pitiful, was born of the sight. And she saw that love, and knew it great enough to clothe her even ifshe came to him stripped of fair repute and the world's honours. 

"Yes; it is enough, " she said brokenly, and cast a thing she wore abouther neck to the floor. Then, suddenly, she collapsed in her chair andfell into a fit of dry weeping. Long, bitter sobs shook her frame andseemed to tear their way out of her body. She was like a womanwrenched upon the rack. Harlenden could do nothing but stand and wait, his own face twisted with pain, until the storm was past. Gradually itdied away, with longer and longer intervals between the shudderingsighs. At last, she uncovered her face, bleached and ravaged by thetearless storm, yet wearing a gentler beauty than ever it had known, and rose trembling to her feet. 

"Take me home, Denis, " she whispered. He wrapped her veil about herand she felt the thrill of his hands upon her, but he did not kiss her. They had come closer to each other than any kiss could bring them. Just as they were passing from the room, she remembered something andstepped back. 

"I must touch that vile thing again, " she said, "because it does notbelong to me and must go back to where it came from. " She stooped andpicked the black, glittering object from the floor. 

A spasm contracted Harlenden's face, but he asked no question. Silently they went from the house and into the dark streets. There wasno moon. At her gate, he stooped and kissed her lips. 

Mrs. Ozanne got up the morning of the following day with the urgentfeeling on her of something to be done. It seemed as if there weresome move to be made that would help her and her children in theirunhappiness, only she didn't know what the move was. But she alwaysremembered, afterward, with what feverish urgency she dressed, puttingon walking-things instead of a wrapper, and stepping from her room intothe bustling atmosphere of the house with a determined indifference tothe tasks and interests that usually occupied her attention. 

Rosalie was as surprised to see her mother dressed for going out as wasthe mother to find her daughter at the breakfast-table. 

"Why, Rosalie, my darling, this is an unexpected joy!"

"Yes, mother; I thought I would make an effort. "

It was the first time that the girl had been out of her room for overtwo weeks, and she looked frail as a snowdrop, and nearly as white. 

"You can't have two daughters sick abed, you know, " she added, with awistful smile. 

"Is Rosanne still----" Mrs. Ozanne often left questions and remarksabout her other daughter unfinished. 

The latter had spent the whole of the previous day in her room, seemingphysically unable to leave her bed. 

"Yes; I'm afraid she's really ill. She just lies there, not speakingor eating, and she looks--oh, mother, she looks so unhappy!"

"I begged her yesterday to see the doctor. "

"She says no doctor can do her any good, and that we must just leaveher alone. I fancy she's thinking out something that she's terriblyworried about. "

"There is something wrong, " said the mother heavily. "Oh, Rosalie, ifshe were only like you, and would not hide her heart from those wholove her!"

"We can't all be alike, mother darling! Rosanne has a strongercharacter for better or worse than I have. It is easy for me to throwmy troubles on other people's shoulders, but she is capable of bearingin silence far greater sorrows, and of making far greater sacrifices. "

"It is not a happy nature, " sighed her mother. "I wonder if KittyDrummund can do any good if I send for her?"

"Better not, mother. She says she wants to see no one at present, andyou know she was at Kitty's the night before last. "

"I have asked her so often not to go out at night like that--even toKitty's. I dare say she caught cold driving. "

"Poor Rosanne! It is more than a cold she has!"

Sophia Ozanne looked at her little, fair daughter with tender eyes, remembering the heartless way Rosanne had spoken of her sister's griefonly two nights before. 

"How different you are, my Rosalie--forgetting your own sorrow to thinkof others!"

The girl's eyes filled with tears, but she did not shed them. 

"I'm afraid it's only another form of selfishness, mummie dear. I wantto be kind and loving to all the world, just so that God will be goodto me and give Dick another chance. "

"My poor, poor child!" The mother's arms were round her in a moment, ready for comfort, but Rosalie pushed her gently away, smiling withquivering lips. 

"Don't pity me, mother. I'm determined to be brave, whatever comes. But tell me, where are you going, all prinked out in yourwalking-things?"

"I--I don't know yet, dear. " Mrs. Ozanne looked startled andembarrassed. "I have various things to do. "

"It's a frightful morning. Do you think you ought to go out?"

"I must, " was the elder woman's firm answer, and she bustled awaybefore there was time for further questioning. Not for anything didshe mean to be deterred from the pressing desire in her to go out. Rosalie had been perfectly right about the weather. It was that aridtime of year when the air swirls in gusts of hot wind, laden withgritty blue sand from the debris-heaps, and the finer red dust of thestreets. Kimberley dust is notoriously the worst of its kind in a landplagued with dust. Buluwayo runs it pretty close, and Johannesburg, inthe spring months, has special sand-devils of its own, but nothing inAfrica has ever quite come up to Kimberley at its worst. This was notone of its worst, however; merely a day on which all who had wisdom satat home within closed doors and sealed windows, awaiting a cessation ofthe penetrating abomination of filth. 

Often, during the morning, Mrs. Ozanne found herself wondering what shewas doing wandering about the town on such a day. Desultorily, andwith an odd feeling that this was not what she should be about, she letherself be blown along the street and in and out of shops, face bentdown, eyes half closed, bumping blindly into people, her skirtsswirling and flacking, her hat striving its utmost to escape and takethe hair of her head with it. There were no necessary errands to do. The servants did the shopping, and she rarely went out except to drivein the afternoons. Vaguely she wondered why she had not used thecarriage this morning. 

Lunch-time came, but she could not bring herself to return home. Itseemed to her that there was still something she must do, though shecould not remember what. 

In the end, she went into a clean, respectable little restaurant andlunched off a lamb chop and boiled potatoes, regardless of theexcellent lunch that awaited her at home. Then, like a restless andunclean spirit, out she blew once more into the howling maelstrom ofwind and dust. 

She began to feel, at last, as if it were a nightmare, this necessitythat urged her on, she knew not whither. Dimly, her eyes still blindedby dust, she was aware that she had left the main thoroughfares and wasnow in a poorer part of the town. With the gait of a sleep-walker, shecontinued on her way, until suddenly a voice addressing her jerked herbroad-awake. 

"You come see me, missis?"

A woman had opened the door of a mean tin house and stood there waitingin the doorway, almost as if she had been expecting Sophia Ozanne. Thelatter stood stone-still, but her mind went racing back to a winterafternoon seventeen years before, when she had sat in her bedroom withthe little dying form of Rosanne upon her knees, and a voice speakingfrom the shadow of her bedroom had said, "Missis sell baby to me for afarthing; baby not die. " The same voice addressed her now, and thesame woman stood in the doorway of the mean house gazing at her withlarge, mournful eyes. It was Rachel Bangat, the Malay cook. 

"You come see me die, missis?" she questioned, in her soft, languorousvoice. 

"Die! Are you sick, Rachel?" said Mrs. Ozanne. 

"Yes, missis; Rachel very sick. Going die in three days. "

Sophia Ozanne searched the dark, high-boned face with horror-strickeneyes, but could see no sign of death on it, or any great change afterseventeen years, except a more unearthly mournfulness in the mysteriouseyes. 

But she had often heard it said that Malays possess a propheticknowledge of the hour and place of their death, and she could wellcredit Rachel Bangat with this strange faculty. 

"How my baby getting along, missis?"

Such yearning tenderness was in the question that Mrs. Ozanne, spite ofa deep repugnance to discuss Rosanne with this woman, found herselfanswering:

"She is grown up now, Rachel. "

"She very pretty?"

"Yes. "

"And very rich?"

"We are well-off. "

"But she? I give her two good gifts that make her rich all by herself. She no use them?"

"What gifts were those, Rachel?" The mother drew nearer and peeredwith haggard eyes at the Malay. 

"I tell you, missis. Because I love my baby so much and want her bevery rich and happy, I give her two good things--_the gift of brightstones_ and _the gift of hate well_. "

Sophia Ozanne drew nearer still, staring like a fascinated rabbit intothe mournfully sinister dark eyes, while the soft voice rippled on. 

"She no use those gifts I give her? I think so. I think she say, 'Ihate that man, ' and he die, sometimes quick, sometimes slow. Or shenot hate too much, and he only get little sick. Or she wish him bad inhis business, and he get bad. That not so?"

Sophia Ozanne thought of the black list she had kept for years of allthe people whom Rosanne disliked and who had come to ill. In swiftprocession they passed through her mind, and Dick Gardner, with hisanguished throat, walked at the end of the procession. 

"Yes. " Her dry lips ejected the word in spite of her wish to be silent. 

"Ah!" said the Malay, softly satisfied. "And the bright stones? Shenot get all she want without buy?"

This time, Mrs. Ozanne did not answer; only her blanched face grew ashade whiter. The woman leaned forward and spoke to her earnestly, imploringly. 

"You tell her get rich quick with the bright stones before too late. Her power going soon. Rachel die in three days, and then gifts go awayfrom Rachel's baby. No more power hate or get bright stones. Tell herquick, missis. I make you come here today so you can go back tell her. All night and all morning I stand here make you come to me. Now, goback quick, tell my baby. Three days! Eight o'clock on third night, Rachel die. "

As strangely as she had appeared, the Malay withdrew into her wretchedshanty and closed the door. 

Sophia Ozanne never knew by what means and in what manner she reachedher home that day, but at about five o'clock she came into the hall ofTiptree House, and was met by her daughter Rosalie with the news thatRosanne had got up from her bed and left the house, taking a suitcasewith her. 

"And, oh, mother, I could see that she was in a high fever, her cheekswere so flushed and her eyes like fire! What shall we do?"

Her mother sat down and wiped great beads of moisture from her pallidface. 

"I think we will pray, Rosalie, " she said slowly. 

It was still broad afternoon when Rosanne walked openly into SykeRavenal's shop, bag in hand. The benevolent-faced old man, occupied incleaning the works of a watch, looked up with the bland inquiringglance of a tradesman to a customer. But his face changed when he sawher eyes. 

"You have news?" he asked, in a low tone. 

"Take me to the inner room, " she ordered curtly. Without demur, he ledthe way. The moment the door closed on them she flung the heavyleather bag on to the table. 

"Take them, " she cried wildly; "take them back! They are all there. Not one is missing. "

"Hush, my child--hush!" he gently urged. But she would not be hushed. 

"I hate you, " she said passionately. "I curse the day I entered thisshop, an innocent girl, and was beguiled by you and your son and my madpassion for diamonds into becoming your tool and accomplice. Oh, how Ihate you! I can never betray you because of my oath, but I curse youboth, and I pray I may never see or hear of you again. "

"That's all right, my child, " he said soothingly. She threw him oneglance of loathing and contempt and walked from the place. 

Rosanne had taken to her bed again, and this time when they brought thedoctor she was too ill to object, too ill to do anything but liestaring in a sort of mental and physical coma at the ceiling above her. 

"Let her be, " said the old-fashioned family doctor, who had known herfrom babyhood. "She has a splendid constitution and will pull through. But let her have no worries of any kind. "

So they left her alone, except in the matter of ministering occasionalnourishment, which she took with the mechanical obedience of a child. 

For two days Rosanne lay there, silent and strange. The third day hersickness took an acute form. She tossed and moaned and called out inher pain, her face twisted with torture. Her mind appeared to remainclear. 

"Mother, I believe I am dying, " she said, after one such spell, duringthe afternoon. "I feel as if something is tearing itself loose from myvery being. Does it hurt like this when the soul is trying to escapefrom the body?"

"I have sent for the doctor again, darling. "

"It is nothing he can cure. It is _here_, and _here_ that I suffer. "She touched her head and her heart. "But, oh, my body, too, istortured!"

She lay still a little while, moaning softly to herself while hermother stood by, sick with distress; then she said:

"Send for Denis Harlenden, mother. I must see him before I die. "

Mrs. Ozanne asked no question. Her woman's instinct told her much thatRosanne had left unsaid. Within half an hour, Harlenden was beingshown into the drawing-room, where she awaited him. He came in with nosign upon his face of the anxiety in his heart. This was the fourthday since he had seen Rosanne, and she had sent him no word. 

"Sir Denis, my daughter is very ill. I don't know why she should becalling out for you----" She faltered. Marks of the last few days'anxiety were writ large upon her, but she was not wanting in a certainpatient dignity. 

Harlenden strode over and took her hands in his as he would have takenthe hands of his own mother. 

"It is because we love each other, " he said gently, "and because, assoon as she will let me, I am going to marry her. "

A ray of thankfulness shone across her features. 

"Marriage! I don't know, Sir Denis; but, if you love her I can tellyou something that will help you to understand her better, and perhapsyou can help her. "

Briefly, and in broken words, she related to him the strange incidentof Rosanne's babyhood, its seeming effect upon her character, and theMalay's extraordinary words of two days before. She did not disguisefrom him that she believed Rosanne guilty, whether consciously orunconsciously, of many dark things, but she pleaded for her child thecertainty that she had been in the clutches of forces stronger thanherself. 

"About the diamonds, " she finished, at last, "I know nothing, and I amafraid to think. Did you read of that awful case of suicide inyesterday's paper--that man, Syke Ravenal, who has been robbing DeBeers? I am tormented with the thought that she may have knownsomething of him--yet how could she?"

"You must put such a thought out of your mind for ever and nevermention it to a soul, " said Harlenden firmly. "That man committedsuicide because his only son had been killed by accident in Amsterdam. He left a vast fortune and a number of jewels which had been taken fromtheir settings to De Beers, by way of conscience-money for severalthousand pounds' worth of diamonds in the rough which he had stolenfrom them. There is absolutely no evidence to connect any other personwith his crime, except a letter asking the company to deal lightly witha native boy called Hiangeli, who had been a tool of his. "

"Then you think it could have nothing possibly to do with my poorchild?"

"Certainly not, " said Denis Harlenden, without flinching. 

"Not that I think that she would have done it in her right senses, but, oh, Sir Denis, she has been under a spell all her life, an evil spell, which, please God, will be broken when that woman dies! You do notthink me mad, I hope?"

"I do not, " he answered gravely. "I am as sure of what you say as youyourself. What you do not know, Mrs. Ozanne, is that love has alreadybroken that spell. Rosanne is already free from it. "

She looked at him questioningly, longingly. 

"I cannot tell you more, " he said gently. "But, believe me, it istrue. May I go to her now?"

The mother led the way. Rosanne, who had just passed through anotherterrible crisis of anguish, lay on her bed, still and white as a lily. A crimson-silk wrapper swathed about her shoulders, and the clouds ofnight-black hair, flung in a tangled mass above her pillows, threw intoviolent contrast the deadly pallor of her face. Her eyes, dark andwide with suffering, looked unseeingly at Harlenden at first, butgradually a ray of recognition dawned in them and she put out her handwith a faint cry. 

"Denis!"

He took her hand and held it safe, while, with all the strength in him, he willed peace and calmness into her troubled mind. 

"Denis, I think I am going to die. "

"Dearest, I know you are going to live--for me. "

"No, no; I am not worthy of life--or of you. I have been too wicked!"

"I want you to rest now, " he said. 

"I cannot rest till I have told you everything. I wanted to tell youthe other night, you know, but I was too exhausted. Denis, I am acriminal--a thief! I have stolen diamonds under cover of thefriendship of another woman. I have received them from another thiefin the mines, and taken them to a man, whose son, a merchant inAmsterdam, sent me my share of the robbery in cut stones set as jewels. The rough stolen stones meant nothing to me, but the finished onesdazzled and maddened me. I cannot describe to you what they did to mysenses, but I was mad at the sight and touch of them. They had powerto benumb every decent feeling in me. For them, I forgot duty. Mypoor mother, how she has suffered! I betrayed friendship; I debasedlove! Yes, Denis, I debased our love! I meant just to take the joy ofit for a little while, then cast it away when it came to choosingbetween you and the stones. "

"But you did not. "

"No, thank God, I could not! It was stronger than my base passion, stronger than myself. Oh, Denis, I thank you for your love! It hassaved me from a hell in life, and a hell hereafter, for I think Godwill not further punish one so deeply repentant as I. "

"You are not going to die, Rosanne, " he repeated firmly. 

"Do you think I would live and let you link your clean, upright lifewith my dark one?" she said sadly. "You do not even know all thedarkness of it yet. Listen: I found I had a power through which Icould hurt others by just wishing them ill--and I used it freely. Ah, I have hurt many people! It tortures me to think of how many. I havebeen lying here for two days and nights trying to undo all the harm Ihave done, Denis--willing against the evil I have wished for, prayingfor happiness to be given back to every one of them. " Her voice grewfaint and far-off. "I have even tried to undo the harm I wished wouldcome to the two people who tempted me into stealing, Denis. But, somehow, I feel that it is too late for them. That _something_ inhere"--she touched her heart--"which hurts me so much, tells me Icannot help those two wretched ones. "

Her voice broke off; she was shaken like a reed with a terrible spasmof suffering. It was as though she were in the clutches of some brutalgiant. 

"Denis, " she cried faintly, "I feel I am being rent asunder! Part ofme is being torn away. Surely, even death cannot be so terrible!"

A clock on the table struck eight. Instantly she raised herself inbed, fell back again, gave a deep sigh, and lay still. 

A few hours later, she woke with a gentle flush in her cheeks and awonderful harmony in all her features. Her first glance fell upon hermother leaning over the foot of the bed, and she gave a happy smile. 

"Oh, mother, I have had such a lovely dream! I dreamed Dick was welland coming back soon to Rosalie. "

"And so he is, my darling. She has had a wire to say that DoctorRaymond has discovered that the throat trouble is not malignant butquite curable. He will be well in a few weeks. "

"Then it _may_ come true, my dream, " she said softly and shyly. "Mydream that she and I were being married on the same day, she to Dick, and I to--oh, Denis, how strange that you should be here when I wasdreaming of you! What brought you here? Have you come to tell motherthat we love each other?"

They began to realize dimly then, as they realized fully later on, that, by a merciful gift of Providence her mind was a blank concerningall the dark things of the past. 

Memory of them had died with the dying of the Malay woman at eighto'clock on a summer evening, and no shadow of them ever came back todim the harmony of her life with Denis Harlenden. 

She is one of the happiest as well as one of the loveliest women inLondon today. Wrapped up in her home life and children, she stillfinds time to be seen about everywhere with her husband, and they arelooked upon as one of the few ideally happy couples in society. 

It has often been remarked, as a curious fact, that she never wearsjewels of any kind, save an emerald ring and some exquisite pearls. 

April Folly

PART I

Waterloo Station, greasy underfoot and full of the murky, greenish gloomof a November day, was the scene of a jostling crowd. The mail-boattrain for South Africa stretched far down the long platform, everycarriage door blocked by people bidding farewell, handing in bouquets offlowers, parcels of books, boxes of chocolates; bartering jests andscattering laughter; sending their love to the veld, to Table Mountain, to Rhodesia, to the Victoria Falls. 

Only one first-class reserved compartment had no crowd before it, nor anyfurther audience than a middle-aged woman, with a wistful Irish face andthe neat and careful appearance peculiar to superior servants of theold-fashioned type. With her hands full of newly-purchased bookstandmagazines and her eyes full of trouble, she stood gazing at the soleoccupant of the carriage. 

"Oh, Miss Diana your Ladyship . . . " he began once more. 

"Shut it, Marney, " said Miss Diana her Ladyship, elegantly. "I've hadenough. You're not coming with me, and that's that. I'm not a child anylonger never to stir about the world alone. "

"Shure, and your aunt, Lady Grizel, will turn in her grave at it, " keenedpoor Marney. An expression of scampish glee crossed the girl's face. 

"Yes, old Grizzly will do some turning, " she murmured. "Thank goodnessthat's all she can do now. "

The maid crossed herself with a shocked air, though it was far from beingthe first time she had heard those profanities of the dead upon hermistress's lips. The latter gave her no time for further argument. 

"What's the use of standing there stuffing up my view?" she demandedcrossly. "If you want something to do, go and get me some flowers. Everyone has flowers but me. It's outrageous. Get heaps. "

Marney flurried down the platform, bent on her errand, and DianaVernilands immediately issued from the doorstep of the carriage and gazedeagerly and invitingly at the crowd. 

Ordinarily the beauty alone of the sables which muffled her ears and fellto her heels would have focused attention, not to mention the eagerliveliness of her face. But on this occasion no one returned her vividglances. Everyone was busy with their own affairs and friends. The onlyperson seeming as isolated and lonely as herself was another girl, who, having made a tour from one end of the train to the other in vain questof a seat, was now wearily and furiously doing the return trip. Noporter followed her; she carried her own dressing-case and rugs, and she, too, was without flowers. This last fact clenched Lady Diana's decision. A bond of loneliness and flowerlessness existed between them. She hailedthe other girl deliriously. 

"Hi! Are you looking for a place?" she cried. "Come in here. I've gota carriage to myself. "

The other was as astonished as relieved. 

"Oh, may I? How awfully good of you!" she said warmly, and stepping intothe carriage, bestowed her possessions in such small space as was notalready encumbered. Then she looked at Lady Diana in the doorway with apair of lovely but rather sad violet eyes that had smoky shadows beneaththem. 

"I shall have to fight about my ticket with the ticket collector when hecomes round. It is only a second-class one. I hope you don't mind?"

"Mind!" said Diana. "I hate everyone in authority, and I love rows andcocktails and excitement. Still, it might save time to pay. "

"It might, " said the other "but I'm not going to. There were nosecond-class seats left, so the onus is on them. Besides"--her creamyface flushed faintly and her eyes became defiant--"I can't afford it. "

Diana could very well believe it, for she had seldom seen a girl so badlydressed. However, the deep blue eyes that had all sorts of pansy tintslying dormant in them, and the winging black satin hair that looked as ifsmoke had been blown through it, could not be obscured even by a shabbyhat. Diana's own hair being a violent apricot and her eyes of the samecolour as a glass of sherry with the sun on it, she could admire withoutpain this type so different to her own. 

The fact was that they were as striking a pair of girls as any one couldhope to meet in a day's march, but the delicate beauty of one was under acloud which only a connoisseur's eye could see through--badly-cutgarments and an unfashionable hat! On the other hand, Lady Diana'shighly-coloured and slightly dairymaidish prettiness would have been moreattractive in simpler and less costly clothes. While they were coming tothese conclusions about each other an inspector of tickets entered thecarriage. Diana delightedly braced herself for a row, but there was noneed for it. Whether it was the charm of the strange girl's goldenvoice, or the subtle air of luxury and independence combined with a faintodour of Russian leather and honey that stole from the furs of Lady DianaVernilands, none can tell, but the inspector behaved like a man under theinfluence of hypnotism. He listened to the tale of the second-classticket as to words of Holy Writ, and departed like a man in a dreamwithout having uttered a single protest, and at Lady Diana's behest, carefully locking the door behind him. A moment later whistles, shouts, and the clicking of hundreds of farewell kisses signalled the train'simmediate departure. The devoted Marney, carrying what appeared to be abridal bouquet of white lilies and roses, dashed up just in time to makea last attempt to accompany her mistress. But the door was unyielding, and the worst she could do was to claw at the window as she pantedalongside the now moving train, crying:

"You'd better let me come with you, now, Miss Diana your Ladyship. . . . "

The latter only waved her hand in kind but firm dismissal. 

"Go home and look after papa, Marney, and don't worry about me. I shallbe back soon. " As the train took a jump and finally fled from thestation, leaving Marney far behind, she added thoughtfully, "I don'tthink!" and burst out laughing. 

"Just as though I _would_ hurry back to frowsy old England the first timeI've ever managed to get away from it on my own!"

The other girl looked at her with deep, reflective eyes. 

"If you had been on your own as much as I have you wouldn't think it sucha catch, " she remarked, with a little dry smile. 

"Oh, wouldn't I! I can't imagine anything more heavenly than having norelations in the world. It must be perfect paradise!"

"It's the paradise I have lived in for three years, " said April Poolesombrely, "and any one who likes it can have it, and give me their hellinstead. "

"What!" cried Diana Vernilands, not sympathetic, but astounded and eager. She stared at the other with envious, avid eyes that filled andbrightened at last with an amazing plan. It burst from her like a shellfrom a gun. "_Let's change places: I be you, and you be me!_"

April considered her, and being very weary of her own destiny, consideredthe plan also. But though she was as ardent as any one for flyawayschemes and fantastic adventure, this plan looked to her tooArabian-nightish altogether, and not likely to hold water for more thanthe length of the journey from Waterloo to Southampton. 

"How can we? I am a poverty-stricken girl, going out to governess at theCape. You, a peer's daughter, I suppose, who will be met on the boat andsurrounded by every care and attention. . . . "

"Yes, surrounded!" Diana interrupted savagely. With sudden fury she toreoff the little sable hat, flung it on the seat beside her and stabbed itviciously with a great pearl pin. "I'm sick of being surrounded! I wishto goodness I were Alexander Selkirk, shipwrecked on a desert island. "

"That wouldn't be much fun, either, " said April. "I don't think there ismuch fun anywhere. We have all got what we don't want, and want what wecan't get. "

"You couldn't _not_ want a face like yours, " said Diana, handsomely. Itgave her no pain, as has been mentioned before, because April was dark. If she had been addressing a blonde like herself, wild cats could nothave torn such a compliment from Diana Vernilands. 

"Couldn't I? Good looks without the surroundings and clothes to put themin are not much of a gift. Beauty in a third-class carriage and shabbyclothes looks cheap and is fair game for any one's stalking. "

"Well, change with me, then, " urged Diana. "I'd rather be stalked thangazed at from afar like a brazen image. "

She gave her hat another stab. April quivered all over, like a motherwho sees a child ill-treated. 

"Don't do that, " she cried at last, in a poignant voice. She had seenthat hat in her dreams for years, but never got so near it before. DianaVernilands looked at her thoughtfully, then held it out. 

"Put it on, " she entreated. "Wear it, and be surrounded instead of me. Oh, for Heaven's sake do! I see you are just as keen as I am, and justas sick of being who you are. Try it on. "

She may have meant the hat, or she may have meant the plan. Aprilaccepted the hat, and with it the plan. From the moment she saw herselfin the glass her doom was dight. There was a little star-like purpleflower, such as never grew on land or sea, nestling in the goldendarkness of the fur. It seemed to April a flower that might have beenplucked from the slopes of the blue hills of Nirvana, or found floatingon the still waters of Lethe in that land where it is always afternoon. It brought dreams of romance to her heart, and made starry flowers of itsown colour blossom in her eyes. She crushed the hat softly down upon herdark, winging hair, crinking and shaping it to frame her face at theright angle. Her fate was sealed. 

"All right, " she said, in a slow, dreamy voice. "Let's arrange it. "

So while the train swooped on its way to the port whence the great shipsturn their noses towards the Southern Cross, they drew up the plot, andthe rôles were cast. Diana Vernilands, for the duration of the voyageonly, was to be the penniless, friendless English girl, who could go herways freely and talk and mix with any one she liked without being watchedand criticized. April Poole, in the lovely hats and gowns and jewels ofLady Diana, would accept the dignity and social obligations that hedge apeer's daughter, even on a voyage to South Africa. On arrival at theCape, each to assume her identity and disappear from the ken of theirfellow-travellers: April to be swallowed up by a Cape suburb, where shewas engaged to teach music and French to the four daughters of a richwine-grower; Diana to proceed to her destination--the farm of aneccentric woman painter, somewhere on the veld. 

It all looked as simple and harmless as picking apples in an orchard. Noone would be any the wiser, they said, and no harm would accrue toanybody, while each girl would have the experience of enjoying herself ina new and original fashion. The only things they did not take into theircalculations were their personal idiosyncrasies and the machinations ofan old hag called Fate. 

"What a time I'll have!" cried Diana. "Though what you will get out ofit as the Earl of Roscannon's daughter beats me. You won't be sick of ithalf way and want to change back, I hope?"

"If you only knew how sick I am of being April Poole you wouldn't beafraid, " was the fervent answer. Diana looked at her curiously. 

"It can't be only the clothes--though of course I imagine it must berotten, not having the right clothes. By the way, there are plenty forus both, you know. I did myself well in the shopping line, fortunately. "

"I should hardly expect you to wear mine, " said April drily. "No, as yourightly suspect, it isn't for the clothes, though they fascinate and lureme. And it isn't for the honour and glory of being Lady Diana, thoughthat is fascinating too, and it will be priceless to have the joke on therest of the world for once. It is for various subtle reasons which Idon't suppose you would altogether understand. . . . "

"Never mind them, then, " interrupted Diana. "I'm not a bit subtle, anddon't care tuppence for reasons. All I care about is having a toppingtime for once in my life. Now, listen, I'll tell you a few things aboutmyself, so that you won't get bowled if any one asks you. My father isLord Roscannon, and our place is Bethwick Castle, in Northumberland. It's a gloomy old place that would give you the creeps. My mother diedtwenty-two years ago when I was born, and my father doesn't care aboutanything except archaeology, so I have always been in the clutches of mymaiden aunt, Lady Grizel Vernilands, who ruled Bethwick and me as long asI can remember. Everyone called her the Grizzly Bear. 

"Never mind, she's dead now, and I have been able to persuade papa thatmy health needs a sea voyage. He suggested the Continent--_of course_with a companion. But I have been clawed backwards and forwards on theContinent for years by Aunt Grizel, and have had enough. I chose Africa, because it sounds so nice and racy in novels, doesn't it? Fortunatelypapa's greatest friend, a parson and also an archaeologist, has adaughter out there. She paints, and lives on a farm somewhere on theveld in the Cape Colony, so I am allowed to go and stay with her forthree months. 

"I even escaped the company of my maid, as you saw, though she tried hardto persuade papa that I should get into trouble without her. I believeshe would have come at the last, even without luggage, if I hadn't beentoo smart for her and had the door locked. Lucky, wasn't it? We shouldnever have been able to execute our little scheme with her about. Nowtell me your story. "

"No need to go too closely into that, " said April. "No one will put youany piercing questions about my family, or be in a position to contradictyour statements. "

The Poole family tree, in fact, grew as tall and old as the Roscannon'supon the pages of heraldry, but drink and riotous living had perished itsroots and rotted its branches long before April was born. Her father, its last hope, had been a scamp and gamester who broke his wife's heartand bequeathed the cup of poverty and despair to his child's lips. Butthese were things locked in April's heart, and not for idle telling in arailway carriage. 

"I am an orphan without relatives or friends, " she went on quietly. "Noassets except musical tastes and a knowledge of languages, picked up incheap Continental schools. I am twenty, and rather embittered by life, but I try not to be, because there's nothing can blacken the face of thesun like bitterness of heart, is there? It can spoil even a spring day. "

Diana looked vague. In spite of tilts and tournaments with the GrizzlyBear, she had no more knowledge of that affliction of bitterness to whichApril referred than of the bitterness of affliction. The fact was patentin the gay light of her sherry-brown eye and her red mouth, so avid forpleasure. The book of life's difficulties, well conned by April Poole, was still closed to the Earl's only daughter. 

"Perhaps she will know a little more about it by the end of the voyage, "thought April, but without a tinge of malice, for in truth she wasneither malicious nor bitter, though she often pretended to herself to beboth. Whatever life had done to her, it had not yet robbed her of herpowers of resilience, nor quenched her belief in the ultimate benevolenceof Fate. Her joy in voyaging to a great unknown land had been a littledimmed by the prospect of the monotonous drudgery that awaits mostgovernesses, but here, already cropping up by the wayside, was acompensating adventure, and her heart, which had been reposing in herboots, took little wings of delight unto itself and nearly flew away withexcitement. 

Eager as Diana, she threw herself into a discussion of clothes, personaltastes and habits, the exchange of cabins, and ways and means ofcircumventing the curiosity and suspicion of their fellow-travellers. Diana could not do her own hair, but had ascertained that there was ahairdresser on board whom she could visit every day. The ticket for herfirst-class stateroom she cheerfully handed over to April, in exchangefor one which gave possession of a berth in a cheaper cabin to be sharedwith another woman. 

"We must do the thing thoroughly, " she insisted, "and I shan't mindsharing in the least. It may be amusing if the other woman is pleasant. I don't think you and I had better know each other too well to beginwith, do you? We can pretend to make friends as the voyage goes on. Orshall we say that we were at school together?"

"Let us say as little as possible, " said April, who had an objection totelling lies, even little white ones. But Diana did not share herscruples, and plainly averred her intention of "spinning a yarn" to anyone who asked questions. 

In a whirl of excitement they arrived at the docks, and were hustled withthe rest of the crowd up the steep gangway that led to the deck of theUnion Castle Company's latest and most modern liner, the _ClarendonCastle_. April, who had exchanged her cloth coat for Diana's sables, felt the eyes of the world burning and piercing through the costly fursto the secret in her bosom. But Diana felt no such discomfort, jubilantin her new-found liberty, she paced the decks, inspected the ship, madefriends with the first officer and several passengers, and finally wentdown to lunch in the dining saloon. She seated herself at the generaltable, and as a number of merry people were toasting each other farewellin champagne, she thought it only fitting to order a half-bottle forherself. Some of the women looked at her curiously, but that did notdaunt Diana, especially after she had begun on the champagne. 

April, placed at some distance in solitary state, noted and envied thecoolness and composure of her fellow-conspirator. She, too, had meant tobe one of the general crowd, but already the news of her rank and statehad tickled the ears of the chief steward, and she found herselfreverently waylaid and conducted with ceremony to a small table, whenceshe could gaze and be gazed upon by the rest of the world without fear ofcontamination. A steward, told off for her special service, hoveredabout her like a guardian angel, and during the meal a gold-braidedpersonality approached and, murmuring the Captain's compliments, hopedthat when the voyage had once started she would grace his table by herpresence. Afar off, Diana cast her a grin over the rim of a wine-glass, but gave no further sign of recognition. 

It is a phenomenon well known to travellers, that when the last warningbell rings on board a departing ship all the pretty women and interestingmen go ashore, leaving only the dull and fusty ones behind. Diana andApril, however, were not depressed by this spectacle, for to the former, in her position of free-lance, all men looked interesting and all womensuperfluous; while April, in full possession of the beautifully appointedstateroom on the promenade deck, to which she had retired directly afterlunch, was too busy reviewing the position to think aboutfellow-passengers just then. She was bothered over the business ofsitting at the Captain's table. She had seen him on the boat deck as shecame aboard, and her heart failed her at the thought of deceiving such agenial, kindly-looking man. It was plain that the experiment of "takingpeople in" was not going to be so pricelessly funny as she hadanticipated. She said so to Diana, who came to her cabin as soon as theship started to make a selection of clothes. But Diana would listen tonone of her virtuous backslidings. 

"You can't back out now, " she said firmly. "A bargain's a bargain, andI've told everyone I am April Poole, going to Africa to be a governess, and all the ship knows you are Lady Diana Vernilands. We should be aspectacle for the gods if we change back now. No one would believe us, either. We'd only be looked upon with suspicion for the rest of thevoyage, and all our fun and pleasure spoilt. For goodness's sake don'tbe an idiot!"

That was all the slightly conscience-stricken April got for her pains, and Diana stalked off triumphant, lugging a suit-case and an armful ofwraps. April heard her explaining to a stewardess in the corridor thather baggage had got mixed up with Lady Diana Verniland's, and that it wasvery awkward; and then she saw and heard no more of her for several days. For immediately on emerging from the Solent the _Clarendon_ ran into veryheavy weather, which continued until the Bay of Biscay was passed, keeping all but the hardiest travellers confined to their cabins. April, who was among the victims, had plenty of solitary leisure in which torepent her misdeed if she felt so inclined. But the impulse to repentsoon passed, and workaday wisdom reassured her that what she and Dianawere doing was really very harmless and of no consequence to any one butthemselves. No very great effort was required to make the best of thesituation and enjoy it as much as Diana had evidently determined to do. It was very pleasant, after all, to be waited on and fussed about asthough she were a person of infinite importance instead of a shabby, trimgoverness. She, who had padded the bumps of life for others so long, could now thoroughly appreciate having the same service performed forherself. 

Being of a nature neither arrogant nor impatient, she soon endearedherself to the stewardesses and serving-people, who, having someexperience in the tempers and tantrums of fine ladies, were agreeablysurprised by her gentle and charming manner, and could not do enough forher in return. 

After the first few days of frightful illness she began to feel better, and was able to be moved from her cabin to the ladies' lounge. Wrappedin one or other of Diana's ravishing boudoir garments of silk and fur, she was supported there every morning, ensconced on the most luxurioussofa, and surrounded by attentions from the other semi-invalids. Nothingwas too good for the peer's delightful daughter, and everyone behaved asif she were an angel dropped from heaven. In fact, with the lovelyspirituelle air her illness had given, and the sea bloom just beginningto tint her cheeks again and dew her eyes, she looked rather like one. 

The ship's doctor, who was young and susceptible, broke it gently to suchof the male passengers who were able to bear the strain that a dazzlingjoy awaited their eyes when "Lady Diana" should be well enough to appearin public. The story of her charming looks and ways circulated softlyround the boat, even as a pleasant wine circulates in the veins. 

April knew nothing of these things. She only felt very happy in thekindness of everybody, in the gradual steadying of the ship, now emergingfrom the troubled Bay into smoother, warmer waters, and in the prospectof soon being allowed to go on deck. Sometimes she wondered why the realDiana gave no sign, but came to the conclusion that she, too, had beenill. 

It was a natural enough thing to ask the doctor, when they were alone oneday, if Miss Poole was among his patients. He seemed sufficientlyastonished by the query. 

"Miss Poole!" he echoed. "Oh, no; she's not ill--far from it. Do youknow her?"

"Certainly I know her, " smiled April, astonished in her turn. "I waswondering why she had not been to see me. "

The doctor murmured something cryptic about her having "no doubt been toobusy, " and seemed to have nothing further to say. The face of the loungestewardess wore a peculiar expression. A quiet, rather austere-lookingwoman, she always behaved like a mummy in the doctor's presence, standingbehind him with folded hands and mute lips. But when he had gone shecame to life. 

"Do you mean the young lady whose baggage got mixed with yours at thebeginning of the voyage, my lady?" she asked. April remembered thenecessity to walk delicately. 

"Yes . . . A pretty, fair girl, " she said cautiously. "Very gay andbright. "

"Very, " agreed the stewardess laconically. Then the source of hereloquence dried up even as the doctor's had done. April began to thinkit was time to go on deck and see what was doing. 

The next day was not only gloriously fine, but the ship came to harbourby that island which is as a bouquet of fruit and flowers pinned to ajagged breast. There seems always something sinister lurking behind thewreathed and radiant beauty of Madeira; but to those who come in shipsfrom out the bitter fogs of England she is a siren with a blue and goldensmile, and her gift-laden hands are soothing and serene. 

April, lying in her deck-chair, thought she had come to fairyland. Escorted upstairs by the doctor and a retinue of stewardesses, she wasinstalled in a sheltered corner that commanded the whole brilliant scene. The purser found her the most comfortable of chairs, the first officerbrought her a bamboo table from his cabin for her books, the Captainstayed awhile from his duties to congratulate her on her recovery, andseveral men loitered near at hand casting reverently admiring glances. But she had eyes for nothing save the vivid scene before her. Thesmiling island, with its head in the mists and its feet in a sapphire seastill as a painted lake; boats full of flowers, corals, ivories, silkenembroideries and unknown fruits; the burnished bodies of diving boys; theodour of spices and sandalwood; the clatter of strange tongues; the darkfaces and bright clothes of the invading crowds of natives. 

It was a spectacle to enchant the senses. She could not think why somany passengers were scurrying to and fro anxious to be taken ashore. Itseemed as foolish as to try to get into a picture instead of sittingbefore it. 

Everyone was wearing light clothes, for summer had come at full bound, and soon they would be in the tropics. There were beautifully cut whitelinen suits, smart skirts, and filmy blouses. A popular saying on theCape mail-boats is that passengers to South Africa are all clothes and nomoney, while passengers returning are all money and no clothes. Aprildid not know the epigram, nor the truth of it. But she could plainlyperceive that in the scanty kit of April Poole she would have been verymuch out of the running among this smart and jaunty crowd. 

As it was, clad in a sleek silken muslin of lovely lines, snowy shoes andstockings, and a rose-laden hat, she could hold her own with any one. Alonging filled her to see Diana Vernilands. She wanted to talk to her, exchange confidences, thank her, bless her, and, above all, to find outwhat it was she found so attractive in her side of the game. What onearth could it be that was so much more ravishing than to be at peacewith the world, respected by it, liked by it, and yet independent of it?To wear lovely clothes in which you could enjoy the knowledge of lookingcharming without meeting suspicion in the eyes of women and the"good-hunting" glance in the eyes of men. This last constituted, indeed, that "subtle reason" at which she had hinted to Diana. Life had harriedApril too much for her few years. Obliged to travel its highways aloneand unprotected, some of the adventures encountered there had cut her tothe quick. While women looked askance at her, men looked too hard, andtoo long. Doubtless she had met the wrong kind. Lonely young girlswithout money or connections do not always find the knightly andchivalrous gentlemen of their dreams! Naturally pure-hearted andhigh-minded, she had asked nothing of those she did meet save respect andgood-comradeship; but either she was too pretty or peculiarlyunfortunate, for she had seldom been offered either. It was something, perhaps, that she still kept dreams, and a belief that there wereknightly and chivalrous men somewhere in the world, though they might notbe for her. 

She was still, like Omar, wondering "What the vinters buy one half soprecious as the stuff they sell"--lost in cogitations about Diana, whenthe subject of her thoughts, accompanied by three men, came down acompanion-way from an upper deck. They were evidently set for the shore, and making their way to the ship's side as if certain that the bestplaces in the best boats were preserved for them. 

Diana's appearance betrayed the lack of a maid. Her dress was crumpled, her shoes badly laced, and her hat cocked carelessly upon her head. Butthe subtle Italian hand of the ship's coiffeur had touched her hair, saving the situation. Also, there was a sparkle in her eye and a _joiede vivre_ in her laughter that made up for many deficiencies. Hercompanions appeared to have been picked for their good looks, sleekheads, and immaculate clothes. One, with whom she palpably stood on thehappiest of terms, was, in fact, strikingly handsome. The other two, loitering in her wake, seemed content if she tossed them a word over hershoulder from time to time. They all behaved as if they had bought theship, and found the presence of the rest of the passengers animpertinence. Such of the latter as were still on board returned thecompliment according to sex and the ability that was theirs. The menplainly admired Diana's nerve, while wondering with their eyebrows whaton earth she could see in those three footling fellows. The women lookedpityingly at the men, and with their noses indicated that Diana was somekind of dangerous and unpleasant animal escaped from a menagerie. A ladywho had seated herself by April in a chair labelled "Major Sarle, " curledher lip at the passing group in a manner painfully familiar to herneighbour. Presently, when they were left alone, the rest of the worldhaving disappeared down the ship's side, she addressed April, but with avery different expression on her face. 

"You are Lady Diana Vernilands, I think?" she said, smiling in a friendlymanner. "I am Mrs. Stanislaw. So glad to see you up. "

April was instantly on the alert. Not only did she know the name of Mrs. Lionel Stanislaw, but had very good cause to remember it as that of thelady with whom she was to have shared a cabin. The smiling face had oncebeen a pretty one, but the tide of youth was fast receding, leavinguncovered a bleak and barren shore, whose chief salients were adisdainful nose and a mouth which looked as if it might be able to saybitter things. The eyes, however, were still handsome, if supercilious, and her manners velvety. No doubt there were claws beneath the velvet, but they were not for April . . . Only for the girl who was using April'sname! They had not talked for five minutes before she realized that inthis woman Diana had an enemy. Not that Mrs. Stanislaw's words werecensorious. She was too clever for that. Her remarks were merelydeprecative and full of pity. 

"A most amazing creature, " she said gently, "but rather disturbing tolive with. I confess I wish I had been cribbed and cabined with someonewho had more conventional manners and kept earlier hours. "

Here was something for April to ponder. 

"She is very young, " she faltered at length, and was unwise enough toadd, "and pretty. "

These being two heinous offences in the eyes of Mrs. Stanislaw, sheproceeded at once to hang, draw, and quarter the criminal. But her voicewas tenderer than before. 

"Yes, isn't it a pity? . . . And so foolishly indiscreet. Do you know, they tell me that she is spoken of by all the men on the ship as theApril Fool, a parody on her name, which is April Poole. "

Pleasant hearing for her listener, who flushed scarlet. 

"Can you imagine any one who has a living to earn being so unwise? Ifind it difficult to believe she is going to the Cape to teach someone'schildren. I only hope that the story of her indiscretions will notprecede her, poor girl. "

April was dumb. Mrs. Stanislaw came to the conclusion that she was dulland rather lacking in feminine sweetness, and after a while went away tobargain with a native for some embroideries. She would have beendelighted to know what a poisoned barb she had implanted and leftquivering in the side of the so-called Lady Diana. 

Beneath the folded V of filmy lace on April's bosom her heart was beatingpassionately, and the rose-wreathed hat fortunately drooped enough tohide the tears of mortification that filled her eyes. _Her_ name to beparodied and bandied about the ship on men's lips! A poor thing, but herown! One that for all her ups and downs she had striven and contrived tokeep untarnished. How dared Diana Vernilands do this thing to her? Whatfoolishness had she herself been guilty of to put it in another's powerto thus injure her?

Her eyes were so blurred with tears that she did not notice at whatparticular moment another occupant had usurped the chair of Major Sarle. It was a man this time. April hastily seized a book and began to read. He must have stolen up with the silence of a tiger, and he reminded herof tigers somehow, though she could not quite tell why, except that hewas curiously powerful and graceful looking. His hair, which grew in athick short mat, was strongly sprinkled with silver, but his skin, thoughbrick-red, was unlined. She judged him to be a sailor-man, for he hadthe clear and innocent eye of one who has looked long on great spaces. These were her conclusions, made while diligently reading her book. He, too, was busy reading in the same fashion, but, manlike, was slower inhis deductions. By the time she had finished with his hair he had notgot much further than her charming ankles. Certainly, he had ascertainedthat she was a pretty woman before he took possession of his chair, butthat was merely instinct, the fulfilling of a human law. Detail, likedestruction, was to come after. He lingered over the first detail. Theywere such very pretty ankles. It did not seem right that they shouldbe resting on the hard deck instead of on a canvas foot-rest. Heremembered that his own chair had a foot-rest, but it was in his cabin. Should he go and fetch it? Dared he offer it to her? He was onhail-fellow-well-met terms with lions and tigers, as April had curiouslydivined, but having enjoyed fewer encounters with women, was slightly shyof them. However, being naturally courageous, he might presently havebeen observed emerging from a deck cabin with a canvas foot-rest in hishand, and it was only the natural sequence of events that whileattempting to hitch it on his chair his guileless gaze should discoverthat April's feet were without support. He looked so shy and kind forsuch a sun-bitten, weather-hardened creature, that she had no heart torefuse the friendly offer, even had she felt the inclination. Besides, the advances made to her in the rôle of Lady Diana were very different tothose she had so often been obliged to repulse as April Poole. 

She felt, too, that here was a man not trying to make friends with anyulterior motive, but just because on this pleasant, delightful morning itwas pleasant and delightful to talk to someone and share the pleasure. 

Vereker Sarle had made the voyage to South Africa so many times that hehad lost count of them, and knew Madeira so well that it bored him to goashore there any more. 

"We have the best of it from here, in spite of a little coal dust, " hetold her, for with a great deal of rattling, banging, and singing on thelower decks the ship was taking on her voyage ration of coal. "Still, you should go ashore and see it some time. It is worth a visit for thesake of the gardens, the breakfast of fresh fish at the hotel on thehilltop, and the bumping rush down again in the man-drawn sleighs. "

He took it for granted that she was a woman travelling for pleasure andlikely to be back this way soon. While she gave a little inward sigh, wondering whether she would ever have the money to return to England, orif it would be her fate to live in exile for ever. 

Sarle presented her with one of his simple maxims of life. 

"All good citizens of the world should do everything once and once only, "he averred, with his frank and disarming smile. "If we stuck to thatrule life would never go stale on us. "

"I'm afraid it would hardly apply to everyday life and all the wearythings we have to do over and over again. "

"I was thinking of the big things, " he said slowly. "Like potting yourfirst elephant or falling in love. I don't know what equivalents womenhave for these things. "

April could not forbear a little ripple of laughter. 

"I believe they fall in love, too, sometimes, " she said. But Sarle, withhis sea-blue gaze on her, answered gravely:

"I know very little about them. "

It was hard to decide whether he was an expert flirt with new methods, orreally and truly a man with a heart as guileless as his eyes. But, atany rate, he was amusing, and April forgot her tears and anger completelyin the pleasant hour they spent together until the passengers, recalledby the ship's siren, began to return from ashore. 

Diana and her bodyguard were the last to arrive, the men laden withfruit, flowers, and numerous parcels, and the girl more openly carelessof the rest of the world than before. They took possession of a group ofchairs that did not belong to them, and scattered their possessions uponthe deck. Pomegranates, nectarines, and bananas began to roll in everydirection, to the inconvenience of the passers-by, but what did thatmatter? Diana lit a cigarette, declaring that it was too hot for words, and that she _must_ have a John Collins. They all ordered JohnCollinses. The handsome man fanned Diana with a large palm leaf, and shelooked at him with languorous eyes. 

April grew hot inside her skin. Conversation interrupted by the noisearound them, both she and Sarle had immersed themselves once more intheir books. But April, at least, was profoundly conscious of everythingsaid and done by the neighbouring group, and she longed to take DianaVernilands by the shoulders and give her a sound shaking. As for thethree men who were encouraging and abetting the little minx, it wouldhave been a pleasure to push them separately and singly overboard. Shedid not know how she could have managed to sit so still, except thatSarle was there reading by her side, silent and calm, apparently noticingnothing extraordinary in the behaviour of their neighbours. 

A steward brought the John Collinses--four tall glasses of pale liquidand ice, some stuff red as blood floating on the top. No sooner hadDiana tasted hers than she set up a loud wail that there was not enoughAngostura in it. One of the men hurried away to have this grave defectremedied, and the moment he was out of sight Diana took up his as yetuntouched glass, and with two long straws between her lips, skilfullysucked all the red stuff from the top of the drink and replaced theglass. Above the delighted laughter of her companions, April heard awoman's scornful remark further down the deck:

"It is only the April Fool!"

That was the little more that proved too much. The real April closed herbook sharply and left her chair. Walking to the deck-rail, she stoodleaning over, thinking hard, trying to decide how best to get hold ofDiana Vernilands and tell her firmly that this folly must stop at once. 

She felt very miserable. Madeira, fading in the wake of the ship, withalready the blue haze of distance blurring its outlines, seemed to herlike the dream she had lived in these last few days . . . The goldendream in which everyone liked and trusted her, and her beauty was apleasure instead of a burden. Tomorrow she must return to her destiny ofshabby clothes and second places, with the added bitterness of knowingher name made the byword of the ship! That was something she could neverlive down, if the voyage lasted a year. There would merely be two Aprilfools instead of one, and she the wretched masquerader in borrowed plumesnot the least of them! Slowly she turned away from the rail and went toher cabin. A line sent by a steward brought Diana there at thedouble-quick. She burst into the cabin, the open note in her hand. 

"What do you mean? Is this the way you keep faith? . . . Trying toslither out of our bargain before it is a week old!"

"It is you who have broken faith, " retorted April indignantly. "Surelyit was in the bargain that you should behave with common decency and notmake my name notorious!"

"Rot!" was the airy answer. "A few old pussy cats with their fur brushedthe wrong way, that's all. Who's going to mind what they say?"

"Do you realize that you are known from one end of the ship to the otheras the April Fool?"

Diana burst out laughing. 

"I know who started that . . . The poisonous asp I share my cabin with. Just because I have seen her putting on her transformation, and know howmany kinds of paints she uses to build up her face! If it had been _you_it would have been just the same. You'd have been the April Foolinstead, that's all. You ought to be jolly grateful, instead of bullyingme. "

She sat down on the lounge, smiling and sparkling, and took out acigarette. April, in whom laughter was always near the surface, couldhave smiled herself had she not been nearer weeping. After all, Diana'spranks and antics were in no way vicious, but seemed merely the result ofthe lifelong drastic restraint hitherto exercised over her. Her vitalitywas breaking out like a fire that has been too long covered up. Butthere was no knowing where she would stop, and what would not be consumedin the merry blaze. 

"Well, I'm _not_ grateful, " she said firmly, "and if you want to betalked about in future, it will have to be under your own name. "

"Oh, April!" Diana's jauntiness left her instantly. "I beg of you, _don't_ be unkind. I am having such a topping time. I've never been sohappy in my life. If you only knew how dull I've been with old AuntGrizel always hounding me to death. Don't go and spoil my first goodtime. "

"It is you who are spoiling it. You forget that I have to earn my livingand am dependent on the world's good opinion. Where shall I be at theend of the voyage with the frivolous reputation you are building up forme?"

"I won't do it any more. I'll be so good. You'll see how I'll changefrom now on. "

"The mischief is already done, unfortunately. "

"All the same, we can't possibly change now, " pleaded Diana. "What goodwill it do us? . . . And you will get the worst of it, my dear. Theworld is a bundle of snobs, and the people on the ship thoroughlyrepresent it. They will soon forgive me, but your crime will beunpardonable. They will be simply furious with you for taking them in. "

This was the tongue of truth, as April knew well. She looked at theother girl ruefully. 

"How can I trust you any longer? I saw you with those men on deck . . . Playing the fool . . . Making yourself cheap. Oh, Diana, how canyou? . . . Under my name or any other, you are still a lady with certainrules to observe. "

Diana flushed. 

"You don't understand . . . I can't explain to you what it means to me tobreak loose from convention for a little while . . . It's something in myblood that has to come out. But, indeed, April, I swear to you if youwill only go on I will behave. I really will. I can't help what ispast, but there shall be nothing fresh for them to carp at in the future, anyhow. Do be a sport and consent, won't you?"

In the end, by pleading, beguiling, and piling promise on promise, shegot her way, and thereafter the game went on--with a difference. Theystill called her the April Fool, because names like that stick; but asfar as could be seen, she committed no fresh escapades to deserve thetitle. Yet the real April Poole sometimes wondered if the last phase ofthis folly was not worse than the first. She could not in justice denythat Diana was much quieter and more orderly, but it seemed a pity thather quietness should take the form of sitting for long hours at a time inrapt silence with a certain extremely handsome man. This was Captain theHon. Geoffrey Bellew, on his way to South Africa as attaché to a Governorsomewhere in the interior. He it was with whom Diana had been on suchhappy terms the day of landing at Madeira. The two other men had beencast forth like Gadarene swine. Bellew and Diana were sufficient untothemselves. Eternally together, sometimes they walked the deck, or threwquoits, or played two-handed card games; but ever they avoided largecompanionable games, and always they sought the dusky corner in which tosit undisturbed, gazing into each other's eyes. Strictly speaking, therewas nothing to cavil at in this. Numbers of other couples were doing thesame. These little games of two and two go forward all the time onvoyages to the Cape (especially nearing the Equator), and are the joy ofthe genial-hearted. Even those who have no little games of their own arewont to look on sympathetically, or, better still, to turn away theunderstanding eye. The long, lazy, somnolent days and the magic nights, star-spangled above and lit with phosphorescent seas below, lendthemselves to the dangerous kind of flirtation that says little and looksmuch, and if there is any place in the world where Cupid is rampant and"Psyche may meet unblamed her Eros, " it is on the deck of a liner in thetropics. 

But either Diana was one of those unfortunate girls who cannot glanceover the garden wall without being accused of stealing peaches, or elseshe had too thoroughly got people's backs up during the first week atsea, for everyone looked cold-eyed at her romance and called itunromantic names. There were continual little undercurrents of gossipgoing on about her beneath the otherwise pleasant surface of everydaylife. April did not talk gossip nor listen to it, but she was vaguelyaware of it. Except for this, she would have been the happiest girl inthe world, and, indeed, she did not allow it to bother her too much, having made up her mind to cast care to the winds and enjoy herself whilethe sun shone. Destruction might come after--at Cape Town, perhaps, butif it did, _tant pis_!

Something of Diana's recklessness entered into her, only that it did nottake the form of outraging the convenances, but just of enjoying life tothe full with the permission and approval of the world. She loved thesummer seas, and each blue and golden hour seemed all too short for thepleasure to be stuffed into it. 

Everyone was delightful to her. Gone were the days when all women'shands were against her and her hand against all men. When she had timeto think about it, she fully recognized that most of the admiration andkindness tendered to her by the other passengers was entirely worthless, and merely the result of snobbery. 

But she had neither time nor inclination to go too deeply into the matterwith herself. Her heart very ardently desired to believe that some atleast of the people who made such a fuss over her liked her for herselfalone, regardless of the rank and wealth she was supposed to possess. Sarle, for instance--Vereker Sarle, the shy man of wild places as shesoon learned him to be, "the man who owned the largest and mostup-to-date ranch--Northern Rhodesia, " people informed her . . . Surely tohim she was a charming girl, as well, or before, she was Lady DianaVernilands. She wanted to believe it, and she did believe it. Not avery difficult task to believe anything on sapphire seas decorated bygolden dawns and rose-red sunsets. Cynical truths have no room toblossom in such surroundings. It was sheer joy to be alive, and shethrew herself into the merry routine of the days with all the zest ofyouth. Her beautiful, athletic figure had been trained in manygymnasiums, but never before had she known the delight of exercise in thewild, fresh air of the open sea, where her muscles felt like ripplingmusic, and her blood seemed full of red roses. Her eyes had changed fromtheir smoky sadness to the dewy radiance of hyacinths plucked at dawn, and her skin wore the satiny sheen, rose-tinted, of perfect well-being. She wished the voyage would last for ever. 

Nothing succeeds like success. Because she was brilliant and happy, andapparently had everything she wanted, Luck smiled, and all good thingscame her way. She was acclaimed a champion at deck games, andunremittingly sought as a partner. In the evenings she never lackedcompanions to help her dance the soles off her shoes. She played auctionlike a fiend and always held the cards; won all the prizes in the sportsfor running, jumping, threading the needle, and holding eggs in spoons;bowled everyone at cricket. It seemed she could do nothing wrong orbadly. Finally, at the fancy dress ball, when everyone turned out inwonderful garments planned and prepared long months before, she easilycaptured the votes of the crowd as the wearer of the most original andcharming costume created on the spur of the moment. 

There had been only one fancy dress in Diana's wardrobe, that of aPersian lady; and for once she showed herself greedy in the matter ofclothes, and calmly commandeered it without consulting April. Yet thelatter's fanciful imitation of a well-known poster, composed ofinexpensive calicoes (bought from that emporium of all wants andwonders--the barber's shop), had triumphed over the gorgeous veils andjewels and silken trousers of the Persian houri and swept the unanimousvote of the ship into April's lap. Enough in all this to turn any girl'shead, and though natural dignity and a certain attractive quality ofhumility that was hers kept April's heart sweet, she was sometimes indanger of becoming slightly _tête montée_. But she always pinchedherself in time, with the reminder that it was all only a dream fromwhich she must awaken very soon. For the nineteen halcyon days of thevoyage were speeding by and coming to an end. Hot, hard blue skiesgleamed overhead, and at night came the moon of Africa, pearl-whiteinstead of amber-coloured, as it looks in Europe. Strange starsappeared, too, bigger, more lustrous, than the stars of cooler climes, and seeming to brood very low over the world. The "Milky Way" was a pathof powdered silver. The "Coal Sack" showed itself full of brilliantjewels. And the Southern Cross! When April first saw it mysticallyscrolled across the heavens, like a device upon the shield azure of somecelestial Galahad, its magic fell across her soul, and would not belifted. 

This is one of the first spells Africa puts upon those whom she means tomake her own. Ever after, with the poignant memory of that Cross ofstraggling stars there is a thought of Africa, and the two cannot be tornapart. For April there was always to be a memory of Vereker Sarle, too, associated with it, for he it was who first picked out the Cross for herin the luminant heavens, and he it was who said to her on the nightbefore they reached Cape Town:

"There seems to be some kind of blessing in that old Cross held out overus as we come trailing back. "

After that first day at Madeira she had not seen a great deal of VerekerSarle. He had dropped back quietly from the crowd that ringed her in, and become a looker-on, sometimes barely that, for he was a greatpoker-player, and spent much time in the smoke-room with one or twohard-looking citizens who were plainly not drawing-room ornaments. Aprilhad missed him, with a little pain in her heart, for instinct told herthat he was one of the men who count in the world. Also, she had divinedthat his heart was as clear as his eyes. Though his face was so scarredand rugged as to inspire in the wit of the ship the jest that it had beenchewed at by one of the lions he had hunted, there was yet something init that suggested the gentleness of a child, and that knight-likechivalry that she had sought but never found in any man. So it hurt hera little when she thought of it in the night hours, that he should keepaloof from her, yet in a way she was glad, for she could not so ardentlyhave enjoyed playing her rôle if Sarle had looked on too much with hisinnocent, yet keen gaze. It was by accident that he found her alone thatnight, between dinner and dancing, and they stayed looking at the starsand talking of the land they were to reach sometime within the next twodays. He was not a great talker, and most of the information Aprilgathered was in the form of half-scornful, half-wistful remarks. Hespoke of Africa as a man might speak of some worthless woman, whom he yetloved above all peerless women. Of the lure and bane of her. How shewas the home of lies and flies, the grave of reputation, the refuge ofthe remittance man and the bad egg; the land of the unexpected pest, butnever the unexpected blessing; of sunstroke and fever; scandals andbroken careers; snobbery, bobbery, and highway robbery. How, yet, whenone had been away from her for a little while, sometimes for a few monthsonly, one forgot all these things and remembered only with hunger andaching the pink-tipped hills of her, the crystal air, royal sunsets andtender dawns; the unforgettable friends she had given, the exquisitereveries her wild spaces had inspired; the valiant men who lie buried inher breast, the sweeping rivers and leagues and leagues of whisperinggrasses. How, suddenly, the nostalgia for the burn and the bite of herbitter lips seizes upon the men who have known her too long and too well, dragging them from ease and comfort and the soft cushions of life, backacross the seas to her gaunt and arid breast. 

"And there seems to be some kind of blessing in that old Cross held overus as we come trailing back!"

His smile was scoffing and a little weary, but behind it April heardlonging in his voice, and saw the searching of his eyes towards whereland would soon appear. And what he was feeling strangely communicateditself to her. The subtle hand of Africa was laid upon her heart, andshe trembled. In that moment she sickened suddenly of her falseposition. Why was she not coming to this watchful land frankly and withclean hands, instead of in the coils of a foolish pretence? She lookedat the fine, open face of the man at her side and was ashamed. Animpulse seized her to tell him the truth, but the thought of Diana drewher up sharply. Had she the right to disclose the secret before firstconsulting the other girl, or at least telling her what she meant to do?There had of late been something about Diana that called for thisconsideration. She had grown so quiet and pale. Her gay laughter wasseldom heard, and though she still sat about with Bellew a great deal, noone ever heard them talking much. They seemed to revel in silence. Itwas not difficult to divine what spell was upon them, and April was moreglad than she could tell. 

For if it came to pass that Diana should get something out of thismasquerade, something beyond mere frivolous enjoyment, then the meanswould have justified the end, and neither would have cause for reproach. How fitting, too, for Diana and Bellew, both of the same world and socialposition, to find each other in such a disinterested way. Really, itlooked as if everything were for the best in the best of all possibleworlds. It was only when Sarle's clear gaze was upon her that April'ssoul stirred with a sense of guilt and a longing to discontinue thedeceit, harmless as it was. His simple, candid personality made itimpossible to remain with him and not be sincere. A very panic of hasteseized her to find Diana and arrange some plan of action. Abruptly sheleft him, and though dancing had begun and she saw her partner bearingdown on her, she fled in the direction of the music saloon, where Dianaand Bellew might most frequently be found. But they were nowhere insight, and their dusky and palm-sheltered corner was in possession ofMrs. Stanislaw, who instantly pounced on April with a request for herautograph. Everyone was walking about with birthday and autograph booksthat night. Others were carrying about large photographs of the ship andbegging people to sign their names upon it, as a souvenir of the voyage. These things are done upon every trip to the Cape. 

While April stood turning the pages of the autograph album and wonderingwhat name to put down, she got one of the worst jolts of her life. 

"I have found out two very interesting things, " said Mrs. Stanislaw, inher soft and serpentine manner. "The woman whose children Miss Poole isgoing to governess at the Cape is Cora Janis, one of my most intimatefriends. And . . . " she paused dramatically. April's fingers stillfluttered the pages, but her heart took a bound and then stood still. 

"How very interesting, " she stammered, "and what else?"

"Captain Bellew is a married man!"

PART II

April closed the book and handed it back without writing anything. 

"If that is true, I really do not see what it has to do with you--orme, " she said coldly. 

"Oh, I know it is true, " said Mrs. Stanislaw, airily ignoring the restof April's remark. "I had it from a lady who is travellingsecond-class because she has a bevy of children. She knows Mrs. Bellewquite well, and, curiously enough, is a friend also of Cora Janis, whowrote to her some time ago asking her to look out for Miss Poole on thevoyage. Naturally, Cora thought her governess would also be travellingsecond. " Mrs. Stanislaw smiled drily. "She little knows our AprilFool. "

The girl's fascinated eyes watched the line of her smile. It was likea thin curved knife, all the crueller for being artificially reddened. 

"Why should you have such a down on her?"

The older woman's hard, handsome eyes took expression of surprise. 

"A down on her? You are mistaken. I am only sorry that a girl shouldso cheapen herself and her sex generally. "

April could have shaken her, but it seemed wiser to try propitiationinstead. Her own career, as well as Diana's reputation, was at stake. 

"After all, she has harmed no one but herself, Mrs. Stanislaw. As forCaptain Bellew, I daresay he told her long ago about his being married. . . . "

"If you think so you think worse of her than I do, " said Mrs. Stanislawacidly, "and I could hardly suppose that!"

"I do not think badly of her at all, " retorted April indignantly. "Sheis only a girl, and if she has been misled--well, it seems to me thatthe situation calls for a little human charity rather thancondemnation. "

"Of course, " said the soft-voiced one. "I quite agree. Far be it fromme to condemn. One has, however, certain duties to one's friends. "

April saw clearly what she meant, and that it was as useless to try todivert her from her intention as to argue with an octopus. The veryfact that she knew Mrs. Janis would probably put an extinguisher onApril's career as a governess. Her impersonation of Lady Diana wasbound to come out, and if Mrs. Janis was cut on the same pattern as herfriend, she would be truly outraged by such an impertinence in a meregoverness. There was little to do but keep a tight lip and hope forthe best. For the moment, indeed, her troubles were swamped by a floodof pity for Diana. She felt sure that Diana was in love with Bellew, and feared that he had not told her the truth. On the other hand, hemight honourably have done so, and Diana being the recklessscatterbrain she was, still chose to dally on the primrose path ofdanger. It was hard to know what to do. 

On the main deck dancing was in full swing, and the first sight thatmet her eyes was Diana and Bellew scampering in a tango. Diana wore asatin gown of curious blue that gleamed and shone like the blue lightof sulphurous flames, and as she danced she trilled a little Frenchsong that was often on her lips:

 "Tout le mond Au salon On y tan-gue, on y tan-gue, Tout le mond Au salon On y tan-gue, tout en rang. "

It was a parody on an old South of France chanson, and everyone wassinging it in Paris that year. Someone far down the deck, who hadevidently read the original in Alphonse Daudet's _Lettres de MonMoulin_, took up the refrain:

 "Sur le pont D'Avignon On y dan-se, on y dan-se, Sur le pont D'Avignon On y dan-se, tout en rond. "

Small use trying to stop her and speak serious things to her in thatmad frolic. April herself was whirled into the pool of music andmovement, and did not emerge until the band, at a late hour, struck upthe National Anthem. By special dispensation of the Captain, dancinghad been prolonged because it was the last ball of the voyage. Thenext two nights were to be respectively devoted to a bridge-drive and agrand farewell concert. However, only a score or so of the most ardentdancers were left on deck when the final note of music sounded and thelights went out with a click. Figures became wraith-like in themoonlight, and April gave a sigh as her partner's arm fell from herwaist and they drew up by the ship's rail, where Vereker Sarle stoodwatching them and smoking. 

"And that's the end of the story, " said she, laughing a littleruefully. Her partner went away to get her a cold drink, and she halfexpected Sarle to reproach her because it had been his dance and shehad purposely avoided dancing with him. But he only said: "Africa isthe beginning of many stories. "

She shivered a little, though the night was warm. 

"I am beginning to be afraid of her--this Africa of yours!"

"No need for you to be afraid anywhere, " he smiled. "There will alwaysbe those who will stand between you and fear. "

"How little you know!" she said abruptly. "I haven't a friend in theworld. "

There was a short silence, and they looked straight at each other, theslim, tall girl in her diaphanous tulles, the powerful, innocent-eyedman. 

"You must be joking, " he began. Then he saw the trouble in her eyesand her quivering mouth. 

"But even in jest, never say that, while I am in the world, " he addedgently. She was so grateful for the chivalrous words that she darednot speak for fear the tears should rush out of her eyes. Impulsivelyshe put out her hand, and his brown, firm one closed on it, and held itvery close. Then he carried it to his lips. She heard him say oneword, very softly: "Diana. "

At that she tore her hand from his and sped away swiftly into thedarkness. Once in her cabin she locked the door, turned out thelights, and flung herself on to the bed. For a long time she laythere, a rumpled heap of tulle and misery, weeping because life was acruel brute who kept her gifts for the rich and wellborn or the old andindifferent, mockingly withholding from those who were young and eagerand could better appreciate them. 

"What is the use of youth and good looks when one is poor and lonely?"she sobbed. "They only mock one! It is like having a Paris hat put onyour head while your feet are bare and bleeding and your stomach isempty. "

She wished she had never begun this miserable game of Diana Vernilands, never tasted the power of rank and place, the joy of jewels and prettyclothes. She wished she had never left England, never seen VerekerSarle, and, above all, she wished she were dead. 

It was about two in the morning before she had finished wishing andsobbing. Youth began to assert itself then, and she thought of what asight would be in the morning, with tangled hair and swollen eyes. Languidly at last she rose. The tulle dress was ruined, but little sherecked. Rather she felt a fierce satisfaction in the thought that itwas done for, and Diana could never wear it. 

That wretched Diana! . . . 

But when her flushed face was bathed and her hair brushed out shethought more kindly of Diana, remembering that she, too, was introuble. Well, tomorrow there would have to be a great clean-up of allthese miserable pretences and deceits; tonight, at least, she would tryand sleep. Her hand was on the switch to turn out the lights whenthere came a knocking at the door. It was such a strange, peremptoryknocking--such a careless outraging of the small hours, that for amoment she stood rooted with astonishment and apprehension, staring atherself in the mirror that composed the back of the door. 

"Who is it?" she stammered at last. 

"The Captain, " said a stern voice, and in the glass she saw her cheeksand lips become pale. What on earth could be wrong? Was the ship onfire, or wrecked? Had their last hour come?

"I am sorry to bother you, but will you please open the door for amoment?"

By a great effort she composed herself and did as she was bid. Alittle group of people with strained faces and staring eyes presentedthemselves behind the Captain; she recognized several men, thestewardesses, and Mrs. Stanislaw; while in the shadows beyond them waswhispering and much shuffling. The whole ship seemed to be afoot. Captain Carey gave one swift look round the cabin, then his eyes restedon her startled face, and he patted her arm gently and reassuringly. 

"Don't be alarmed, my dear Lady Diana, " he said, in his tender, Irishvoice, from which all sternness had vanished. "It is only that we arelooking for Miss Poole, and we thought that possibly she might be inhere with you. "

"Miss Poole!"

The girl's face stiffened and blanched. She put out a hand to supportherself against the dressing-table. The Captain signed to astewardess, and the little crowd moved away. There was loud knockingon another door. 

"Why are they searching? . . . "

The stewardess patted her arm, even as the Captain had done, but beinga simple woman, she spoke simply, and without waste of words. 

"There is a fear that she is not on the ship. "

"Not on the ship!" whispered April. "But where else could she be?What other place? . . . "

Then she understood. There was no other place. . . . Her kneestrembled, and the stewardess supported her to the sofa. She sat downwith chattering teeth, smitten by a great and bitter cold. Diana--thesea . . . Warm, merry, gay Diana in the cold sea!

"I don't believe it. It can't be true!"

"Mrs. Stanislaw had reason to think that she intended to commit suicidetonight . . . And when she did not come to bed by two o'clock, shethought it her duty to inform the Captain, who is, of course, bound tosearch the ship. "

"It can't be true. . . . I don't believe it, " repeated Aprilmechanically; but all the time her heart was in terror, rememberingDiana's pale looks and the news she had heard tonight of Bellew'smarriage. Had he told Diana, then . . . And was this the result? Allat once it became impossible to sit still any longer. She must knowthe truth. She jumped up, searched feverishly for a cloak to put on, and pulling the stewardess with her, hurried on deck. But after a fewsteps they came to a standstill, for the crowd following the Captainhad suddenly and curiously broken up and separated before the door ofone of the deck cabins. Men and women who a moment before had beenclustering and whispering agitatedly together were now hurrying past, each apparently intent on reaching their own cabins in the quickesttime possible. For one horrible moment April thought it was sometragic discovery that was scattering them, but a moment later sherealized that tragedy had gone from the air. The deck was flooded withelectric light, and people's faces could plainly be seen. Manyexpressions were written there, but none of pity or sorrow. The men, for the most part, looked embarrassed; the women's expressions variedfrom frozen hauteur to scornful rage. They behaved like people who hadbeen bitterly wronged by some lying tale. The one predominatingemotion shared by all seemed to be an intense desire to escape from thescene. In less than two minutes not a soul was left on the deck savethe dazed and astounded April. She remained, wondering what on earthit was all about; why without visible reason the search had come tosuch a sudden end, and what could be the meaning of the phrase Mrs. Stanislaw had flung at her as she passed. 

"The April fool has surpassed herself!"

A sickening apprehension crept over the girl. That Diana was notoverboard seemed certain; but what new folly had she committed? As ifin answer to the gloomy query, the lights were once more switched out, and a strange vapoury greyness took possession of the ship. It wasthat still small hour when the yellowing East adds pallor to the nightwithout dispersing its darkness. 

Then two things happened. The door of that cabin before which thecrowd had so mysteriously disintegrated opened very softly, and throughthe aperture stole forth a woman's figure. . . . For a swift momentthe light from within rested on yellow hair and gleaming blue satin;then the door closed and the figure became part of the stealing dimnesswhich was neither night nor morning. But April, who stood in her path, had seen and recognized. 

"Diana!" she cried. 

The other girl stood stock still. Her face showed ghostly in thegreyness. She peered at April, clutching at her arm and whispering:

"For God's sake take me to your cabin!"

They crept down the deck like a pair of thieves, hardly breathing tillthey were behind the locked door. Without looking at her, April sawthat there was trouble to meet. She remembered the faces of the otherwomen, and the instinct to protect a fellow-creature against the mobrose in her. 

"Tell me what it is. I'll help you fight it out. "

But Diana had flung herself down with a defiant air on the sofa. 

"Don't you know? Weren't you one of the hounds on my track?" shedemanded, in a high-pitched whisper. April looked at her steadily. 

"The whole thing is an absolute mystery to me. I know nothing exceptthat first you were missing, and then apparently they found you----"

"Yes; in Geoffrey Bellew's cabin!"

The April fool had, indeed, surpassed herself! April blenched, but shetook the blow standing. After all, she had been as great a fool as thegirl sitting there, for she, too, had handed over her good name intothe careless hands of another; had sold her reputation for a song--asong that had lasted seventeen days, but seemed now in the act ofbecoming a dirge. 

"Do you mind telling me what happened, so that I know exactly where westand and what there is to be done. "

Diana laughed. 

"There is nothing to be done. "

April forgave her the laugh, because it was not composed of merrimentnor any elements of joyousness. 

"I went to Geoffrey's cabin because we had things to talk over, and itseemed the only place where we could get away from prying eyes. Somehow I stayed on and on, not realizing it was so late . . . Andthen, and then . . . " She began to stammer; defiance left her . . . "then, that awful knocking . . . Those faces staring in! . . . Allthose brutes of women!" She covered her eyes with her hands and brokedown utterly. "My God! I am done for!"

April thought so, too. It seemed to her they were both done for, butthere was not much help in saying so. Diana's confession horrifiedher, and she saw that her own future at the Cape was knocked as flat asa house of cards that is demolished by the wayward hand of a child. Yet at that moment her principal feeling was one of compassion for thegirl on the sofa, who alternately laughed and covered her eyes, and nowwith a pitiful attempt at bravado was attempting to light a cigarette, with hands that shook like aspen leaves. 

"I suppose it was that cat Stanislaw who started the search for me?"

"It appears that she got into a panic when you did not return to yourcabin, and went and told the Captain she feared you were overboard. "

"The she-fiend! Much she cared if I was at the bottom of the sea! Shehad pried out where I was, and that was her subtle way of advertisingit to the whole ship. "

"I believe you are right, " said April slowly, "though it is hard tounderstand how any one could do a thing so studiedly cruel. "

"Cruel! She is a fiend, I tell you, " cried Diana. "One of those womenwho have nothing left in their natures but hatred for those who arestill young and pretty. I realized long ago that she would ruin myreputation if she could, but I did not give her credit for so muchcleverness. "

"Well, at any rate, she is not so clever as she thinks, " said Aprildrily. "For she hasn't ruined your reputation, after all; only mine. "

Diana started; terror came into her eyes. 

"My God, April! You don't mean to give me away?"

April knew very well what she meant to do. She had tasted of "thetriumph and the roses and the wine, " and the bill had been presented. Even though it left her bankrupt and disgraced, she was going to honourthat bill; but she could not resist finding out what point of view washeld by Diana as to similar obligations. 

"You think, then, it is _my_ name that should be left with the smirchon it?" she asked dispassionately. 

Diana grew crimson and then very pale. 

"The scandal . . . " she stammered; "my people . . . You don't know whatit would mean to have such a story attached to me. "

"It would be better to have it attached to me, of course, " Aprilagreed, with an irony that was entirely wasted on Diana. 

"You see that, don't you?" she said eagerly. "After all, nobody knowsyour name, and it will soon be forgotten. But mine----"

April could only smile. She saw that pity was entirely wasted here. Diana was so eminently able to look after herself when it came to thematter of self-preservation. 

"And it will only be for another couple of days. After that we shallnever see Mrs. Stanislaw or any of this rotten crew of women again. "

"You are an optimist, " was April's only comment. "After all, it is Iwho will have to bear the brunt of their insolence tomorrow, whatevername I go under, " complained Diana. 

"I'm afraid I cannot give you my face as well as my name to help youbear it, " said April drily. Unexpectedly the retort pierced, for Dianasuddenly burst into tears. 

"I know you think me a beast. But I really _am_ thinking more of myfather than of myself. He is terribly proud. It would break his heartto hear this story of me being found in a man's cabin. Oh! How couldI have done such an awful thing! You think I don't care, but I cantell you I could simply die of shame. "

April was softened once more. 

"Don't cry, Diana, and don't worry any further. Of course, your nameshall never come out. That is quite settled. Come, now, and let mehelp you into bed. You had far better stay here than face that tigressStanislaw in her den. "

Nevertheless, when she had safely tucked the still weeping andcollapsed Diana into her berth, she thought it advisable to make anexcursion herself to the den of the tigress, ostensibly to fetchDiana's night-things; in reality to let her know where Diana wasspending the night, and that the girl had one woman friend at least tostand by her. Even as she expected, Mrs. Stanislaw was awake and lyingin wait, ready to spring. It must have been a disagreeable surprise tosee April instead of the victim. The former's manner was all suavity. 

"I am sorry to disturb you, but I have come for Miss Poole's things. She is not at all well, and I have persuaded her to spend the nightwith me. " Tranquilly she began to collect night-wear, slippers, hairand tooth brushes. The tigress, being thoroughly taken back, could donothing for the moment but breathe heavily and glare. April, with thewisdom of the serpent, made haste to escape before the feline creatureregained the use of claw and fang. 

But there were worse things to face in the morning. Even though Dianapostponed the evil hour by pretending she was ill and having herbreakfast in bed, she could not stay in the cabin for ever. Once thefirst days of seasickness are over there is a rule against peoplestopping in their berths all day except under doctor's orders, and thestewardesses are very rigid in enforcing this. Besides, the Captainand first officer inspect cabins between ten and eleven A. M. , and Dianahad no particular yearning to see them again just then. 

April went down to breakfast as usual, outwardly composed, but with aneye secretly alert to spy out the land. It did not take her long todiscover that all the women were in arms, with their stabbing knivesready for action. Mrs. Stanislaw had evidently not been idle, and thename of "Lady Diana" was already bracketed with that of the April Fool. To send her entirely to Coventry was rather too drastic treatment foran earl's daughter, but many a cold glance came her way. 

"Birds of a feather nest together, " was one of the tart observationsthat fell upon her ears as she passed a group of women who onlyyesterday were fawning upon her. Plainly it was considered a freshoutrage upon womanhood that she should have given the protection of hername and cabin to the heroine of last night's scandal. 

She did not mind very much. With a clear conscience on this count atleast, she was able to meet their displeasure imperturbably. But shecould not help feeling sorry for the real Diana. 

That unfortunate creature, on venturing forth to her own cabin, was metby the sight of Mrs. Stanislaw dragging all her possessions into thecorridor. It appeared that even for the few remaining days at sea thetigress could not lie down with the black sheep! A sweet andsympathetic soul, who also lived down the same alley and had the samehorror of contaminating influence, had therefore offered to take herin. The picturesque incident was being witnessed and silently approvedby women in the neighbouring cabins, who, curiously enough, allhappened to be busy packing with their doors open, so as not to missanything. 

It must be remembered that most of these people had been persistentlyflouted, even insulted, by Diana during the voyage. Some of them, matrons with daughters of their own, were really shocked by the "badexample" her behaviour had established. So it was perhaps not to bewondered at that a sort of combined sniff of holiness andself-righteousness went up to Heaven when the culprit came barging downthe passage, nose in air, and a defiant flush upon her cheek. Stumbling over the trunks and piles of clothes which littered theplace, she managed to gain her room, and close the door behind her witha resounding bang to show how little she cared about any of them. Butit was immediately reopened by Mrs. Stanislaw, come to fetch more ofher things, and not averse to talking as long as possible over thebusiness. By continually going backwards and forwards for smallarmfuls of articles, and always leaving the door open, she managed todeprive Diana of all privacy. The latter bore with it for as long asher patience lasted, which was about five minutes. Then she flung outof the room, hoping to find refuge elsewhere. But wherever she went itwas the same. In the writing-room everyone bent suddenly over theirblotting-pads, and the balmy morning air took on an arctic chill. Music and conversation faded away when she sauntered into the musicsaloon. On deck even the sailors looked at her curiously. The storyof her indiscretion had penetrated to every corner of the vessel. Themiserable girl fetched a book from the library and tried to hideherself behind it, seated in her deck-chair. She soon had that side ofthe ship to herself. 

Later, it was discovered that a lady with whom she was engaged to playoff a final in deck quoits had "scratched. " The same thing happenedwith regard to the bridge-drive. The girl who was cast as her opponentin the opening round publicly withdrew her name from the competition. There it was, up on the games notice-board--a girl's name with a blackpencil mark drawn through it. All who ran might read, and a good manydid run to read. Clearly the April Fool had become the object of themost unanimous taboo ever set in motion on a ship. Her name was mud. Even the men did not rally to her aid, though she had been popularenough with them before. There are few men who will not crumple upbefore a phalanx of women with daggers in their hands and feathers intheir hair; even as the big-game hunter thinks it no shame to fleebefore a horde of singing ants! The only two who behaved with naturaldecency were Bellew and Sarle. The latter appeared utterly unconsciousof anything unusual when he came and sat down by the two girls. Theremight have been a little more deference in his manner to Diana; thatwas all. As for Bellew, he had not been trained in the diplomaticservice for nothing. He possessed to a marked degree the consummatesang-froid that is a natural attribute of aides-de-camp. Nothing couldhave been more cool than his manner when he joined the group andsuggested a game of quoits. The whole world of the ship had its earscocked to listen to these two, and was watching them acutely--with eyesthat gazed at the horizon. If only Diana could have comported herselfin a rational manner the situation might at least have been decentlysalvaged, if not carried with triumph. But she had lost her nerve. Intrepid throughout the voyage in committing every possible folly, now, when a little real courage was needed, she crumpled. The fierce whitelight of public disapproval withered her. It was pitiful to see theway she went to pieces--to hear her hysterical laughter and foolishremarks. 

"For goodness' sake have the courage of your sins! Show some blood!"was the rebuke April longed to administer together with a soundshaking. But anger was futile, and rebuke out of the question. Theonly wise thing was to retreat in as good order as possible to thecabin of which Diana now enjoyed sole possession, and there reconsiderthe position. 

"I can't bear it, " she whimpered desperately. "I can't stand anothertwo days of it. I tell you I shall go mad. "

"Nonsense!" April responded, with a cheerfulness that found no echo inher heart. "You must take a pull on yourself, Diana. As you said lastnight, you owe these women nothing, and will probably never see themagain. "

But Diana's lay had changed tune. 

"Oh! Won't I? . . . I feel they will haunt me all my days. What isthat couplet?--

 "He who hath a thousand friends hath not a friend to spare; But he who hath one enemy shall meet him everywhere. "

A man said to me yesterday that what is done on the voyage to the Capeis known at Cairo within a week if it is sufficiently scandalous. " Shewept. 

"A blue look-out for me!" thought her listener, dismally imagining thename of April Poole flashing from one end of the great continent toanother. Not only at the Cape would she be debarred from earning herliving! This impression was confirmed by some of the remarks womenmade to her later in the day. They were all quite willing to befriendly as long as she was not in the company of the black sheep. 

"She might just as well take ship back to England, " one said. "No onewill employ her as a governess after this. The story will be all overCape Town within an hour of our arrival. "

"You can't live these things down in Africa, " said another. "Ofcourse, she might get a job up-country, where people are not particularand only want a kind of servant to look after their children. "

It was no use April protesting against the cruelty of condemning a girlfor ever because of one indiscretion. Her listeners only looked at hersuspiciously. One old Englishwoman, who had lived many years in SouthAfrica, put the case more cynically than kindly:

"Girls who earn their living are not allowed the luxury ofindiscretion. If it had been _you_, now----"

"Do you mean that I should have been forgiven by reason of my position?"

"My dear, " was the dry reply, "it is the same old snobbish worldwherever you go. What constitutes a crime in one strata of society isonly eccentricity in another. "

April communicated the gist of this worldly wisdom to Diana, halfhoping that it might give the latter courage to disclose herself andperhaps clear them both of any worse indictment than upon the count offoolishness. But it was a futile hope, and nothing came of it exceptmore tears and another wild appeal not to be "given away. " All senseof justice had left Diana, or been swamped by the newly-born fear forher family's honour. 

Thus the miserable day wore to its close. A steward, no doubt heavilysubsidized, spent most of the afternoon carrying notes backwards andforwards between Diana and Bellew. April stayed in her cabin as muchas possible, and for the rest was careful to be always near otherpeople, so that Sarle would find no opportunity of giving expression tothe things to be seen in his eyes. It was a precarious joy to readthose sweet things, but she dared not let him utter them. For when thedebacle came at Cape Town, he must have nothing to regret. The momentthey were quit of the ship and its scandal she would be relieved of herpromise to Diana and able to tell him the truth. If he had spoken noword of love to her before then he would be free as air to go his waywithout speaking one, while she just slipped away and disappeared, tobe seen of him no more. But if he chose not to go his ways----? Ifwhen he heard all he still wished to stay? Ah! what a sweet, perilousthought was that! She dared not dwell on it, and yet if she banishedit utterly from her mind all the thrill went out of life, and everythrob of the engine bringing them nearer land seemed a beat of herheart soon to be silenced for ever. 

Evening came at last--an evening of dinner parties and best frocks, with an early commencement of the bridge-drive afterwards. Sarle, several days before, had arranged to have a special small table forfour with a special dinner, asking April to be his hostess and choosethe other two guests. She, with an instinct that they would be leftout in the cold by everyone else, had chosen Diana and Bellew. Now, atthe last moment, Diana shirked the ordeal, and from behind her lockeddoor announced in muffled tones that she had a headache and was goingto bed. So April sent a message to Sarle, giving him the chance offilling the gap if he so wished. When she went down she found himwaiting for her with Bellew and Dick Nichols, the old poker-playing, battle-scarred warrior of the smoke-room, whose acquaintance she wasdelighted to make. He was a little bit shy at first at sitting down inhis worn though spotless white-duck slacks opposite the beautiful girlin black and silver, with straps of amethysts across her satinyshoulders. But she had that gift which is born rather than acquired ofsetting people at their ease, and she wanted to get the liking of thisman who was Sarle's friend. So she beguiled him by the blue of hereyes and the eager interest of her smile, and he opened up like a bookof strange stories and pictures under the hand of a child. Listeningto the talk, she was transported to that strange region of bush andspaces that is far from being enchanted land and yet casts aneverlasting spell. She heard lions roar and the shuffling steps ofoxen plodding through dust; felt the brazen glare of the sun againsther eyes; saw the rain swishing down on grass that grew taller than aman's head. 

She remembered a verse of Percival Gibbon's about the veld:

 There's a balm for crippled spirits In the open view Running from your very footsteps Out into the blue, Like a wagon track to heaven Straight 'twixt God and you. 

Both Sarle and Nichols knew that track, she was sure. They were oddlyalike, these two veld men, with their gentle ways, their brown muscularhands, and their eyes full of distance. A very different type to thesleek and handsome Bellew, who sat so composed under the many blightingglances cast his way. 

"They know about the guile of creatures, but he has made an art ofbeguiling human beings, " thought April, and all the vexation of the daycame surging over her, almost spoiling her dinner and the pleasure ofthe evening. Almost--not quite! When you are "young and very sweet, with the jasmine in your hair, " and have only to raise your eyes to seedesire of you sitting unashamed in the eyes of the man you love, nothing can quite spoil your gladness of living. All the same, shestuck to the card-room the whole evening, and her resolution to giveSarle no chance of saying anything he might regret. He must haverealized it after a time, when she had once or twice eluded his littleplots to get her on deck, but he gave no sign. He was a hunter, andcould bide his time with patience and serenity. 

It was not in her plan that when they parted it should be just wherethe shadows of a funnel fell, nor that he should leave a swift kiss, inthe palm of the hand she tendered him in bidding good-night; yet bothof these things came to pass. 

 * * * * * *

The stewardess who brought her an early cup of tea handed her a letterwith the remark:

"It was under your door, m'lady. And please would you like your bigtrunks from the hold brought here, or will you pack in thebaggage-room?"

"Oh, here, I think, stewardess. It will be much more convenient. "

"Of course it will, " agreed the good woman. "But, there! how thebaggage men do grumble at having to lug up big trunks like yours andMr. Bellew's!"

"I am very sorry, " said April "but I'm afraid I can't help it. " Shehad reflected swiftly that as she and Diana had so many possessions toexchange before packing, it could only be done in the privacy of hecabin. She was very tired after a "white night" all too crowded withthe black butterflies of unhappy thought, and when she looked at thesuperscription on the envelope and saw that it was in Diana's writingshe sighed. All the worries of the coming day rose up before her likea menacing wall with broken glass on the top. 

"Blow Diana! I wish she were at the bottom of the sea, " she said toherself, with the irritability born of a bad night. 

Leaning on her elbow, she sipped at the fragrant tea and reflectedsorrowfully on what a happy creature she would have been that morningif she had never met Diana Vernilands and entered into the mad plan ofexchanging identities! What a clear and straight road would have lainbefore her! . . . With the man whose kiss still burnt the palm of herhand waiting for her at the end of it! But instead--what? She sighedagain and tears came into her eyes as she lay back on the pillows andtore open the envelope. Then suddenly her body lying there so soft anddelicate in the luxurious berth stiffened with horror. The tears frozein her eyes. The letter at which she was staring was composed of twoloose and separate pages, on the first of which was scrawled a coupleof brief sentences signed by a name:

"_I cannot bear it any longer. I am going to end my troubles in thesea. _

"APRIL POOLE. "

Mechanically her clutch relaxed on this terrible first page, and sheturned to the second. It was headed: "_absolutely private andconfidential, to be destroyed immediately after reading, _" and thewords heavily underscored; then came wild phrases meant for April'sprivate eyes alone. 

"I am leaving you to face it all. For God's sake forgive me and keepyour promise. Never let any one on the ship or in Africa know thetruth. Spare my poor father the agony of having his name dragged inthe dust as well as losing his daughter. Do not do anything exceptunder the counsel of _the other person_ on this ship who knows thetruth and who will advise you the exact course to take. But do notapproach him in any way or speak of this to him until all the miseryand excitement of my suicide is over. I have written to him, too, andhe will advise you at the right time, but to drag him into this wouldonly ruin his career, and earn my curse for ever. I trust you utterlyin all this. Oh, April, do not betray my trust! Do not fail me! Ibeg and implore you with my last breath to do as I ask. Go on using myname, and money, and everything belonging to me until the moment that_he_ advises you to either write my father the truth or return toEngland and break it to him personally. If he hears it in any otherway it will kill him, and his blood be on your soul as well as mine. Ipray, I beseech, I implore you, be faithful to your unhappy friend, "DIANA. "

It took a long time for April's stricken mind to absorb the meaning ofit all. Over and over she read the blurred tear-blistered sentences, sometimes weeping, sometimes painfully muttering them aloud to herself. When she had finished at last, her course was set, her mind made up. She knew the letter by heart, and sitting up in bed, white as a ghost, she slowly destroyed it into minutest atoms, putting them into a littlepurse that lay in the rack beside her. Then she rang the bell. To thestewardess who came she said calmly, but with pallid lips:

"If Miss Poole is in her cabin, ask her to come to me. "

Then she whipped out of bed, flung on a wrapper, and arranged her hair. When the woman returned, she knew the answer before it was spoken. 

"Miss Poole is not in her cabin. Her bed has not been slept in. "

"Ask the Captain to come here. "

In a few moments it was all over. The Captain had come and gone again, with the first page of Diana's letter in his hand. The procedure afterthat was much the same as it had been two nights before, except thatthe Captain went alone on his search, and the result, with the evidencehe held in his hand, was a foregone conclusion from the first. Allinquiry terminated in the same answer. No one had set eyes on "MissPoole" since the previous evening. The last person to speak with herwas the stewardess, who, on finding she did not intend going to dinner, had offered to bring her some, but had been refused. The rest wasconjecture--a riddle that only the sea, lying as blue and flat andstill as the sea in a gaudy oleograph, could answer. The story hadflown round the ship like wildfire, and hardly a soul but felt as if heor she had taken part in a murder. Women reproached each other andthemselves, and men went sombre-eyed to the smoke-room and ordereddrinks that left them still dry-mouthed. The blue and golden day withthe perfumes of Africa spicing its breath took on a brazen and aridlook. It was as if old Mother Africa had already reached out herbrazen hand and dealt a blow, just to remind everyone on the boat thatshe was there waiting for them, perhaps with a tragedy for each in herPandora box. The Captain had not let it be known where and with whomDiana's last note had been found. With the remembrance of April'sashen face as she had handed it to him, he wished to spare the girl asmuch as possible. 

As for her, the one clear thought in her mind was that she must obeyDiana's last behest and keep silence. It was not hard to do that, forshe had no words. Throughout the day, in a kind of mental torpor, shehelped the stewardess sort and pack all the costly clothes andpossessions which were really Diana's, putting them into the trunksalready labelled for a hotel in Cape Town; her own things were lockedand sealed up in the abandoned cabin on the lower deck, and she wouldprobably never see them again. She did not attempt to speak to Bellew, though she knew that an interview with him awaited her, for there couldbe no mistake about his being that _other person_ referred to inDiana's letter. Neither did she see Vereker Sarle. He sent a noteduring the afternoon, a very sweet and friendly note, hoping that shewas not ill, and begging her not to be too upset by the tragedy. Andbetween the lines she read as he meant her to do. 

"Why are you hiding from me? Come on deck. I want you. "

She wanted him, too. She longed for the comfort of his presence, butdid not dare meet him. A greater barrier than ever existed betweenthem. The dead girl stood there with her finger on her lips. Thetruth could not now be told to Sarle, until, at any rate, it was knownto that unhappy old man in England whose head must be bowed in sorrowto the grave. After that, who could tell?

Somehow she felt that all hope of personal happiness with Vereker Sarlewas over. It was unfit that so clean-souled and upright a man shouldbe involved in the tangle of lies and deceit and tragedy that she andDiana had between them encompassed. He would shrink from her when heknew all, of that she felt certain, and it made her shrink in turn tothink of it. So she sent only a little formal line in answer to hisnote, making no reference to the likelihood of seeing him on deck oranywhere else. It looked cold and cruel enough to her, that note, likea little knife she was sending him; but it was a two-edged knife, withwhich she also wounded herself. 

The stewardess brought her tea and toast, and she stayed in her roomall day. Only in the cool of the evening, when everyone else wasdining, she crept out for a few moments, and leaned upon the ship'srail, drinking in the air and staring at the moody line of land aheadthat meant fresh experiences and trouble on the morrow! She was afraidto look at the sea!

No farewell concert took place that night. People whispered togetherin little groups for a while after dinner, but all the merriment of thelast night at sea was lost in the sense of tragedy that hung about theship. Almost everyone was oppressed by a feeling of guiltyresponsibility for what had happened. The inherent decency of humannature asserted itself, and each one thought:

"Why did I not give the poor girl a helping hand instead of driving herto desperation?" It was remembered that "Lady Diana" had stood by her, and everyone yearned to absolve their souls by explanation to theperson who (to her great regret) bore that rank and title. But she hadput a barricade of stewardesses between her and them, and was invisibleto callers. Some few of the younger and more resilient passengers, inan effort to shake off what seemed to them useless gloom, went andasked the Captain to allow the band to play on deck. He consented, stipulating only that there should be no dancing. Of course, no onewanted to dance, but as ships' bands specialize in dance music, themusicians struck at once into a tango, and it happened to be the oneDiana had made her own by singing her little French rhyme to it:

 "Tout le monde Au salon On y tan-gue, on y tan-gue. "

It only needed that. Every mind instantly conjured up the picture of avivid figure in a frock that gleamed blue as sulphurous flames. Ahysterical woman sprang up screaming shrilly, and had to be taken away;a solitary sea gull, its plumage shining with a weird blueness in theelectric light, chose this moment to fly low along the deck, crying itswailing cry. That was enough. Another woman began to scream; themusic stopped, and there was almost a panic to get away from a spotthat seemed haunted. In a little while the first-class deck was asdeserted as the deck of a derelict, and the ship was wrapped insilence. The personality of the April Fool seemed more imposing indeath than it had been in life!

By morning the _Clarendon Castle_ had reached her destined port, andlay snugly berthed in Cape Town docks. April, venturing out at the tipof dawn to get a first glimpse of Africa, found that a great mountainwrapped in a mantle of mist stood in the way. It seemed almost as ifby reaching out a hand she could touch the dark sides of it, so closeit reared, and so bleak it brooded above her. Yet she knew this to bean illusion of the atmosphere, for between her and the mountain's baselay the streets and little white houses and gardens of Cape Town. Itmight have been some southern town on the shores of the Mediterraneanexcept for that mountain, which made it unlike any other place in theworld. The "Table of the Mass, " the Portuguese named it, and when, asnow, silver mists unrolled themselves upon the flat top and streamed inveils down the gaunt sides, they said that the cloth was spread for theSacred Feast. 

April thought of all the great wanderers whose first sight of Africamust inevitably have been the same as hers--this mysterious mountainstanding like a grey witch across the path! Drake sighted it from afarin 1580; Diaz was obliged to turn back from it by his mutinyingsailors; Livingstone, Stanley, Cecil Rhodes, "Doctor Jim, " all thegreat adventurers, and thousands of lesser ones, had looked upon it, and gone past it, to their sorrow. For if history be true, none canever come out from behind that brooding witch untouched by sorrow. They may grow great, they may reap gold or laurels, or their heart'sdesire; but in the reaping and the gaining their souls will know greysorrow. A rhyme of her childhood came unsolicited into April's mind:

 How many miles to Banbury? Three score and ten. Will I be there by candlelight? Yes, and back again: Only--_mind the old witch by the way_!

She shivered, but the sun burst like a sudden glorious warrior upon theworld, dispersing fear, and making her feel as though, after all, everything and everyone was young, and all life decked out in springarray. If only the burden of deceit had not been upon her, how blitheand strong in hope could she have set foot in this new land. 

As she turned to go back to her cabin she found Geoffrey Bellew by herside. He appeared a little haggard, and some of his habitualself-assurance was missing. No doubt he had seen Table Mountain onformer visits to Africa, yet he looked at it rather than into the eyesof the girl he addressed. 

"Will you go to the Mount Nelson Hotel?" he said in a low tone. "I canmeet you there, and we will talk matters over. "

"When?" she said. Spring went out of her. "Where is the hotel?"

He reflected for a moment. 

"Well, perhaps you had better give yourself into my charge. I will seeyou through the Customs, and drive you up afterwards, and make allarrangements--shall I?"

She consented. It seemed as good a plan as any for avoiding bother, and had the recommendation that it would keep off Vereker Sarle. So, later, when crowds began to surge and heave upon the ship, everyone madwith excitement at meeting their friends, and mountains of luggagebarging in every direction, she stayed close by the side of this manshe disliked intensely, yet whose smooth ability to deal with men andmatters she could not but admire. Obstacles fell down like ninepinsbefore him; stewards ran after him; officials waited upon him; hisbaggage, the heaviest and most cumbersome on the ship, was the first togo down the gangway, and April's with it. A few hurried farewells, andshe found herself seated beside him in an open landau, driving behind aconveyance full of trunks towards the Customs House. A dull painburned within her at the remembrance of Sarle's face. He had lookedfrom her to Bellew with those steady eyes that saw so much and betrayedso little, merely remarking, as he took the hand she tendered lightlyin farewell:

"One doesn't say good-bye in Africa, Lady Diana, only 'Solong'--meaning that we may meet again tomorrow, perhaps even today. "

He had not even looked after them as they left the ship. Yet April, because she loved him, was aware of his astonishment at this strangeand sudden intimacy of hers with Bellew. Still, what was the use ofcaring? There were worse hurts in store for him, if, indeed, they metagain as he predicted. She bit on the bullet and ignored the pain ather heart. Bellew did not waste any small talk on her; that was onecomfort. He seemed to be more concerned about his luggage than abouther, shouting out to the coloured men to be careful and to removenothing from the van without his direction. At the Customs House, infact, all his stuff was left assiduously alone. April's was opened andgone through rapidly by the officials; but the production of his papersand credentials as an attaché to the Governor of Zambeke, or some suchoutlandish place, gave Bellew instant immunity, and no single articleof his belongings was unlocked. Within a few moments they were again_en route_ for their hotel. 

Their way took them by the main thoroughfare of the town, and April wasastonished at the numbers of people flocking on the pavements, fillingtrams and rickshaws, drinking tea on the overhanging balconies andrestaurants. The air was sunny, yet with the fresh bite of the sea init, and everyone seemed gay and careless. The whole of one side of thewide street was lined by Malays and natives offering flowers for sale. In front of the Bank a sort of floral bazaar was established, thebright head "dookies, " silver bangles, and glowing dark eyes of thevendors making a brave show above the massed glory of colour in theirbaskets. Huge bunches of pink proteas, spiked lilies of every hue, bales of heather and waxen white chinckerichees filled the air withheavy perfume. The sellers came pressing to the passing carriages, soliciting custom in the soft clipped speech of the Cape native. Bellew, for all he was so distrait, had the graceful inspiration tostop and take on a load of colour and perfume, and April for a momentlost count of her troubles in sheer joy of the senses. 

"But where do they come from?" she cried. "I have never seen suchflowers in the world. "

"There _are_ no flowers in the world like those from Table Mountain, "he said. 

"That old bleak beast?" She gazed in astonishment at the grey massstill hovering above and about them. "She looks as though nothingwould grow on her gaunt sides except sharp flints. "

Bellew laughed. 

"Those gaunt sides are covered with beauty, and hundreds of people maketheir living from them. "

"Africa is wonderful, " sighed April, and suddenly the weight of herburden returned. 

"Africa's all right, if it weren't for the people in it, " he retortedmoodily. 

The hotel proved to be a picturesque building perched on rising groundabove lovely gardens. Some of its countless windows looked over thetown to the sea; but most of them seemed to be peered into by therelentless granite eyes of the mountain. April's first act was to drawthe blinds of her room. 

"That mountain will sit upon my heart and crush me into my grave if Istay here long, " she thought, and felt despairing. Bellew had engagedrooms for her, boldly inscribing the name of "Lady Diana Vernilands" inthe big ledger, while she stood by, acquiescing in, if not contributingto the lie. Afterwards he went away to superintend the unloading ofhis luggage. It appeared that his three immense trunks contained muchvaluable glass and china for the Governor's wife, and he was taking norisks concerning their safety. 

Although making only a short stay, and in spite of the glum looks ofthe porters, he had everything carried carefully up to his room on thefourth floor. Glum looks were wasted on the bland Bellew, who lived bythe motto "_Je m'en fiche de tout le monde_, " and who on his ownconfession would have liked Africa to himself. 

No word concerning the tragedy had yet passed between him and April, but she knew that something was impending, and that she would probablydo as he told her, for he seemed in the strange circumstances to occupythe position of sole executor to Diana's will. On going down to lunchshe found that he had engaged a small table for them both, but was notthere himself. What pleased her less was that as regards company shemight just as well have been back on board the _Clarendon Castle_. Almost every one of her fellow-passengers was scattered around themultiplicity of small tables. It would seem as if the "Mount Nelson"was the only hotel in the town, although she remembered quite a numberof others in the Directory. Even Vereker Sarle was there. Far downthe long room she saw him sitting with two other men: one of them, DickNichols, looking very much at home; the other a distinguished, saturnine man with an English air to him, in spite of being burnt asblack as the ace of spades. She was aware that Sarle saw her, and hada trembling fear that he might join her. It was almost a relief whenBellew came in towards the end of the meal, for she knew he would provean effective barrier. He looked hot and weary, and explained that hehad been obliged to go back down town to attend to some business. 

"I think you had better take up your quarters here for a time, " headded. She flinched at the prospect. 

"But why? It is so public! Everyone off the boat seems to be here, and I shall have to keep on telling lies just because I know them. Itseems to me I can't open my mouth without telling a lie, and, " shefinished desperately, "it makes me sick. "

He looked at her coldly. His fine brown eyes could be hard as flint. 

"I thought it was a promise--some sort of a compact--to do what wasbest--_for her_?" he remarked. A little cold wave of the sea seemed tocreep over her soul, and she could see her hands trembling as she dealtwith the fruit on her plate. 

"Very well, " she acquiesced tonelessly, at last; "if you think it best. How long am I to stay?"

"Until next week's mail-boat sails, " he said slowly. "I have been downto see if I could get you a berth on this week's, but she is full up. "

"You want me to return to England?" There was desperate resistance inher voice now. She had not realized until that moment how much shewished to stay. 

"It is not what _I_ want: it is for her, " he insisted ruthlessly. "Youmust go to her father and explain everything. Letters are no good. "

She was silent, but her eyes were wretched. She wanted to stay inAfrica. 

"After all, it is your share of the payment for folly, " he pursuedrelentlessly. That was too much for her temper. 

"And yours?" she flashed back. 

His face did not change, but his voice became very gentle. 

"Don't worry. I too am paying. "

She would have given much to recall her fierce retort then, for afterall, it was true that she was not the only one hit. This man too wassuffering under his mask. He had loved Diana, and that his love wasthe direct cause of the tragedy must make his wretchedness the moreacute. With an impulse of pity and understanding she put out her handto him across the table, but instead of taking it he passed her alittle dish of salted almonds. Mortified, she looked up in time to seeSarle and his friends going by, and was left wondering how much theyhad witnessed, and whether Bellew had meant to snub or spare her. Thewhole thing was a miserable mix-up, and it almost seemed to her as ifDiana had as usual got the best of it, for at any rate she was out ofthe deceit and discomfort. 

She thought so still more when the women surrounded her in the lounge, and drew her in among them to take coffee. They were all as merry asmagpies, and seemed to have clean forgotten the tragedy of the shipexcept in so far as it lent a thrill to conversation. Several who weregoing on the next day to different parts of the country pressed her tovisit them at their homes. Mrs. Stanislaw came up with her clawssheathed in silk and a strange woman in tow, and murmuring: "I _must_introduce Mrs. Janis. She is anxious to know all you can tell her ofpoor Miss Poole, " stood smiling with a feline delight in the encounter. April turned from her bitter face to the other woman, anelaborately-dressed shrew with a domineering hook to her nose, and hadthe thankful feeling of a mouse who has just missed by a hair's breadththe click of the trap on its nose. 

"I'm afraid I can give you no more information than is alreadyavailable, " she said distantly. 

"It seems to be a most shameful affair, " complained Mrs. Janis; "andthe wretched girl apparently has no relatives one can write to. "

"None, " stated April firmly and gratefully. She could well imagine howthis lady with a grievance would treat the feelings of relations. 

"Perhaps Captain Bellew might know of someone, " purred Mrs. Stanislaw. 

"You had better ask him. " It was April's turn to smile, though wrylyenough. "He will deal with you without the gloves, " she thought, andturned away from them. 

The lounge was a pleasant place, with French windows leading into thegarden; deep chairs and palms were scattered everywhere, and it smelledfragrantly of coffee and cigars. Groups of men and women clusteredabout the small tables, smoking and talking. One corner was fenced offby a little counter, from behind which a distinguished-looking waiterdispensed cocktails and liqueurs with the air of a duke bestowingdecorations. This was Léon, who knew the pet drinks and secret sins ofeveryone in South Africa, but whose discreet eyes told nothing. Theknowledge he possessed of men, women, and things would have made afascinating volume, but no one had been able to unseal his lips. Hehardly ever spoke, simply mixing the drinks and indicating with hishand the tables to which they should be carried. April was in thepresence of a personage without being aware of it. Neither did sheknow until much later that this pleasant lounge was one of theprincipal gossip centres of the country. In its smoky atmosphere manya fair reputation has withered away, many a great name been tarnishedfor ever. As for the baby scandals that are born there, have legs andarms and wings stuck on to them and are sent anteloping or flying allover the country, their name is legion!

Bellew had left her immediately after lunch. He said that he had anappointment with an old friend of his mother's, and should be leavingto stay with her for several days before continuing his journey. Aprilhad, in fact, from her seat in the lounge seen him come out of the liftinto the hall accompanied by a little bent old lady, and watched themdrive away together in a taxi. Thereafter she breathed more freely, and a longing to be in the open air out of this smoke-laden atmospheremoved her to extricate herself from the chattering crowd of women andmake her way to the veranda. It was cool and fresh there under thestone porticoes, with veils of green creepers hanging between her andthe blazing sunshine and colour of the garden. She sat down, and, asis always the way with a woman in moments of silence and beauty, herthoughts immediately clustered about the image of the man she loved. What was Vereker Sarle thinking of her? Would he go from the Cape tohis home up north without trying to see her again? While she ponderedthese things he walked out through one of the tall French windows andcame towards her, followed by his dark, saturnine friend. Theyapproached like men sure of a welcome, Sarle smiling in his disarminglyboyish fashion, the other man smiling too: but with a difference. There was some quality of sardonic amusement and curiosity in hisglance that arrested April's instant attention. 

"I warned you that it is hard to shake off your friends in thiscountry, " said Sarle gaily. "May we come and sit with you for a littlewhile? Sir Ronald tells me that you and he are quite old friends. "

Her heart gave a leap. Instantly she understood the sardonic amusementof the stranger's demeanour. If any other man than Sarle had beenthere she would have thrown up the sponge. But she could not bear tohave the truth stripped and exposed there before him. It was toobrutal. If he must know, he should know in a less cruel manner thanthat. She faced the new-comer squarely, her features frozen to anoutward composure. 

"This is a very pleasant surprise, Lady Di!" he said easily, while hiseyes expressed the utmost amusement. "It must be nearly two yearssince we met?"

"Oh, surely much longer than that?" she answered, and her smile wasalmost as mocking as his. They stood taking each other's measurewhilst Sarle dragged forward some chairs. A faint admiration came intothe man's face. She was a fraud, and he knew that she knew that heknew it, but he had also to acknowledge that there was fine metal inher even for an adventuress. As a duellist at least she seemed worthyof his steel. Besides, in her gown of faint lilac and her orchid-ladenhat she was a very entrancing vision. The duel might be picturesque aswell as piquant. 

"I trust you left Lord Vernilands well?" he inquired politely. She dugdesperately in her mind for a moment. It seemed foolishly important tobe truthful, even though this man knew she was acting a lie. 

"He is never very well in the winter, " she answered, without anyapparent interlude for thought. Sir Ronald was even more pleased withher. 

"That is so, " he agreed. "I remember when I left Bethwick that autumnhe was just in for his annual bout of bronchitis. "

The two men sat down, and, with her permission, smoked. Sarle hadplaced his chair where he could look full at her, missing no shade ofexpression on her face. His frank warm eyes enfolded her in a gaze oftrust and devotion that was as patent to the other man as to her. There was no peace for her in that gaze; things were too desperate forthat; but it nerved her resolution to fence to the death with thispolished gamester. She had her back to the wall, and resolved to diefighting rather than make an ignominious surrender before the man sheloved. 

Sarle looked from one to the other contentedly. For once hisfar-seeing veld eyes played him false. 

"I am so glad you two are friends, " he said. Then, addressing April, "Odd that we shouldn't have discovered it before, for, you know, Kennais my best friend, as well as my ranching partner. "

PART III

They sat talking for close on two hours, and at the end of that timeApril rose with a laugh on her lips and many a light and airy reasonwhy she could not stay. It was too hot, she must rest a little, shehad unpacking to do. Even after rising from her chair she lingered asif regretful to go, but they could not persuade her to stay and havetea with them. Presently she sauntered off slowly, leaving a promisethat she would dine with them that evening. She did not know why shepromised. As she walked away, sauntering, because her feet seemed aslead-laden as her heart, she told herself that it would be better to goand dine with the sharks in Table Bay than sit down again with RonaldKenna. In her room she lay exhausted and very still for a long time, with the feeling that she had escaped from a red-hot gridiron. Shelooked in her mirror on entering, expecting to see a vision of Medusa, hair hanging in streaks, eyes distraught, and deep ruts in the cheeks;but her face was charming and composed, and a fixed smile curved hermouth. She shuddered at her own image. 

"Lies deform and obscure the soul, " she thought, "yet my face bears nomark of the lies I have told this afternoon, nor the hell my spirit haspassed through!"

Only when she removed her hat something strange arrested her attention, something that might have been a feather or a flake of snow lying onher luminous black hair just where it grew low in a widow's peak at thecentre of her forehead. She made to brush it lightly away, but itstayed, for it was not a feather at all, but a lock of her own hairthat had turned white. A little gift from Ronald Kenna!

He had played with her as a cat plays with a mouse before killing it. True, he had not killed her, nor (which would have been the same thing)exposed her mercilessly before Vereker Sarle's eyes. But he had madeher pay for his clemency. Probably the cleverness with which sheslipped out of the corners into which she was hedged, her skill indarting from under his menacing paw, roused his admiration as well ashis sporting instinct. It must have been a great game for him, buthers were the breathless emotions of the helpless mouse whose heartgoes pit-a-pat in the fear of being gobbled up the next moment. 

It was all very subtle. Sarle never suspected what was going on, socool and sweet she looked under her shady hat, so unfailing was hercomposure. He was accustomed to the dry and biting flavour of Kenna'sspeech, and paid no great heed to it. He believed himself listening tothe witty reminiscences of two people with many friends and interestsin common, and nothing in the girl's manner as she lied and fenced andswiftly covered up mistakes with jests and laughter betrayed the agonyof baiting she was enduring. Kenna was a friend he would have trustedwith everything he had in the world; but he was aware of a twist inthat friend's nature which made him look at women with sardonic eyes. It had not always been so. Some woman had given that cruel twist to aloyal and trusting nature; some loved hand had dealt the wound thatfestered in Ronald Kenna's heart; and Sarle, because he guessed this, forgave his friend much. But he would never have forgiven had he knownwhat was passing there under his very eyes. The woman he loved was onthe rack, and he never guessed it because she smiled instead of cryingout. 

And it was all to suffer again that evening. April knew that, as shedressed herself carefully for dinner. There was no mistaking Kenna'spressing request that they should be allowed to come to her table. Sarle had not had time to ask for himself alone. Kenna had forestalledhim, and there was double craft in the action: he meant to keep hiseye, or rather his claw, on her, while preventing her from being alonewith Sarle. If she was in the fray to protect Sarle from the pain offinding her out, he was in it to protect Sarle from her. The situationmight have been funny if it had not been grim. She could have laughedat it but for her fear of Kenna, but for an old man's pain and misery, but that the whole miserable structure of deceit rested on a girl'sdrowned body. 

She put on a black gown. It seemed only fitting to absent herselfawhile from the felicity of colour. Besides, all her joy in clotheshad gone. How gladly would she now have donned her own shabbygarments, if with them could have returned the old peace of mind! Buteven the plain little demi-toilette of black chiffon was peerlesslycut, and her whiteness glowed like a pearl through its filmy darkness. There was no way of dressing her hair that would hide the white featheron her forehead, and after trying once or twice she left it. It lookedvery remarkable, that touch of age above her young, flower-like face. She could not altogether hate it, for it was a scar won bravely enough, and in desperate battle. Africa had not taken long to put its mark onher!

The men were waiting for her in the lounge; Sarle looking radiantlyhappy because he was sure of the society of the two people he cared formost in the world; Kenna with a fresh device to try her composure. 

"I want to see if you can remember the ingredients of that cocktail Iintroduced to you at the 'Carlton' on a certain memorable evening whenwe escaped from Aunt Grizel, " he said gaily. She looked at himreflectively. "As I've just been telling Sarle, you learned the recipeby heart, and swore that from henceforth you would use no other. "

"Ah, yes, " she drawled slowly. "But you take no account of time and my'Winter-garment of Repentance. ' I am a very different girl to the oneyou knew two years ago. "

"I realize that, of course. " He grinned with delight at her point. Itseemed to him possible that the evening might be even more entertainingthan the afternoon. 

"_This_ girl never drinks cocktails, " she finished quaintly, and heliked her more and more. 

Many glances followed them as they passed down the long room, full ofrose-shaded candles and the heavy scent of flowers. Pretty women arenot scarce in Cape Town, especially at the season when all Johannesburgcrowds to the sea, but there was a haunting, almost tragic lovelinessabout April that night that set her apart from the other women, anddrew every eye. Sarle felt his pulses thrill with the pride that stirsevery man when the seal of public admiration is set upon the woman heloves. As he looked at her across the table he suddenly recalled somelittle verses he had found scrawled in Kenna's writing on an old bookonce when they were away together on the veld:

 My love she is a lady fair, A lady fair and fine; She is to eat the rarest meat And drink the reddest wine. 

 Her jewelled foot shall tread the ground Like a feather on the air; Oh! and brighter than the sunset The frocks my love shall wear!

 If she be loyal men shall know What beauty gilds my pride; If she be false the more glad I, For the world is always wide. 

Poor Kenna! She had been false: that was why he had sought the wideworld of the veld and renounced women. Sarle, certain of the innatetruth and loyalty of the girl opposite him as of her pearl-like outerbeauty, could pity his friend's fate from the bottom of his soul. Butbeing a man, he did not linger too long with pity; hope is always apleasanter companion, and hope was burning in him like a blue flame:the hope that within an hour or two he would hold this radiant girl inhis arms and touch her lips. He thought of the garden outside, full ofshadows and scented starlight, and looking at the curve of her lips, his eyes darkened, and strange bells rang in his ears. She had eludedhim for many nights, although she knew he loved her. He had kissed herfingers and the palm of her hand, but tonight out in the starlit gardenhe meant to kiss her lips. The resolve was iron in him. He hardlyheard what the other two were saying. He was living in a world of hisown. April, weary of Kenna's cruel heckling, turned to him for amoment's relief, and what she saw in his eyes was wine and oil for herweariness, but it made her afraid, not only because of the perilouslonging in her to give him all he asked, but because Kenna sat alert asa lynx for even a smile she might cast that way. It was very certainthat no opportunity would be given them for being a moment together;and divining something of Sarle's resolute temper, she could not helpmiserably wondering what would happen when it came to a tussle of willbetween the two men. 

However, even the careful plans of first-class lynxes go awrysometimes. A waiter came to the table to say that Kenna was wanted onthe telephone. 

"Tell them I'm engaged, " was the curt answer. 

"It's his Honour Judge Byng, sir, " said the waiter in an awed manner, "and I have already told him you were at dinner. He says it is mostimportant. "

Kenna glared at the man, then at his companions. The latter appearedplacidly indifferent. April sipped her wine, and her eyes roamed roundthe room whilst she exchanged idle talk with Sarle. But the momentKenna's back was turned indifference fell from them; they looked ateach other eagerly like two school-children in a hurry to takeadvantage of the teacher's absence. 

"Darn him!" muttered Sarle. "I wish Byng would keep him all night. "

"He will be back directly, " she said breathlessly. Sarle glanced atthe plates. They were only at the fish. 

"He's got to finish his dinner, I suppose, " he said grudgingly. "Butcan't we escape afterwards? I want to show you the garden. "

"He's sure to stay with us, " she answered tragically. 

"Oh--but to Halifax with him!" began Sarle. 

"I know, but we mustn't offend him, " she implored hastily. "He . . . He's such a good fellow. "

"Of course I realize he is an old friend of yours, and likes to be withyou, and all that, " Sarle conceded. "But so do I. I want to show youthe garden . . . By myself. " He looked pleadingly and intently intoher eyes until her lids fell and a soft flush suffused her cheeks. Hisglance drank in every detail of her fresh, sweet beauty. 

"What's that funny little patch of white on your hair?" he askedsuddenly. "I have been puzzling about it all the evening. Is it a newfashion?" She shook her head. 

"He's coming back. " From where she sat she could see Kenna the momenthe entered the room. 

"Promise you will come to the garden, " he urged. 

"Yes, " she said softly. 

"No matter how long it takes to get rid of him?"

"Yes. "

"Even if we have to pretend to say good-night? . . . I shall bewaiting for you . . . You'll come?" She nodded; there was no time formore. Kenna was upon them, very cross at having his dinnerinterrupted, and with an eye cocked searchingly upon April. Butneither she nor Sarle gave any sign of what had passed. 

Later, when they were round their coffee in the lounge, the hall-porterbrought her some letters on a salver. She saw Kenna looking at hersatirically as she examined the superscriptions. All were addressed toLady Diana Vernilands, and the problem of what she was to do aboutletters was one not yet considered. 

"Don't let me keep you from your interesting correspondence, " heremarked, and April started, to find that they were alone. Sarle hadgone across to Leon to get some cigars. 

"Oh, there's nothing that can't wait, " she said hastily, and pushedthem into her hand-bag. 

"I agree"--he assumed a bright, conversational air--"that some thingsare even more interesting for being waited for; the explanation of yourconduct, for instance!"

She looked at him steadily, though her heart was beating rapidly, forthis moment had come upon her with sudden unexpectedness. 

"You appear to suffer from curiosity?"

"Don't call it suffering. " His tone was suave. "I am enjoying myselfimmensely. "

"I shall try not to do anything to interfere with your amusement, " sheremarked, after a pause. 

"That will be kind. The situation piques me. I should like to watchit to a finish without contributing to the _dénouement_; unless"--helooked at her significantly--"I am obliged to. "

"I cannot believe anything or any one could oblige you to bedisagreeable, Sir Ronald, " she jeered softly. He meditated with an airof gravity. 

"There _are_ one or two things, though; friendship, for instance--Iwould do quite disagreeable things for the sake of a friend. " She wassilent. 

"I might even vex a woman I admire as much as I do you, to save afriend from disaster. "

Thus they sparred, the attention of each fixed on Sarle, so gay anddebonair, buying cigars within a stone's throw of them. Havingfinished with Leon, he attempted to rejoin them, but the lounge wascrowded, and at every few steps some old friend entangled him. 

"There is nothing much to admire about me. " In spite of herself a noteof desolation crept into her voice. Kenna looked at her in surprise. This was a new side to the adventuress!

"_Au contraire_. Apart from the inestimable gifts of youth and beautythe gods have bestowed, you possess a quality that would drawadmiration from the most unwilling--courage. "

She bowed mockingly. Sarle was escaping from his many friends at lastand returning. Kenna rapped out what he had to say sharply, though hisvoice was low. 

"He is a good fellow, and I do not care to give him pain--unless youforce me to. "

He searched her face keenly, but found no trace there of anythingexcept a courteous interest in his conversation. She did not mean himto guess how much Vereker Sarle's happiness meant to her. 

"Anything else?" she dared him. 

"Well, of course I should like to know where the real Lady Diana is, "he said carelessly. That gave her a bad moment. Mercifully, thewaiter created a diversion by knocking a coffee-cup over as he removedthe tray, and Sarle, returning, had some news for Kenna of a mutualfriend's success in some political campaign. This gave her a shortspace in which to recover. But she was badly shaken, and wondereddesperately how she was going to get through the rest of the evening ifKenna clung. They sat talking in a desultory fashion, each restlesslywatching the others. There was a clatter of conversation about them, and in the adjoining drawing-room a piano and violins had begun toplay. The air was warm and heavy. For some reason April could notfathom the French windows had been closed, and there was a swishing, seething sound outside, as though the sea was rushing in tides throughthe garden. She felt curiously unstrung. It was not only the nervouseffect of having these two men so intent upon her every word andmovement, but there was something extraordinarily disturbing in theatmospheric conditions that made the palms of her hands ache and herscalp prickle as from a thousand tiny thorns. 

"I don't think I can bear this place much longer, " she said suddenly, even to herself unexpectedly. "Wouldn't it be cooler out where we weresitting this afternoon?"

"I think so, " said Sarle briskly. "Besides I want to show you thegarden. " He rose, but Kenna rose too. 

"My dear fellow, " he expostulated gently, "don't you realize there is asouth-easter blowing? We can't subject Lady Di to the curse of theCape tonight. It always affects new-comers most disagreeably. Infact, I think she is suffering from it already. "

"Is that what is making me prickle all over and feel as though I wantto commit murder?" she inquired, with rather a tremulous smile. "Whatis this new African horror?"

"Only our Cape 'mistral. '" Sarle looked at her anxiously. "It'sblowing a bit hard in the trees outside, but----"

"I thought that was the sea. If it's only the wind I don't mind. " Sherose, half hesitating. "I love wind. "

"I think it would be very unwise of you to go, " said Kenna quietly. Sarle thought him infernally interfering, though he heard nothing inthe words but friendly counsel. To April the remark contained athreat, and she gave way with as good a grace as she might, holding outher hand to say good-night to them. 

"Perhaps I had better postpone acquaintance with your curse as long aspossible. " The words were for Kenna, her smile for Sarle. 

"I will see you to the lift, " the latter said. Kenna could hardlyoffer to come too, but as it was only just across the lounge to thehall, and within range of his eye, perhaps he thought it did notmatter. He could not know that Sarle, sauntering with a careless airbeside her, was saying very softly and only for her ear:

"It is quite early. If instead of taking the lift again you came downthe main staircase, you would find a door almost opposite, leading intothe garden. I think you promised?"

His voice was very pleading. She did not answer, nor even turn hisway. But once safely in the lift, out of the range of Kenna's gimleteyes, over the shoulders of the stunted brown lift-boy she let herglance rest in his, and so told him that he would have his wish. 

There must have been some witchery in that south-east wind. She knewit was madness to go, that she was only entangling herself more closelyin a mesh which could not be unravelled for many days. Yet within halfan hour she was out there in the darkness, with the wind tearing at herhair and flickering her cloak about her like a silken sail. When sheclosed the door behind her and went forward it was like plunging intoan unknown purple pool, full of dark objects swaying and swimmingbeside her in the fleeting darkness. Tendrils of flowering plantscaught at her with twining fingers. A heavily scented waxen flower, pallid as the face of a lost soul, stooped and kissed her from abalcony as she passed. The young trees were like slim girls bowing toeach other with fantastic grace; the big trees stood together "terribleas an army with banners, " raging furiously in an uproar like thebanging of a thousand breakers upon a brazen beach. The sky was fullof wrack, with a snatch of moon flying across it, and a scattering oflost stars. 

She felt more alive and vital than ever in her life before. Theclamour of the storm seemed to be in her veins as well as in her ears. She was glad with a wild, exultant happiness of which she had neverdreamed, when she found herself snatched by strong arms and held close, close. The maelstrom whirled about her, but she was clasped safe in asheltered place. Sarle kissed her with long, silent kisses. There wasno need for words, their lips told the tale to each other. It seemedto her that her nature expanded into the vastness of the sea and thewind and the stars, and became part with them. . . . But all the whileshe was conscious of being just a slight, trembling girl held closeagainst a man's heart--the right man, and the right heart! She hadcome across the sea to find him, and Africa had given them to eachother. She lost count of time and place and terror. The burden of hertrouble mercifully left her. She remembered only that she and VerekerSarle loved each other and were here alone together in thiswind-wracked wilderness of perfumed darkness and mystery. Her ears andmind were closed to everything but his whispering words:

"My darling, my darling . . . I have waited for you all my life . . . Women have been nothing to me because I knew you were somewhere in theworld. I have crossed the veld and the seas a thousand times lookingfor you, and have found you at last! I will never let you go. "

He kissed her throat and her eyes. More than ever her whiteness shonein the gloom with the luminousness of a pearl. 

"Your beauty makes me tremble, " he whispered in her hair. "Darling, say that you love me and will give yourself to me for ever. "

"I love you, Vereker. . . . "

"Call me Kerry. "

"I love you, Kerry. I give myself to you. "

She rejoiced in her beauty, because it was a precious gift to him. 

"You don't know what you mean to me, Diana--a star dropped out ofheaven; the pure air of the veld I love; white lilies growing on amountain top. Thank God you are all these things without any darknessin you anywhere. It is the crown of a man's life to love a woman likeyou. "

"Let me go, Kerry, " she said. "It is late. I must go. "

He did not notice that her voice was broken with tears, for the windswept her words up to the trees and the boiling wrack of clouds beyond. But he knew that it was time for her to go. That wild pool of love andwind and stars was too sweet and dangerous a place for lovers to lingerin. He wrapped her cloak about her and sheltered her back to the doorfrom which she had emerged. 

"Tomorrow morning . . . I shall be waiting for you in the lounge. Wewill settle then how soon you will give yourself to me--it must be verysoon, darling. I am forty-four, and can't wait a moment. "

The light from the door fell on his face and showed it gay as a boy's. Her face was hidden, or he must have, recognized the misery stampedupon it. 

 * * * * * *

In the morning light it seemed to her that the finger of snow on herhair had broadened a little. It was five o'clock of an ice-green dawn, with the mountain like an ashen wraith outside, and the wind stillraging. South-easters last for three days, Kenna had said, and sheshuddered to look at that unseen power whipping the leaves from thetrees, beating down the beauty of the garden, tearing the mists fromthe mountain's side, only to pile them higher upon the summit. It tookcourage to go out in that wind, but it took greater courage to stay andmeet Vereker Sarle. So she was dressed and hatted, with a smallsuit-case in her hand, and starting on a journey to the Paarl. She didnot know what "the Paarl" was, nor where! Her first introduction tothat strange name was at midnight, when she found it on one of theletters addressed to Diana. All the other letters were of noconsequence, but the Paarl letter seemed to solve for her the pressingand immediate problem of how to escape from the terror of exposure byKenna before the loved eyes of Sarle. It was from the parson'sdaughter, that eccentric painter who lived somewhere on the veld, andwhose home was to have been Diana's destination. "Clive Connal" shesigned herself, and said she hoped Diana would take the morning train, as it was the coolest one to travel by, and arrive at the Paarl by8. 30, where a mule-cart would be waiting to take her to Ho-la-lé-la. [1]So April meant to follow instructions and trust to luck to see herthrough. Whatever happened, it could not be more terrible than to readdisgust and disillusion in Vereker Sarle's eyes. 

She stole down the stairs like a shadow, and found a sleepy clerk inthe booking-office. It was simple to explain to him that she was goingaway for a few days, but wished her room kept on, and everything leftas it was. She would send a wire to say at what date she would bereturning. There was no difficulty about the bill, for, fortunately, Bellew had supplied her with plenty of money, saying it was Diana's, and that she would have wished it to be used. It was too early for ataxi to be got, even by telephoning, but the porter caught a strayrickshaw that chanced to be passing, and April had her first experienceof flying downhill behind a muscular black man with feathers in hishair and bangles on his feet. Before she reached the station her veiland hair were in streamers, and her scalp was almost torn from herhead, but the _serpent jaune_ which had gnawed her vitals all night hadceased from troubling, and joy of living glowed in her once more. Shecould not help it; there was something in the air and the wind and theblaze of Africa that made for life, and thrust out despair. It sweptaway misery as the south-easter had swept the skies, leaving them blueand clear as a flawless turquoise. 

She caught her train, and in fate's good hour reached the Paarl, whichproved to be a town of one long street, decked with stately oaks, andmellowed old Dutch homes. The mule-cart was waiting for her, and onthe driver's seat a woman with the austere features and blue, pure, visionary eyes of Galahad, the stainless knight. But she was dressedin breeches and a slouch hat, a cigarette hung from the corner of hermouth, and she beckoned April gladsomely with an immense cowthong whip. 

"Come on! I was afraid you'd shirk the early train, but I see you'rethe stuff. Hop in!"

April did her best, but hopping into a Cape cart that has both stepsmissing takes some practice. The mules did most of the hopping; shescrambled, climbed, sprawled, and sprained herself all over before shereached the vacant seat, already encumbered with many parcels. With ablithe crack of the whip and a string of strange words flung like achallenge at her mules, Miss Connal got under way. 

The farm was six miles off, but ere they had gone two April knew thepainter as well as if they had been twin sisters. Clive Connal hadn'ta secret or a shilling she would not share with the whole world. Sheused the vocabulary of a horse-dealer and the slang of a schoolboy, buther mind was as fragrant as a field that the Lord hath blessed, and herheart was the heart of a child. It was shameful to deceive such acreature, and April's nature revolted from the act. Before theyreached the farm she had confessed her identity--explaining how thechange had come about, and why it was important to go on with thedeception. Too much explanation was not necessary with a person ofClive's wide understanding. No vagaries of behaviour seemed to shockor astonish her large human soul. She merely, during the relation ofDiana's tragedy, muttered once or twice to herself:

"The poor thing! Oh! the poor thing!" and looked at April as thoughshe too were "a poor thing, " instead of a fraud and an adventuress tobe abjured and cast out. For the first time since her mother's deaththe girl felt herself sheltering in the warmth of womanly sympathy, andthe comfort of it was very sweet. 

"Don't worry too much, " said Clive cheerfully. 

"_Tout s'arrange_: that's my motto. Everything comes straight if youleave it alone. "

A cheerful motto indeed, and one seeming to fit well with the pictureof the old farmhouse lying in the morning sunshine. Low-roofed andwhite-walled, it was tucked under the shelter of the Qua-Qua mountains, with apricot orchards stretching away on either side. Six immense oaksspread their untrimmed branches above the high stoep, and before thehouse, where patches of yellow-green grass grew ragged as a vagabond'shair, a Kerry cow was pegged out and half a dozen black babiesdisported themselves amongst the acorns. Dozens of old paraffin tinsstained with rust, and sawed-off barrels bulging asunder lined the edgeof the stoep, all filled with geraniums, begonias, cacti, red lilies, and feathery bamboos. Every plant had a flower, and every flower was abrilliant, vital thing. Other decorations were a chopping-block, anoak chest, blistered and curled by the sun, several wooden beds withthe bedding rolled up on them, and two women, who smiled a welcome. These were Ghostie, and _belle_ Helène--the only names April ever knewthem by. 

"Welcome to the home for derelicts, broken china, and old crocks, " theysaid. "You may think you are none of these things, but there must besomething the matter with you or you wouldn't be here. "

"Too true!" thought April, but smilingly answered, "There doesn't seemmuch wrong with you!"

"Oh, there is, though. Ghostie is a journalist, recovering from havingthe soul trampled out of her by Johannesburg Jews. I am a singer witha sore throat and a chronic pain in my right kidney that I am trying towash away with the juice of Clive's apricots and the milk from Clive'scows. "

"Nuff sed, " interposed Clive. "Let's think about some grub. I'vebrought back sausages for breakfast. "

Meekie, the mother of the black babies, had fetched in the parcels fromthe cart, and already there was a fizzling sound in the kitchen. Therest of the household proudly conducted April to the guest-chamber. There was nothing in it except a packing-case and a bed, but the wallswere covered by noble studies of mountains, Clive pointed out somelarge holes in the floor, warning April not to get her foot twisted inthem. 

"I don't think there are any snakes here, " she said carelessly. "Thereis an old cobra under the dining-room floor, and we often hear herhissing to herself, but she never does any harm. "

"It is better to sleep on the stoep at night, " Ghostie recommended. "We all do. "

Before the afternoon April had settled down among them as if she hadlived there always. Sarle and his kisses seemed like a lost dream; themenace of Kenna was forgotten. For the first time in her existence shelet herself drift with the tide, taking no thought for the morrow northe ultimate port at which her boat would "swing to. " It waslotus-eating in a sense, yet none of the dwellers at Ho-la-lé-la idled. It is true that Ghostie and _belle_ Helène were crocks, but they workedat the business of repairing their bodies to tackle the battle of lifeonce more. April soon discovered that they were only two of the manyof Clive's comrades who came broken to the farm and went away healed. Clive was a Theosophist: all men were her brothers, and all women hersisters; but those especially among art-workers who fell by the waysidemight share her bread and blanket. They called her Old Mother Sphinx, because of her inscrutable eyes, and the tenderness of her mothering. 

She herself never stopped working, and her body was hard as iron fromlong discipline. She rose in the dawn to work on her lands, hoeing, digging her orchards, and tending her cattle in company with hercoloured labourers. It was only at odd moments or during the heat ofthe day that she painted, and all the money she made with paint wasswallowed up by the farm, which did not pay, but which was the verycore of her heart. 

Impossible for April to be in such company and not work too, even ifher thoughts had not demanded occupation. So, first she mended theclothes of everybody, including Meekie's ragged piccanins; then shewent to the Paarl, bought a pot of green paint, and spent days of sheerforgetfulness smartening up the rusty paraffin tins and barrels, andall the bleared and blistered shutters and doors and sills of the farm, that had not known paint for many years. 

At mid-day they bathed in a tree-shaded pool that had formed in the bedof a stream running across the farm. They had no bathing frocks buttheir skins, and sometimes Clive, sitting stark on the bank, palette inhand, painted the others as they tumbled in the dark brown water, sporting and splashing like a lot of schoolboys. Afterwards they wouldmooch home through the shimmering noontide heat, deliciously tired, wrapped in reflection and their towels. Ghostie provided a perpetualjest by wearing a smart Paris hat with a high cerise crown. She saidit had once belonged to the fastest woman in South Africa, who hadgiven it to her as a joke, but she did not mention the lady's name, norsay in what her "fastness" consisted. This was characteristic ofvisitors at Ho-la-lé-la: they sometimes stated facts, but never talkedscandal. When April asked them to call her by her own name, instead of"Diana, " they did so without comment, accepting her as one ofthemselves, and asking no questions about England, the voyage, or theCape. The scandalous tragedy of the April Fool had never reached them, and if it had they would have taken little interest except to be sorryfor the girl. 

In the evenings when work was put away Clive played to them on the'cello. 

"I was determined to have music in my life, " she told April. "And asyou can't lug a piano and musician all over the shop with you, I saw noway of getting it but to darn well teach myself. "

And very well she had done it, though why she had chosen a 'cello, which also needed some lugging, no one knew but herself. Sitting withit between her heavy boots and breeched legs, the eternal cigarettedrooping from her mouth, she looked more than ever like Galahad, herblue austere gaze seeming to search beyond the noble mountain tops ofher own pictures for some Holy Grail she would never find. Nocomplicated music was hers, just grand, simple things like Handel's"Largo, " Van Biene's "Broken Melody, " "Ave Maria, " or some of Squire'ssweet airs. 

Sometimes at night they went out and climbed upon a huge rock thatstood in the apricot orchard. It was big enough to build a house on, and called by Clive her Counsel Rock, because there she took counselwith the stars when things went wrong with the farm. Lying flat ontheir backs they could feel the warmth of the day still in the stone asthey gazed at the purple and silver panoply of heaven spread abovethem, and Clive would commune with blue-rayed Sirius and his darkcompanion; the Gemini, those radiant twins; Orion's belt in the centresky preciously gemmed with celestial diamonds; Canopus, a calm, paleyellow star, the largest in our universe; Mars, gleaming red as amadman's eye; Venus springing from the horizon, the Pleiades slinkingbelow it. The "galloping star" she claimed as her own on account ofits presumed horsiness. 

"It's a funny thing, " she said. "My mother and father were gentle, bookish creatures with no understanding of animals. Even if a pony hadto be bought for us children, every male thing of the family--uncles, nephews, tenth cousins--was summoned from every corner of England forhis advice and experience. Yet these unsophisticated beings have adaughter like me--born into the world a full-blown horse-dealer! Tosay nothing of mules. You can believe me or believe me not, " she addedbragfully, "but there is _no one_ in this land of swindles who knowsmore about mules than I do. "

They chose to believe her, especially after hearing her haggling andbartering with some of the itinerant dealers who visited the farm fromtime to time. 

"I don't know vy ve can't do pizness today! I got no profit inanyting. I just been here for a friend"--thus the dealer. 

"Ah! I know who your friend is, " Clive would jeer from the stoep. "You keep him under your own hat. But don't come here expecting toswop a beautiful mule that cost me 20 pounds for that skew-eyed crockthat will go thin as a rake after three weeks on the sour veld, a 10pound note thrown in, and taking me for a fool into the bargain. Yourhorse is worth 15 pounds, and not a bean more. "

"I also must lif!"--the whine of the Jew. 

"I don't see the necessity. " Clive shamelessly plagiarized Wilde, Plato, or the holy prophets when it suited her. 

"Vot, you know! You can't do pizness with a womans!" The dealer wouldweep tears of blood, but Clive made the bargain. 

A week slid past, and April barely noticed its passing. No word camefrom the outer world. It was not the custom to read newspapers atHo-la-lé-la, and all letters were stuffed unopened into a drawer, incase they might be bills. Close friends were wise enough tocommunicate by telegram, or, better still, dump themselves in personupon the doorstep. The only reason that April had been expected andfetched was that a "home letter" had heralded the likely advent of LadyDiana, and given the date and hotel at which she would be staying. Home letters were never stuffed away unopened. 

Late one afternoon, however, there was an unexpected announcement. The_boch-ma-keer-ie_ bird began to cry in the orchard, and Clive said itwas a surer sign of visitors than any that came from the telegraphoffice. 

"Tomorrow is Sunday. We'll have visitors, sure as a gun, " sheprophesied. 

April quailed. She could not bear the peaceful drifting to end, andwished for no reminder of that outer world where Bellew, the mail-boatfor England, and the dreary task of breaking an old man's heart awaitedher. Sometimes in spite of herself she was obliged to consider thesethings, and the considering threw shadows under her eyes and hollowedher cheeks. Sarle, too, though he was a dream by day, became very realat night when she should have been dreaming. She knew now that shecould never escape from the memory of him, and the thought that he wassuffering from her silence and defection tortured her. What must hethink of her, slinking guiltily away without a word of explanation orfarewell? Doubtless Kenna would set him right! "Faithful are thewounds of a friend, " she thought bitterly. Better far and braver tohave done the explaining and setting right herself, if only she couldhave found some way of releasing herself from the compact of silencemade with Diana and Bellew. 

Sunday, morning dawned very perfectly. They were all sleeping on thestoep, their beds in line against the wall, Clive upon the oak chest, which her austere self-discipline commanded. At three o'clock, thougha few stars lingered, the sky was already tinting itself with thelovely lustre of a pink pearl. No sound broke the stillness but thebreathing of the sleepers and the soft perpetual dropping of acornsfrom the branches overhead. 

The peace and beauty of it smote April to the heart. She pressed herfingers over her eyes and tears oozed through them, trickling down herface. When at last she looked again the stars were gone and the skywas blue as a thrush's egg, with a fluff of rose-red clouds knittedtogether overhead and a few crimson rags scudding across the Qua-Quas. A dove suddenly cried, "Choo-coo, choo-coo, " and others took up therefrain, until in the hills and woods hundreds of doves were greetingthe morning with their soft, thrilling cries. Fowls straying from abarn near by started scratching in the sand. The first streak ofsunshine shot across the hills and struck a bush of pomegranatesblossoming scarlet by the gate. 

Presently the farm workers began to come from their huts and file pastthe stoep towards the outhouses. Julie, the Cape foreman, with a rightleg longer than the left, was the first to stagger by. 

"Moorer, Missis!" he said, with a pull of his cap and a swiftrespectful glance at the stoep. Clive, awake by now on her oak chest, responded absently without raising her head from the pillow. 

"Moorer, Julie!"

Next, Isaac, whose legs were so formed that when he stood still theydescribed a circle, and when he moved the circle became a triangle. 

"Moorer, Missis!" said he. 

"Moorer, Isaac!"

Jim, the cowherd, had a hare-lip and no roof to his mouth, and was somodest that he turned his head away when he lisped his salutation tothe stoep. 

"Moor-ler, Mithis!"

"Moorer, Jim!"

After a few moment's silence a voice from one of the beds was heard. 

"Is the file-past of the Decrepits over? May one now sleep for awhile?"

"This place ought to be called _des Invalides_, " grumbled another. 

Clive laughed her large, blithe laugh. 

"At any rate, there's nothing wrong with me, " she proclaimed, andsprang with one leap into her top-boots. Passing April's bed shetouched the girl's eyelids tenderly, and her finger-tips came away wet. 

"Nor with our little April, I hope--except a passing shower! You hadbetter come up the lands with me this morning, and plant trees. "

That was Clive's cure for all ills of the body and soul: to plant treesthat would grow up and benefit Africa long after the planters were deadand forgotten. No one ever left Ho-la-lé-la without having had a doseof this medicine, and many an incipient forest lay along the valleysand down the sides of the Qua-Quas. So behold April an hour or twolater, faring forth with a pick and a basket full of saplings, followedby Clive leading the Kerry cow, who was sick and needed exercise. 

They lunched in the open, resting from their labours and savouring thesweetness of food earned by physical labour. Care was stuffed out ofsight, dreams and ghosts faded in the clear sun-beaten air, and againApril realized what life could mean in this wonderful land, given theright companionship, and a clean heart. But Clive, with arms claspedabout her knees, sat munching apricots and staring with a strangesadness at her forests of baby trees. There was an unfulfilled look onher face, spite of living her own life, and following her star. Neither Africa nor life had given her all she needed. 

Later they wended their way back full of the happy weariness engenderedby honest toil. But nearing home Clive lifted her nose, and sniffingthe breeze like a wild ass of the desert sensing unfamiliar thingsscowled bitterly. 

"Petrol!" she ejaculated. "One of those stinking motor-cars! Whycan't people use horses, like gentlemen? What's the matter with a nicemule, even?"

As they slouched warily round the house and came in view of the stoepshe emitted a staccato whistle of dismay. Tethered out upon thevagabondish grass was--not one motor-car, but three! An opulent thingof blinking brass and crimson leather arrogated to itself the exclusiveshade of the largest tree; a long grey torpedo affair of two seatsoccupied the pasturage of the Kerry cow; and blistering in thesunshine, with several fowls perched upon it, was an ancient Fordwearing the roystering air of a scallywag come home for good. 

"That old _boch-ma-keer-ie_ bird knew something!" muttered the painter. "I don't like the look of this!"

They paused to take counsel of each other, then presently advanced, Clive approaching her own front door with the stealthy glide of apickpocket, April tip-toeing behind her. The idea was to get indoorswithout being seen, listen in the hall to discover whether the visitorswere agreeable ones, and if not, to take refuge in the kitchen untilthey had departed. Unfortunately one of them came out of the frontdoor to shake his pipe on the stoep as Clive and April reached thesteps. 

"Why, it's old Kerry Sarle!" cried Clive heartily, and stealth fellfrom her. She beamed with happiness, and shook his hand unceasingly, pouring forth questions like water. 

"When did you get back? Why didn't you come before? What did youbring a crowd for? Who have you got with you?"

"Only Kenna. The crowd doesn't belong to me. They've come to buypictures or something, and are in your studio. I haven't seen them. We are in the dining-room. "

His speech was disjointed and halting, his amazed gaze fixed upon thegirl standing thunderstruck at the foot of the steps. Clive forged oninto the house with a gloomy eye; she hated to sell pictures, even whenshe needed the money. April and Sarle were left together, and in amoment he was down the step by her side. They stood looking at eachother with the memory of their last kiss kindling between them. He hadbeen bitterly hurt, but he loved and trusted her beyond all things thatwere, and could not conceal the happiness in his eyes. Only for theopen studio windows and the round-eyed piccannins, he would havegathered her to his heart; as it was he gathered her hands instead andheld them where they could feel its beating. 

"Darling! Thank God I have found you. "

Kenna had not betrayed her, then. The blow was still to fall. Shemanaged to smile a little, but she had turned very pale, and there wassomething in her silence chilling even to his ardent spirit. 

"You don't think I tracked you down? We motored out here with no ideabut to see Clive Connal----"

"Of course not. " She strove to speak casually. "I couldn't expect tohave a friend like Clive all to myself, but I never dreamed you knewher. "

"She has been my friend for twelve years or more. "

"Yes, " said Kenna's voice from the stoep, "we are all old friendstogether here. "

He had come out with _belle_ Helène, and stood smiling upon them. Theold malice was there, with some new element of strain that made himlook more sardonic, yet strangely pathetic to the girl who feared him. 

"Who'd have thought to find you here, Lady Di?" he sneered softly. "Life is full of pleasant surprises!"

They all went into the dining-room, where tea was laid, and Clivebrought in her picture-dealers, who proved to be two globe-trottersanxious to acquire specimens of South African art. Someone had toldthem that Clive Connal stood top of the tree amongst Cape painters, sothey had spent about seven pounds ten on a car from Cape Town in thehope of getting some rare gem for a couple of guineas. One was a fatand pompous ass, the other a withered monkey of a fellow who hoppedabout peering through his monocle at the pictures on the walls, uttering deprecating criticism in the hope of bringing down prices. 

"This sketch of Victoria Falls is not bad, " he piped, gazing at a thingof tender mists and spraying water above a titanic rock-bound gorge. "The left foreground wants breaking up a bit, though!"

"I think you want breaking up a bit, " muttered Clive, who had alreadymade up her mind to sell him nothing, and looking longingly at hersjambok lying on the sideboard. "Where are Ghostie and the others?"she demanded. 

"They had tea by themselves in Ghostie's room. " _Belle_ Helèneproffered the statement rather hesitatingly, and no wonder, in a housewhere "_les amies de mes amis sont mes amies_" was the rule. It tookmore than that to offend Clive, but she looked astonished. 

"Oh, all right, then, let's have ours, " she said, and sitting at thehead of her table held the loaf of home-made brown bread firmly to herbreast, carving hefty slices and passing them on the point of the knifeto _belle_ Helène, who jammed them from a tin. Customs were simple andthe fare frugal at Ho-la-lé-la. There were only two teaspoons betweensix, as Ghostie had the other two in her bedroom. The jamunfortunately gave out before the globe-trotters got theirs, but therewas some good dripping--if they had only happened to like dripping. They seemed pained before the end of the meal, and one was heard tomurmur to the other as they went out:

"Would you believe that her father was a clergyman? Bread anddripping! and jam scratched out of a tin! This comes of living in thewilds of Africa, I suppose. An entire loss of culture!"

The daughter of the clergyman must have surprised them a good deal byher unexpected spurt of holiness in refusing to sell pictures on aSunday. They wound up their old taxi and went away very much annoyedat having come so far for nothing. 

"Whose then is the Babylonian litter with trappings of scarlet andgold?" asked Clive, as the Ford rattled off. "You don't mean to sayyou fellows came in a thing like that?"

They denied it until seventy times seven. The grey torpedo wasSarle's. Kenna was of opinion that the owners of the crimson caravanmust be Johannesburgers, and "dripping with it. "

"Not Johannesburgers, " disputed Clive, with a wry lip. "No; they'retoo exclusive for that. "

Something must have gone very wrong indeed with the atmosphere forClive to start sneering. In truth some jangling element unnatural tothe sweet accord of Ho-la-lé-la had been introduced, and did not leavewith the strangers. 

They settled down to smoke in the studio, but there was more smokeabout than tranquillity. Sarle seemed distrait. _Belle_ Helènesometimes cast an uneasy glance at April, who, still very pale, sat byherself on the lounge. Only Clive and Kenna talked racily, but injerks, of cattle, fruit-blight, mules, and white ants. But presentlyall subjects of conversation seemed to peter out, leaving a dark poolof silence to form between them in the room. Kenna it was who threwthe stone disturbing those still waters. 

"Has any one told you, Miss Connal, about the girl who committedsuicide on the _Clarendon Castle_?"

For a full moment not a word was spoken. Sarle, staring, made amovement with his hand over his mat of hair. April's lids fell overher eyes as though afflicted by a deadly weariness. Clive changed hercigarette from one corner of her mouth to the other before answeringbriefly:

"Yes; I know all about it. " Which seemed to astonish Kenna. 

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "I wish I did!"

It was Sarle's turn to look astonished. 

"Why, Kenna, I told you everything there was to know. Besides, it wasin the papers. "

"No, Kerry. You told me something . . . And the papers told mesomething. _Everything_ can only be related by one person. "Dramatically he fixed his glance upon that person. There was nomistaking the challenge. April found courage to return his glance, buther eyes looked like the eyes of a drowning girl. At the sight of themtwo people were moved to action. _Belle_ Helène rose and slipped fromthe room. Sarle also rose, but it was to seat himself again by April'sside on the lounge. 

"I don't understand what all this is about, " he said quietly, "but itseems a good time for you to know, Kenna, and you, Clive, that we"--hetook April's hand in his--"are engaged, and going to be married as soonas possible. "

Kenna looked at him with pity and tenderness. 

"You had better let her speak, old man. It is time you wereundeceived. "

"Be careful, Kenna. "

"My dear Kerry, do you suppose that it gives me any pleasure to causeyou pain, or to distress this charming lady? Only my friendship foryou----"

"I can dispense with it, " Sarle curtly interrupted. 

"Ah! That's the way when a woman steps in. " Kenna's lips twisted in abitter grin. Sarle turned to April. 

"Diana . . . "

"That is the very crux of the matter, " rapped out, Kenna. "_She isnot_ Diana. "

"What in God's name----?" began Sarle. 

"What I want to know, " pursued Kenna sombrely, "is--why, if DianaVernilands jumped overboard, does this girl go masquerading under hertitle?"

"Are you mad?" Sarle stared from one to the other. "Haven't you knownher all your life? Did you not meet as old friends?"

Kenna shrugged. "I never set eyes on her until that day at the 'MountNelson. ' She was a friend of yours and chose to call herself by thename of a friend of mine, and . . . I humoured her . . . And you. Butthe thing has gone too far. After inquiries among other passengers Ihave realized the truth--that it was Diana who . . . " A spasm of painflickered across his melancholy eyes. Sarle, in grave wonder and hurt, turned to April. 

"It is true, " she cried bitterly, pierced to the heart by his look. "Diana is drowned. I am a masquerader. " Even if she had been nothingto him he could not have remained unmoved by the desperate pleading ofher eyes. But he happened to love her with the love that casts outfear, and distrust, and all misunderstanding. 

"I am the real April Poole, " she said, broken, but resolute that atleast there should be no further mistake. He gave her one long look, then lifted her hand, and held it closer. The gesture was for all theworld to see. But Kenna had not finished with her. 

"You will allow a natural curiosity in me to demand why you should wearthe name and retain the possessions of my friend Lady DianaVernilands?" he asked, dangerously suave. 

Then Clive sprang full-armed to the fray. 

"And you will allow a natural curiosity in me to demand why you shouldharry my friend like this--browbeat her for a girlish folly enteredinto mutually by two girls and ending in tragedy through no fault ofApril's?" The painter's eyes burned with a blue fire bleak as her ownmountain tops. It was as though Joan of Arc had come to the rescue andwas sweeping the room with valiant sword. Even Kenna was partiallyintimidated. 

"That is her story, " he muttered. 

"You fool, Ronald Kenna, " she said gently. "Can't you look in her faceand see there is no touch of treachery or darkness there? Thank God, Kerry is not so blind. "

There was a deep silence. Then she said:

"Listen, then, to my story, " and repeated the facts April had told her, but as April could never have told them, so profound was herunderstanding of the motives of the two girls in exchanging identities, so tender her treatment of the wayward Diana. Truly this "unfulfilledwoman" was greater in the width and depth of her soul than many ofthose to whom life has given fulfilment of their dreams. 

Daylight faded, and shadows stole through the open windows. In thelarge, low-ceiled room clustered with saddles and harness and exquisitepictures, everything grew dim, except their white faces, and theglistening of tears as they dripped from April's lids. 

"I must ask to be forgiven, " said Kenna very humbly, at last. "My onlyplea is that my friendship for Kerry blinded me. And . . . " he haltedan instant before the confession of his trouble. "I once loved thatlittle wayward girl. "

So it was Diana Vernilands who had proved false and sent him into thewilds! Somehow that explained much to them all: much for forgiveness, but very much more for pity and sympathy. 

Suddenly the peace of eventide was rudely shattered by the jarringclank of a motor being geared-up for starting. Evidently Ghostie'sfriends were departing in the same aloof spirit with which they hadheld apart all the afternoon. No one in the studio stirred to speedthe parting guests. It did not seem fitting to obtrude upon the prideof the great. A woman's voice bade good-bye, and Ghostie was heardwarning them of a large rock fifty yards up the lane. A man calledgood-night, and they were off. 

"By Jove! I know that fellow's voice, " puzzled Sarle. April thoughtshe did too, but she was in a kind of happy trance where voices did notmatter. The next episode was Ghostie at the studio window blotting outthe evening skies. 

"They have gone, " she timidly announced. 

"Ah! Joy go with them, " remarked Clive, more in relief than regret. 

"But there is still one of them in my room. "

"_What?_"

"She has been waiting to speak to you all the afternoon; they all have, but they could not face the crowd. "

"Pore fellers, " said Clive, with cutting irony. 

"The one in my room's--a girl, " said Ghostie--"a friend of yours. "

"She has strange ways, " commented Clive glumly. "But ask her to comein. These also are my friends. "

Ghostie disappeared. Simultaneously the two men arose; remarking thatthey must be going--they had stayed too late, and it was getting dark. Clive easily shut them up. 

"Of course you can't go. Stay to supper and go back by the light ofthe moon. We've got to have some music and sit on the Counsel Rock, and eat--apricots and all sorts of things yet. And afterwards we'llcome a bit of the way with you. "

They did not need much persuasion to settle down again. Clive handedround smokes. 

"We won't spoil the best hour of the day by lighting the lamp, " shesaid. They waited. In a minute or so they heard the strange girlapproaching. The house consisted of a number of rooms built in theform of a square round a little back courtyard. Each room led into theother, but had also an outer door. Ghostie's room was third from thestudio, with one between, unused because of huge holes in the floor. It was through this dilapidated chamber that the girl could now beheard approaching, clicking her high heels and picking her waydelicately by the aid of a candle whose beams showed under the door andflicked across the courtyard at the back. In spite of its light shecaught one of her high heels in a hole, and a faint but distinctlynaughty word was heard, followed by a giggle. As she reached the doorshe blew out the candle. They heard the puff of her breath, as plainlyas they had heard the naughty word. Then she stood in the opendoorway, visible only because she wore a white dress. 

"Come in, " said Clive with politeness, but irony not quite gone fromher voice. The figure did not stir or speak. For some reason unknownto her, April felt the hair on her scalp stir as though a chill windhad blown through it. And the same wind sent a thrill down herbackbone. Clive repeated the invitation, somewhat sharply, and thenthe girl spoke. 

"I'm ashamed to come in. "

The voice was timid, and very low, but it was enough to make April givea broken cry and hide her face in Sarle's shoulder. Kenna leapt to hisfeet, and next moment the yellow spurt of a lighted match in his handrevealed the drooping face of the girl in the doorway. 

"My God! Diana!"

"Yes; isn't it awful!" she said mournfully. "I know I ought to bedead, but I'm not. How do you do, Ronny?"

She passed him and came slowly across the room to the girl who wastrembling violently against Sarle's shoulder. The strain of the day, ending in this, was almost more than April Poole could bear. 

"Don't be frightened, April. " She was genuinely concerned. "It isreally me and not my ghost. You see, I never jumped overboard at all, but simply hid in one of Geoffrey Bellew's big packing-cases. I reallycould not face those enraged beasts and Philistines any longer. "

There was an amazed and gasping silence, but Diana in the middle of thelimelight was in her element, and rapidly regained her spirits. Shetripped to Clive and shook her warmly by the hand. 

"So pleased to see you. I should have come out here long ago, but Igot so knocked about in the packing-case that I had to go to bed and benursed by Geoff's old aunt at Wynberg. Everything perfectly proper, sodon't be alarmed. She chaperoned us out here this afternoon, you know, and would have liked to see you, but really it was rather awkward withRonny and Major Sarle turning up immediately afterwards. We didn'texpect to find April here either--naturally. That was a nasty bang inthe eye. I begged Ghostie to hide me in her room, and we waited andwaited, but these terrible men seem to have taken root here. " Shetwinkled at them gaily, but no one appeared to have recoveredsufficiently from shock to reciprocate her pert amusement. 

"So at last, of course, I had to bundle them off and face the musicalone. Especially as _belle_ Helène told me there was some sort oftrouble boiling up in here for poor April. "

"I suppose you never realized that trouble has been boiling up for herever since you disappeared?" said Clive. 

"Oh, but of course; and I've been dreadfully sorry, and worrying myselfto ribbons. "

"It doesn't seem to have interfered with your health, " was Clive's onlyrejoinder. "May one ask what you intended to do to put thingsstraight?"

Diana had the grace to look slightly abashed--only slightly. 

"There was nothing for it but to come out here to you and sit tightuntil the scandal had blown over, while April returned to England. Once she got on board she would have found a letter telling her it wasall right, and that I was not dead at all. "

"Very charming and considerate too!" commented Ronald Kenna acidly. "Afew other people, including Sarle and myself, might have been dead inthe meantime, but what would that have mattered?"

It was no use being acid with Diana, however. She was riotouslypleased with herself, and bubbling over with pride in her cleverness, and joy in her escape from seclusion. Infection from herlight-heartedness was almost impossible, and once the shock had passed, April easily forgave her the cruel and thoughtless part she had played, the hours of anguish she had given. Sarle and Kenna exchanged one grimglance, but it ended in a smile. The deep-rooted friendships of men donot hurry to such short and poor conclusions. Besides, Sarle had comethat day to the attainment of his heart's desire, and was not inclinedto fall out with either Fate or friends. As for Kenna, looking at thegilt-haired minx who held his heart-strings, he saw as in a vision thatdays of peaceful loneliness on the veld were passing, and the futureheld more uneasiness and folly than the mere month of April couldcover. He would need all the friends he had to see him through. 

[1] Basuto for "Far away over there. "