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| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-03-03 11:21:53 -0800 |
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| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-03-03 11:21:53 -0800 |
| commit | 000fe2dbefff89c5b1e7546765f66c9afa675ede (patch) | |
| tree | 834383a6d5a7cc1486c88e3f802496125bc0cdcc /44195-h/44195-h.html | |
| parent | 0b758a53935ac167bc90e783e8388b2c7ab86a11 (diff) | |
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- float: left; - margin-right: 1em } - -.align-right { clear: right; - float: right; - margin-left: 1em } - -.align-center { margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto } - -div.shrinkwrap { display: table; } - -/* SECTIONS */ - -body { margin: 5% 10% 5% 10% } - -/* compact list items containing just one p */ -li p.pfirst { margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0 } - -.first { margin-top: 0 !important; - text-indent: 0 !important } -.last { margin-bottom: 0 !important } - -span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 1 } -img.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; max-width: 25% } -span.dropspan { font-variant: small-caps } - -.no-page-break { page-break-before: avoid !important } - -/* PAGINATION */ - -.pageno { position: absolute; right: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.pageno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.lineno { position: absolute; left: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.lineno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.toc-pageref { float: right } - -@media screen { - .coverpage, .frontispiece, .titlepage, .verso, .dedication, .plainpage - { margin: 10% 0; } - - div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage - { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } - - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -/* DIV */ -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } - -</style> -<title>FLOWER O' THE PEACH</title> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="Flower o' the Peach" /> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="Perceval Gibbon" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1911" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="44195" /> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2013-11-16" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="Flower o' the Peach" /> - -<link href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" rel="schema.DCTERMS" /> -<link href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators" rel="schema.MARCREL" /> -<meta content="Flower o' the Peach" name="DCTERMS.title" /> -<meta content="flower.rst" name="DCTERMS.source" /> -<meta content="en" scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" name="DCTERMS.language" /> -<meta content="2013-11-16T18:48:49.850652+00:00" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.modified" /> -<meta content="Project Gutenberg" name="DCTERMS.publisher" /> -<meta content="Public Domain in the USA." name="DCTERMS.rights" /> -<link href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/44195" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" /> -<meta content="Perceval Gibbon" name="DCTERMS.creator" /> -<meta content="2013-11-16" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.created" /> -<meta content="width=device-width" name="viewport" /> -<meta content="EpubMaker 0.3.20a7 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" name="generator" /> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="flower-o-the-peach"> -<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">FLOWER O' THE PEACH</span></h1> - -<!-- this is the default PG-RST stylesheet --> -<!-- figure and image styles for non-image formats --> -<!-- default transition --> -<!-- default attribution --> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="clearpage"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="align-None container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span> -included with this eBook or online at -</span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<div class="align-None container" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: Flower o' the Peach -<br /> -<br />Author: Perceval Gibbon -<br /> -<br />Release Date: November 16, 2013 [EBook #44195] -<br /> -<br />Language: English -<br /> -<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>FLOWER O' THE PEACH</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p> -</div> -<div class="align-None container titlepage"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="x-large">FLOWER O' THE PEACH</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">PERCEVAL GIBBON</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<!-- --> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Flower o' the peach,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Death for us all and his own life for each."</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Fra Lippo Lippi</em><span>.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">NEW YORK -<br />THE CENTURY CO. -<br />1911</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container verso"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">Copyright, 1911, by -<br />THE CENTURY CO.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics small">Published, October, 1911</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container dedication"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">TO -<br />JESSIE AND JOSEPH CONRAD</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-i"><span class="bold x-large">FLOWER O' THE PEACH</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER I</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was late in the afternoon when the sheep moved -off, and the west was full of the sunset. They -flowed out from the cactus-ringed fold like a -broadening trickle of milk, with their mild idiot faces set -southwards towards the sparse pastures beyond the -horizon, and the dust from their feet hung over them -in a haze of soft bronze. Half-way along the path -between the house and the dam, Paul turned to watch -their departure, dwelling with parted lips on the picture -they made as they drifted forth to join themselves with -earth and sky in a single mellowness of hue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little farmhouse with its outbuildings, and the one -other house that reared its steep roof within eyeshot of -the farm, were behind him as he stood; nothing interrupted -the suave level of the miles stretching forth, like -a sluggish sea, to the sky-line. In its sunset mood, its -barren brown, the universal tint into which its poor -scrub faded and was lost to the eye, was touched to -warmth and softened; it was a wilderness with a soul. -The tall boy, who knew it in all its aspects for a -neighbor, stood gazing absorbed as the sheep came to a pause, -with the lean, smooth-coated dog at their heels, and -waited for the shepherd who was to drive them through -the night. He was nearing seventeen years of age, and -the whole of those years had been spent on the Karoo, -in the native land of dreams. The glamour of it was -on his face, where the soft childish curves were not yet -broken into angles, and in his gaze, as his steady -unconscious eyes pored on the distance, deep with -foreknowledge of the coming of the night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Baas!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul closed his lips and turned absently. The old -black shepherd was eager to linger out a minute or two -in talk before he went forth to his night-long solitude. -He stood, a bundle of shabby clothes, with his strong old -face seamed with gray lines and the corners of the eyes -bunched into puckers, waiting in the hope that the -young baas might be tempted into conversation. He -carried a little armory of smooth, wire-bound sticks, his -equipment against all the perils of the unknown, and -smiled wistfully, ingratiatingly, up into Paul's face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" said the boy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It all depended on the beginning, for if he should -merely nod and turn away there would be nothing left -but to follow the sheep out to the silence. The old man -eyed him warily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Has the baas heard," he asked, "that there is a mad -Kafir in the veld?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Paul. "A mad Kafir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old man nodded half a dozen times. "There is -such a one," he affirmed. The thing was done; the -boy would listen, and he let his sticks fall at his feet -that he might have two hands to talk with. They were -speaking "Kitchen Kafir," the </span><em class="italics">lingua franca</em><span> of the -Cape, and since that is a sterile and colorless -tongue—the embalmed corpse of the sonorous native -speech—the tale would need pantomime to do it justice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is such a one," repeated the shepherd. "He -goes about alone, in the day and in the night, talking -as he goes to companions who are not there, and -laughing sometimes as though they had answered him. And -that is very strange."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said the boy slowly. His eyes traveled -involuntarily to the veld brooding under the sky. "Who -has seen him?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have," said the shepherd, putting a big black -forefinger to his own breast. "I have seen him." He held -out his great hand before him, with the fingers splayed, -and counted on them. "Four nights ago I saw him -when the moon was rising."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And he was mad?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mad as a sheep."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul waited for the tale. The old man had touched -his interest with the skill of a clever servant -practising upon a master. A hint of mystery, of things -living under the inscrutable mask of the veld, could not -fail to hold him. He watched the shepherd with a -kind of grave intensity as he gathered himself to tell -the matter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The moon was rising," he said, "and it lay low -above the earth, making long shadows of the stones and -little bushes. The sheep were here and there, and in -the middle of them was I, with a handful of fire and -my blanket. It was very still, baas, for the wind was -gone down, and I heard nothing at all but the ash -sliding in the fire and the slow noise of the sheep -eating. There was not even a jackal to stand out of -sight and cry in the dark.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps I was on the brink of sleep—perhaps I was -only cloudy with thoughts—I do not know. But very -suddenly I heard singing.—a voice coming nearer that -sang a curious music."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Curious!" The boy was hanging on the words. -"Curious!" he repeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was a song," explained the old Kafir, "but the -words of it were meaningless, just noises such as a baby -makes—a babble. I listened, for I was not afraid. -And soon I could hear footfalls among the stones and -the singer came between me and the young moon, very -great and black against the sky. It was only when he -stood by my fire that I saw he was not a white man, -but a Kafir. He was young, a strong young man, -wearing clothes and boots." He paused. "Boots," he said -again and thrust out his own bare foot, scarred and -worn with much traveling. "Boots!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a town, it is conceivable that a Kafir may wear -boots for purposes of splendor; but not on the Karoo. -Paul saw the old man's point; here was an attribute -of the unnatural.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he said; "go on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was sitting, with my pipe. He stood by the fire -and looked down at me, and I could see by the shine -of his teeth that he was smiling. But when he spoke, -it was like his song—just noises, no speech at all. It -was then that I began to doubt him. But I gave him -greeting, and moved that he might sit down and smoke -with me. He listened and shook his head gently, and -spoke again with his slow soft voice in his language of -the mad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did it sound like?" demanded Paul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Baas, it sounded like English," replied the shepherd. -"Yes, there are many Kafirs who speak English; -the dorps are noisy with them; but there are none who -do not speak Kafir. And this man had come through -the night, singing in his strange tongue, going straight -forward like one that has a purpose. I and my fire -stayed him only for a minute; he was not one of us; -he stood, with his head on one side, smiling down, while -I began to feel fear and ill-ease. I had it in my mind -that this was a ghost, but of a sudden he stooped to -where my bread lay—I had newly eaten my supper, -and the things still lay about—and took a piece as -large as this fist. He seemed to ask for it, but I could -not understand him. Then he laughed and tossed -something into my lap, and turned again to the night and -the long shadows and the things that belong there. His -feet moved among the stones and he was gone; and -later I heard him singing again in the distance, till his -voice dwindled and was lost."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He threw you something," said the boy. "What was it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old shepherd nodded. "I will show the baas," -he said, and made search among precarious pockets. -"This is it; I have not spent it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a shilling, looking no larger than sixpence on -the flat of his great horny palm. Paul looked at it and -turned it over, sensible that something was lacking in -it, since it differed in no respect from any other shilling. -The magic of madness and the stolid massiveness of -Queen Victoria's effigy were not easy to reconcile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It looks like a good one," he commented.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is good," said the shepherd. "But—" he -paused ere he put it in its true light—"the bread was -not more than a pennyworth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A hundred yards away the waiting sheep discharged -a small volley of bleats. Paul raised his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he said, "the veld is full of wonderful -things. But I would like to hear that language of the -mad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded in token of dismissal and walked slowly -on towards the dam, where the scarlet of the sky had -changed the water to blood. The old shepherd picked -up his sticks and went heavily after the sheep, a -grotesque and laborious figure in that wonder of evening -light. The smooth dog slunk towards him, snuffling -in welcome; the Kafir dog is not a demonstrative -animal, and his snuffle meant much. The shepherd hit -him with the longest of the wire-bound sticks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hup!" he grunted. "Get on!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the top of the dam wall, the sloping bank of -earth and stones that held the water, Paul paused to -watch them pass into the shifting distance, ere he went -to his concerns at the foot of it. He could not have put -a name to the quality in them which stirred him and -held him gazing, for beauty is older than speech; but -words were not needful to flavor the far prospect of -even land, with the sheep moving across it, the squat, -swart shape of the shepherd pacing at their heels, and the -strange, soft light making the whole unreal and mysterious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Below the dam wall, the moisture oozing through -had made a space of rank grass and trailing -weed-vines, and the ground underfoot was cool and damp -through the longest day of sun. Here one might sit -in the odor of water and watch the wind lift tall spirals -of dust and chase them over the monotonous miles where -the very bushes rustled like dead boughs at their -passage. It had the quality of a heritage, a place -where one may be aloof and yet keep an eye on the -world, and since there were no others who needed -elbow-room for their dreams, Paul had it to himself. Here -and there about the sloping bank, as on the walls of -a gallery, his handiwork cracked and crumbled in the -sun—little masks and figures of red clay which he -fashioned to hold some shape that had caught his eye -and stayed in it. He had an instinct for the momentary -attitude, the quick, unconscious pose which is life, the -bunched compact shape of a sheep grazing, the poise -of a Kafir girl with a load on her head, a figure -revealed in wind-blown clothes and lost in a flash. The -sweet, pliant clay was his confidant; it was not the -fault of the clay that he could tell it so much less than -he knew.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He groped, kneeling, below a vine, and brought out -the thing he had hidden there the evening before when -the light failed him. A flattened stone at the foot of -the wall was his table; he set the clay down tenderly and -squatted beside it, with his back to the veld and all the -world. It was to be the head of a negro, the negro as -Paul knew him, and already the clay had shape. The -shallow round of the skull was achieved; he had been -feeling, darkly, gropingly, for the brutal angle of the -brows that should brood like a cloud over the whole -countenance. It had evaded him and baffled him; he knew -how it should be, but when the time had come for him -to leave it for the night, the brows still cocked -themselves in a suggestion of imbecility which was -heart-breaking. He turned it round, frowning a little as his -habit was when he centered his faculties upon a matter; -the chaos of the featureless face below the smooth head -fronted him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Allemachtag!</em><span>" he cried aloud, as he set eyes on it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no possibility that he could be mistaken; -he remembered, in their smallest exasperating detail, -those brows as he had left them, taunting him as bad -work will. Even now, he had but to close his eyes -and he could see them, absurd and clamorous for -correction. But—he stared dumbly at the clay as he -realized it—since then another creator had played with -it, or else the thing, left to itself, had frowned. The -rampart of the brows had deepened above the empty -face; Paul knew in it the darkness for which he had -sought, the age-old patience quenching the spark of the -soul. It was as different from what he had left as -living flesh is from red clay, an inconsequent miracle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Somebody," said Paul, pondering over it—"somebody </span><em class="italics">knows</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The thing troubled him a little while, but he passed -his hand over the clay, to make yet more sure of it, -and the cool invitation of its softness was medicine for -his wonder. He smudged the clay to a ridge in the -place where the nose should be, and then, forgetting -forthwith that he was the victim of a practical joke, -as it seemed, played upon him by the powers of the air, -he fell to work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The colors in the west were burning low when he -raised his head, disturbed by a far sound that forced -itself on his ear. It was like a pulse in the air, a dull -rhythmical throb faintly resonant like the beating of -some great heart. He came to consciousness of it -slowly, withdrawing himself unwillingly from the work -under his hands, and noting with surprise that the -evening light was all but gone. But the face of the -negro was a step nearer completion, and even the -outline of the gross mouth was there to aid the clay to -return his look. The far sound insisted; he lifted his -head with mild impatience to listen to it, sighed, and -tucked the unfinished head away in its hidingplace. -Perhaps another night would draw out the mouth to its -destined shape of empty, pitiful mirth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The beat of the gourd-drum that hung at the farmhouse -door still called, and he hastened his steps along -the homeward path. It was the common manner of -summons on the farm. For the European ear, the -gourd sawed across, with a skin stretched over it, is -empty of music, but it has the quality of sowing its -flat voice over many miles, threading through the voices -of nature as a snake goes through grass. Simple -variants in the rhythm of the strokes adapt it to -messages, and now it was calling Paul. "Paul, Paul, -P-P-Paul!" it thrilled, and its summons was as plain -as words. To silence it, he put fingers to his mouth -and answered with a shrill, rending whistle. The -gourd was silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His mother was in the doorway as he came through -the kraals; she heard his steps and called to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Paul! That you? Where you bin all this time?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By the dam," he answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I been callin' you this half hour," she said. "Mrs. Jakes -is here—she wants you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The light from within the house showed her as a -thin woman, with the shape of youth yet upon her. -But the years had taken tribute of her freshness, and -her small, rather vacant face was worn and faded. -She wore her hair coiled upon her head in a way to -frame the thin oval of the face, and there remained -to her yet the slight prettiness of sharp weak gestures -and little conscious attitudes. In her voice there -survived the clipped accent of London; Paul had come to -know it as the thing that distinguished his mother from -other women. Before her marriage she had been an -actress of the obscure sort to be found in the lesser -touring companies, and it was when the enterprise of -which she was a member had broken down at the town -of Fereira that she met and married the Boer, -Christian du Preez, Paul's father. She preserved from -the old days a stock of photographs inscribed in -dashing hands—"yours to the dregs"—"your old pal"—"yours -ever most sincerely"—and so on a few cuttings -from newspapers—"Miss Vivie Sinclair as Gertie -Gottem was most unique," said the </span><em class="italics">Dopfontein -Courant</em><span>—a touch of raucousness in her voice, and a -ceaseless weary longing for the easy sham life, the foolish -cheerful companions, the stimulus of the daily publicity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She drew the boy in, sliding her arm through his, -to where Mrs. Jakes sat waiting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here he is at last," she said, looking up at him -prettily. She often said she was glad her boy was tall -enough to go into a picture, but a mother must admire -her son for one thing or another.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes acknowledged Paul's arrival with a -lady-like little smile. "Better late than never," she -pronounced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was the wife of the doctor at the Sanatorium, -the old Dutch house that showed its steep roofs within -a couple of miles of the farm, where came in twos and -threes the consumptives from England, to mend their -broken lungs in the clean air of the Karoo. They -came not quite so frequently nowadays, for a few that -returned healed, or believing themselves to be healed, -had added to their travel-sketches of the wonderful old -house and its surroundings an account of Dr. Jakes -and his growing habit of withdrawing from his duties -to devote himself to drink. Their tales commonly -omitted to describe justly the anxious, lonely woman -who labored at such times to supply his place, -driving herself to contrive and arrange to keep the life -of the house moving in its course, to maintain an -assured countenance, and all the while to screen him -from public shame and ruin. She was a wan little -woman, clinging almost with desperation to those trivial -mannerisms and fashions of speech which in certain -worlds distinguished the lady from the mere person. -She had lain of nights beside a drunken husband, she -had fought with him when he would have gone out to -make a show of his staggering gait and blurred -speech—horrible silent battles in a candle-lit room, ending -in a gasping fall and sickness—she had lied and cheated -to hide the sorry truth, she had bared her soul in -gratitude to her kind God that her child had died. These -things as a matter of course, as women accept and -belittle their martyrdom; but never in her life had she -left the spoon standing in her tea-cup or mislaid her -handkerchief. The true standards of her life were -still inviolate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She liked Paul because he was shy and gentle, but -not well enough to talk to him without mentioning the -weather first.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The evenings are drawing out nicely," she remarked, -leaning to one side in her chair to see through -the door the darkness growing dense upon the veld. -"It reminds me a little of a June evening in -England—if only the rain holds off."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Paul. There would be rain in the ordinary -course in three months or so, if all went well, but -it was not worth while to go into the matter with Mrs. Jakes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We are to have another guest," the lady went on. -The doctor's patients were always "guests" when she -spoke of them. "A young lady this time. And that -is what I came about, really."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Jakes wants you to go in to the station with -the Cape-cart and fetch her out, Paul," explained his -mother. "You 'll 'ave the first look at her. Mrs. Jakes -takes her oath she is young."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes shuddered faintly, and looked at the floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About twenty-six, I understand," she said. "About -that." Her tone reproached Mrs. du Preez for a lapse -of good manners. Mrs. Jakes did not understand the -sprightliness of mild misstatement. She turned to Paul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you could manage it," she suggested. "If it -wouldn't be too much trouble! The doctor, I 'm sorry -to say, has a touch of the sun; he is subject, you -know." Her hands clasped nervously in her lap, and her face -seemed blind as she beat bravely on. "The climate -really does n't suit him at all; he can't stand the heat. -I 've begged and prayed him to give it up and go back -to private practice at home. But he considers it his -duty to keep on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The morning train?" asked Paul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is early," lamented Mrs. Jakes. "But we should -be so much obliged."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul nodded. "All right," he said. "I will bring -her, Mrs. Jakes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There are transactions consecrated to the humorous -point of view, landmarks in the history of laughter. -Mrs. du Preez honestly believed that a youth and a -girl alone in the dawn were a spectacle essentially mirthful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Catch him missing the chance," she said, with her -slightly jarring laugh. "None of your larks, now, -Paul! Promise you 'll behave!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, mother," Paul promised gravely, and her face -went blank before the clear eyes he turned upon her. -Mrs. Jakes in her chair rustled her stiff dress in a -wriggle of approval.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Harding is the name," she told Paul. "You 'll -manage to find her? I don't know at all what she 's -like, but she comes of a very good family, I believe. -You can't mistake her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Paul knows the look of the lungy ones by now," -Mrs. du Preez assured her. "Don't you, Paul? It 's -lungs, of course, Mrs. Jakes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Chest trouble," corrected Mrs. Jakes, nervously. -She preferred the less exact phrase, for there is -indelicacy in localising diseases, and from the lungs to the -bowels it is but a step. "Chest trouble, a slight -attack. Fortunately, Miss Harding is taking it in time. -The doctor lays stress on the necessity for taking it in -time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said Mrs. du Preez, "whatever it is, she 'll -'ave the fashions. Lungs or liver, they 've got to -dress, and it 'll be something to see a frock again. -She 's from London, you said?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes rearranged her black skirts which had -suffered by implication, and suppressed an impulse to -reply that she had not said London.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The address is Kensington," she answered. "Very -good people live in Kensington."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There 's shops there, at any rate," said Mrs. du -Preez. "Lord, don't I remember 'em! I had -lodgings at Hammersmith once myself, and an aunt in the -High Street. There 's not much you can tell me about -that part."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded a challenge to Mrs. Jakes, who shrank -from it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I can tell the doctor that you 'll meet Miss -Harding?" Mrs. Jakes asked Paul. "He will be so -obliged. You see, he 'd go himself, only—you quite -see? Then I 'll expect Miss Harding for breakfast."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She rose and shook herself, the gentle expert shake -that settles a woman's clothes into their place, and -tendered him a vague, black-gloved hand. Gloves were -among her defenses against the crudities of the Karoo. -She was prim in the lamp-light, and extraordinarily -detached from the little uncomfortable room, with its -pale old photographs of forgotten actors staring down -from wall and mantel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She may as well see you first," she said, and smiled -at him as though there were an understanding between -them.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-ii"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER II</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>At three o'clock in the morning it was still dark, -though in the east, low down and gradual, there -paled an apprehension of the dawn. From the -driving-seat of the high two-wheeled cart, Paul looked -forward over the heads of his horses to where the station -lights were blurred like a luminous bead on the -thread of railway that sliced without a curve from -sky to sky. It was the humblest of halting places, with -no town at its back to feed the big trains; it owed -its existence frankly to a gaunt water-tank for the -refreshment of engines. But for Paul it had the -significance of a threshold. He could lose himself in the -crowding impressions of a train's arrival, as it -broadened and grew out of the distance and bore down -between the narrow platforms, immense and portentous, -and thudded to a standstill as though impatient of the -trivial delay. The smell of it, the dull shine of glass -and varnish, were linked in his mind with the names -of strange, distant cities; it was freighted with the -romance of far travel. There were glimpses of -cushioned interiors, and tired faces that looked from the -windows, giving a perfunctory glance to the Karoo -which Paul knew as the world. And once he had -watched four men, with a little folding table cramped -between their knees, playing cards, low-voiced, alert, -each dark predatory face marked with an impassivity -that was like the sheath that hides a blade. He stared -at them fascinated; not once did they raise their eyes -to glance through the window, nor for an instant did -one of them slacken his profound attention. Ahead, at -the platform's end, the great engine whined like a -child that gropes for the breast, till the feed-hose -contented it and its gurgle-gurgle succeeded to the thin -wail of the steam. The Kafir orange woman made -melodious offers of </span><em class="italics">naartjes</em><span> and a hammer clinked -critically along the wheels. It was the live season of -the day, the poignant moment, its amends for the slow -empty hours. But the men about the table had graver -concerns. The feed-hose splashed back out of the way, -the guard shouted, the brakes whanged loose. The -long train jolted and slid, and still they had not looked -up. Paul could not leave them; he even ran along the -platform till their window distanced him, and then -stopped, panting, to watch the tail of the train sink to -the horizon. He had seen the Jew in earnest and it -left him daunted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They wouldn't even look," he was saying, as he -went back to his cart. "They wouldn't even look." It -served as a revelation to one who looked so much and -so fervently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The other train, which came and went before the -daylight, had its equal quality of a swift, brief visitor, -and the further mystery of windows lighted dimly -through drawn curtains, whereon surprising shadow -heads would dawn and vanish in abrupt motion. It was -strange to stand beside one and hear from within the -crying of an infant and the soothing of a mother, -both invisible, arriving from the void on one hand -and bound for the void on the other, with the Karoo -not even an incident in their passage. Paul -wondered whether one day that infant might not pass -through again, with trousers and a mustache and a -cigar, and another trouble to perturb him and cards -and partners to do the soothing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He arrived well in advance of the time of the train, -and tied his docile horses to the hitching rail beside -the road. Within the station there was the usual -expectant group under the dim lamps, the two or three -men who attended to the tank, a Cape Mounted Policeman, -spurred and trim, and a few others, besides the -half-dozen or so mute and timid Kafirs who lounged -at the end of the platform. The white men talked -together and shivered at the cold of the night; only the -Cape Policeman, secure in his uniform great-coat, stood -with legs astraddle and his whip held behind his back, -a model of correct military demeanor in the small -hours. Paul noted the aggressive beauty of his -attitude and his fine young virility, and stared somewhat -till the armed man noticed it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, young feller," he drawled. "You haven't -fallen in love with me, have you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," answered Paul, astonished.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Two or three of the bystanders laughed, and made -him uncomfortable. He did not fully understand why -he had been spoken to, and stared at his questioner a -little helplessly. The policeman smacked his boot with -his whip.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor yet me with you," he said. "So if you want -to stare, go and stare at something else. See?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul backed away, angry and shy, and moved down -the platform to be out of the sound of their voices. -The things that people laughed at were seldom clear -to him; it seemed that he had been left out of some -understanding to take certain things as funny and -laugh at them. His mother's mirth, breaking startlingly -out of unexpected incidents, out of words spoken -without afterthought, out of little accidents and -breakages, always puzzled him. It was as little to be -understood as her tears, when she would sit silent through -a long afternoon of stagnant heat, and burst suddenly -into weeping when some one spoke to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He came to a standstill at the point where the -station roof ended and left the platform bare to the calm -skies. The metals gleamed before his feet, ranging -out to the veld whence the train would come. He -listened for the sound of it, the low drum-note so like -the call of the gourd-drum at the farmhouse door, -which would herald it even before its funnel dragged -its glare into view. There was nothing to be heard, -and he turned to the Kafirs behind him, and spoke -to one who squatted against the wall apart from the rest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is the train late?" he asked, in the "Kitchen -Kafir" of his everyday commerce with natives.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The black man raised his head at the question, but -did not answer. Paul repeated it a little louder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The native held his head as if he listened closely or -were deaf. Then he smiled, his white teeth gleaming -in the black circle of his shadowed face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm sorry," he answered, distinctly; "I can't -understand what you say. You 'll have to speak English."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the voice of a negro, always vaguely musical, -and running to soft full tones, but there was a note -in it which made it remarkable and unfamiliar, some -turn which suggested (to Paul, at any rate) that this -was a man with properties even stranger than his speaking -English. He thrilled with a sense of adventure, for -this, of course, was the mad creature of the shepherd's -tale, who sang to himself of nights when the moon -rose on the veld. If a dog had answered him in set -phrases, it would not have been more amazing than -to hear that precise, aptly modulated voice reply in -easy English from the mouth of a Kafir.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I 've heard of you," he said, stammering.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you?" He remembered how the old shepherd -had spoken of the man's smile. He was smiling now, -looking up at Paul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 've heard of me—I wonder what you 've -heard. And I 've seen you, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where did you see me? Who are you?" asked -Paul quickly. The man was mad, according to the -shepherd, but Paul was not very clear as to what it -meant to be mad, beyond that it enabled one to see -things unseen by the sane.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Kafir turned over, and rose stiffly to his feet, -like a man spent with fatigue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They 'll wonder if they see me sitting down while -I talk to you," he said, with a motion to the group -about the Cape Mounted Policeman. His gesture -made a confidant of Paul and enlisted him, as it were, -in a conspiracy to keep up appearances. It was -possible to see him when he stood on his feet, a young man, -as tall as the boy, with a skin of warm Kafir black. -But the face, the foolish, tragic mask of the negro, -shaped for gross, easy emotions, blunted on the -grindstone of the races of mankind, was almost unexpected. -Paul stared dumbly, trying to link it on some plane of -reason with the quiet, schooled voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What was it you were asking me?" the Kafir inquired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Paul had forgotten. "Don't you speak anything -but English?" he demanded now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Kafir smiled again. "A little French," he -replied. "Nothing to speak of." He saw that the lad -was bewildered, and turned grave at once. "Don't -be frightened," he said quickly. "There 's nothing to -be frightened of."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul shook his head. "I 'm not frightened," he -answered slowly. "It 's not that. But—you said you -had seen me before?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," the Kafir nodded. "One evening about a -fortnight ago; you didn't notice me. I was walking -on the veld, and I came by a dam, with somebody sitting -under the wall and trying to model in clay."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" Paul was suddenly illuminated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I 'd have spoken to you then, only you -seemed so busy," said the Kafir. "Besides, I didn't -know how you 'd take it. But I went there later on -and had a look at the things you 'd made. That 's how -I saw you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," said Paul, "it was </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush!" The Kafir touched him warningly on the -arm, for the Cape Policeman had turned at his raised -voice to look towards them. "Not so loud. You mean -the head? Yes, I went on with it a bit. I hope you -didn't mind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," replied Paul. "I did n't mind. No!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His mind beat helplessly among these incongruities; -only one thing was clear; here was a man who could -shape things in clay. Upon the brink of that world -of which the station was a door, he had encountered -a kindred spirit. The thought made him tremble; it -was so vital a matter that he could not stay to consider -that the spirit was caged in a black skin. The single -fact engrossed him to the exclusion of all the other -factors in the situation, just as some sight about the -farm would strike him while at work, and hold him, -absorbed and forgetful of all else, till either its -interest was exhausted or he was recalled to his task by -a shout across the kraals.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did n't mind at all," he replied. "How did you do -it? I tried, but it wouldn't come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You were n't quite sure what you were trying for," -said the Kafir. "Was n't that it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was it?" wondered Paul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think so." The Kafir's smile shone out again. -"Once you 're sure what you mean to do, it 's easy. -If I had a piece of clay, I 'd show you. There 's a way -of thumbing it up, just a trick, you know—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm there every evening," said Paul eagerly. "But -tell me: </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> other people make things out of clay, -too—over there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His arm pointed along the railway; the gesture -comprehended sweepingly the cities and habitations of men. -The idea that there was a science of fingering clay, that -it was practised and studied, excited him wildly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gently!" warned the Kafir. He looked at the boy -curiously. "Yes," he said. "Lots of people do it, -and lots more go to look at the things they make and -talk about them. People pay money to learn to do it, -and there are great schools where they are taught to -model—to make things, you know, in clay, and stone, -and bronze. Did you think it was all done behind dam -walls?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul breathed deep. "I did n't know," he murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you know Capetown?" asked the other. "No? -It doesn't matter. You 've heard of Jan van Riebeck, -though?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As it happened, Paul had heard of the Surgeon of the -Fleet who first carried dominion to the shadow of -Table Mountain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said the Kafir, "you can imagine Jan van -Riebeek, shaped in bronze, standing on a high pedestal -at the foot of a great street, with the water of the bay -behind him, where his ships used to float, and his -strong Dutch face lifted to look up to Table Mountain, -as it was when he landed? Don't think of the bronze -shape; think of the man. That's what clay is -for—to make things like that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes. That's what it's for," cried Paul. -"But—I never saw anything like that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Plenty of time," said the other. "And that's only -one of the things to see. In London—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 've been in London?" asked Paul quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said the Kafir, nodding. "Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul was silent for a space of seconds. When he -answered it was in a low voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 've seen nothing," he said. "I can't find out -those ways to work the clay. But—but if somebody -would just show me, just teach me those—those tricks -you spoke about—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right." The Kafir patted his arm. "Under -the dam wall, eh? In the evenings? I 'll come, and -then—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?" said Paul eagerly, for he had broken off -abruptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The train," said the Kafir, pointing, and sighed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul had been too intent in talk to hear it, but he -could see now, floating against the distance, the bead -of light which grew while he watched. The group -further down the platform dissolved, and the tank-men -went past at a run to their work. A voice at his elbow -made Paul turn quickly. It was the Cape Mounted -Policeman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 're not having any trouble with this nigger, -hey?" he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Paul, flushing. The Kafir bit off a smile -and stood submissive, with an eye on the boy's troubled -face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't want to let them get fresh with you," -said the policeman. "I 've been keepin' my eye on -him and he talks too much. Have you finished with -him now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His silver-headed whip came out from behind his -back ready to dismiss the negro in the accepted -manner. Paul trembled and took a step which brought him -near enough to seize the whip if it should flick back -for the cut.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let him alone," he said wrathfully. "Mind your -own business."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh?" the policeman was astonished.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You let him alone," repeated Paul, bracing himself -nervously for combat, and ready to cry because he -could not keep from trembling. He had never come -to blows in his life, but he meant to now. The -policeman stared at him, and laughed harshly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He 's a friend of yours, I suppose," he suggested, -striving for a monstrous affront.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," retorted Paul hotly, "he is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment it looked as though the policeman, -outraged in the deepest recesses of his nature, would burst -a blood vessel or cry for help. A man whose prayer -that he may be damned is granted on the nail could -scarcely have looked less shocked. He recovered -himself with a gulp.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, he is, is he? A friend of yours? A -nigger!" Then, with a swelling of rage he dodged Paul's -grasping hand and swung the whip. "I 'll teach him to—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He came to a stop, open-mouthed. The Kafir was -gone. He had slipped away unheard while they -quarreled, and the effect of it was like a conjuring trick. -Even Paul gaped at the place where he had been and -now was not.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Blimy!" said the policeman, reduced to an expression -of his civilian days, and vented a short bark -of laughter. "And </span><em class="italics">so</em><span>, young feller, he 's a friend o' -yours, is he? Now, lemme give you just a word of -advice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His young, sun-roughened face was almost paternal -for a moment, and Paul shook with a yearning to -murder him, to do anything that would wipe the -self-satisfaction from it. He sought furiously for a form -of anathema that would shatter the man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go to hell," he cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, well," said the policeman, tolerantly, and then -the train's magnificent uproar of arrival gave Paul -an opportunity to be rid of him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the complication of events Paul had all but -forgotten his duty of discovering the young lady with -"chest trouble," and now he wondered rather -dolefully how to set about it. He stood back to watch -the carriage windows flow past. Would it be at all -possible just to stand where he was and shout "Miss -Harding" till she answered? To do that needed some -one more like the policeman and less like Paul; the -mere thought of it was embarrassing. The alternative -was, to wait until such passengers as alighted—they -would not be many—had taken themselves away, and -then to go up to the one that remained and say, "Is -your name Miss Harding, if you please?" But -supposing she answered, "Mind your own business!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The train settled and stood, and Paul became aware -that from the carriage nearest him a woman was -looking forth, with her face in the full light of a lamp. -The inveterate picture-seeker in him suddenly found -her engrossing, as she leaned a little forward, lifting -her face to the soft meager light, and framed in the -varnished wood of the window. It was a pale face, with -that delicacy and luster of pallor which make rose -tints seem over-robust. It was grave and composed; -there was something there which the boy, in his -innocence, found at once inscrutable and pitiful, like the -bravery of a little child. Distinctly, this was a day -of surprises; it came to him that he had not known -that the world had women like this. His eyes, always -the stronghold of dreams, devoured her, unconscious -that she was returning his gaze. Perhaps to her, he -also was a source of surprise, with his face rapt and -vague, his slender boyishness, his general quality of -standing always a little aloof from his surroundings. -On the Karoo, people said of him that he was -"old-fashioned"; one word is as good as another when -folk understand each other. The point was that it was -necessary to find some term to set Paul apart from -themselves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He saw the girl was making preparations to leave -the carriage, and was suddenly inspired. He found -the handle of the door and jerked it open, and there -she was above him, and looking down. She wore some -kind of scent, very faint and elusive; he was conscious -of her as a near and gentle and fragrant personality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope," he said, letting the words come, "I -hope you are Miss Harding?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl smiled. It had been prettily spoken, with -the accent of sincerity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she answered. "You have come to meet me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The thing about her to which Paul could put no -name was that she was finished, a complete and -perfect product of a special life, which, whatever its -defects and shortcomings, is yet able to put a polish of -considerable wearing qualities on its practitioners. -She knew her effect; her education had revealed it to -her early; she was aware of the pale, intent figure she -cut, and her appearance of enlightened virginity. The -reverence in the boy's eyes touched her and warmed -her at once; it was a charming welcome at the end of -that night's journey. Paul's guilelessness had served -the specious ends of tact, for to corroborate a woman's -opinion of herself is the sublime compliment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He received the lesser luggage which she handed -down to him and then she came down herself, and one -train, at least, had shed its marvel upon the Karoo. -She was not less wonderful and foreign on the -platform than she had been at the window; the Cape -Policeman, coming past again, lost his military-man air -of a connoisseur in women and stiffened to a strutting -perfection of demeanor at sight of her. South Africa -is still so short of women that it makes the most of -those it can get, both as goddesses and as beasts of -burden. Paul was free of the evil civilized habit of -thinking while he could feel, and the girl had to -despatch the single lanky porter for her baggage -herself and attend to having it stacked at the back of -the cart. Then she was beside him, with the poignant -air from the open south fresh on their faces, and the -empty veld before them. The slow dawn was suddenly -magical and the stillness was the hush that -attends miracles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had to give his mind to steering the big cart -through the gateway to the road, and it was here -that he saw, against the white fence, a waiting figure -that looked up and was silent. He bent forward and -waved his hand, but the Kafir did not respond. The -girl at his side broke silence in her low rich voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That was a native, was n't it?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul looked at her. "It was a—a friend of mine," -he answered seriously. "A Kafir, you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The light in the eastern sky had grown and its lower -edge, against the rim of the earth, was tinged with a -rose-and-bronze presentiment of the sunrise. The -Karoo lay under a twilight, with the night stripping -from its face like a veil drawn westwards and away. -In that half-light, its spacious level, its stillness, its -quality of a desert, were enhanced; its few and little -inequalities were smoothed out and merged in one -empty flatness, and the sky stood over in a single -arch, sprinkled with stars that were already burning -pale. In all the vast expanse before them, there rose no -roof, no tree, no token of human habitation; the eye -that wandered forward, returned, like the dove to the -Ark, for lack of a resting-place. It was a world at -gaze, brooding grimly. The little morning wind, which -would die when the sun rose clear of the horizon and -leave the veld to its day-long torpor of heat, leaned -upon their faces; the girl raised her brows against it -and breathed deeply of its buoyancy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," she said; "this is what I came for."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The air?" Paul glanced sideways at her clear -profile set against the shadowy morning. "They say it -is good for—for—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He hesitated; Mrs. Jakes had managed to make the -word difficult. But Miss Harding took it in her stride.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For the lungs?" she suggested without compunction. -"Yes, I 'm sure it is. And you live here all the -time, do you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was born here," Paul answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How you must love it," she said, and met his eyes -with a look in which there was a certain curiosity. "All -this, I mean," she explained. Then: "But do you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he answered. "It 's—it's fine to look at—if -you like looking at things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not all that he desired to say, for he was -newly eager to make himself clear to this wonderful -person at his side, and he felt that he was not doing -himself justice. But Miss Harding had seen inarticulate -souls before, aching to be confidential and to make -revelations and unable to run their trouble into a mould -of speech. They were not uncommon in the neighborhood -of her address in Kensington. She smiled her -recognition of the phenomenon. "There are not many -kinds of men, and only two kinds of boy," she said to -herself. She was twenty-six, and she knew.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I," she answered. "Yes, I like looking at things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul nodded, watching his horses. "I was sure you -did when I saw you at the window," he said. He -turned to her, and she smiled at him, interested in the -strong simplicity with which he spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was sure," he repeated, "and yet nobody like you -ever came here before, ever. They always went on in -the train. I used to wonder if one of them would never -get out, but they never did. They just sat still by the -window, with their faces tired and sleepy, and went -on again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He loosed the lash of his whip, and it made lightning -circles over the off horse, and the tail of the lash -slapped that animal reproachfully on the neck. Miss -Harding contented herself with a little incoherent noise -of general sympathy. "If I say anything," she -thought, "I 'll be knocked off my seat with a compliment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Paul had only wanted to tell her; it seemed -necessary that she should know something of her value. -That done, he was content to drive on in dreaming -silence, while the pair of them watched the veld grow -momentarily lighter, its bare earth, the very hue and -texture of barrenness, spreading and widening before -them like water spilt on a floor. The stronger light -that showed it to them revealed only a larger vacancy, -a void extending where the darkness had stood like a -presence. Beside the cart, and no more than a dozen -yards away, a heavy bird suddenly uttered a cry and -spouted up into the air, with laborious wings, flapping -noisily. It rose perhaps thirty feet, with an appearance -of great effort, whistled and sank again forthwith, -girl laughed; it was such a futile performance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What was that?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A lark," was the answer, and Paul turned his eyes -to the east. "Look!" he bade her, pointing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Over the horizon which was like a black bar, set rigid -against the heavens, stood the upper edge of the sun, -naked and red,—a fiery eye, cocked arrogantly over -the sky-line. About it, the very air seemed flooded -with color, and the veld reflected it in dull gleams of -red.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And there!" said Paul again, pointing ahead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were at the top of a gentle slope, so gradual that -it had made no break in the flat prospect of ten -minutes ago, and before them, and still so far off that it -had the appearance of a delicate and elaborate toy, -stood the Sanatorium. In that diamond clearness of -air, every detail of it was apparent. Its beautiful -serene front, crowned by old Dutch gables mounting in -steps to the height of the rooftree, faced them, frank -and fair, over the shadowy reticence of the stone-pillared -stoep. Beyond and behind it, the roof of the -farm, Paul's home, stood in a dim perspective.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that it?" asked Miss Harding. "Where I am -going, I mean."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Paul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's very beautiful," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled contentedly. "I was sure you would say -that," he replied. "I am so glad you have come here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Miss Harding regarded him doubtfully, but decided -that no rebuke was necessary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she said, soberly. "It ought to give my -lungs a chance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul flicked the long lash towards the off horse again, -and spoke no more till he brought the cart to a stand-still -at the foot of the fan-shaped flight of steps that -led up to the door on the stoep. The big house was -voiceless and its windows blank; he was preparing to -call out when the front door opened, uncovering a vista -of a stone corridor within, simple and splendid, and -there emerged Mrs. Jakes to the glory of the new day. -She crossed the stoep, challenging the dignity of smooth -cold stone with her little black figure of ceremony and -her amiable, empty face of formal welcome.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Harding?" she enquired. "I scarcely -expected you so early. Isn't it charming weather?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul helped the girl to alight, and watched the two -women as they stood, before entering the house, and -exchanged perfunctory civilities.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And now, to see your room," said Mrs. Jakes at -last, and let her pass. "Isn't it fortunate that the -rain has held off so nicely?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her small voice tinkled indefatigably, and she worked -through all the motions of hospitable politeness. But -behind her smile her eyes were haggard and stale, and -Paul thought that she looked at the girl, as they went -in, with the very hate of envy.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-iii"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER III</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In the years of his innocence, when the art and -practice of medicine were rich with enticements -like a bride, Dr. Jakes had taken his dreams in hand to -mold them to the shape of his desire. A vision had -beckoned to him across the roofs and telegraph wires -of South London, where he scuffled for a livelihood as -the assistant of a general practitioner; and when he -fixed his eyes upon it, it spread and took shape as a -great quiet house, noble and gray, harboring within its -sober walls the atmosphere of distinguished repose -which goes with a practice of the very highest class. -Nothing of all its sumptuous appointment was quite so -clear to him as that flavor of footfalls muffled and voices -subdued; to summon it was to establish a refuge in -which he might have brief ease between a tooth-drawing -and a confinement. Kindly people who excused a -certain want of alacrity in the little doctor by the -reflection that he was called out every night might have -saved their charity; his droop, his vacancy were only -a screen for the splendid hush and shadow of that great -visionary mansion. It was peopled, too, with many dim -folk, resident patients in attitudes of relaxation; and -among them, delicate and urbane, went Dr. Jakes, the -sweet and polished vehicle of healing for the -pulmonary complaints of the well-bred. Nor was there -lacking a lady, rather ghostlike and faint in conformity with -the dreamer's ideal of the highest expression of a -lady-like quality, but touched, none the less, with warm -femininity, an angel and a houri in one, and answering, in -the voice of refinement, to the title of Mrs. Jakes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had no Christian name then; she was a haunting -mellowness, a presence delicate and uplifting. In the -murk of the early morning, after a night spent behind -drawn blinds in a narrow, tragic room, where another -human being entered the world between his hands, he -would go home along empty furtive streets, conscious -of the comfort of her and glad as with wine, and in such -hours he would make it clear to himself that she, at any -rate, should never bear a child.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he would say, half aloud and very seriously. -"No; it's not in the part. No!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That gracious and mild presence—he did not entirely -lose it even when its place was assailed by the advent -of the timid and amiable lady whom he married. She -was a daughter of the landed interest; her father owned -"weekly property" about Clapham Junction, two streets -of forlorn little houses, which rang day and night with -the passing of trains, and furnished to the population a -constant supply of unwelcome babies. Dr. Jakes knew -the value of property of that kind, and perhaps his -knowledge did something to quicken his interest in a -sallow, meager girl whom he encountered in the house -of his employer. She brought him a thousand pounds -in money, means ready to his hand to anchor the old -vision to earth and run it on commercial lines; it -puzzled him a little that the vision no longer responded -to his summons so readily as of old. It had -degenerated from an inspiration to a mere scheme, best -expressed in the language of the prospectus; the fine zest -of it was gone beyond recovery. There was no -recapturing its gentle languors, the brooding silence of it; -still less was it possible when, by the mere momentum -of his plans, he had moved to South Africa and found -him a house, to reproduce that reposefulness as the main -character of the establishment. Such effects as he -gained, during the brief strenuousness that he -manifested on taking possession, were the merest caricatures -of the splendid original, mocking his impotence. The -thousand pounds, too, which at first had some of the -fine, vague, inexhaustible quality of a dream, proved -inelastic, and by the time the baby came, Dr. Jakes was -already buying whisky by the case. The baby was a -brief incident, a caller rather than a visitor, so -ephemeral that it was scarcely a nuisance before it departed -again in search of a peace less dependent on the arrangement -of furniture than that which Dr. Jakes had sought -to bring into being.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All life is a compromise; between the dream and the -exigencies of Dr. Jakes' position the Sanatorium had -emerged. The fine, simple, old house had an air of its -own, which no base use could entirely destroy. Its flat -front, pedestaled upon a wide, flagged stoep, faced to -the southeast and made a stronghold of shade in the -noonday vehemence of the sun. Its rooms were great -and low, with wide solemn windows regarding the -monotony of the level veld; they stood between straight -corridors where one's footsteps rang as one walked. -The art of its builders had so fashioned it that it stood -on the naked ground like a thing native to it, not -interrupting nor affronting that sweep of vacant miles, -but enhancing it. The stolid Dutch builders knew how -to make their profit out of wide horizons. They had -conceived a frame for lives which should ripen in face -of the Karoo, gleaming on its barrenness a measure of -its tranquillity. They built a home; and of it Dr. Jakes -had made a Home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There remained yet, of all the decorous and ceremonial -processes which were to maintain and give color to the -life of the Sanatorium as he had conceived it of old, -only one function. The two men patients who were -left to him did as they pleased in most respects, but if -they took tea in the afternoon they took it from -Mrs. Jakes in the drawing-room after an established usage, -with formal handing to and fro of plates and cups in -the manner of civilized society. Jakes was seldom too -unwell to be present at this function, and it was here, -with his household at his back, that Margaret saw him -first.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Weariness had come upon her with the rush of an -overtaking pursuer as Mrs. Jakes brought her into the -house and away from the spreading dawn, and that -lady had cut short the forms of politeness to bid her -go to bed. She woke to the warmth of afternoon and -the glow of its sun slanting upon the floor of her room -and was aware at once of a genial presence. At the -window a tall, stout Kafir woman, her head bound in a -red and yellow handkerchief in a fashion which -reminded Margaret of pictures of pirates, was tweaking -the tails of the spring-blinds and taking delight in -watching them run up with a whir and click. She -turned at the sound of Margaret's movement, and -flashed a brilliant smile upon her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Missis sleeping too long," she observed. "Tea now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The mere good humor of her was infectious and -Margaret smiled in return.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who are you?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Me? Fat Mary," was the answer. She laughed -easily, willing to make or be a joke according to -Margaret's humor. "Fat Mary, because—" she sought for -a word in the unfamiliar English and then gave it up. -"Because," she repeated, and traced her ample -circumference with a black finger. "You see?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see," said Margaret, and prepared to get up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her long sleep had restored her and there was -comfort, too, in waking to the willing humanity of Fat -Mary's smiles, instead of to the starched cuffs and -starched countenance of some formal trained and -mechanical nurse. Fat Mary was not a deft maid; she was -too easily amused at niceties of the toilet, and Margaret -could not help feeling that she regarded the process of -dressing as a performance which she could discuss later -with her friends; but at least she was interested. She -revolved helpfully about the girl, to the noise of bumped -furniture and of large bare feet scraping on the mats, -like a bulky planet about a wan and diminutive sun, -and made mistakes and laughed and was buoyant and -alight with smiles—all with a suggestion of gentle and -reverent playfulness such as a more than usually grown -person might use with a child.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Too much clothes," was her final comment, when -Margaret at last was ready and stood, slim and sober, -under her inspection. "Like bundles," she added, -thoughtfully. "But Missis is skinny."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where do we go now?" asked Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tea," replied Fat Mary, and led the way downstairs -by a wide and noble staircase to the gray shadows -of the stone hall. There was a simple splendor about -the house which roused the connoisseur in Margaret, a -grandeur which was all of proportion and mass, and -the few articles of furniture which stood about were dim -and shabby in contrast to it. She had only time to -note so much when Fat Mary opened a door for her, and -she was facing across a wide room to broad windows -flooded with sunlight and aware of Mrs. Jakes rising -from behind a little tea-table and coming forward to -meet her. Two men, a young one and an old one, rose -from their chairs near the window as she entered, and a -third was standing on the hearth-rug, with his back to -the empty hearth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite rested now?" Mrs. Jakes was asking. -"You 've had a nice long sleep. Let me introduce the -doctor. Eustace—this is Miss Harding."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dr. Jakes advanced from the hearth-rug; Margaret -thought he started forward rather abruptly as his name -was spoken. He gave her a loose, hot hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Charmed," he said in a voice that was not quite -free from hoarseness. "We were just out of ladies, -Miss Harding. This is a great pleasure; a great pleasure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," murmured Margaret vaguely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was a short plump man, with a big head and -round spectacles that gave him the aspect of a large, -deliberate bird. He was dressed for the afternoon in -formal black, the uniform of his calling, though the -window framed shimmering vistas of heat. He peered -up at her with a sort of appeal on his plump, amiable -face, as though he were conscious of that quality in him -which made the girl shrink involuntarily while he held -her hand, which no decent austerity of broadcloth -could veil from her scrutiny. There was something -about him at once sleepy and tormented, the state in -which a man lies all day full-dressed upon a bed and -goes habitually unbuttoned. It was the salient -character in him, and he seemed to search her face in a faint -hope that she would not recognize it. He dropped her -hand with a momentary knitting of his brows like the -ghost of despair, and talked on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It 's the air we depend on," he told her. "Wonderful -air here, Miss Harding—the breath of healing, -you know. It doesn't suit me, but then I 'm not here -for my health."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed uncertainly, and ceased abruptly when -he saw that no one laughed with him. He was like a -child in disgrace trying to win and conciliate a circle -of remorseless elders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes interrupted with a further introduction. -While the doctor spoke, she had been standing by like -an umpire. "Mr. Ford," she said now, and the younger -of the two men by the window bowed to her without -speaking across the tea-table. His back was to the -window and he stood silhouetted against the golden haze -which filled it, and Margaret saw only that he was tall -and slender and moved with easy deliberation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Samson," said Mrs. Jakes next.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This was the elder man. He came forward to her, -showing a thin, sophisticated old face with cloudy white -eyebrows, and shook hands in a pronounced manner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, you come like a gleam of sunshine," he -announced, in a thin voice that was like a piece of -bravado. "A gleam of sunshine, by gad! We 're not much -to look at, Miss Harding; a set of crocks, you know—bellows -to mend, and all that sort of thing, but, by gad, -we 're English, and we 're glad to see a countrywoman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He cocked his white head at her gallantly and straddled -his legs in their neat gray trousers with a stiff -swagger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My mother was Irish," observed Mrs. Jakes brightly. -"But Miss Harding must have some tea."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson skipped before to draw out a chair for -her, and Margaret was established at Mrs. Jakes' elbow. -The doctor came across the room to hand her bread and -butter; that done, he retired again to his place on the -hearth-rug and to his cup, lodged upon the mantel-shelf. -It seemed that this was his place, outside the -circle by the window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Charming weather we 're having," announced Mrs. Jakes, -conscientiously assailing an interval of silence. -"If it only lasts!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson, with his back to the wall and his teacup -wavering in his thin hand, snorted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Weather!" he said. "Ya-as, we do get weather. -'Bout all we do get here,—eh, Jakes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Behind Margaret's back the doctor's teaspoon clinked -in his saucer, and he said something indistinct, in which -the words "wonderful air" alone reached her. She -hitched her chair a pace sideways, so as to see him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes was looking over her with the acute eyes -of a shopper which took in and estimated each detail -of her raiment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose, now," she remarked thoughtfully, "in -England, the spring fashions were just coming out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know, really," Margaret answered. "When -I left, the principal wear seemed to be umbrellas. It 's -been an awful winter—rain every day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aha!" Mr. Samson returned to the charge. -"Rain, eh? Cab-wheels squirting mud at you all along -the street, eh? Trees blubbering over the railings like -bally babies, eh? Women bunchin' up their skirts and -hoppin' over the puddles like dicky-birds, eh? I know, -I know; don't I just know! How 'd you like a mouthful -of that air, eh, Ford? Bad for the lungs—yes! -But good, deuced good for the heart."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young man in the window raised his head when -he was addressed and nodded. From the hearth-rug -Dr. Jakes murmured audibly: "Influenza."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That of course," said Mrs. Jakes indulgently. -"Were there many people in town, Miss Harding?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"People!" Margaret was mystified for the moment. -"Oh, yes, I think so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was puzzled by the general attitude of the others -towards the little doctor; it was a matter into which she -had yet to be initiated. It was as though there existed a -tacit understanding to suffer his presence and keep -an eye upon him. It conveyed to her a sense that these -people knew things about him which would not bear -telling, and held the key to his manner of one dully -afflicted. When he moved or managed to make some -small clatter in setting his cup on the mantel-shelf, -Mrs. Jakes turned a swift eye upon him, inspected him -suspiciously and turned away again. If he spoke, the -person addressed seemed to turn his remark over and -examine it for contraband meanings before making a -perfunctory answer. He was like a prisoner handicapped -by previous convictions or a dog conscious of a -bad name. When he managed to catch the girl's eye, -he gave her weak, hopeful, little smiles, and subsided -quickly if any one else saw him, as though he had -been caught doing some forbidden thing. The thing -troubled her a little. Her malady had made a sharp -interruption in her life and she had come to the Karoo -in the sure hope that there she would be restored and -given a warrant to return finally to her own world -and deal with it unhampered. The doctors who had -bidden her go had spoken confidently of an early cure; -they were smooth men who made a good show of their -expert knowledge. She had looked to find such a man -at her journey's end, a doctor with the marks of a -doctor, his social adroitness, his personal strength and -style, his confidence and superiority to the weaknesses -of diseased flesh. This little man, dazed and dumb, -standing apart like a child who has been put in the -corner, did not realize her expectations. If medical -skill, the art and dexterity of a physician, dwelt in him, -they had, she reflected, fallen among thieves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have only three patients here now?" she asked -Mrs. Jakes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At present," answered Mrs. Jakes. "It's a -convenient number. The doctor, you see, can give them -so much more attention than if there were a houseful. -Yes, it's really better for everybody."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she finished, Margaret looked up and caught the -eye of the young man, Ford, fixed upon her, as though -he watched to see how she would take it. He was a tall -youth with a dark impassive face and level brows, and -his malady announced itself in a certain delicacy of -coloring and general texture and in attitudes which -slacked naturally to invalid languors. While the others -talked, he sat on the ledge of the window, looking out -to the veld prostrate under the thresh of the sun. In -any talkative assembly, the silent man is at an advantage, -and this tall youth seemed to sit without the little -circle of desultory tongues and dwarf it by his mere -aloofness. His glance now seemed to convey a hint to -her to accept, to pass over, things that needed -explanation and to promise revelations at a more fitting -time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see," Mrs. Jakes continued, when Margaret had -murmured noises of acquiescence; "you see, each -patient requires his individual attention. And—" she -sank her voice to a confidential undertone—"he 's not -</span><em class="italics">strong</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded past Margaret's shoulder at Jakes, who -was drinking from his cup with precautions against -noise. He caught her look over the rim of it and -choked. Ford smiled faintly and turned to the window -again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Karoo does n't suit him a bit," Mrs. Jakes went -on. "Too bracing, you know. He 's often quite ill. -But he won't leave."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?" asked Margaret. The doctor was busy with -his handkerchief, removing the traces of the accident -from his waistcoat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes looked serious. "Duty," she replied, and -pursed her pale lips. "He considers it his duty to -remain here. It 's his life-work, you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford's eye caught Margaret's again, warning and -inviting. "It 's—it's very unselfish of him," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes!" said Mrs. Jakes. "It is." And she nodded -at Margaret as much as to ask, "And now, what have -you got to say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor managed the tea stains to his satisfaction -and came across the room, replacing the cup and saucer -on the table with a hand that was not quite steady. In -the broad light of the window, he had a strained look; -one familiar with such matters would have known that -the man was raw and tense with the after effects of -heavy drinking. He looked down at Margaret with an -uncertain smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must have a little talk with Miss Harding," he -said. "We must find out how matters stand. Will you -bring her to my study presently, my dear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In a quarter of an hour?" suggested Mrs. Jakes. -He nodded. Ford did not turn from his idle gazing -through the window and old Samson did not cease from -looking at him with an arrogant fixity that seemed on -the point of breaking into spoken denunciations. He -looked from one to the other with a hardy little smile, -then sighed and went out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His going was the signal for the breaking up of the -gathering. Old Samson coughed and walked off and -Ford disappeared with him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what would you care to do now?" asked -Mrs. Jakes of Margaret. "I have some very good views of -Windsor, if you like. You know Windsor?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret shook her head. Windsor had no attractions -for her. What interested her much more was -the fact that this small, bleak woman was on the -defensive, patently standing guard over privacies of her -life, and acutely ready to repel boarders who might -endeavor to force an intimacy upon her. It was plain -in the rigor of her countenance, set into a mask, and in -each tone of her voice. Margaret had yet to undergo -her interview with Dr. Jakes in his study, and till that -was over, and she definitely enlisted for or against him, -Mrs. Jakes would preserve an armed neutrality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think," said Margaret, "I 'd like to go out to the -veranda."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We call it the stoep," corrected Mrs. Jakes. "A -Dutch word, I believe. By all means; you 'll probably -find Mr. Ford there and I will call you when the doctor -is ready."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The stone hall held its cathedral shadows inviolate, -and from it Margaret went forth to a westering sun that -filled the earth with light, and painted the shadow of the -house in startling black upon the ground. She stood -between the square pillars with their dead and ruined -vines and looked forth at a land upon which the light -stood stagnant. It was as though the Karoo challenged -her conception of it. She had seen it last vague with -the illusions of the dawn, hemmed in by mists and -shadows that seemed to veil the distances and what they -held. Now these were stripped from it to reveal only -a vast nakedness, of red and red-brown and gray, all -ardent in the afternoon sun. The shadows had -promised a mystery, the light discovered a void. It ran -from before her yet in a single sweep to a horizon -upon which the blue of remote hills was a faint blur, -and in all the far prospect of it there was not one -roof, no single interruption to its still level. Margaret, -quickly sensitive to the quality of her environment, -gazed at it almost with a sense of awe, baffled by the fact -that no words at her command were pliant enough to fit -it. It was not "wild" nor "desolate" nor even "beautiful"; -none of the words allotted to landscapes, with -which folk are used to label the land they live upon, -could be stretched to the compass of this great staring -vacancy. It was outside of language; it struck a note -not included in the gamut of speech. "Inhuman" came -nearest to it, for the salient quality of it was something -that bore no relation to the lives—and deaths—of men.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A sound of coughing recalled her from her contemplation -of it, and she walked along the stoep towards -it. Behind a pillar near the corner of the house, Ford -sat on a camp-stool, with a little easel before him, and -smudged with his thumb at the paint on a small canvas.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked up at her with no token of welcome, but -rather as though he withdrew himself unwillingly from -his picture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" he said, motioning with his head at the wide -prospect before them. "What d'you think of it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, a lot," replied Margaret, refusing to commit -herself with adjectives. "Can I see?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sat back to give her room to look. She had in her -time spent sincere days at one of the art schools which -help Kensington to its character and was prepared to -appreciate expertly. It was a sketch in oils, done -mostly with the thumb and palette-knife, a </span><em class="italics">croûte</em><span> of the -most obvious—paint piled in ridges as though the artist -would have built his subject in relief upon the -canvas, perspective improvised by the light of nature, -crudities, brutalities of color, obtruded in the effort for -breadth. They were all there. She stared into this -mist of blemishes in an effort to see what the painter -saw and could not set down, and had to give it up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the art school it had been the custom to tell one's -fellows the curt, unwelcome truth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't paint," said Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I know that," answered Ford. "You weren't -looking for that, were you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For what, then?" asked Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He hitched himself up to the canvas again, and began -to smudge with his thumb at a mess of yellow ocre.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There 's something in it that I can see," he said. -"I 've been watching this—this desert for more than a -year, you know, and I try to get in what I see in it. -You can't see anything?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Margaret. "But I did try." She -watched his unskilful handling of the ocre. "I could -show you a thing or two," she suggested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had all a woman's love for technique, and might -have been satisfied with more skill and less purpose. -But Ford shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, thank you," he said. "It's not worth while. -I 'm only painting for myself. I know what I mean -by these messes I make; if I could paint more, I -mightn't be so pleased with it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As you like, of course," said Margaret, a little -disappointed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He worked in silence for about a minute.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You didn't like the looks of Dr. Jakes?" he -suggested suddenly. "I saw you wondering at him in -there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," Margaret hesitated. "He seemed rather out -of it," she answered. "Is there anything—wrong—with -him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford was making an irreparable mess of his picture -and did not look up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wrong?" he repeated. "Well, depends what you -call wrong. He drinks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Drinks!" Margaret did not like the matter-of-fact -way in which he said it. "Do you mean—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He 's a drunkard—he goes to bed drunk. His -nerves were like banjo strings this afternoon; he -couldn't keep his hands still. You noticed it? That -was last night's drinking; he didn't get to bed till -daylight. I heard him struggling up the stairs, with -Mrs. Jakes whispering to him not to make a noise and -helping him. That was just before you came."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor thing!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—poor thing!" Ford looked up at the girl -sharply. "You 've got it, Miss Harding. It 's -Mrs. Jakes that suffers. Jakes has got his liquor, and that -makes up to him for a lot. You and I, we 've got—whatever -we have got, little or much. Old Samson 's -got his memories and his pose; he gets along all right -with them. But she 's got nothing at all—only the -feeling that she 's managed to screen him and prop him -and fooled people into thinking she 's the wife of a -decent man. That 's all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," said Margaret, "is he safe?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Safe? Oh, I forgot that he was to see you in his -study. He won't reel about and fall down, if that 's -what you mean. </span><em class="italics">That</em><span> part of it is all done in private; -Mrs. Jakes gets the benefit of </span><em class="italics">that</em><span>. And as to his -patients, he really does know a little about lungs when -he 's sober, and there 's always the air. Oh, he 's safe -enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's dreadful," said Margaret. She was at a loss; -the men she knew did not get drunk. When they went -to the bad, they chose different roads; this one seemed -ankle-deep with defilement. She recalled Mrs. Jakes -when she had come forth from the silent house to meet -her in the chill dawn, and a vision flashed upon her of -the vigil that must have been hers through the slow -night, listening to the chink of bottle on glass and -waiting, waiting in misery and fear to do that final office of -helping the drunken man to his bed. Her primness, her -wan gentility, her little affectations of fashion, seemed -monstrously heroic in the light of that vision—she had -carried them with her to the pit of her humiliation and -brought them forth again unsullied, the spotless armor -of a woman of no account.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You understand now?" asked Ford, watching her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," answered Margaret, slowly. "But it frightens -me. I wish I hadn't got to see him in his study. -What will he do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush!" said Ford. "Here comes Mrs. Jakes. -Don't let her hear you. He won't do anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He fell to his work again, and Margaret turned to -receive the doctor's wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The doctor will see you now, Miss Harding," said -Mrs. Jakes. "Will you come with me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She eyed the pair of them with a suspicion she could -not altogether hide, and Ford was careful to hold an -impassive face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am quite ready," returned Margaret, nerving herself -for what had assumed the proportions of an ordeal, -and went with her obediently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jakes' study was a small, rather dark room opening -off the hall, in which the apparatus of his profession -was set forth to make as much show as possible. His -desk, his carpet, his leather chairs and bookcases did -their best to counterfeit a due studiousness in his behalf, -and a high shelf of blue and green bottles, with a -microscope among them, counteracted their effect by -suggesting to the irreverent that here science was "skied" -while practice was hung on the line. This first -interview was a convention in the case of every new patient. -Dr. Jakes always saw them alone as a matter of -professional honor. Mrs. Jakes would make a preliminary -inspection of him to assure herself and him that he was -fit for it; old Mr. Samson, passing by the half-open -door once, had seen her bending over him, smelling his -breath critically; and then she would trust him to his -patient's good will and to the arbitrary Providence -which ruled her world.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Harding, Eustace," she announced at the door -of the study and motioned the girl to enter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little doctor rose with bustling haste, and looked -at her with melancholy eyes. There was a smell of eau -de Cologne in the room, which seemed natural at the -time to its rather comfortable shabbiness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit down, sit down, Miss Harding," he said, and -made a business of thrusting forward one of the leather -chairs to the side of his desk. Seated, she faced him -across a corner of it. In the interval that had elapsed -since she had seen him at tea, he seemed to have -recovered himself somewhat. Some of the strain was gone -from him, and he was grave with a less effect of effort -and discomfort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He put his open hand upon a paper that lay before him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was Dr. Mackintosh who ordered you south?" he -asked. "A clever man, Miss Harding. I have his -letter here about your case. Now, I want you to answer -a question or two before we listen to that lung of -yours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly," said Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was conscious of some surprise that he should -move so directly to the matter in hand. It relieved her -of vague fears with which Ford's warning had filled -her, and as he went on to question her searchingly, her -nervousness departed. The little man who fell so far -short of her ideal of a doctor knew his business; even -a patient like herself, with all a patient's prejudice -and ignorance, could tell by the line his questions took -that he had her case by heart. He was clearly on -familiar ground, a fact which had power to reassure -her, and she told herself that, after all, his resigned, -plump face was not entirely repulsive.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A queer little man," she said to herself. "Queer -enough to be a genius, perhaps."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And, now, please, we 'll just hear how things really -are. No, I don't think you need undo anything. Yes, -like that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he explored her chest and side with the stethoscope, -his head was just under her face, the back of it -rumpled like the head of some huge and clumsy baby. -It was fluffy and innocent and comical, and Margaret -smiled above him. Every one has his best aspect, or -photographers would crowd the workhouses and the -manufacturers of pink lampshades would starve. Dr. Jakes -should have made more of the back of his head and -less of his poor, uncertain face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he was done with the stethoscope at last, and as he -raised his head his face came close to hers and the taint -of his breath reached her nostrils. Suddenly she -understood the eau de Cologne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," he said, sitting down again; "now we know -where we are."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had seen her little start of disgust and annoyance -at the smell of him, and kept his eyes on the paper -before him, playing with a corner of it between his -fingers as he spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will I get well?" asked Margaret, directly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he answered, without hesitating.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm glad," she said. "I 'm awfully glad. Thank you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll see about your treatment," he said, without -raising his eyes. "But I needn't keep you now. Only—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mustn't be afraid," he continued. "Not of -anything. Do you understand? You mustn't be afraid."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret wished he would look up. "I 'm not -afraid," she answered. "Really I 'm not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dr. Jakes sighed and rose slowly. The trouble had -descended on him again, and he looked sorry and dull.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That 's right," he said without heartiness, and -moved to open the door for her. His appealing eyes -dwelt on her for a moment. "This isn't England," he -added, with a heavy deliberation. "We 're none of us -here because we like it. But—but don't be afraid, -Miss Harding."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm sure there 's nothing to be afraid of," -answered Margaret, moved—he was so mournful in his -shame. He bowed to her, a slow peck of his big head, -and she went.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the hall, Mrs. Jakes met her and challenged her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," she said; "and what does the doctor say -about you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret smiled at her. "He says I shall get well, -and I believe he knows," she answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was as though some stiffening in Mrs. Jakes had -suddenly resigned its functions. She softened before -the girl's eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course he knows," she said contentedly. "Of -course he knows. My dear, he really does know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm sure he does," agreed Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes put a hand on her arm. "I feel certain -we 're going to be friends," she said. "You 're so -pretty and—and distinguished. And—and what a -pretty frock you 've got!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She hesitated an instant, and was very timid and -humble.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should love to see you unpack," she said earnestly.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-iv"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The strength of a community, of almost any -community, is its momentum; it is easier to go on -than to pull up, even though its progress be erratic -and the tear exceed the wear. Dr. Jakes' Sanatorium -was a house divided against itself and poised for a -downfall; but the course of its daily life had yet -current enough to pick up a newcomer and float him from -his independent foothold. The long languors of its -days, its deep whispering nights, were opiates for the -critical and exacting, so that before they had made it -clear to themselves that this was no place for them, -they were absorbed, merged in, the eventless quiet -of the house and its people. For some—for most of -them, indeed—there came at last a poignant day when -Paul and his tall horses halted at the door to carry -them to the station, and it was strange with what a -reluctance they rode finally across the horizon that rose -up to shut the big gray house from view, and how they -hesitated and frowned and talked curtly when the -station opened out before them and offered them the -freedom of the world. And for the others, those who -traveled the longer journey and alone, there stood upon -the veld, a mile from the house, an enclosure of barbed -wire—barbed against—what? For them came stout -packing cases, which made the Kafirs sweat by their -weight, and being opened, yielded some small cross of -marble, black-lettered with name and dates and -sorrowful texts; the lizards sunned themselves all day upon -these monuments, for none disturbed them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the Sanatorium, day began in the cool of morning -with a padding of bare feet in the long corridors and -the fresh wakeful smell of coffee. Africa begins its -day with coffee; it is the stirrup-cup of the country. -Margaret opened her eyes to the brightness of morning -and the brisk presence of Fat Mary, radiant across -her adventurously held tray of coffee cups and -reflecting the joy of the new light in her exulting smile. -She had caught from Mrs. Jakes the first rule of polite -conversation, though none of the subsequent ones, and -she always began with a tribute of words to the weather.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sun burning plenty; how 's Missis?" was her usual -opening gambit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The wide-open windows flushed the room with air, -sweet from the night's refreshment; and Margaret -came to value that hour between the administration of -coffee and the time for rising; it was the </span><em class="italics">bonne bouche</em><span> -of the day. From her pillows she could lie and see -the far mists making a last stand against the shock -of the sun, breaking and diffusing before his attack -and yielding up wider views of the rusty plain at each -minute, till at last the dim blue of infinitely remote -hills thickened the horizon. At the farm, a mile away, -figures moved about and among the kraals, wonderfully -and delicately clear in that diamond air which stirred -her blood like wine. She could even make out Paul; -the distance robbed him of nothing of his deliberate, -dreamy character as he went to and fro with his air -of one concerned with greater things than the mere -immediacies of every day. There was always a -suggestion about him of one who stoops from cloudy -altitudes of preoccupation to the little concerns of men, -and towards Margaret he wore the manner of having -a secret to divulge which was difficult to name. She -met him sometimes on the veld paths between the two -houses, and each time he seemed to draw near the -critical moment of confession and fall back from it baffled. -And though Margaret in her time had heard many -confidences from many men and had made much progress in -the subtle arts of the confidante, this was a case beyond -her powers. The deftly sympathetic corkscrew failed to -unbottle whatever moved in his mind; he evidently -meant to bide his time. Meanwhile, seen from afar, he -was a feature of the before-breakfast hour, part of -the upholstery of the morning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was when she heard Mr. Samson pass her door -on his way to the bath that she knew the house was -definitely awake. He wore Turkish slippers that -announced him as he went with the slap-slap of their -heels upon the floor. Once, putting her head forth -from the door incautiously to scout for Fat Mary she -had beheld him, with his bath-robe girt about him by -its tasseled cord and bath towels round his neck, going -faithfully to the ritual initiation of his daily round, -a figure consistent with the most correct gentlemanly -tradition. The loose robe and the towels gave him -girth and substance, and on the wary, intolerant old -face, with its gay white mustache, was fixed a look of -serious purpose. Mr. Samson never trifled with his -toilet, by gad—what? Later, on his return, she would -hear his debonair knock on Ford's door. "Out with -you!" he would pipe—he never varied it. "Out with -you! Bright and early, my boy—bright and -early—what?" An answer growled from within contented -him, and he would turn in at his room, there to build -up the completed personality which he offered daily -to the world. It took time, too, and a meek Kafir -valet, for a man is not made and perfected in a minute -or two, and the result never failed to justify the labor. -When next he appeared it would be as a member of the -upper classes, armored and equipped, treading the stoep -in a five-minutes' constitutional in a manner that at -once dignified and lightened it. When one looked at -him, one thought instinctively of exclusive clubs, of -fine afternoons in Piccadilly, of the landed interest and -the Church of England. One judged that his tailor -loved him. He had a cock of the head, with a -Homburg hat upon it, and a way of swelling his neck over -the edge of his conservative collar, that were the very -ensign of gallantry and spirit. It was only when he -coughed that the power abandoned him, and it was -shocking and pitiful to see the fine flower of gentility -rattled like a dice-box in the throes of his malady and -dropped at last against a wall, wheezing and gasping -for breath in the image of a weak and stricken old man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Against the ropes," he would stammer shakily as -he gathered himself together again, sniffling into his -beautiful handkerchief. "Got me against the ropes, it -did. Damn it—what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He suffered somewhat in his aggressive effect from -the lack of victims. He had exhausted his black valet's -capacity for being blasted by a glance, and had fallen -back on Dr. Jakes. The wretched little doctor had to -bear the brunt of his high severity when he came among -his patients racked and quivering from his restless -bed, and his bleared and tragic eyes appealed in vain -for mercy from that high priest of correct demeanor. -Mr. Samson looked at him as a justice of the peace, -detained upon the bench when he should be at lunch -and conscious that his services to the State are -gratuitous, might look upon a malefactor who has gone to -the length of being without visible means of subsistence. -The doctor might wriggle and smile painfully and seek -the obscurity of corners, but it could not serve him; -there was no getting out of range of that righteous and -manly battery while he stayed in the same room with -it. Once, however, he spiked its guns. The glare across -the tea-table, the unspoken sheer weight of rebuke and -condemnation, seemed to suddenly break up the -poisoned fog that clouded his faculties, and he lifted -his face, shining a little as with sweat, in a quick look -at Mr. Samson. Margaret, who saw it, recognized it; -just so he had looked in his study when he questioned -her on her case and bent his mind to the consideration -of it. It was direct, expert, impersonal, the dehumanized -scrutiny of the man whose trade is with flesh and -blood. Something had stirred the physician in the -marrow of the man, and from a judge and an executioner -of justice, a drawing-room hangman, Mr. Samson -had become a case. At the beginning of it, Mrs. Jakes, -unfailingly watchful, had opened her mouth to -speak and save the situation, but she too saw in time -and closed her mouth again. Mr. Samson glowered and -the hectic in his thin cheeks burned brighter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 've seen me before, Jakes!" he said, crisply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little doctor nodded almost easily. "Your hand, -please," he said. "Thanks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His forefinger found the pulse and dwelt on it; he -waited with lips pursed, frowning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As I thought," he said, dropping the stringy white -hand again. "Yes! I 'll see you in the study, -Mr. Samson, please—in half an hour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson gulped but stood up manfully. He was -at his best, standing, by reason of a certain legginess -which had been taken into account in the design of his -clothes, but now those clothes seemed big for him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it?" he demanded, throwing his courage -into his voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dr. Jakes warned him with an uplifted finger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit down," he said. "Keep quiet. I 'll see you in -half an hour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked round at Margaret and the rest of them -thoughtfully and went back to his place by the mantel-piece, -sighing. It was his signal to them that his brief -display of efficiency was over, and as though to screen his -retreat, Mrs. Jakes coughed and hoped loudly that the -rain would hold off.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Mr. Samson made his way to a chair and sat down -in it heavily, grasping its arms with his hands, and -Margaret noticed for the first time that he was an old man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Apparently the thing that threatened Mr. Samson -was not very serious, or else the doctor had found -means to head it off in time, for though he went from -the study to his bed, he was at breakfast next morning, -with a fastidious appetite and thereafter the course -of his life remained unaltered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Breakfast at the Sanatorium was in theory a meal -that might be taken at any hour from eight till half past -eleven. In the days of his dream, Dr. Jakes had seen -dimly silver dishes with spirit lamps under them and -a house-party effect of folk dropping in as they came -down and helping themselves. But Mrs. Jakes' thousand -pounds had stopped short of the silver dishes and -Mrs. Jakes herself could not be restrained from attending -in person to see that the coffee was hot. Therefore, -since it was not possible in any conscience to bind -Mrs. Jakes to her post till noon, breakfast occurred between -half-past eight and half-past nine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The freshness, the exuberance, of the morning were -not for her; already she wore the aspect of one who has -done a stage of the day's journey and shed the bloom -of her vigor upon it. The sunlight, waxing like a tide -in flood, was powerless to lift her prim, black-dressed -personality from the level of its cares and functions. -She made to each as he entered the same mechanical -little bow across the crockery, smiled the same formal -smile from the lips outwards and uttered the same small -comment on the blaze of day that filled the earth -without the window. She had her life trimmed down to -a routine for convenience of handling; she was one of -those people—they are the salt of the earth!—whose -passions are monosyllabic, whose woes are inarticulate. -The three who sat daily at meat with her knew and -told each other that her composure, her face keyed -up like an instrument to its pitch of vacant propriety, -were a mask. Sometimes, even, there had been sounds -in the night to assure them of it; occasionally Jakes, -on his way to bed in the small hours, would slip on -the stairs and bump down a dozen or so of them, and -lie where he fell till he was picked up and set on his -way again; there would be the rasp of labored breath -as he was supported along the corridor, and the -mumble of his blurred speech hushed by prayerful -whispers. A door slammed, a low cry bitten off short, -and then silence in the big house, and in the morning -Mrs. Jakes with her coffee pot and trivial tinkle of -speech and treble armor of practised bearing against -the pity of those who knew! The sheer truculence of -it held them dumb; it was the courage of a swashbuckler, -of a bravo, and it imposed on them the decorum -of silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor, she gave them to understand, suffered -from the climate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He never was strong," she would say, with her -eyes fixed on the person addressed as though she would -challenge him to dispute or question it. "Never! It 's -the sun, I think; he suffers from his head, you -know. He used to take aspirin for it when we were -first married, but it doesn't seem to do him any good -now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The three of them would nod sympathetically and -look hastily elsewhere, as though ashamed to be the -spectators of her humiliation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Poor Mrs. Jakes! Seven thousand miles from the -streets of Clapham Junction, an exile from the cheeriness -and security of its little decent houses, she held -yet with a frail hand to the skirts of its beatitude. In -the drawer in her bedroom which also contained Jakes' -dress suit, she kept in tissue paper and sincere regard -a morocco-bound mausoleum of memory—an album. -Only two or three times in Mr. Samson's experience—and -he had been an inmate of the Sanatorium for four -years—had she brought it forth. Once was on the night -before young Shaw died, and when no soothing would -hold him at peace in his bed, he had lain still to look -through those yellowing portraits and hear Mrs. Jakes -tell how this one was doing very well as a job-master -and that one had turned Papist. But Margaret Harding -had seen it. Mrs. Jakes had sat on her bed, quelling -Fat Mary with her eye, and seen her unpack her -clothes, the frocks new from dressmakers and tailors in -London, the hats of only a month ago. Margaret had -been aided in buying them by a philosophic aunt who -had recently given up vegetarianism on the advice of -her hairdresser. "My child, play light," had been the -counsel of this relative. "Don't surprise the natives; -they never like it. No frills; a vigorous vicarage style -is what you want." And she had brought considerable -powers of personality and vocabulary to bear on -Margaret's choice, so that in the result there predominated -a certain austerity of raiment which Margaret found -unexciting. But Mrs. Jakes received them as canons -of fashion, screwing up her mouth and nodding gravely -as she mastered saliencies.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't quite imagine them in these styles," she said; -"the people in the Park, I mean. I suppose it's this -golf that's done it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In return for the exhibition, she had shown Margaret -her album. It had many thick pages with beveled gilt -edges, each framing from one to six portraits or -groups, and she had led her hearer through the lot -of them, from the first to the last. They sat side by -side on the bed in Mrs. Jakes' room, and the album lay -open on their laps, and Mrs. Jakes' finger traveled like -a pointer among the pictures while she elucidated them -in a voice of quiet pride. These pale and fading faces, -fixed to the order of the photographer in more than -human smiles, with sleek and decorative hair and a -show of clothes so patently reserved for Sundays, were -neither pale nor faded for her. She knew the life -behind them, their passions and their strength, and spoke -of them as she might have spoken had they been -waiting in the next room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That 's my sister," she said, her finger pausing. -"Two years older than me, but she never married. -And what she used to suffer from indigestion, words -can't tell. And here 's my Aunt Martha—yes, she died -seven years ago. My mother's sister, you know. My -mother was a Penfold—one of the Penfolds of Putney. -You 've heard of them? Ah, and here 's Bill Penfold, -my cousin Bill. Poor Bill, he didn't do well, ever. -He had a fancy for me, once, or so they said, but my -father never could bear him. No harm, you know, no -real harm, but larky—sort of. This one? Oh, that 's -nobody—a Mr. Wrench, who used to collect for my -father; he had a hair-lip. I did n't like him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The thick page turned, and showed on the other side -a single cabinet portrait of a thin woman, with her head -a little on one side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My mother," said Mrs. Jakes, and shifted the album -that Margaret might see better.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She was a Penfold of Putney," she said, gently. -"I think she shows it, you know. A bit quiet and -refined, especially about the eyes. Don't you think so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the picture of the wife of a robust and hardy -man, Margaret thought, and as for the eyes and their -slight droop, the touch of listlessness which bespeaks an -acquired habit of patience and self-suppression, she had -only to look up and they returned her look from the face -of Mrs. Jakes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And this?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes smiled quite brightly; the photograph was -one of a baby.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That 's little Eustace," she answered, with no trace -of the softness of regret which had hushed her tone when -she spoke of her mother. "My little baby; he 'd have -been a big boy now. He was like his father—very like. -Everybody noticed it. And that"—her finger passed -on—"is George Penfold, Sergeant-Major in the -Guards. His widow married again, a gunner in the Navy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No sorrow for little Eustace. He, at any rate, -would never see his dreams dislimn and fail him; no -wife would watch the slow night through for his -unsteady step nor read the dishonor written in his eyes. -The first of the crosses in the barbed wire enclosure, -Mrs. Jakes' empty and aching heart and her quick smile -of triumph at his easy victory over all the snares of -life—these and the faint, whitening photograph remained -of little Eustace. Many a man leaves less when his -time comes in South Africa.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The weather is holding up nicely," she would say -at breakfast. "Almost too fine, isn't it? But I -suppose we oughtn't complain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a meal over which one lingered, for with the -end of it there closed the eventful period of the day. -While it lasted, the Sanatorium was at its best; one -saw one's fellows in faint hues of glamour after the -night's separation and heard them speak with a sense -of receiving news. But the hour exhausted them of -interest and one left the table, when all pretexts for -remaining there had been expended, to face the -emptiness of a morning already stale. That, in truth, was -the price one paid for healing, the wearing, smothering -monotony of the idle days, when there was nothing -to do and one saw oneself a part of the stagnation -that ruled the place. Mrs. Jakes withdrew herself to -become the motor of the domestic machinery, and till -lunch time was not available for countenance and -support. Ford occupied himself gravely with his little -canvases, plastering upon them strange travesties of -landscape, and was busy and intent and impatient of -interruption for long periods at a time, while Mr. Samson, -keeping a sufficient offing from all human contact, -alternately strutted to and fro upon the stoep in a -short quarter-deck promenade of ten steps and a right -about turn, and lay in a deck chair with a writing case -upon his knee and wrote fitfully and with deep thought -long, important looking letters which never reached the -post.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 're feeling the need of something to do," Ford -told Margaret, when in desperation she came behind -him and watched him modeling—as it seemed—in -burnt sienna. "Why don't you knit—or something?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Knit?" said Margaret with huge scorn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 'll come to it," he warned her. "There was -a chap here before you came who taught himself the -harp. A nuisance he was, too, but he said he 'd have -been a gibbering idiot without it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That was n't saying much, perhaps," retorted Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I don't know. He was a barrister of sorts, I -believe. Not many barristers who can play the harp, -you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For goodness' sake, don't knead the stuff like that!" -cried Margaret, watching his thumb at work. "You 're -painting, not—not civil engineering! But what were you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh?" He looked up at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Before you had to come here, I mean? Oh, do talk -for a minute," she begged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sorry," he said. "I was in the army."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And was it rather awful to have to give up and -nurse yourself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well!" He glanced at her consideringly, as -though to measure her intelligence. "It was rough," -he admitted. "You see, the army 's not like barristering, -for instance. It 's not a thing you can drop for a -bit and then take up again; once you 're out, you 're out -for good." He paused. "And I meant it," he added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Meant it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, there 's a chance nowadays for a chap with -a turn for soldiering. There 's a lot to know, you -see, and, well—I was by way of knowing it. That 's all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned to his canvas again, but did not fall to -work. Margaret saw his back, thin under his silk coat -but flat and trim as a drilled man's should be.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So for you, it meant the end of everything?" she -suggested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Looks like it, doesn't it!" he answered. "Still—we 'll -see. They trained me and there 's just a -chance, in the event of a row, that they might have a -use for me. They 'd be short of officers who knew the -game. You see—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He hitched sideways on his camp-stool so that he -might make himself clear to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see, the business of charging at the head of -your men is a thing of the past, pretty nearly. All -that gallery play is done away with. But take a -hundred Tommies and walk 'em about for half a year, -dry-nurse 'em, keep them fed and healthy and -moderately happy and as clean as you can, be something -between an uncle and a schoolmaster to them, and have -'em ready at the end of it to march forty miles in a day -and then fight—that's an art in itself! In fact, it's -a trade, and it can't be learned in a week."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm perfectly sure it can't," agreed Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, that was my trade," said Ford. "That's -where I 'll come in when the band begins to play. See?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded at her expressively but with finality. If -was plain that he considered the subject drained dry, -and only waited for her to go to return to the mysteries -of art.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, well," sighed Margaret, and left him to it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lunch lacked the character of breakfast. For one -thing, it was impossible for three feeble people, -debarred from exercise, to arrive at a state of appetite -during a morning of semi-torpor, with a prospect before -them of an afternoon of the same quality. For -another, tempers had endured the heat and burden of -four hours of enforced idleness and emerged from the -test frayed at the edges.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This meant more labor for poor Mrs. Jakes, who -could by no means allow the meal to be eaten in a -bitter silence, and was driven by a stern sense of duty to -keep up a dropping fire of small talk. Their sour -faces, the grimness with which they passed the salt, -filled her with nervous tremors, and she talked as a -born hostess might talk to cover the confusion induced -by an earthquake under the table, trembling but fluent -to the last. There were times when her small, hesitating -voice wrought Margaret up to the very point of -flat interventions. At one such moment, it was Ford -who saved the situation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Harding," he said, in a matter-of-fact way. -"You are a pig!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes gasped and bounded in her chair, and old -Mr. Samson choked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you," replied Margaret with intensity, "are -just a plain beast!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That 's the idea," said Ford. "You feel better now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ever so much better, thank you," answered Margaret. -"It was just what I wanted."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes was staring at them as though convinced -that sudden mania had attacked them both at the same -moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It 's all right," Ford assured her. "It's a dodge -for blowing off temper. If you 'd just call Mr. Samson -something really rude, he 'd be ever so grateful. -Call him a Socialist, Mrs. Jakes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I couldn't," said Mrs. Jakes, while Mr. Samson, -mastering his emotions, glared and reddened. -"You did alarm me," she said. "I thought for a -moment—well, I don't know what I did think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was distinctly not at her ease for the remainder -of the meal, and even at tea that afternoon, she kept -an eye on the pair of them. To her mind, they were -playing with edged tools.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was at tea, as a rule, that Dr. Jakes was first -visible, very tremulous and thirsty, but always -submissive and content to be overlooked and forgotten. -At dinner, later on, he would be better and able to -talk with a jerky continuity to Margaret who sat at -his right hand. He bore himself always with an air of -effort, like one who is not at home and whose -acquaintance with his fellows is slight, and drank at table -nothing but water. His eyes kept the Kafir servants -under observation as they waited, and the black boys -were full of alacrity in the consciousness that he was -watching. "It 's strange," Mrs. Jakes used to say; -"Eustace is so quiet, and yet the natives obey him -wonderfully." Afterwards, in the drawing-room, he -would flicker to and fro restlessly, growing each -moment more irritable and incapable of hearing a -sentence to the end. Half-way through the evening, he -would seize an occasion to escape to his own quarters, -and thereafter would be invisible till next day. Every -one knew whither he went and for what purpose; eyes -met in significant glances as the door closed softly -behind him and Mrs. Jakes raised her voice in rapid -speech to hide the sound of his tiptoe crossing of the -hall; his secret was anybody's and even the Kafirs -shared it, and yet the man had the force of mystery. -He slid to and fro in the interstices of their lives and -came to the surface only to serve and heal them. That -done, he dropped back again to the solace that was his -behind his locked door, while about him the house -slept. He knew himself and yet could look his -patients and his wife in the face. Mingled with their -contempt and disgust, there was an acknowledgment of the -quality of him, of a kind of wry and shabby greatness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And thus the day came to its end. One by one, -Margaret, Ford and Mr. Samson drew off and made their -way to the dignified invitation of the big staircase and -their rooms. Mrs. Jakes was always at hand to bid -them good night, for her day was yet a long way from -its finish.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tired, my dear?" she would ask Margaret. "It 's -been a tiring day; I feel it myself. Good night to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In her room, Margaret would find Fat Mary waiting -for her, sleepy in her vast, ridiculous way, but still -prodigal of smiles, and ready to put her to bed with -two left hands equipped with ten thumbs. She had a -yawn which would have reminded Jonah of old times, -but nothing could damp her helpful ardor, not even -being discovered stretched fast asleep on Margaret's -bed and being waked with the bath sponge. She made -it clear that she would stop at few things to be of -service.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Missis not sleepy? Ah!" She stood in thought -for five seconds. "Me nurse Missis, all same baby? -Plenty strong—me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She dandled an imaginary child in her great arms, -smiling cheerfully but quite in earnest. "Plenty -strong," she assured the young lady from Kensington. -"No? No? All a-right!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Darkness at last, and the window wide to the small, -whispering winds which people the veld at night! A -sky of blue-black powdered with misty white stars, and -from the distance, squeaks, small cries, the wary voice -of the wilderness! Sometimes a jackal would range -within earshot and lift up his voice under the stars -to cry like a child, in the very accent of heartbroken, -helpless woe. The nightly traffic of the veld was in -full swing ere her eyes closed and its subdued clamor -followed her into her dreams.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silence in the big house and along the matted -corridors—and one voice, speaking guardedly, in the hall. -It never happened to Margaret to hear it and go to -the stair-head and look down. Thence she might have -seen what would have made her less happy—Mrs. Jakes -on her knees at the locked door of the study, -with her candle set on the floor beside her, casting a -monstrous shadow-caricature of her upon the gray -stone wall. In her sober black dress she knelt on the -mat and her small, kitchen-reddened hands tapped -gently, carefully on the panels. She spoke through the -keyhole and her fruitless whisperings rustled in light -echoes about the high ceiling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eustace, it's me. Eustace! I 'm so tired, Eustace. -Please open the door. Please, Eustace! It 's only me, -dear."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-v"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER V</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Hardly smart," pronounced Mrs. du Preez, -speaking low into Mrs. Jakes' ear. "Smart 's -not the word I 'd use for her myself. </span><em class="italics">Distangay</em><span>, now, -or </span><em class="italics">chic</em><span>, if you understand what that means!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, quite!" replied Mrs. Jakes coldly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were seated side by side upon the sofa in the -little parlor of the farm; its dimensions made it impossible -for Mrs. Jakes to treat her hostess as distantly as -she could have wished. There was nothing for it but -to leave her ear and her unresponsive profile, composed -to a steadfast woodenness, to the mercy of those critical -and authoritative whispers until deliverance should -offer itself. She settled her small black-gowned figure -and coughed behind three gloved fingers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Near the window looking forth across the kraals, -Margaret Harding, the subject of Mrs. du Preez's -comments, had the gaunt Boer for a companion. This was -her visit of ceremony, her "return call"; two or three -earlier visits, mere incidents of morning walks, when -she had stopped to talk to Paul and been surprised and -captured by Paul's mother, were understood not to -count, and the Recording Angel would omit them from -his notes. Mrs. du Preez had taken the initiative in -due order by appearing at the Sanatorium one afternoon -at tea-time; she had asked Dr. Jakes if he had "a -mouth on him" and Margaret if there were many people -in town. The next step in the transaction was for -Margaret to put on a real frock and a real hat, and take -herself and her card-case through the white, scornful -sunshine to the farm; and behold! by virtue of this -solemnity, two women marooned at the heart of an -ocean of sun-swamped desert had license to distinguish -one another from common objects of the country side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Even Mrs. Jakes, whose attitude towards Mrs. du -Preez was one of disapproval tempered by dread, could -see no alternative to this course. She shook her head -at Margaret's amusement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is not London, of course," she said reasonably. -"I know that. But, my dear, we 're Christian -people—even here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At Margaret's side, the tall Boer, Christian du -Preez, leaned against the wall and regarded her with -shy, intent eyes that were oddly like Paul's. There -was lacking in him that aloof and almost reverent quality -of the boy which made him seem as though he regarded -all things with an equal wonder and an equal kinship; -he was altogether harder and more immediately -forceful, a figure at home in his narrow world; but the -relationship between him and his son was obvious. -Margaret had only to glance across the room to where -Paul sat by the door, following the trickle of conversation -around the room from face to face with his eyes, -to see the resemblance. What was common to them -both was a certain shadowy reserve, a character of -relationship to the dumbness and significance of the -Karoo, and something else which had the gloom of -melancholy and the power of pride. In each of them -the Boer, the world's disinherited son, was salient.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. du Preez had secured his presence to grace the -occasion after some resistance on his part, for he -entered the parlor seldom and was not at his ease there. -Its atmosphere of indoor formality daunted and -oppressed him, and he felt coarse and earth-stained under -the eyes of the serene young men who watched him -from their plush and fret-work frames. He had -nothing to set against their sleek beauty and their calm -sophistication but his fathom and odd inches of lean, -slow-moving strength, his eyes of patient expectancy -and the wild beard that redeemed his countenance from -mildness. He had come under protest and for the sake -of peace, and sat scowling in a chair, raw with shyness -and irritation, in the dreadful interval between the -completion of Mrs. du Preez's preparations and the -arrival of the guests, while in face of him "yours -blithely, Boy Bailey," set him a hopeless example of -iron-clad complacency.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then came Margaret and Mrs. Jakes, and at the -first sign of them he was screened as in a cloud by the -welcome of Mrs. du Preez. Their step upon the -threshold was her cue for a cordiality of greeting that -filled the room and overflowed into the passage in a -rapid crescendo of compliment, inquiries as to health, -laughter and mere bustle; it was like the entrance of -two star performers supported by a full chorus and -</span><em class="italics">corps de ballet</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So here you are, the two of you," was her style. -"On time to a tick, too! Come right in, Miss Harding, -and look out for that step—it 's a terror. A death-trap, -</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> call it! And you, Mrs. Jakes. I won't say -I 'm glad to see you, 'cause you 'll believe that without -me telling you. You found it pretty hot walking, I -know; we 're all pretty warm members in this -community, aren't we? Sit down, sit down; no extra -charge for sitting down, y'know. And now, how are -you? Sitting up and taking nourishment, eh? That's -the style!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret was aware, across her shoulder, of a -gloomy male presence inhabiting the background.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me introduce my husband," said Mrs. du -Preez, following her glance. "Christian, this is Miss -Harding. And now, Mrs. Jakes, let you an' me have -a sit-down over here. You first—age before innocence, -y'know. And how 's the poor old doctor?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," said Mrs. Jakes firmly, "he is quite -well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled graciously at Paul, who was watching her, -and took her seat, resigned to martyrdom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Christian du Preez gave the girl a slack hand and -murmured incoherently some salutation, while his gaze -took in avidly each feature of her and summed up her -effect of easy modernity. He recognized in her a -certain feminine quality for which he had no name. Once -before he had glimpsed it as in a revelation, when, as -a youth newly returned from service on commando -against rebellious Kafirs, he had spent an evening in -a small town and there seen a performance by a -traveling theatrical company. It was a crude and -ill-devised show, full of improbable murders that -affronted the common-sense of a man fresh from -various killings; but in an interval between slaughters, -there was a scene that brought upon the stage a slim -girl who walked erect and smiled and shrugged easily -at the audience. Her part was brief; she was not visible -for more than a few minutes, and assuredly her shaft, -so soon sped, struck no one else. It needed a Boer, -with his feet in the mud and his head among the stars, -to clothe her with dignity as with a robe and add to -her valuation of herself the riches of his woman-haunted -imagination. She passed from sight again, -and for the time he scarcely regretted her, for she left -glamour behind her and a vision of womanhood -equipped, debonnaire, heart-breaking in its fragility and -its daring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The outcome of that revelation was marriage within -the week; but it never revisited the bored and weary -woman whom Christian du Preez had brought home to -his farm and its solitudes. It was as though he had -tried to pick an image from still water; the fruit of -that endeavor was memory and an empty hand. Even -as he greeted Margaret he turned slowly and looked -from her to his wife in unconscious comparison, and -turned as unconsciously back again. Only Mrs. du -Preez knew the meaning of that glance; she answered -it with an obstinate compression of the mouth and went -on talking to Mrs. Jakes about the hang of Margaret's -skirt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It 's all right for her," she was saying. "These -leggy ones can wear anything. But think how you 'd -look in it, for instance. Why you 'd make a horse -laugh!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed!" said Mrs. Jakes, unhappy but bristling. -She never grew reconciled to Mrs. du Preez's habit of -using her as a horrible example.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You would that," Mrs. du Preez assured her. -"You see, my dear, yours is an elderly style."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the window, Margaret was doing what she could -to thaw the tall Boer into talk, and meeting with -some success. He liked, while possibly he did not quite -understand, her relish for the view from the window, -with the rude circles of the kraals near at hand, the -scattered huts of the farm Kafirs beyond them, and the -all-subduing brown of the Karoo slipping forth to the -edge of the sky. He had once heard a young man from -the Sanatorium agree with Mrs. du Preez that the -Karoo resembled a brick-field established in a cemetery. -Margaret did better than that.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose you 've traveled all over it?" she asked him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When I was a young man, I rode transport," he -answered. "Then I traveled; now I sit still in the -middle of it and try to grow wool."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it all like this?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sometimes there is grass—a little—not much, and -milk bushes and prickly pear," he told her. "But it -is hard ground, all of it. It is very peaceful, though."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded comprehendingly, and he found a stimulant -in her quiet interest. He had not Paul's tense -absorption in the harvest of the eye, but he would -have been no Boer had the vacant miles not exercised -a power over him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 're never—discontented with it?" asked -Margaret. "I mean, you find it enough for you, without -wanting towns and all that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his head, hesitating. "I do not know -towns," he answered. "No, I don't want towns. -But—every day the same sights, and the sun and the -silence—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was little used to confessing himself and his -shyness was an obstacle to clear speech. Besides, the -matter in his mind was not clear to himself; he was aware -of it as a color to his thoughts rather than as a fact -to be stated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It makes you guess at things," he said at last. -"You guess, but you don't ever know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What things?" asked Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A lot of things," he answered. "God, and the -devil, and all that. It's always there, you see, and you -must think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A rattle in the passage and a start from Mrs. du -Preez heralded tea, borne in upon a reverberating iron -tray by a timid and clumsy Kafir maid, who set her -burden insecurely upon the table and fled in panic. -Christian du Preez ceased to speak as if upon a signal -and Mrs. du Preez entered the arena hospitably.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 're sure you wouldn't rather have something -else?" she asked Margaret, as she filled the cups. -"There 's afternoons when a whisky-and-soda is more -in my line than tea. Sure you won't? P'r'aps Mrs. Jakes -will, then? We won't tell, will we, Paul? Well, -'ave it your own way, only don't blame me! Christian, -reach this cup to Miss Harding."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The tall man did as he was bidden, ignoring -Mrs. Jakes. In his world, women helped themselves. Paul -carried her cup to Mrs. Jakes and sat down beside her -in the place vacated by his mother. From there, he -could see Margaret and look through the window as -well.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you 'll have one, I 'll keep you company," -suggested Mrs. du Preez privately to Mrs. Jakes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One what?" inquired Mrs. Jakes across her cup. -The poor lady was feeling very grateful for the strong -tea to console her nerves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One what!" Mrs. du Preez was scornful. "A -drink, of course—a drink out of a glass!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, thank you," replied Mrs. Jakes hastily. "I -never touch stimulants."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, well!" Mrs. du Preez resigned herself to -circumstances. "I suppose," she enquired, nodding -towards Margaret, "</span><em class="italics">she</em><span> don't either?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe not," replied Mrs. Jakes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. du Preez considered the matter. "You 'd think -they 'd grow out of it," she observed enigmatically. -"She seems to be lively enough, too, in her way. First -person I ever saw who could make Christian talk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Christian was talking at last. Margaret had paused -to watch a string of natives pass in single-file, after the -unsociable Kafir fashion, before the window, going -towards the huts, with the sun-gilt dust rising about them -in a faint haze. They were going home after their -day's work, and she wondered suddenly to what secret -joy of freedom they re-entered when the hours of the -white man's dominion were over and the coming of -night made a black world for the habitation of black men.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose there is no knowing what they really feel -and think?" she suggested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That is the South African view, the white man's -surrender to the impregnable reserve of the black races; -native opinion is only to be gathered when the native -breaks bounds. Christian du Preez nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he agreed. "I have always been among them, -and I have fought them, too; but what they think they -don't tell."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have fought them? How was that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When I was young. On commando," he explained, -with his eyes on her. It was luxury to see the -animation of her pale, clear-cut face as she looked up and -waited for him to go on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was a real war," he answered her. "A real war. -There was a chief—Kamis, they called him—down there -in the south, and his men murdered an officer. So -the government called out the burghers and sent Cape -Mounted Rifles with us to go and punish him. I was -twenty years old then, and I went too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the background Mrs. du Preez sniffed. "He 's -telling her about that old Kafir war of his," she said. -"He always tells that to young women. I know him!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Christian went on, lapsing as he continued from the -careful English he had spoken hitherto to the cruder -vernacular of the Cape. He told of the marching and -the quick, shattering attack against Kafirs at bay in the -low hills bordering the Karoo, of a fight at night in a -rain-squall, when the "pot-leg," the Kafir bullets -hammered out of cold iron, sang in the air like flutes and -made a wound when they struck that a man could put -his fist into. His eyes shone with the fires of warm -remembrance as he told of that advance over -grass-grown slopes slippery with wet, when the gay -desperadoes of the Cape Mounted Rifles went up singing, -"Jinny, my own true loved one, Wait till the clouds -roll by," and on their flank the burghers found -cover and lit the night with the flashes of their -musketry. It was an epic woven into the fiber of the -narrator's soul, a thing lived poignantly, each moment of -it flavored on the palate and the taste remembered. He -had been in the final breathless rush that broke the -Kafirs and sent them scuttling like rock-rabbits—"dassies," -he called them—through the rocks to the -kopje-ringed hollow where they would be held till morning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then that morning!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Man, it was cold," he said. "There was no fires. -We were lying in the bushes with our rifles under our -bellies till coffee-time, and that Lascelles, our general, -walked up and down behind us all the night. He was -a little old soldier-officer from Capetown; his face was -red and his mustache was white. The rain was falling -on my back all the time, but sometimes I slept a little. -And when it was sun-up, I could see down the krantz -to the veld below, and there was all the Kafirs together, -all in a bunch, in the middle of it. They didn't look -much; I was surprised to see so few. They were -standing and lying on the wet grass, and they seemed tired. -Some were sleeping, even, stretched out like dead men -below us, but what made me sorry for them was, they -were so few.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was sorry," he added, thoughtfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it was a real war," he assured her quickly. -"When the sun was well up, we moved, and presently -all the burghers were lying close together with our rifles -ready. It was Lascelles that ordered it. I didn't -understand, then, for I knew a beaten Kafir when I saw -one, and those below were beaten to the ground. By -and by the Cape Mounted Rifles went past behind us, and -dipped down into a hollow on our right; we had only -to wait, and it was very cold. I was wondering when -they would let us make coffee and talking to the next -man about it, when from our right, so sudden that I -jumped up at the sound of it, the Cape Mounted Rifles -fired at the Kafirs down below. Man, that was awful! -It was like a thunder on a clear day. All of us were -surprised, and some called out and swore and said -Lascelles was a fool. But it was queer, all the same, to -see the Kafirs. Twenty of them was killed, and one -of them had a bullet in his stomach and rolled about -making screams like laughing. The rest—they didn't -move; they didn't run; they didn't cry out. A few -looked up at us; I tell you, it was near enough to see -their white eyes; but the others just stopped as they -were. They was like cattle, like sick cattle, patient and -weak and finished; the Cape Mounted Rifles could have -killed them all and they wouldn't have lifted their hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Our commandant—Van Zyl, he was called, a very -fat man—clicked with his tongue. 'Wasting them,' he -said. 'Wasting them!'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then we went down the hill and came all round -them, standing among the dead bodies, and Lascelles -with his interpreter and his two young officers in tight -belts went forward to look for Kamis, the chief. The -interpreter—he was a yellow-faced Hollander—called -out once, and in the middle of the Kafirs there stood up -an old Kafir with a blanket on his shoulders and his wool -all gray. He came walking through the others with a -little black boy, three or four years old, holding by his -hand and making big round eyes at us. It was the son -that was left to him; the others, we found out, were all -killed. He was an old man and walked bent and held -the blanket round him with one hand. He looked to -me like a good old woman who ought to have been -sitting in a chair in a kitchen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Are you Kamis?' they asked him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'I am Kamis,' he said, 'and this is my son who is -also Kamis.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He showed them the little plump piccanin, who hung -back and struggled. One of the young officers with -tight belts put an eye-glass in his eye and laughed. -Lascelles did not laugh. He was a little man, as neat -as a lady, with ugly, narrow eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Tell him he 's to be hanged,' he ordered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Old Kamis heard it without a sign, only nodding -as the interpreter translated it to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'And what will they do to my son?' he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lascelles snuffled in his nose angrily. 'The Government -will take care of his son,' he said, and turned -away. But when he had gone a few steps he turned -back again. 'Tell the old chap,' he ordered, 'and tell -him plainly, that his son will be taken care of. He 'll -be all right, he 'll be well looked after. Savvy?' he -shouted to Kamis. 'Piccanin all right; plenty </span><em class="italics">skoff</em><span>, -plenty </span><em class="italics">mahli</em><span>, plenty everything.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Hollander told the old chief while Lascelles -waited, and the men of the Cape Mounted Rifles who -had the handcuffs for him stood on each side. Kamis -heard it with his head on one side, as if he was a bit -deaf. Then he nodded and put out his hands for the -irons.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lascelles held out his hands to the baby Kafir.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Come with me, kid!' he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The baby hung back. He was scared. Old Kamis -said something to him and pushed him with his -knee, and at last the child went and took Lascelles' -hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'That 's it,' said Lascelles, and lifted him up. As -he carried him away, I heard him talking to the young -officer with the eye-glass. 'That 's a damned silly grin -you 've got, Whitburn,' he said, 'and you may as well -know I 'm sick of it.'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think he was a bit ashamed of carrying the baby. -He had n't any of his own. I saw his wife later, when -we were disbanded—a skinny, yellow woman who played -cards every evening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And then, at Fereira, they hanged old Kamis, while -we all stood round with our rifles resting on the ground. -There was a man to hang him who wore a mask, and I -was sorry about the mask, because I thought I might -meet him sometime and not know him and be friends -with him. He had red hair though; his mask couldn't -hide that, and there is something about red hair that -turns me cold. There were about fifty of his tribe who -were brought there to see the end of Kamis and take -warning by him, and when he came out of the jail door, -between two men, with his hands tied behind him, they -all lifted a hand above their heads to salute him. The -men on each side of him held him by the elbows and -hurried him along. They took him so fast that he -tripped his foot and nearly fell. 'Slower, you swine!' -said Lascelles, who was there with a sword on. He -walked across and spoke to Kamis. 'Piccanin all right!' -he said, 'All-a right!' said Kamis, and then they led -him up the steps. They were all about him there, the -jail men and the man with the mask; for a minute I -couldn't see him at all. Then they were away from -him, and there was a bag on his head and the rope was -round his neck. The man with the mask seemed to be -waiting, and at last Lascelles lifted his hand in a tired -way and there was a crash of falling planks and a cry -from the Kafirs, and old Kamis, as straight and lean -as a young man, was hanging under the platform just -above the ground and swinging a little."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Christian du Preez frowned and looked at Margaret -absently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And then I was sick," he said reflectively. "Quite -sick!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't wonder," said Margaret. "But the baby! -What happened to the Kafir baby?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't see the baby any more," replied the Boer. -"But I read in a newspaper that they sent it to -England. Perhaps it died."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why send it to England?" asked Margaret. -"What could it do there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Christian du Preez shrugged one shoulder. "The -Government sent it," he replied, conclusively. No Boer -attempts to explain a government; it is his eternal -unaccountable. "You see it was the Chief, that baby was, -so they wanted to send it a long way off, perhaps."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And now, I suppose it 's a man," said Margaret; "a -poor negro all alone in London, who has forgotten his -own tongue. He wears shabby clothes and makes -friends with servant girls, and never remembers how -he held his father's hand while you burghers and the -soldiers came down the hillside. Don't you think that's -sad?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said the Boer thoughtfully, but without alacrity, -for after all a Kafir is a Kafir and his place in the -sympathies of his betters is a small one. "Kafirs -look ugly in clothes," he added after a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the other side of the room, the others had ceased -their talk to listen. Mrs. du Preez laughed a little -harshly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They 're worse in boots," she volunteered. "Ever -seen a nigger with boots on, Miss Harding? He walks -as if his feet weighed a ton. Make a clatter like -clog-dancin'. But round here, of course, there 's no boots -for them to get."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There 's one now," said Margaret. "Look—he 's -passing the kraals. He 's got boots on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They all looked with a quick curiosity that was a little -strange to see; one would have thought a passing Kafir -would scarcely have interested them by any eccentricity -of attire. Even Mrs. Jakes rose from her place on the -sofa and stood on tip-toe to see over Mrs. du Preez's -shoulders. There is an instinct in the South African -which makes him conscious, in his dim, short-sighted -way, that over against him there looms the passive, -irreconcilable power of the black races. He is like a man -carrying a lantern, with the shifting circle of light about -him, and at its frontier the darkness pregnant with -presences.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Boer, learned in Kafir varieties, stared under -puckered brows at the single figure passing below the -kraals. He marked not so much any unusual feature -in it as the absence of things that were usual.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Paul," he said, "go an' see what he 's after."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul was already at the door, going out silently. He -paused to nod.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm going now," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Strange Kafirs want lookin' after," explained Mrs. du -Preez to Margaret as the boy passed the window -outside. "You never know what they 're up to. Hang -out your wash when they 're around and you 're short -of linen before you know where you are, and there 's a -nigger on the trek somewhere in a frilled petticoat or -a table-cloth. They don't care what it is; anything 'll -do for them. Why, last year one of 'em sneaked a skirt -off Mrs. Jakes here. Didn't he, now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was a very good skirt," said Mrs. Jakes, flushing. -"A very good one—not even turned."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, he was in luck, then," said Mrs. du Preez. -"And what he looks like in it—well, I give it up! Miss -Harding, you ain't going yet, surely?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm afraid </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> must," put in Mrs. Jakes, seizing her -opportunity. "I have to see about dinner."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They shook hands all round. "You must all come -up to tea with me some afternoon soon," suggested -Margaret. "You will come, won't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will a duck swim?" inquired Mrs. du Preez, genially. -"You just try us, Miss Harding. And oh! if you -want to say good-by to Paul, I know where he 's gone. -He 'll be down under the dam, makin' mud pies."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not really?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You just step down and see; it won't take you a -moment. He makes things, y'know; he made a sort of -statue of me once. 'If that 's like me,' I told him, 'it 's -lucky I 'm off the stage.' And what d 'you think he -had the cheek to answer me? 'Mother,' he says, 'when -you forget what you look like, you look like this.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think I will just say good-by to Paul," said -Margaret, glancing at Mrs. Jakes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come on after me, then," answered the doctor's -wife. "I really must fly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pigs might fly," suggested Mrs. du Preez, enigmatically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Boer did not go to the door with them; he waited -where he stood while Mrs. du Preez, her voice waxing -through the leave-takings to a shrill climax of farewell, -accompanied them to her borders. When she returned -to the little room, he was still standing in his place, -returning "Boy Bailey's" glazed stare with gloomy intensity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His wife looked curiously at him as she moved to the -table and began to put the scattered tea-cups together -on the tray.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She 's a nice girl, Christian," she said, as she -gathered them up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not answer, though he heard. She went on -with her work till the tray was ready to be carried -forth, glancing at his brooding face under her eyebrows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Christian," she said suddenly. "I remember when -you told me about the war and the Kafir baby."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He gave her an absent look. "You said, 'Hang the -Kafir baby!'" he answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned from her, with a last resentful glare at the -plump perfection of Boy Bailey, and slouched heavily -from the room. Mrs. du Preez, with a pursed mouth, -watched him go in silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes was resolute in her homeward intentions; -she had a presentiment of trouble in the kitchen which -turned out to be well grounded. So Margaret went -alone along the narrow rut of a path which ran down -towards the shining water of the dam, which the -slanting sun transmuted to a bath of gold. She was glad -of the open air again, after Mrs. du Preez's carefully -guarded breathing-mixture with its faint odor of -furniture polish and horsehair. Paul, by the way, knew -that elusive fragrance as the breath of polite life; it -belonged to the parlor, where his father might not smoke, -and to nowhere else, and its usual effect was to rarefy -human intercourse to the point of inanity. In the -parlor, one spoke in low tones and dared not clear one's -throat and felt like an abortion and a monstrosity. -Years afterwards, when the doors of the world had -been forced and it had turned out to be a smallish place, -only passably upholstered, it needed but a sniff of that -odor to make his hands suddenly vast and unwieldy -and reduce him to silence and discomfort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The path skirted the dam, at the edge of which grew -rank grass, and dipped to turn the corner of the sloping -wall of earth and stones at its deeper end. As she -went, she stooped to pick up a fragment of sun-dried -clay that caught her eye; it had been part of a face, and -on it the mouth still curved. It was rudely done, but -it was there, and it had, even the broken fragment that -lacked the interpretation of its context, some touch of -free vigor that arrested her in the act of letting it drop. -She went on carrying it in her hand, and at the corner -of the wall stopped again at the sound of voices. Some -one was talking only twenty paces away, hidden from -her by the bulk of the wall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must shape it in the lump," she heard. "You -must go for the mass. That's everything—the mass! -Do you see what I mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She knew the tones, the clear modulations of the -pundit-speech which belonged to her class, but there was -another quality in the voice that was only vaguely -familiar to her, which she could not identify. It brought -to her mind, by some unconscious association, the -lumbering gaiety of Fat Mary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye-es," very slowly. That was Paul's voice -answering. "Yes. Like you see it in the distance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That 's it," the baffling voice spoke again. "That 's -it exactly. And work the clay like this, without -breaking it, smoothly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She still held the broken fragment in her hand as she -stepped round the corner of the wall to look. Paul, -sitting cross-legged on the ground, had his back to her, -and facing him, with a lump of red clay between his -hands, which moved upon it deliberately, molding it -with care, sat a Kafir. He was intent upon his work, -and the brim of his hat, overhanging his eyes, prevented -him from seeing her arrival. She stood for a moment -watching; the two of them made a still group to which -all the western sky and the wide land were a -background. And then the clay fragment dropped from her -hand, hit on a stone underfoot and cracked into pieces -that dissolved the dumb curve of the mouth in ruin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the little noise it made, Paul turned sharply and -the Kafir raised his head and looked at her. There was -an instant of puzzled staring and then the Kafir lifted -his hat to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll be going," he said, and began to rise to his feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't," said Paul. "Don't go." He was looking -at the girl expectantly, waiting for her to justify -herself. Now was the time to confirm his faith in her. -"Don't go," he repeated. "It's Miss Harding that I -told you about." He hesitated a moment, and now -his eyes appealed to her. "She 's from London," he -said; "she 'll understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Kafir waited, standing up, a slender, upright -young man in worn discolored clothes. To Margaret -then, as to Paul in his first encounter with him at the -station, there was a shock in the pitiful, gross negro face -that went with the pleasant, cultivated voice. It -added something slavish to his travel-stained -appearance that touched the girl's quick pity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stepped forward impulsively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please don't go," she begged, "I should be so sorry. -And Paul will introduce us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled. "It shall be as you like, of course," he -answered. "Will you sit down? The grass is always -dry here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He made an oddly conventional gesture, as though -the slope of the dam wall were a chair and he were -going to place it for her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, thanks," said Margaret, and sat down.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-vi"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The Kafir seated himself again in his old place and -let his hand fall upon the mass of clay which he -had been fashioning for Paul's instruction. He was -the least perturbed of the three of them. He sank -his finger-tops in the soft plasticity of the stuff, and -smiled across it at the others, at the boy, embarrassed -and not sure of Margaret yet, and at her, still mastered -by her curiosity. It was almost as if he were used to -being regarded with astonishment, and his self-possession -had a touch of that deliberate lime-lit quality which -distinguishes the private lives of preachers and actors -and hunchbacks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For the rest, he seemed to be about Margaret's age, -clean run and of the middle stature. Watching him, -Margaret was at a loss to discover what it was about -him that seemed so oddly commonplace and familiar till -she noted his clothes. They were "tweeds." Though -he had apparently slept on the bare ground in them -and made them a buffer between his skin and many -emergencies of travel, they were still tweeds, such as -any sprightly youth of Bayswater might affect for a -week-end in the country.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It needed only a complexion and an attitude to render -him inconspicuous on a golf-course, but in that place, -under the majestic sun, with the heat-dazzle of the -Karoo at his back, his very clothes made him the more -incomprehensible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret realized that he was waiting for her to -speak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You model, then?" she asked, striving to speak in an -altogether matter-of-fact tone, as though to come across -gifted, English-speaking negroes, giving art lessons in -odd corners, were nothing unusual.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just a little," he answered. "Enough to help Paul -to make a beginning. Eh, Paul?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul nodded, turning to Margaret. "He knows -lots," he said. "</span><em class="italics">He 's</em><span> been in London, too. It was -there he learned to—to model."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul had a way of uttering the word "London" -which conveyed to Margaret's ready sympathies some -little part of what it meant to him, the bright unattainable -home of wonderful activities, the land of heart's -desire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In London?" She turned to the Kafir, "London -seems a long way from here, doesn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; a long way." He was not smiling now. "It -is seven months since I left London," he said; "and -already it seems dim and unreal. It's as if I 'd -dreamed about it and only remembered parts of my -dream."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul was listening with that profound attention he -seemed to give to all things.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't feel it 's as far as all that," said Margaret. -"But then, I was there two months ago. Probably that -makes a difference."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was only now beginning to realize the strangeness -of the encounter, and as she talked her faculties, -taken by ambush and startled from their functions, -regained their alertness. She watched him composedly -as he replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he said. "And there are other differences, -too. Since I left London I have not slept under a roof."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>While he spoke he did not cease to finger the clay; -as he turned it here and there, Margaret was able to see -it was the head of a negro that he was shaping and the -work was already well forward. It was, indeed, the -same head whose unexpected scowl had astonished Paul; -and as he moved it about, the still gloomy face of clay -seemed to glance backward and forward as though it -heard him and doubted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why not?" demanded Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He seemed to hesitate before answering, and meanwhile -his hands were busy and deft.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?" she repeated. "Seven months! I -don't understand. Why have n't you slept under a roof -all that time?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well!" He smiled as he spoke at last. "You see—I -don't speak Kafir. That's where the trouble is. -When first I came up here, I went across to the southern -districts, where Kafirs are pretty numerous. My idea -was to live among them, in order to—well, to carry out -an idea of mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused. "They didn't know what to make of -you?" suggested Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—unless it was a corpse," he answered. "I -don't really blame them; they must have been horribly -suspicious of me. At the first kraal I came to—the first -village, that is—I tried to make myself known to a -splendid old chap, sitting over a little fire, who seemed -to be in charge. That was awfully queer. Every man, -woman and child in the place stood round and stared -and made noises of distrust—that's what they sounded -like; and the old chap just squatted in the middle and -blinked up at me without a word. I 'd heard that most -of the Kafirs about here could understand a little -English, so I just talked away and tried to look innocent -and useful and I hoped I was making the right -impression. The chap listened profoundly till I had quite -done, looking as though he were taking in every word -of it. Then he lifted both arms, with exactly the -movement of a cock when it 's going to crow, and two young -fellows behind him leaned down and took hold of them -and helped him very slowly to his feet. I made sure -I 'd done the trick and that he was getting up to shake -hands or something. But instead of that he groped -about with his right hand in a blind, helpless kind of -way, till one of his private secretaries put a knobherry, -a bludgeon with a knob on the end, into it. And then, -the poor old thing who had to be helped to his feet took -one quick step in my direction and landed me a bang -on the head with the club. I just remember that all the -others burst into screams of laughter; I must have heard -them as I went down."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a horrible thing!" exclaimed Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled again, his teeth flashing brilliantly in his -black face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was awkward at the time," he admitted. "I came -to later on the veld where they dragged me, with a -lump on my head the size of my fist. And sore—by -Jove! I was sore. Still, it's just possible I might -have gone back for another try, if the first thing I -saw hadn't been a tall black gentleman sitting at -the entrance to the kraal with an assegai—a spear, -that is—ready for me. I concluded it was n't good -enough!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No!" Margaret agreed with him. "I should think -not. But why should they receive you like that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps," he suggested, "they learned it from the -white men!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>("He means to look ironical," Margaret thought. -"It isn't a leer; it 's irony handicapped by a negro -face. Poor thing!")</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you had a bad time somewhere else?" she -asked aloud. "Would you mind telling how? If you -would, please don't tell me. But I 'd like to hear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you shall. Of course you shall." The look -that tried to be ironical vanished. "If you could only -know how grateful I am for—for this—for just your -politeness. For you being what you are—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please," interrupted Margaret. "Please don't. I -want to hear. Just tell me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was something pathetic in his prompt obedience. -He shifted ground at once like a child that is snubbed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was in Capetown," he said; "when I landed from -the boat. There was trouble on the boat, too; it was full -of South Africans, and I had to have my meals alone -and only use the deck at certain hours. I could n't even -put my name down for a sovereign in the subscription -they raised for the ship's band; the others wouldn't -have it. I only got rid of that sovereign on the last -evening, when the leader of the band came to me as I -walked up and down on the boat deck. He passed me -once or twice before he stopped to speak to me—making -sure that nobody was looking. 'Hurry up!' he said, in a -whisper. 'Where 's the quid you was going to -subscribe?' 'Say Sir!' I said—for the fun of the thing. -He couldn't manage it for fully a minute; his share -of it wasn't more than half-a-crown. I went on walking -and left him where I stood, but as I came back again -he was ready for me. 'No offense, sir,' he said, quite -clearly. I gave him the money and passed on. But -he was still there when I turned again, and ever so -anxious to put himself right with his conscience. 'D'you -know what I 'd do with you niggers if I had my way?' -he began, still in a large hoarse whisper, like air -escaping from a pipe. 'I 'd 'ave you back into slavery, I -would. I 'd sell the lot of you.' I laughed. 'You -couldn't buy many of us with that sovereign!' I told -him. Really, I rather liked that man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There are men like that," said Margaret thoughtfully. -"And women, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, aren't there?" he agreed quickly. "But I 'd -rather—it 's a pity you should know it. However, you -wanted to hear about Capetown."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The afternoon was waning; the Kafir, with his hat at -the back of his head and the rim of its brim framing his -patient face, was set against a skyful of melting color. -Even in face of those two attentive hearers, he sat as -though in an immense and significant isolation, imposing -himself upon them by virtue of his strong aloofness. -Margaret was conscious of a great gulf set between them, -an unbridgable hiatus of spirit and purpose. The man -saw the life of the world not from above or below but -as through a barred window, from a room in which he -was prisoned and solitary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was entirely matter-of-fact as he told of his -troubles and difficulties when he landed in Capetown; he -spoke of them as things accepted, calling for no comment. -On the steamer from England he had been told of the -then recent experiences of a concert party of -American negroes who visited Africa and had been obliged -to sleep in the streets, but the tale had the sound of a -smoking-room ingenuity and had not daunted him. But -it was true for all that and he ran full-tilt into the -application of it, when nightfall of the day of his arrival -found him still seeking vainly for a lodging. He had -money in plenty, but neither money nor fair words -availed to bribe an innkeeper into granting him a bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I saw a lot of Capetown," he said. "I walked -that afternoon and evening full twenty miles—once all -the way out to Sea Point and back again. And I was -perhaps a little discouraged: there were so many -difficulties I hadn't expected. I knew quite well before I -left England that I should have difficulties with the -whites, but I hadn't allowed for practically the same -difficulties with the blacks. There was a place behind -the railway station, a tumble-down house in which about -a dozen Kafirs were living, and I tried that. They -fetched a policeman who ordered me away, and I had -to go. You see, they could n't make head or tail of me; -I was much too unusual for them to keep company with. -So about midnight I found myself walking down -towards the jetty at the foot of Adderly Street. You -don't know Capetown, I suppose? The jetty sticks out -into the bay; it 's no great use except for a few boats -to land and at night it serves the purpose of the Thames -Embankment for men who have nowhere else to go. I -was very tired by then. As I passed the Van Riebeck -statue, a woman spoke to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He hesitated, examining Margaret's listening face, -doubtfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand," she said. "Go on. A white woman, -was it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, a white woman," he replied with the first touch -of bitterness she had seen in him. "A poor devil who -had fallen so far that she had lost even the scruples of -her trade. I heard her coughing in the shadow when -she was some distance from me, and saw her come out -into the lamplight still breathless, with the shadows -making a ruin of her poor painted face. But she had -herself in hand; she was game. At the moment I was near -enough, she smiled—I suppose the last thing they forget -is how to smile. 'Koos!' she called to me, softly. -'Koos!' 'Koos' is the Taal for cousin, you know; it 's a -sort of familiar address. I couldn't pass her without -a word, so I stopped. 'You ought to see to that cough,' -I told her. She was horribly surprised, of course, and -I rather think she started to bolt, but her cough stopped -her. It was a bad case, that—a very bad case, and of -course she wasn't sufficiently clad or nourished. I -advised her to get home to bed, and she leaned against the -wall wiping her eyes with the corner of her handkerchief -wrapped round her finger so as not to smudge the paint, -and stared at me with a sort of surrender. I got her to -believe at last that I was what I said—a doctor—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Are</em><span> you a doctor?" interrupted Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he answered. "I hold the London M.B.; oh, -I knew what I was talking about. When she understood -it, she changed at once. She was pretty near the -end of her tether, and now she had a chance, her first -chance, to claim some one's pity. The lives they lead, -those poor smirched things! She had a landlady; can -you imagine that landlady? And unless she brought -money with her, she could not even go back to her -lodgings. She told me all about it, coughing in between, -under the windows of a huge shopful of delicate -women's wear, with a big arc-light spluttering above -the empty street and Van Riebeck looking over our heads -to Table Mountain. Wasn't it strange—us two homeless -people, cast out by our own folk and rejected by the -other color?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," answered the girl; "very strange and sad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was like a dream," said the Kafir. "It was weird. -But I like the idea that she accosted a possible customer -and found a deliverer. I gave her the money she needed, -of course, and listened to her lungs and wrote her a -prescription on the back of a card she produced. No -real use, you know—just something to go on with. She -was past any real help. No use going into details, -but it was a bad case!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his head thoughtfully, in a mood of gloom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And then?" asked Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, then she went away," he said, "and I watched -her go. She crossed the road, holding up her skirt clear -of the mud; she was a neat, appealing little figure in -spite of everything. She passed with her head drooped -to the corner opposite and there she turned and waved -her hand to me, I waved back and she went into the -shadows. She 's in the Valley of the Shadows now, -though; she hadn't far to go.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you can't conceive how still and wonderful it -was on the jetty, with the water all round and the moon -making a broad track of beams across it, and over the -bay the bulk of inland hills massive and inscrutable. It -was like looking at Africa from a great distance; and -yet, you know, I was born here!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His hands had fallen idle on the clay, but as he ceased -to speak he began to work again, with eyes cast down to -his task. The light was already failing, and as the three -of them waited in the silence that followed on his words, -there reached them the dull pulse of the gourd-drum at -the farm, stealing upon their consciousness gradually. -Paul frowned as he recognized it, coming out of the -trance of his faculties unwillingly. He had sat motionless -with parted lips through the Kafir's story, so still in -his absorption that the others had forgotten his presence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That 's for me," he said, slowly, but took his time -about getting up. He was looking at the Kafir with the -solemn, sincere eyes of a child.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would like," he said, "to make a clay of that woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh!" The Kafir suppressed his smile. "Time -enough, Paul. Plenty of time and plenty of clay for -you to do that—and plenty of women, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul was on his feet by now, looking down at the -other two.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," he hesitated, "I </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> make it," he said. "I -must."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Kafir nodded. "All right," he said. "You -make it, Paul, and show it to me. As you see her, you -know; that 's how you must do it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Paul seriously. "Brave and smiling and -dying. I know!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The gourd-drum throbbed insistently. He moved -towards it reluctantly. "Good night," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Goodnight, Paul!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A moment later he was vague in the growing dusk, -and they heard his long whistle of answer to the drum.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret, with her chin propped on her hand, sat on -the slope of the wall. The Kafir began to put away -the clay on which he had been working. Paul's store -was an abandoned ant-bear's hole across which there -trailed the broad dry leaves of a tenacious gourd. He -put the unfinished head carefully in this receptacle, and -then drew from it another object, which he held out to -the girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A bit of Paul's work," he explained.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She took it in her hand, but for the time being her interest -in the immaturities of art gave place to the strange -realities in whose presence she felt herself to be. She -glanced at it perfunctorily, a little sketch of a woman -carrying a basket, well observed and sympathetic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she answered. "He has a real gift. But just -now I can't think about that. I 'm thinking about you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 've saddened you," he said. "I didn't want to -do that. I should have held my tongue. But if you -could know what it means to talk to you at all, you 'd -forgive me. I 'm not regretting, you know; I 'm going -through it of my own free will; but it 's a lonely -business. I 'm always glad of a tramp making his way along -the railway line, and Paul was a godsend. But you! -Oh, you 'll never understand how splendid it is to tell -you anything and have you listen to it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He spoke almost humbly, but with a warmth of sincerity -that moved her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 'll have to tell me more," she said. "You 'll -be coming here again?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed I will," he replied quickly. "I 'll be here -often, if only in the hope that you 'll come down to the -dam sometimes. But—there 's one thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?" asked Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know, it won't do for you to be seen with me," -he said gently. "It won't do at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret laughed. "I think I can bear up against -the ill-report of the neighborhood," she said. "My -kingdom is not of this particular world. We won't -bother about that, please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Kafir shook his head. "There 's no help for it," -he answered. "I must bother about it. It bothers me -so much that unless you will let me know best in this -(for I really do know) I 'll never come this way again. -Do you think I could bear it, if people talked about -you for suffering the company of a nigger? You don't -know this country. It 's a dangerous place for people -who go against its prejudices. So if I am to see you, -for God's sake be careful. I 'll look forward to it -like—like a sick man looking forward to health; but not if -you are to pay for it. Not at that price."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, well!" Margaret found the topic unpleasant. -"I don't see any risk. But you 're rather putting me -into the position of the bandmaster on the ship, are n't -you? I 'm to have the sovereign; that is, I 'm to hear -what I want to hear; but only when nobody 's looking. -However, it shall be as you say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you." He managed to sound genuinely -grateful. "You 're awfully kind to me. You shall -hear everything you want to hear. Paul can always lay -hands on me for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret rose to her feet. The evening struck chill -upon her and she coughed. In the growing dark, the -Kafir knit his brows at the sound of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must be going now," she said. "Paul didn't -introduce me after all, did he? But I don't think it's -necessary."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stood a little above him on the slope of the wall, -a tall, slight figure seen against its dark bulk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know your name," he answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I know yours," she put in quickly. "Tell me -if I 'm not right. You 're Kamis. I 've heard about -you this afternoon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stared at her for a space of seconds. "Yes," he -said slowly. "I 'm Kamis. But—who told you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed quietly. "You see," she said, "I 've -got something to tell, too. Oh, I know lots about you; -you 'll have to come and hear that, at any rate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She put out her hand to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good night, Mr. Kamis," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Kafir bared his head before he took her hand. -He seemed to have some difficulty in speaking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good night," he said. "Good night! I'll never -forget your goodness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He let her go and she turned back to the path that -should take her past the farmhouse and the kraals to -the Sanatorium and dinner. At the turn of the wall, -its lights met her with their dazed, unwinking stare, -shining from the dining-room which had no part in the -spacious night of the Karoo and those whose place is in -the darkness. She had gone a hundred yards before she -looked back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Behind her the western sky treasured still the last -luminous dregs of day, that leaked from it like water -one holds in cupped hands. In the middle of it, high -upon the dam wall, a single human figure, swart and -motionless, stood to watch her out of sight.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-vii"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Looks pooty bad for the huntin'," remarked -Mr. Samson suddenly, glancing up from the crinkly -sheets of the letter he was reading. "Here 's a feller -writin' to me that the ground 's like iron already. You -hunt, Miss Harding?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, dear, yes," replied Margaret cheerfully. -"Lions and elephants and—er—eagles. Such sport, -you know!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hah!" Mr. Samson shook his head at her indulgently. -"Your grandmother wouldn't have said that, -young lady. But you youngsters, you don't know -what 's good for you—by gad! Eagles, eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once in a week, breakfast at the Sanatorium gained -a vivid and even a breathless quality from the fact that -one found the weekly letters piled between one's knife -and fork, as though Mrs. Jakes knew—no doubt she -did—that her guests would make the chief part of their -meal on the contents of the envelopes. The Kafir -runner who brought them from the station arrived in the -early dawn and nobody saw him but Mrs. Jakes; she -was the human link between the abstractions of the -post-office and those who had the right to open the letters -and be changed for the day by their contents. It was -not invariably that the mail included letters for her, -and these too would be put in order on the breakfast -table, under the tap of the urn, and not opened till -the others were down. Then Mrs. Jakes also, like a -well-connected Jack Horner, could pull from the -eloquence of her correspondents an occasional plum of -information to pass round the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only think!" she would offer. "The Duchess of -York has got another baby. Let me see now! How -many does that make?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was always Mr. Samson who was down first on -mail-mornings, and his was always the largest budget. -His seat was at the end of the table nearest the window, -and he would read sitting a little sideways in his chair, -with the letter held well up to the light and his right -eyebrow clenched on a monocle. Fat letters of many -sheets, long letters on thin foreign paper, newspapers, -circulars—they made up enough to keep him reading the -whole morning, and thoughtful most of the afternoon. -From this feast he would scatter crumbs of fashionable -or sporting intelligence, and always he would have -something to say about the state of the weather in England -when the post left, three weeks before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just think!" he continued. "Frost already—and -fogs! Frost, Miss Harding; instead of this sultry old -dust-heap. How does that strike you? Eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It leaves me cold," returned Margaret agreeably.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cold!" he retorted, snorting. "Well, I 'd give -something to shiver again, something handsome. -What 's that you 're saying, Ford?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford had passed a post-card to Mrs. Jakes to read -and now received it back from her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It 's Van Zyl," he replied. "He writes that he 'll -be coming past this afternoon, about tea time, and he 'll -look in. I was telling Mrs. Jakes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good!" said Mr. Samson.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a man I know," Ford explained to Margaret. -"He looks me up occasionally. He 's in the Cape -Mounted Police and a Dutchman. You 'll be in for tea?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When somebody 's coming? Of course I will," said -Margaret. "A policeman, is he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," answered Ford. "He 's a sub-inspector, an -officer; but he was a trooper three years ago, and he 's -quite a chap to know. You see what you think of him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll look at him carefully," said Margaret. "But -tell me some more, please! Is he a mute, inglorious -Sherlock Holmes, or what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford laughed. "No," he said. "No, it 's not that -sort of thing, at all. It 's just that he 's a noticeable -person, don't you know? He 's the kind of chap who 's -simply born to put into a uniform and astride of a horse; -you 'll see what I mean when he comes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes leaned to the right to catch Margaret's -eye round the urn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear," she said seriously. "Mr. Van Zyl is the -image of a perfect gentleman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right!" said Margaret. "Between you, you 've -filled me with the darkest forebodings. But so long as -it's a biped, and without feathers, I 'll do my best."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her own letters were three in number. One was from -an uncle who was also her solicitor and trustee, the -source of checks and worldly counsel. His letter -opened playfully; the legal uncle, writing in the inner -chamber of his offices in Lincoln's Inn Fields, hoped -that she did not find the local fashions in dress -irksome, and made reference to three mosquitos and a -smile. The break of a paragraph brought him to -business matters and the epistle concluded with an -allusion to the effect of a Liberal Government on markets. -It was, thought Margaret, a compact revelation of the -whole mind of the legal uncle, and wondered why she -should get vaguely impatient with his implied suggestion -that she was in an uncivilized country. The next -was from the strong-minded aunt who had imposed -austerity upon her choice of clothes for her travels—a -Chinese cracker of a letter, detonating along three sheets in -crisp misstatements that had the outward form of -epigrams. The aunt related, tersely, her endeavor to -cultivate a physique with Indian clubs and the consequent -accident to her maid. "But arms like pipe-stems can -be trusted to break like pipe-stems," she concluded -hardily. "I 've given her cash and a character, and -the new one is fat. No pipe-stems about her, though -she bruises with the least touch!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>These two she read at the breakfast table, drinking -from her coffee-cup between the bottom of one sheet -and the top of the next, savoring them for a vintage -gone flat and perished. It came to her that their writers -lived as in dim glass cases, seeing the world beyond -their own small scope as a distance of shadows, -indeterminate and void, while trivialities and toys that were -close to them bulked like impending doom. She laid -down the legal uncle in the middle of a sentence to -hear of Van Zyl and did not look back to pick up the -context when she resumed her reading. The legal -uncle, in her theory, had no context; he ranked as a -printer's error. It was the third letter which she -carried forth when she left the table, to read again on the -stoep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The jargon of the art schools saves its practitioners -much trouble in accounting for those matters and things -which come under their observation, since a phrase is -frequently indistinguishable from a fact and very filling -at the price. But Margaret was not ready with a name -for that quality in the third letter which caused her -to read it through again and linger out its substance. -It was from a girl who had been her school-fellow and -later her friend, and later still a gracious and -rarely-seen acquaintance, smiling a welcome at chance -meetings and ever remoter and more abstracted from those -affairs which occupied Margaret's days. The name of -a Kensington square stood at the head of her letter -as her address; Margaret knew it familiarly, from the -grime on the iron railings which held its melancholy -garden a prisoner, to the deep areas of its houses that -gave one in passing glimpses of spacious kitchens under -the roots of the dwellings. Three floors up from the -pavement, Amy Hollyer, in her brown-papered room, -with the Rossetti prints on the wall and the Heleu -etching above the mantel, had set her mild and earnest -mind on paper for Margaret's reading, news, comment, -small jest and smaller dogma, a gentle trickle of gossip -about things and people who were already vague in the -past. It was little, it was trivial, but through it there -ran, like the red thread in a ripping-cord, a vein of -zest, of sheer gusto in the movement and thrill of -things. It suggested an ant lost in a two-inch high -forest of lawn-grass, but it rendered, too, some of the -ant's passionate sense of adventure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She 's alive," thought Margaret, laying the letter -at last in her lap. "Dear old Amy, what a wonderful -world she lives in! But then, she 'd furnish any world -with complications."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Twenty feet way, Ford had his little easel between -his outstretched legs and was frowning absorbedly from -it to the Karoo and back again. Twenty feet away on -her other side, Mr. Samson was crackling a three-weeks-old -copy of </span><em class="italics">The Morning Post</em><span> into readable dimensions. -Before her, across the railing of the stoep, the -Karoo lifted its blind face to the gathering might of -the sun.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Even this," continued Margaret. "She 'd find this -inexhaustible. She was born with an appetite for life. -I seem to have lost mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From the great front door emerged to the daylight -the solid rotundity of Fat Mary, billowing forth on -flat bare feet and carrying in her hand a bunch of the -long crimson plumes of the aloe, that spiky free-lance of -the veld which flaunts its red cockade above the -abomination of desolation. Fat Mary spied Margaret and -came padding towards her, her smile lighting up her -vast black face with the effect of "some great -illumination surprising a festal night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For Missis," she remarked, offering the crimson bunch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret sat up in her chair with an exclamation. -"Flowers!" she said. "Are they flowers? They 're -more like great thick feathers. Where did you get them, -Mary?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fat Mary giggled awkwardly. "A Kafir bring -'um," she explained. "He say—for Missis Harding, -an' give me a ticky (a threepenny piece). Fool—that -Kafir!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret stared, holding the fat, fleshy crimson -things in her hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" she said, understanding. "Where is he, -Mary? The Kafir, I mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fat Mary shook her head placidly. "Gone," she -said; and waved a great hand to the utter distance of -the heat haze. "That Kafir gone, Missis. He come -before breakfus'; Missis in bed. Say for Missis -Harding an' give me ticky. Fool! Talk English—an' -boots!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shrugged mightily to express the distrust and -contempt she could not put into words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Boots!" she repeated darkly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said Margaret, "they 're very pretty, anyhow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fat Mary wrinkled her nose. "Stink," she observed. -"Missis smell 'em. Stink like a hell! Missis throw -'um away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret looked at the stout woman and smiled. -Fat Mary's hostility to the Kafir and the aloe plumes -and the ticky was plainly the fruit of jealousy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't throw them away yet," she said. "I want -to look at them first. But did you know the Kafir, -Mary?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Me!" Fat Mary drew herself up. "No, Missis—not -know that </span><em class="italics">skellum</em><span>. Never see him before. -What for that Kafir come here, an' bring stink-flowers -to my Missis? An' boots? Fool, that Kafir! </span><em class="italics">Fool</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right, Mary," said Margaret, conciliatingly. -"Very likely he won't come again. So never mind this -time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fat Mary smiled ruefully. Most of her emotions -found expressions in smiles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That Kafir come again," she said thoughtfully, -"I punch 'im!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And comforted by this resolve, she retired along -the stone stoep and betook herself once more to her -functions indoors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At his post further along the stoep, Ford was -looking up with a smile, for the sounds of Fat Mary's -grievance had reached him. Margaret did not notice -his attention; she was turning over the great bouquet -of cold flaunting flowers which had come to her out of -the wilderness, as though to remind her that at the -heart of it there was a voice crying.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford's friend was punctual to his promise to arrive -for tea. Upon the stroke of half-past four he reined -in his big horse at the foot of the steps and swung -stiffly from the saddle. He came, indeed, with -circumstances of pomp, armed men riding before him and -captives padding in the dust between them. Old -Mr. Samson sighted him while he was yet afar off and -cried the news and the others came to look.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who 's he got with him?" demanded Mr. Samson, -fumbling his papers into the pockets of his writing -case. "Looks like a bally army. Can you see what -it is, Ford?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford was staring with narrowed eyes through the -sunshine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he said slowly. "He 's got prisoners. But -what 's he bringing them here for?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Prisoners? Oh, do let me look!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret came to his side and followed his pointing -finger with her eyes. A blot of haze was moving very -slowly towards them over the surface of the ground, -and through it as she watched there broke here and -there the shapes of men and horses traveling in that -cloud of dust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, they 're miles away," she exclaimed. -"They'll be hours yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say half-an-hour," suggested Ford, his face still -puckered with the effort to see. "They 're moving -briskly, you know. He 's shoving them along."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why prisoners?" enquired Margaret. "What -prisoners could he get on the Karoo? There 's nobody -to arrest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Van Zyl seems to have found somebody, anyhow," -answered Ford. "I had a glimpse of people on foot. -But I can't imagine why he brings 'em here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ask him," suggested Mr. Samson. "What 's your -hurry? Wait till he comes and then ask him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>First Mrs. Jakes and then the doctor joined the -spectators on the stoep as the party drew out of the -distance and defined itself as a string of Kafirs on -foot, herded upon their way by five Cape Mounted Police -with a tall young officer riding in the rear. It was -a monstrous phenomenon to emerge thus from the -vagueness and mystery of the haze, and Margaret -uttered a sharp exclamation of distress as it came -close and showed itself in all its miserable detail. -There were perhaps twenty Kafirs, men and women -both, dusty, lean creatures with the eyes, at once -timorous and untameable, of wild animals. They shuffled -along dejectedly, their feet lifting the dust in spurts -and wreaths, their backs bent to the labor of the -journey. Three or four of the men were handcuffed -together, and these made the van of the unhappy body, -but save for these fetters, there was nothing to distinguish -one from another. Their separate individualities -seemed merged in a single slavishness, and as they -turned their heads to look at the white people -elevated on the stoep, they showed only a row of white -hopeless eyes. Beside them as they plodded, the tall -beautiful horses had a look of nonchalance and -superiority, and the mounted men, bored and thirsty, looked -over their heads as perfunctorily as drovers keeping -watch on docile cattle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How horrible!" said Margaret, in a low voice, for -the officer, followed by an orderly, was at the foot of -the steps.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The prisoners and their guards did not halt; they -continued their way past the house and on towards the -opposite horizon. Their backs, as they departed, -showed gray with clinging dust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sub-Inspector Van Zyl, booted and spurred, trim in -his dust-smirched blue uniform, with his holster at -his hip and the sling across his tight chest, lifted his -hand in the abrupt motions of a salute as he received -Mrs. Jakes' greeting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Kind of you," he said, with a sort of curt cordiality -and the least touch in life of the thick Dutch accent. -"Most kind! Tea 's the very thing I 'd like. Thank you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At sight of Margaret, grave and young, as different -from Mrs. Jakes as if she had been of another sex, -a slight spark lit in his eye for a moment and there was -an even stronger abruptness of formality in his salute. -His curiously direct gaze rested upon her several times -during the administration of tea in the drawing-room, -where he sat upright in his chair, with knees apart, -as though he were still astride of a horse. He was a -man made as by design for the wearing of official -cloth. His blunt, neatly-modeled Dutch face, blond as -straw where it was not tanned to the hue of the earth -of the Karoo, had the stolid, responsible cast that is the -ensign of military authority. His uniform stood on -him like a skin; and his mere unconsciousness of the -spurs on his boots and the revolver on his hip -strengthened his effect of a man habituated to the -panoply and accoutrement of war. Even his manners, -precise and ordered like a military exercise, never -slackened into humanity; the Dutch Sub-Inspector of Cape -Mounted Police might have been a Prussian Lieutenant -with the eyes of the world on him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Timed myself to get here for tea," he explained to -Ford. "Just managed it, though. Hot work -traveling, to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hotter, thought Margaret, for those of his traveling -companions who had no horses under them, and who -would not arrive anywhere in time for tea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You seem to have made a bag," replied Ford. -"What 's been the trouble?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fighting and looting," answered Sub-Inspector -Van Zyl carelessly. "A row between two kraals, you -know, and a man killed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Any resistance?" enquired Ford.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A bit," said Van Zyl. "My sergeant got his head -split open with an axe. Those niggers in the south -are an ugly lot and they 'll always fight. You see, it 's -only about twenty years ago they were at war with us; -it 'll need another twenty to knock the fighting -tradition out of 'em."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They looked meek enough as they passed," remarked -Ford. "There didn't seem to be a kick left -among them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Van Zyl nodded over the brim of his tea-cup. -"There isn't," he said shortly. "They 've had the -kick taken out of 'em."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He drank imperturbably, and Margaret had a momentary -blurred vision of defeated, captured Kafirs in -the process of having the kick extracted from them and -the serene, fair-haired sub-inspector superintending its -removal with unruffled, professional calm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Been here long, Miss Harding?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Van Zyl addressed her suddenly across the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not quite long enough to understand," she replied. -"Did you say those poor creatures were fighting—among -themselves?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why?" she persisted. "What did they fight for?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shrugged his neat shoulders. "Why does a -Kafir do anything?" he enquired. "They told a -cock-and-bull story that seems to be getting fashionable -among them of late, about a son of one of their old -chiefs appearing among them dressed like a white man. -He went from kraal to kraal, talking English and -giving money, and at one kraal the headman, an old -chap who used to be a native constable of ours, -actually seems to have laid his stick across some wandering -nigger who couldn't explain what he wanted. The -next kraal heard of this, and decided at once that a -chief had been insulted, and the next thing was a fight -and the old headman with an assegai through him. -But if you want my opinion, Miss Harding—it does n't -make such a good story, but I 've had to do with niggers -all my life—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?" said Margaret. "Tell me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said Van Zyl, "my opinion is that if the old -headman had n't been the owner of twelve head of cattle, -all ready to be stolen, he might have gone on whacking -stray Kafirs all his life without hurting anybody's -feelings."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Except theirs," suggested Mr. Samson. "Hah, -ha! Except the chaps that he whacked—what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite so!" Sub-Inspector Van Zyl smiled politely. -"He was a vigorous old gentleman, and rather given -to laying about him with anything that came handy. -Probably picked up the habit in the police; the Kafir -constables are always pretty rough with people of their -own color. Anyhow, he 's done for; they drove a -stabbing assegai clean through him and pinned him to a -post of his own hut. I think I 've got the nigger that -did it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes at the tea-table shook her skirts -applaudingly. At any rate, the rustle of them as she -shook came in like applause at the tail of the -sub-inspector's narrative.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He ought to be hanged," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He will be," said the sub-inspector. "But we 're -not at the bottom of it yet. There is a fellow, so far -as I can find out, coming and going on the Karoo, -dressed in clothes and talking a sort of English. He 's -the man I want."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What for?" demanded Margaret, and knew that -she had spoken too sharply. Van Zyl seemed to remark -it, too, for his eye dwelt on her inquiringly for a couple -of seconds before he replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It'll probably be sedition," he replied. "The -whole lot of 'em are uneasy down in the south there -and we 're strengthening our posts. No!" he said, to -Mrs. Jakes' exclamation; "there 's no danger. Not -the slightest danger. But if we could just lay hands -on that wandering nigger who talks English—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He left the sentence unfinished, and his nod -signified that dire experiences awaited the elusive Kafir -when he should come into the strong hands of authority. -The Cape Mounted Police, he replied, would cure -him of his eccentricities.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He passed on to talk with Ford and Mrs. Jakes about -common acquaintances, officers in the police and the -Rifles and people who lived in Dopfontein, sixty miles -away, and belonged to a tennis club. Then the sound -of the softly-closing door advertised them of the tiptoe -departure of Dr. Jakes, and soon afterwards Van Zyl -rose and announced that he must leave to overtake -his party.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you can come to Dopfontein, Miss Harding," -he said, as he took his leave, "hope you 'll let me -know. Decent little place; we 'll try to amuse you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The orderly, refreshed but dusty still, came quickly -to attention as the sub-inspector appeared in the -doorway, and his pert cockney face took on the blankness -proper to discipline. At a window above, Fat Mary -shed admiring glances upon him, and a certain rigor -of demeanor might have been taken to indicate that -the warrior was not unconscious of them. He looked -back over his shoulder as he cantered off in the wake -of the sub-inspector.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What 's the trouble?" asked Ford, discreetly, as -the sun-warmed dust fluffed up and enveloped the -riders in a soft cloud of bronze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret turned impatiently from looking after them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hate cruelty," she said, irritably.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford looked at her shrewdly. "Of course you do," -he said. "But Van Zyl's not cruel. What he said -is true; he 's been among Kafirs all his life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And learned nothing," retorted Margaret. "It 's -beastly; it's just beastly. He can't even think they -ever mean well; they only fight to steal, according to -him. And then he 'takes the kick out of them!' Some -day he 'll work himself up to crucify one of them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hold on," said Ford. "You mustn't get excited; -you know, Jakes doesn't allow it. And you 're -really not quite just to Van Zyl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Isn't he proud of it?" asked Margaret scornfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wonder," said Ford. "But it 's just as likely -he 's proud of policing a smallpox district -single-handed and playing priest and nurse when he was -only paid to be jailer and executioner. He got his -promotion for that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Van Zyl did that?" asked Margaret incredulously. -"Did he arrange to have the deaths over in -time for tea?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford laughed shortly. "You must ask him," he -replied. "He 'll probably say he did. He 's very -fond of tea. But at any rate, he sees as much -downright hard fighting in a year as a man in the army -might see in a lifetime and—" he looked at Margaret -out of the corners of his eyes—"the Kafirs swear by -him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Kafirs do?" asked Margaret incredulously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They swear by him," Ford assured her. "You try -Fat Mary some time; she 'll tell you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, well," said Margaret; "I don't know. Things -are beastly, anyhow, and I don't know which is -worse—cruelty to Kafirs or the Kafirs' apparent -enjoyment of it. That man has made me miserable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford frowned. "Don't be miserable," he said, -awkwardly. "I hate to think you 're unhappy. You -know," he went on, more fluently as an argument -opened out ahead of him, "you 've no business really -to concern yourself with such things. You don't -belong among them. You 're a bird of passage, just -perching for a moment on your way through, and you -mustn't eat the local worms. It 's poaching."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There 's nothing else to eat," replied Margaret -lugubriously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You should have brought your knitting," said -Ford. "You really should! Capital thing for -staying the pangs of hunger, knitting!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," said Margaret. "You 're very good. -But I prefer worms. Not so cloying, you know!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not, however, act upon Ford's suggestion to -ask Fat Mary about the sub-inspector. Even as rats -are said to afford the means of travel to the bacillus -of bubonic plague, it is probable that the worms of a -country furnish vehicles for native prejudices and -habits of mind. At any rate, when Margaret -surveyed Fat Mary, ballooning about the room and creased -with gaiety, there came to her that sense of the -impropriety of discussing a white man with her handmaid -which is at the root of South African etiquette.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Them flowers gone," announced Fat Mary -tranquilly, when Margaret was in bed and she was -preparing to depart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gone! Where?" asked Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I throw 'um away," was the contented answer. -"Stink—pah! So I throw 'um. Goo' night, missis."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-viii"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Don't you some times feel," asked Margaret, -"as though dullness had gone as far as it possibly -can go, and something surprising simply must -happen soon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford glanced cautiously about him before he answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lots of things might happen any minute to some -of us," he said. "You haven't been ill enough to -know, but we are n't all keen for surprises."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was evening, and the big lamp that hung from -the ceiling in the middle of the drawing-room breathed -a faint fragrance of paraffin upon the inhabitants of -the Sanatorium assembled beneath it. From the piano -which stood against the wall, Mrs. Jakes had removed -its usual load of photographs and ornamental pottery, -and now, with her back to her fellow creatures, was -playing the intermezzo from "Cavalleria Rusticana." Her -small hands moving upon the keys showed the red -knuckles and uneven nails which had come to her since -first she learned that composition within earshot of -the diapason of trains passing by Clapham Junction, -mightily challenging her laborious tinkle-tinkle, and -with as little avail as now the night of the Karoo -challenged it. Like her gloves and her company -manners, it stood between her shrinking spirit and those -poignant realities which might otherwise have -overthrown her. So when she came to the end of it she -turned back the pages of the score which was propped -before her, and without glancing at the notes, played -it through again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For instance," whispered Ford, under cover of the -music; "look at Jakes. He carries a catastrophe about -with him, don't you think?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor was ranging uneasily to and fro on the -hearth-rug, where the years of his exile were recorded -in patches worn bare by his feet. There was already -a change to be remarked in him since Margaret had first -made his acquaintance; some of his softness and -appealing guiltiness was gone and he was a little more -desperate and unresponsive. She had mentioned this once to -Ford, who had frowned and replied, "Yes, he 's showing -the strain." She looked at him now covertly. He -was walking to and fro before the empty fireplace with -quick, unequal steps and the fingers of one hand -fidgeted about his mouth. His eyes, flickering back -and forth, showed an almost frantic impatience; poor -Mrs. Jakes' melodious noises that smoothed balm upon -her soul were evidently making havoc with his nerves. -He seemed to have forgotten, in the stress of his misery, -that others were present to see him and enter his -disordered demeanor upon their lists of his shortcomings. -As he faced towards her, Margaret saw the sideward -sag of his mouth under his meager, fair mustache and -the panic of his white eyeball upturned. His decent -black clothes only accentuated the strangeness of him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He looks dreadful," she said; "dreadful. -Oughtn't you to go to him—or something?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No use." Ford shook his head. "</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> know. But -I wish he 'd go to his study, all the same. If he stays -here he may break down."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why doesn't he go?" asked Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He can't make up his mind. He 's at that stage -when to decide to do anything is an effort. And yet the -chap 's suffering for the only thing that will give his -nerves relief. Can't help pitying him, in spite of -everything, when you see him like that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pitying him—yes," agreed Margaret. Mrs. Jakes -with her foot on the soft pedal, was beginning the -intermezzo again for the fifth time and slurring it -dreamily to accord with her brief mood of contentment -and peace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know," Margaret went on, "it 's awfully queer, -really, that I should be in the same room with a man -in that condition. Three months ago, I couldn't have -borne it. Except sometimes on the streets, I don't -think I 'd ever seen a drunken man. I must have -changed since then in some way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Learned something, perhaps," suggested Ford. -"But you were saying you found things dull. Well, -it just struck me that you 'd only got to lift up your -eyes to see the makings of a drama, and while you 're -looking on, your lungs are getting better. Aren't you -a bit hard to satisfy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I? I wonder." They were seated at opposite -ends of a couch which faced them to the room, and -the books which they had abandoned—loose-backed, -much-handled novels from the doctor's inelastic stock -of literature—lay face down between them. Margaret -looked across them at Ford with a smile; he had always -a reasonable answer to her complainings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't take enough stock in human nature," he -said seriously. "Too fastidious—that's what you are, -and it makes you miss a lot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps you 're right," she answered. "I 've been -thinking something of the kind myself. A letter I -had—from a girl at home—put it in my mind. She writes -me six sheets all about the most trivial and futile -things you can imagine, but she speaks of them with -bated breath, as it were. If only she were here -instead of me, she 'd be simply thrilled. I wish you knew -her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish I did," he said. "I 've always had an idea -that the good Samaritan was a prying, inquisitive kind -of chap, and that 's really what made him cross the -road to the other fellow. He wanted to know what -was up, in the first place, and the rest followed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whereas—" prompted Margaret. "Go on. -What 's the moral?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford laughed. "The moral is that there 's plenty -to see if you only look for it," he answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 've seen one thing, at any rate, without looking -for it, since I 've been here," retorted Margaret. -"Something you don't know anything about, Mr. Ford."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What was that?" he demanded. "Nothing about -Jakes, was it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No; nothing about him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She hesitated. She had it in her mind to speak to -him about the Kafir, Kamis, and share with him that -mystery in return for the explanations which he could -doubtless give of its less comprehensible features. But -at that moment Mrs. Jakes ceased playing and began -to put the score away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll tell you another time," she promised, and -picked up her book again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The cessation of the music seemed to release -Dr. Jakes from the spell which had been holding him. He -stopped walking to and fro and strove to master -himself for the necessary moment before his departure. -He turned a writhen, twitching face on his wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You played it again and again," he said, with a sort -of dull resentment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes looked up at him swiftly, with fear in her -eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you like it, Eustace?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He only stared without answering, and she went on -speaking hurriedly to cover him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It always seems to me such a sweet piece," she said. -"So haunting. Don't you think so, Miss Harding? -I 've always liked it. I remember there was a -tea-room in Oxford Street where they used to have a -band in the afternoons—just fiddles and a piano—and -they used to play it there. Many 's the time I 've -dropped in for a cup of tea when I was shopping—not -for the tea but just to sit and listen. Their -tea wasn't good, for the matter of that, but lots of -people went, all the same. Tyler's, was the name, -I remember now. Do you know Tyler's, Miss Harding?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was making it easy for the doctor to get away, -after his custom, but either the enterprise of making a -move was too difficult for him or else an unusual -perversity possessed him. At any rate, he did not go. -He stood listening with an owlish intentness to her -nervous babble.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know Tyler's very well," answered Margaret, -coming to her aid. "Jolly useful place it is, too. But -I don't remember the band."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> used to go to the Queen's Hall," put in Dr. Jakes -hoarsely. "Monday afternoons, when I could -get away. And afterwards, have dinner in Soho."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From the window, where Mr. Samson lay in an armchair -in apparent torpor, came a wheeze, and the single -word, "Simpson's."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret laughed. "How sumptuous," she said. -"Now, Mr. Ford, you tell us where you used to go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Club," answered Ford, promptly. "I had to have -something for my subscription, you know, so I went -there and read the papers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes was watching her husband anxiously, -while Ford and Margaret took up the burden of inconsequent -talk and made a screen of trivialities for her. -But to-night Dr. Jakes needed expression as much as -whisky; there was the hopeless, ineffectual anger of a -baited animal in his stare as he faced them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why aren't any of you looking at me?" he said -suddenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>None answered; only Mr. Samson sat up on his -creaking armchair of basketwork with an amazed, -"Eh? What 's that?" Margaret stared helplessly -and Mrs. Jakes, white-faced and tense, murmured -imploringly, "Eustace."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dodging with your eyes and babbling about tea-shops," -said the doctor hotly. "You think, because -a man 's a bit—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eustace," cried Mrs. Jakes, clasping her hands. -"Eustace </span><em class="italics">dear</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was wonderful to notice how her habit of tone held -good in that peril which whitened her face and made -her tremble from head to foot as she stood. From her -voice alone, one would have implied no more than some -playful extravagance on the doctor's part; she still -hoped that it could be carried off on the plane of small -affairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You would go out without a proper hat on, Jakes," -said Ford suddenly. "Feel stuffy in the head, don't -you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean—stuffy?" demanded Jakes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But already the vigor that had spurred him to a -demonstration was exhausted and the need for alcohol, -the burning physical famine for nerve-reinforcement, -had him in its grip.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stuffy?" repeated Ford, watching him closely. -"Oh, you know what I mean. I 've seen chaps like it -heaps of times after a day in the sun; they get the -queerest fancies. You really ought to get a proper hat, -though."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes took him by the arm persuasively. -"Don't you think you 'd better lie down for a bit, -Eustace—in the study?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In the study?" He blinked twice or thrice painfully, -and made an endeavor to smile. "Yes, perhaps. -This—er—stuffy feeling, you know—yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His wife's arm steered him to the door, and once out -of the room he dropped it and fairly bolted across the -echoing hall to his refuge. In the drawing-room they -heard his eager feet and the slam of the door that -shut him in to his miserable deliverance from pain, -and the double snap of the key that locked out the world -and its censorious eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You—you just managed it," said Margaret to -Ford. The queer inconsequent business had left her -rather breathless. "But wasn't it horrible?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some day we shan't be able to talk him down, and -then it 'll be worse," answered Ford soberly. "That 'll -be the end for Mrs. Jakes' home. But you played up -all right, you know. You did the decent thing, and in -just the right way. And I was glad, because, you -know, I 've never been quite sure how you 'd shape."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You thought I 'd scream for help, I suppose," -suggested Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he replied slowly. "But I often wondered -whether, when the time came, you 'd go to your room -or stay and lend a hand. Not that you wouldn't be -quite right to stand out, for it 's a foul business, all -this, and there 's nothing pretty in it. Still, taking -sides is a sign of life in one's body—and I 'm glad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's all right, then," said Margaret. "And -it 's enough about me for the present, too. You said -that some day it won't be possible any more to talk him -down. Did you mean—some day </span><em class="italics">soon</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Goodness knows," said Ford. He leaned back and -turned his head to look over the back of the couch at -Mr. Samson. "Samson," he called.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That was bad, eh! What's the meaning of it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson blew out his breath windily and uncrossed -his thin legs. "Don't care to go into it before -Miss Harding," he said pointedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, bother," exclaimed Margaret. "Don't you -think I want to know too?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then," said Mr. Samson, with careful -deliberation, "since you ask me, I 'd say it was a touch -of the horrors casting its shadow before. He doesn't -exactly see things, y' know, but that 's what 's -coming. Next thing he knows, he 'll see snakes or cuttle-fish -or rats all round the room and he 'll—he 'll gibber. -Sorry, Miss Harding, but you wanted to know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But—but—" Margaret stared aghast at the feeble, -urbane old man asprawl in the wicker chair, who spoke -with genial authority on these matters of shadowy -horror. "But how can you possibly know all this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson smiled. He considered it fitting and -rather endearing that a young woman should be -ignorant of such things and easily shocked when they -were revealed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Seen it all before, my dear young lady," he assured -her. "It 's natural you should be surprised, but it's -not so uncommon as you think. Why, I remember, -once, in '87, a feller gettin' out of a cab because he said -there was a bally great python there—a feller I knew; a -member of Parliament."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret looked at Ford, who nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He knows all right," he said, quietly. "But I -don't think you need be nervous. When it comes to -that, we 'll have to do something."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm not nervous—not in that way, at least," said -Margaret. "Only—must it come to that? Isn't there -anything that can be done?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If we got a doctor here, the chances are he 'd report -the matter to the authorities," said Ford. "This place -is licensed or certified or something, and that would be -the end of it. And then, even if there wasn't that, it -isn't easy to put the matter to Mrs. Jakes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I suppose not," agreed Margaret thoughtfully. -"Still, if you decided it was necessary—you and -Mr. Samson—I 'd be willing to help as far as I could. I -wouldn't like to see Mrs. Jakes suffer for lack of -anything I could do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's good of you," answered Ford. "I mean—good -of you, really. We won't leave you out of it when -the time comes, because we shall need you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Always knew Miss Harding was a sportsman," came -unexpectedly from Mr. Samson in the rear. And then -the handle of the door, which was loose and arbitrary -in its workings, rattled warningly and Mrs. Jakes -re-appeared.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She made a compunctious mouth, and expressed with -headshakes a sense that all was not well, though -perfectly natural and proper, with the doctor. Her eyes -seemed rather to dwell on Margaret as she gave her -bulletin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Ford was perfectly right about the hat," she -said. "Perfectly right. He ought to have one of those -white ones with a pugaree. He never was really strong, -you know, and the sun goes to his head at once. -But what can I do? He simply won't listen to me -when I tell him we ought to go Home. The number -of times I 've said to him, 'Eustace, give it up; it 's -killing you, Eustace,'—you wouldn't believe. But -he 's lying down now, and I think he 'll be better presently."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson spoke again from the background. He -didn't believe in hitting a man when he was down, -Mr. Samson didn't.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Better have that pith helmet of mine," he suggested. -"That 's the thing for him, Mrs. Jakes. No sense in -losin' time while you 're writin' to hatters—what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 're very good, Mr. Samson," answered Mrs. Jakes, -gratefully, pausing by the piano. "I 'll mention -it to the doctor in the morning; I 'm sure he 'll be -most obliged. He 's—he 's greatly troubled, in case any -of you should feel—well—annoyed, you know, at -anything he said."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor Dr. Jakes," said Margaret. "Of course not," -chorused the others. "Don't know what he means," -added Mr. Samson.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes looked from one to another, collecting -their responses and reassuring herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He 'll be so glad," she said. "And now, I -wonder—would you mind if I just played the intermezzo a -little again?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The easy gradual cadences of the music resumed its -government of the room as Mrs. Jakes called up images -of less poignant days to aid her in her extremity, -sitting under the lamplight very upright and little upon -the pedestal stool. For the others also, those too -familiar strains induced a mood of reflection, and -Margaret fell back on a word of Ford's that had grappled -at her mind and fallen away again. His mention of -the need of a doctor and the difficulty of obtaining one -who could be relied upon to keep a shut mouth concerning -Dr. Jakes' affairs returned to her, and brought -with it the figure of Kamis, mute, inglorious, with his -London diploma, wasting his skill and knowledge literally -on the desert air. While Mrs. Jakes, quite involuntarily, -recalled the flavor of the music-master of years -ago, who played of nights a violin in the orchestra of -the Putney Hippodrome and carried a Bohemian -glamour about him on his daily rounds, Margaret's mind -was astray in the paths of the Karoo where wandered -under the stars, unaccountable and heartrending, a -healer clothed with the flesh and skin of tragedy. She -remembered him as she had seen him, below the dam -wall, with Paul hanging on his words and the humble -clay gathering shape under his hands, lifting his blunt -negro face to her and speaking in deliberate, schooled -English of how it fared in Africa with a black man -who was not a savage. He had thanked her then very -movingly for merely hearing him and being touched -by the pity and strangeness of his fate, and had -promised to come to her whenever she should signify a wish -to speak with him again. The wish was not wanting, but -the opportunity had failed, and since then the only -token of him had been the scarlet aloe plumes, fruit of -the desert gathered in loneliness, which he had -conveyed to her by the hands of Fat Mary. Like himself, -they came to her unexpected and unexplained, and -she had had them only long enough to know they existed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her promise to Kamis to keep her acquaintance with -him a secret had withheld her so far from sharing the -matter with Ford, though she told herself more than -once that in his particular case the promise could not -apply. With him she was sure there could be no risk; -he would take his stand on the clear facts of the -situation and be free from the first from the silly violence -of thought which complicates the racial question in -South Africa. She had even pictured to herself his -reception of the news, when he received it, say, across -the top of his little easel; he would pause, the palette -knife between his fingers, and frown consideringly at -the sticky mess before him on the canvas. His lean, -sober, courageous face would give no index to the -direction of his mind; he would put it to the test of his -queer, sententious logic with all due deliberation, till at -last he would look up decidedly and commit himself -to the reasonable and human attitude of mind. "As -I see it," he would probably begin; or "Well, the -position 's pretty clear, I think. It 's like this." And -then he would state the matter with all his harsh, -youthful wisdom, tempered a little by natural kindliness and -gentleness of heart. And all would be well, with a -confidant gained into the bargain. But, nevertheless, -he had not yet been told.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes was perfunctory, that evening with her -good nights; with all her efforts to appear at ease the -best she could do was to appear a little absent-minded. -She gave Margaret her breakfast smile instead of her -farewell one and stared at her curiously as she stood -aside to let the girl pass up-stairs. She had the air of -passing her in review.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It seemed to Margaret that she had been asleep for -many hours when she was awakened and found the -night still dark about her. Some blurred fragments -of a dream still clung to her and dulled her wits; she -had watched again the passing before the stoep of Van -Zyl's captives and seen their dragging feet lift the dust -and the hopelessness of their white eyes. But with -them, the mounted men seemed to ride to the accompaniment -of hoofs clattering as they do not clatter on the -dry earth of the Karoo; they clicked insistently like a -cab horse trotting smartly on wood pavement, and then, -when that had barely headed off her thoughts and let -her glimpse a far vista of long evening streets, -populous with traffic, she was awake and sitting up in her -bed, and the noise was Mrs. Jakes standing in the -half-open door and tapping on the panels to wake her. -She carried a candle which showed her face in an -unsteady, upward illumination and filled it unfamiliarly -with shadows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it?" called Margaret. "Come in, Mrs. Jakes. -Is there anything wrong?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes entered and closed the door behind her. -She was fully dressed still, even to the garnet brooch -she wore of evenings, which she had once purchased -from a countess at a bazaar. Stranger far, she wore an -embarrassed, confidential little smile as though some -one had turned a laugh against her. She came to -Margaret's bedside and stood there with her candle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear," she said; "I know it's very awkward, -but I feel I can trust you. We are friends, aren't we?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Margaret, staring at her. "But what is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said Mrs. Jakes, very deliberately, and still -with the same little smile, "it 's an awkward thing, but -I want you to help me. I don't care to ask Mr. Samson -or Mr. Ford, because they might not understand. So, -as we 're friends—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is anybody dead?" demanded Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes made a shocked face. "Dead. No. My -dear, if that was it, you may be sure I should n't trouble -you. No, nobody 's dead; it 's nothing of that kind at -all. I only just want a little help, and I thought—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 're making me nervous," said Margaret. "I 'll -help if I can, but do say what it is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes' smile wavered; she did not find it easy to -say what it was. She put her candle down upon a -chair, to speak without the strain of light on her face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's the doctor," she said. "He's had a—a fit, -my dear. He thought a little fresh air would do him -good and he went out. And the fact is, I can't quite -manage to get him in by myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh?" Margaret stared. "Where is he?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He got as far as the road and then he fell," said -Mrs. Jakes. "I wouldn't dream of troubling you, my -dear, but I 'm—I 'm rather tired to-night and I really -couldn't manage by myself. And then I remembered -we were friends."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not till then?" asked Margaret. "You don't care -to wake Mr. Ford? He wouldn't misunderstand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no—please," begged Mrs. Jakes, terrified. -"No, </span><em class="italics">please</em><span>. I 'd rather manage alone, somehow—I -would, really."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't do that," said Margaret, decidedly. She -sat a space of moments in thought. The doctor's fit -did not deceive her at all; she knew that for one of the -euphemisms that made Mrs. Jakes' life livable to her. -He was drunk and incapable upon the road before the -house, and Mrs. Jakes, helpless and frightened, had -waked her in the middle of the night to help bring the -drunken man in and hide him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll help you," she said suddenly. "Don't you -worry any more, Mrs. Jakes; we 'll manage it -somehow. Let me get some things on and we 'll go out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It 's very kind of you, my dear," said Mrs. Jakes -humbly. "You 'll put some warm things on, won't -you? The doctor would never forgive me if I let you -catch cold."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret was fumbling for her stockings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm not very strong, you know," she suggested. -"I 'll do all I can, but hadn't we better call Fat Mary? -She 's strong enough for anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fat Mary! A Kafir!" Mrs. Jakes forgot her caution -and for the moment was shrill with protest. -"Why—why, the doctor would never hold up his head -again. It wouldn't do at </span><em class="italics">all</em><span>; I simply couldn't </span><em class="italics">think</em><span> -of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, well. As you like; I did n't know. Here 's me, -anyhow; and awfully willing to be useful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Mrs. Jakes had been startled in earnest. While -Margaret completed a sketchy toilet she stood murmuring: -"A Kafir! Why, the very idea—it would break -the doctor's heart."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With her dressing-gown held close about her, -Margaret went down-stairs by the side of Mrs. Jakes and -her candle, with the abrupt shadows prancing before -them on wall and ceiling like derisive spectators of -their enterprise. But there was no sense of adventure -in it; somehow the matter had ranged itself prosaically -and Mrs. Jakes, prim and controlled, managed to throw -over it the commonplace hue of an undertaking which -is adequately chaperoned. The big hall, solemn and -reserved, had no significant emptiness, and from the study -there was audible the ticking of some stolid little clock.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The front door of the house was open, and a faint -wind entered by it and made Margaret shiver; it showed -them a slice of night framed between its posts and two -misty still stars like vacant eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It 's not far," said Mrs. Jakes, on the stoep, and -then the faint wind rustled for a moment in the dead -vines and the candle-flame swooped and went out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You haven't matches, my dear?" enquired Mrs. Jakes, -patiently. "No? But we 'll want a light. I -could fetch a lantern if you wouldn't mind waiting. -I think I know where it is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right," agreed Margaret. "I don't mind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the first thrill of the business, to be left alone -while Mrs. Jakes tracked that lantern to its hiding-place. -Margaret slowly descended the steps from the stoep and -sat down on the lowest of them to look at the night. -There was a touch of chill in it, and she gathered -herself up closely, with her hands clasped around her knees. -The wide sleeves of the dressing-gown fell back and -left her arms bare to the elbow and the recurring wind, -like a cold breath, touched her on the chest where the -loose robe parted. The immensity of the night, veiling -with emptiness unimaginable bare miles, awed her like -a great presence; there was no illumination, or none -but the faintest, making darkness only apparent, from -the heavenful of pale blurred stars that hung over her. -Behind her, the house with those it held was dumb; it -was the Karoo that was vocal. As she sat, a score of -voices pressed upon her ears. She heard chirpings and -little furtive cries, the far hoot of some bold bird and by -and by the heartbroken wailing of a jackal. She -seemed to sit at the edge of a great arena of unguessed -and unsuspected destinies, fighting their way to their -fulfilment in the hours of darkness. And then -suddenly, she was aware of a noise recurring regularly, -a civilized and familiar noise, the sound of footsteps, of -somebody walking on the earth near at hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She heard it before she recognized it for what it was, -and she was not alarmed. The footsteps came close -before she spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is anybody there, please?" she called.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The answer came at once. "Yes," it said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is it?" she asked again, and in answer to her -question, the night-walker loomed into her view and -stood before her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She rose to her feet with a little breathless laugh, for -she recognized him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it 's you," she exclaimed. "Mr. Kamis, isn't -it? But what are you doing here at this time of night?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not light enough to see his face; she had -recognized him by the figure and attitude; and she was -glad. She was aware then that she rather dreaded -the negro face of him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you doing, rather?" he asked. "Does -anybody know you 're out here like this? Is it part of -some silly treatment, or what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm waiting for Mrs. Jakes," said Margaret. -"She 's coming with a lantern in a minute or two and -you 'll have to go. It's all right, though; I shan't take -any harm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope not." He was plainly dissatisfied, and it -was very strange to catch the professional restraint in -his voice. "Your being here—if I may ask—hasn't -got anything to do with a very drunk man lying in -the road over there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 've seen him, then?" asked Margaret. "It is -just drunkenness, of course?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded. "But why—?" he began again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's Dr. Jakes," explained Margaret. "And -I 'm going to help Mrs. Jakes to fetch him in, quietly, -so that nobody will know. So you see why you must -keep very quiet and slip away before she sees you—don't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a pause before he answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, good Lord," he burst out. "This is—this is -damnable. You can't have a hand in this kind of thing; -it 's impossible. What on earth are these people -thinking of? You mustn't let them drag you into -beastliness of this kind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait," said Margaret. "Don't be so furious. -Nobody is dragging me into anything, and I don't think -I 'm a very draggable person, anyhow. I 'd only to be -a little shocked once or twice and I should never have -heard of this. I 'm doing it because—well, because I -want to be useful and Mrs. Jakes came to me and asked, -'Was I her friend?' That isn't very clear to you, -perhaps, but there it is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Useful." He repeated the word scornfully. "Useful—yes. -But do you mean that this is the only use -they can find for you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm an invalid," said Margaret placidly. "A -crock, you know. I 've got to take what chances I can -find of doing things. But it 's no use explaining such -a thing as this. If you 're not going to understand -and be sympathetic, don't let 's talk about it at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not at once reply. She stood on the last step -but one and looked down towards him where he stood -like a part of the night, and though she could see of him -only the shape, she showed to him as a tall slenderness, -with the faint luminosity of bare arms and face and -neck. He seemed to be staring at her very intently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Anyhow," he said suddenly—"what is wanted principally -is to bring him in. That is so, is n't it? Well, -I 'll fetch him for you. Will you be satisfied with that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, you mustn't," said Margaret. "Mrs. Jakes -wouldn't allow it. Never mind why. She simply -wouldn't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know why," he answered. "I 've come across all -that before. But this Kafir has seen the state of that -white man. That does n't make any difference? No?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret had shaken her head. "I 'm awfully -sorry," she said. "I feel like a brute—but if you had -seen her when I suggested getting help. It was the one -thing that terrified her. You see, it 's her I want to -help, much more than Dr. Jakes, and she must have her -way. So please don't be hurt, will you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed a little. "Oh, </span><em class="italics">that</em><span> doesn't hurt me," -he said. "If it were you, it would be different, but -Mrs. Jakes can't help it. However—do you know -where this man keeps his drugs?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In the study," answered Margaret. "In there, on -the left. But why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm a doctor too; you 'd forgotten that, had n't you? -If I had two or three things I could mix something that -would sober him in a couple of minutes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really?" Margaret considered it for a minute, but -even that would not do. She could not bring herself -to brave Mrs. Jakes' horror and sense of betrayal when -she should see the deliverer who came out of the night. -And, after all, it was she who had claimed Margaret's -help. "We're friends, aren't we?" she had asked, -and the girl had answered "Yes." It was not the part -of a friend to press upon her a gift that tasted -pungently of ruin and shame.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Margaret. "Don't offer any more help, -please. It hurts to keep on refusing it. But it isn't -what Mrs. Jakes woke me up to beg of me and it isn't -what I got up from bed to grant her. Can't you see -what I mean? I 've told you all about it, and I 'm -trusting you to understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand," he answered. "But I hate to let -you go down to that drunken beast. And suppose the -pair of you can't manage him—what will you do then? -You 'll have to get help somewhere, won't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose so," said Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, get me," he urged, and came a pace nearer, -so that only the width of the two bottom steps -separated them and she could feel his breath upon the hands -that hung clasped before her. "Let me help, if you -need it," he begged. "I 'll wait, out of sight. -Mrs. Jakes shan't guess I 'm there. But I won't be far, and -if you just call quietly, I 'll hear. It—it would be kind -of you—merciful to let me bear just a hand. And if -you don't call, I 'll not show myself. There can't be -any harm in that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," agreed Margaret, uncertainly. "There can't -be any harm in that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She saw that he moved abruptly, and had an -impression that he made some gesture almost of glee. -But he thanked her in quiet tones for her grace of -consent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes, returning, found Margaret as she had left -her. She had in her hand one of those stable lanterns -which consist of a glass funnel protected by a wire cage, -and she spilled its light about her feet as she went and -walked in a shifting ring of light through a darkness -made more opaque by the contrast. There was visible -of her chiefly her worn elastic-sided boots as she came -down the steps with the lantern swinging in her hand; -and the little feet in those uncomely coverings were -somehow appealing and pathetic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I found it in Fat Mary's room," she explained. -"She nearly woke up when I was taking it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret wondered whether Kamis were near enough -to hear and acute enough to picture the tiptoe search -for the lantern by the bedside of snoring Kafirs, the -breathless halts when one stirred, the determination -that carried the quest through, and the prosaic -matter-of-factness of it all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They stumbled their way arm in arm across the spit -of patched grass that stood between the house and the -road, and the lantern diffused about them a yellow haze. -Then their feet recognized soft loose dust and they were -on the road and moving along it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is n't far," said Mrs. Jakes, in her flat quiet voice. -"Be careful, my dear; there are sometimes snakes on -the road at night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dr. Jakes was apparent first as an indeterminate bulk -against the dust that spread before them under the -lantern. Mrs. Jakes saw him first.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has n't moved," she remarked. "I was rather -afraid he might have. These fits, you know—he 's had -them before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stood at his head, with the lantern held before -her, like a sentinel at a lying-in-state, and the whole -unloveliness of his slumbers was disclosed. He sprawled -upon the road in his formal black clothes, with one arm -outstretched and his face upturned to the grave -innocence of the night. It had not the cast of repose; he -seemed to have carried his torments with him to his -couch of dust and to brood upon them under his mask -of sleep. What was ghastly was the eyelids which -were not fully shut down, but left bare a thin line of -white eyeball under each, and touched the broken -countenance with deathliness. His coat, crumpled about -him and over him, gave an impression of a bloated and -corpulent body, and he was stained from head to foot -with dust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes surveyed him without emotion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He 's undone his collar, anyhow," she remarked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did n't you do it?" asked Margaret, seeing the -white ends that rose on each side of his chin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No; I forgot," was the answer. "He can't be very -bad, since he did that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret detected the hand of Kamis in this precaution. -She said nothing, but stooped with Mrs. Jakes -to try to rouse the doctor. The sickening reek of the -man's breath affronted her as she bent over him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes shook him and called on him by name in -a loud half-whisper, lowering her face close to his ear. -She was persuasive, remonstrant; she had the manner -of reasoning briskly with him and rousing him to better -ways.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eustace, Eustace," she called, hushing her tones -as though the night and the desert were perilous with -ears. "Come, Eustace; you can get up if you try. -Make just one effort, now, and you 'll be all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The gurgle of his breath was the only answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We 'll have to lift him," she said, staring across his -body at Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right," agreed the girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Get hold of his right arm and I 'll take his left," -directed Mrs. Jakes. "If we get him on his feet, -perhaps he 'll rouse. Are you ready?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret closed her lips and put forth the strength -that she had, and between them they dragged him to a -sitting posture, with his head hanging back and his -heels furrowed deep in the dust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, if I can just get behind him," panted Mrs. Jakes. -"Don't let go. That's it. Now! Could you -just help to lift him straight up?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret went quickly to her aid. It had become -horrible. The gross carcass in their hands was inert -like a flabby corpse, and its mere weight overtaxed them. -They wrestled with it sobbingly, to the noise of their -harsh breath and the shuffle of their straining feet on -the grit of the road. Suddenly Margaret ceased her -laboring and the doctor collapsed once more upon the -ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why did you do that?" cried Mrs. Jakes. "He was -nearly up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was my chest," answered Margaret weakly. "It—it hurt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a warm feeling in her throat and a taste in -her mouth which she knew of old. She found her -handkerchief and dabbed with it at her lips. The feeble -light of the lantern showed her the result—the red -spots on the white cambric.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It 's just a strain," said Mrs. Jakes, dully. -"That 's all. The doctor will see to it to-morrow. If -you rest a moment, you 'll be all right." She hesitated, -but her husband and her life's credit lay upon the -ground at her feet, and she could not weigh Margaret's -danger against those. "You wouldn't leave me now, -my dear?" she supplicated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said the girl, after a moment's pause. "I -won't leave you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What 's that?" cried Mrs. Jakes and put a quick -frightened hand upon her arm. "Listen! Who is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Steps, undisguised and clear, passed from the grass -to the stone steps of the house and ascended, crossed -the stoep and were lost to hearing in the doorway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The two women waited, breathless. It sprang to -Margaret's mind that the lantern must have shown her -clearly to Kamis, where he waited in the darkness, and -he must have seen the climax of her efforts and her -handkerchief at her lips, and gone forthwith to the -study for the drugs which would put an end to the matter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look," whispered Mrs. Jakes. "Some one is striking -matches—in the study."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The window brightened and darkened again and then -lit with a steady glow; the invader had found a candle. -Mrs. Jakes dropped Margaret's arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must see who it is," she said. "Walking into people's -houses like this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret held her back; she was starting forthwith -to bring the majesty of her presence to bear on the -unknown and possibly dangerous intruder. Mrs. Jakes -had a house as well as a husband and could die at need -for either.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, don't go," said Margaret. "I know who it is. -It's all right, if only you won't be—well, silly about -it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is it, then?" demanded Mrs. Jakes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret felt feeble and unequal to the position. Her -chest was painful, she was cold, and now there was about -to be a delicate affair with Mrs. Jakes. She could have -laughed at the growing complexity of things, but had the -wit not to.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It 's a doctor," she said; "a real London doctor. He -was passing when you left me to get the lantern, and I -wouldn't let him stay because I thought you 'd be -annoyed. He 's gone into the house to—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does he know?" whispered Mrs. Jakes, feverishly, -thrusting close to her. "Does he know—about this?" Her -downward-pointing finger indicated the slumbers -of Dr. Jakes. "Say, can't you—does he know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He 'd seen him," said Margaret. "I expect he -loosened the collar—you know. He wanted to help but -I wouldn't let him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is he a friend of yours?" asked Mrs. Jakes again, -still in the same agitated whisper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," answered Margaret. "He is. It 's all right, -really, if only you 'll be sensible and not make a fuss. -He 'll help us and then he 'll go away and he 'll say -nothing. You did n't think I 'd do anything to hurt -you, did you? Are n't we friends?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes stood silent; she asked no questions as to -how a London doctor, a friend of Margaret's, chanced -to be walking upon the Karoo at night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," she said at last, with a long sigh; "perhaps -we might have needed some help, in any case."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That was all she said, till the footsteps came again -across the stoep and down the steps, more deliberately -this time, as though something were being carried with -precaution. Then they were noiseless for a minute or -more on the grass, and at last the figure of Kamis came -into the further edge of the lighted circle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had to do it," he said, before either of them could -speak, and showed the graduated glass in his hand. "I -saw you with your handkerchief."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret, with an instinct of apprehension, looked at -Mrs. Jakes. At the first dim view of him, she had roused -herself from her dejection, and put on her prim, social -face to meet the London doctor effectively. Her little -meaningless smile was bent for him; she would make a -blameless and uneventful drawing-room of the August -night and guard it against unseemly dramatics.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned from Margaret towards her and came further -into the lamp-light, and she had a clear view of the -black face and sorrowful, foolish negro features. She -uttered a gasp that was like a low cry and stood aghast, -staring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Madam," began Kamis.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shivered. "A Kafir," she said. "The doctor -will never forgive us." And then, wheeling upon -Margaret, "And I 'll never forgive you. You said we were -friends—and this is what you do to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Jakes," implored Margaret. "You must be -sensible. It 's all right, really. This gentleman—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This gentleman," Mrs. Jakes uttered a passionate -spurt of laughter. "Do you mean this nigger? -Gentleman, you call it? A London doctor? A friend of -yours? A friend. Ha, ha!" She spun round again -towards Kamis, waiting with the glass in his hand, the -liquid in which shone greenish to the lamp. "</span><em class="italics">Voetzaak!</em><span>" -she ordered, shrilly. "</span><em class="italics">Hamba wena—ch'che. -Skellum. Injah. Voetzaak!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kamis stood his ground. He cast a look at Margaret, -past Mrs. Jakes, and spoke to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will she let me give him this?" he asked. "Tell -her I am a doctor and this will bring him to very -quickly. And then I 'll go away at once and never say -a word about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you dare touch him," menaced Mrs. Jakes. -"A filthy Kafir—I should think so, indeed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kamis went on in the same steady tone. "If she -won't you must go in at once and send for another -doctor to-morrow. This man ought to be reported."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You dare," cried Mrs. Jakes. "You 'd report him—a -Kafir." She edged closer to the prostrate body of -Dr. Jakes and stood beside it like a beast-mother at bay. -"I 'll have you locked up—walking into my husband's -study like that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Jakes." Margaret tried once more. "Please -listen. If you 'll only let the doctor have this drink, -he 'll be able to walk. If you don't, he 'll have to stay -here. I am your friend; I got up when you came to me -and I said I wouldn't leave you even when I hurt my -chest. Doesn't that prove that I am? I wouldn't do -you any harm or shame you before other people for -anything. What will Dr. Jakes say if he finds out that you -let me stay here pleading when I ought to be in bed? -He 's a doctor himself and he 'll be awfully annoyed—after -telling me I should get well, too. Aren't you going -to give him a chance—and me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes merely glared stonily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," said Margaret. "Won't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kamis uttered a smothered exclamation. "I won't -wait," he said. "I 'll count ten, slowly. Then Miss -Harding must go in and I go away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, don't begin that sort of thing," cried Margaret. -"Mrs. Jakes is going to be sensible. Aren't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no reply, only the stony and hostile stare -of the little woman facing them and the gray image -of disgrace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One," counted Kamis clearly. "Two. Three."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He counted with the stolid regularity of a clock; he -made as though to overturn the glass and waste its -contents in the dust as soon as he should have reached ten. -"Ten," he uttered, but held it safely still. "Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes did not move for some moments. Then -she sighed and, still without speaking, moved away from -the slumbering doctor. She walked a dozen paces from -the road and stood with her back to them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With quick skilful movements, Kamis lifted the -unconscious man's head to the crook of his arm and the -rim of the glass clicked on his teeth. Margaret walked -after Mrs. Jakes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," she said gently. "I don't misunderstand. -You trusted me or you would n't have waked me. Everything -will be all right soon and then you 'll forgive me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't—never."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes would not face her. She stood looking -into the blackness, tense with enmity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I hope you will," said Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They heard grunts from the doctor and then quavering -speech and one rich oath, and a noise of spitting. -The Kafir approached them noiselessly from behind -and paused at Margaret's side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's done the trick," he said; "and he doesn't -even know who gave him the draft. You 'll go in now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Margaret. "You </span><em class="italics">have</em><span> been good, though."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes had returned to her husband; they were -for the moment alone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't mean to force your hand," he whispered. -"But I had to. A doctor has duties."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gave him her hand. "There was something I -wanted to tell you, but there 's no time to explain now. -Did you know you were wanted by the police?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bless you, yes." He smiled with a white flash of -teeth. "Were you going to warn me? How kind! -And now, in you go, and good night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dr. Jakes was sitting up, spitting with vigor and -astonishment. He had taken a heroic dose of hair-raising -restoratives on the head of a poisonous amount of -whisky, and his palate was a moldering ruin. But the -clearness of his faculties left nothing to be desired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who 's that?" he demanded at sight of Margaret. -"Miss Harding. How do you come to be out here at -this time?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You should time your fits more decently, doctor," -answered Margaret coolly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes hastened to explain more acceptably. "I -was frightened, Eustace. You looked so bad—and these -fits are terrible. So I asked Miss Harding if she -wouldn't come and help me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A patient," said the doctor. He turned over and -rose stiffly to his feet, dust-stained all over. He stood -before her awkwardly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am unfortunate," he said. "You are in my care -and this is what happens. It is my misfortune—and -my fault. You 'll go back to bed now, Miss Harding, -please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure there 's nothing more you want?" inquired -Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At once, please," he repeated. "In the morning—but -go at once now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the stoep she paused to listen to them following -after her and heard a portion of Mrs. Jakes' excuses to -her husband.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You looked so dreadful, Eustace, and I was frightened. -And then, you 're so heavy, and I suppose I was -tired, and to-night I couldn't quite manage by myself, -dear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret passed in at the door in order to cough -unheard, that nothing might be added to the tale of -Mrs. Jakes' delinquencies.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-ix"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IX</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"And what have we here?" said the stranger loudly. -"What have we here, now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul, sitting cross-legged in his old place under the -wall of the dam, with a piece of clay between his fingers, -looked round with a start. The stranger had come up -behind him, treading unheard in his burst and broken -shoes upon the soft dust, and now stood leaning upon -a stick and smiling down upon him with a kind of -desperate jauntiness. His attitude and manner, with their -parody of urbane ease, had for the moment power to -hide the miserable shabbiness of his clothes, which were -not so much broken and worn as decayed; it was decay -rather than hardship which marked the whole figure of -the man. Only the face, clean-shaven save for a new -crop of bristles, had some quality of mobility and -temper, and the eyes with which he looked at Paul were -wary and hard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, nothing," said Paul, uneasily, covering his clay -with one hand. "Who are you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The stranger eyed him for some moments longer with -the shrewdness of one accustomed to read his fortune -in other men's faces, and while he did so the smile -remained fixed on his own as though he had forgotten -to take it off.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who am I!" he exclaimed. "My boy, it 'd take a -long time to tell you. But there 's one thing that -perhaps you can see for yourself—I 'm a gentleman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul considered this information deliberately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you?" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm dusty," admitted the other; "dusty both -inside and out. And I 'm travelin' on foot—without -luggage. So much I admit; I 've met with misfortunes. -But there 's one thing the devil himself can't -take away from me, and that 's the grand old name of -gentleman. An' now, my lad, to business; you live at -that farm there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," replied Paul. This tramp had points at -which he differed from other tramps, and Paul stared at -him thoughtfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So far, so good," said the stranger. "Question -number two: does it run to a meal for a gentleman -on his travels, an' a bed of sorts? Answer me that. -I don't mean a meal with a shilling to pay at the end -of it, because—to give it you straight—I 'm out of -shillings for the present. Now, speak up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you go up there, they 'll give you something to -eat, and you can sleep somewhere," said Paul, a little -puzzled by the unusual rhetoric.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The stranger nodded approvingly. "It's all right, -then?" he said. "Good—go up one. But say! Ain't -you going there yourself pretty soon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Presently," said Paul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, if it 's all the same to you," said the stranger, -"I 'll wait and go up with you. Nothing like being -introduced by a member," he added, as he lowered -himself stiffly to a seat among the rank grass under the -wall. "Gives a feller standing, don't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took off his limp hat and let himself fall back -against the slope of the wall, grunting with appreciation -of the relief after a day's tramp in the sun. His -rather full body and thin legs, ending in a pair of -ruinous shoes that let his toes be seen, lay along the -grass like an obscene corpse, and above them his feeble, -sophisticated face leered at Paul as though to invite -him to become its confidant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You go on with what you 're doing," urged the -stranger. "Don't let me hinder you. Makin' marbles, -were you—or what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Paul. He hesitated, for an idea had -come to him while he watched the stranger. "But—but -if you 'll do something for me, I 'll give you a -shilling."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh?" The other rolled a dull eye on him. "It -isn't murder, is it? I should want one-and-six for -that. I never take less."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul flushed. "I don't know what you mean," he -said. "I only want you to keep still like that while -I—while I make a model of you. You said you had n't -got any shillings just now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did I say that?" inquired the stranger. "Well, -well! However, chuck us over your shilling and I 'll -see what I can do for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He made a show of biting the coin and subjecting -it to other tests of its goodness while the boy looked on -anxiously. Paul was relieved when at last he pocketed -it and lay back again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll get rid of it somehow," he said. "It's very -well made. And now, am I to look pleasant, or what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't look at all," directed Paul. "Just be -like—like you are. You can go to sleep if you like."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never sleep on an empty stomach," replied the -stranger, arranging himself in an attitude of comfort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is this all right for you? Fire away, then, Mike -Angelo. Can I talk while you 're at it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you want to," answered Paul. The clay which -he had been shaping was another head, and now he -kneaded it out of shape between his hands and rounded -it rudely for a sketch of the face before him. The -Kafir, Kamis, had bidden him refrain from his attempts -to do mass and detail at once, to form the features and -the expression together; but Paul knew he had little -time before him and meant to make the most of it. -The tramp had his hands joined behind his head and -his eyes half-closed; he offered to the boy the spectacle -of a man beaten to the very ground and content to take -his ease there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"D'you do much of this kind of thing?" asked the -tramp, when some silent minutes had passed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Paul, "a lot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing like it, is there?" asked the other. He -spoke lazily, absorbed in his comfort. "We 've all got -our game, every bally one of us. Mine was actin'."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Acting?" Paul paused in his busy fingering to -look up. "Were you an actor?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The actors he knew looked out of frames in his -mother's little parlor, intense, well-fed, with an -inhuman brilliance of attire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Even me," replied the tramp equably. He did not -move from his posture nor uncover his drowsy eyes; -the swollen lids, in which the veins stood out in purple, -did not move, but his voice took a rounder and more -conscious tone as he went on: "And there was a time, -my boy, when actin' meant me and I meant actin'. -In '87, I was playing in 'The Demon Doctor,' and -drawing my seven quid a week—you believe me. Talk -of art—why! I 've had letters from Irving that 'd -make you open your eyes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 've heard about Irving," said Paul, glancing back -and fore from his clay to the curiously pouched mouth -of his recumbent model.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fancy," exclaimed the tramp softly. "But it was -a great game, a great game. Sometimes, even now, I -sort of miss it. And the funny thing is—it is n't the -grub and the girls and the cash in my breeches pocket -that I miss so much. It 's the bally work. It 's the -work, my boy." He seemed to wonder torpidly at -himself, and for some seconds he continued to repeat, -as though in amazement: "It 's the work." He went -on: "Seems as if once an actor, always an actor, -don't it? A feller 's got talent in him and he 's got -to empty it out, or ache. Some sing, some write, some -paint; you prod clay about; but I 'm an actor. Time -was, I could act a gas meter, if it was the part, and -that 's my trouble to this day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He ceased; he had delivered himself without once -looking up or reflecting the matter of his speech by -a change of expression. For all the part his body or -his features had in his words, it might have been a dead -man speaking. Paul worked on steadily, giving small -thought to anything but the shape that came into being -under his hands. His standard of experience was -slight; he knew too little of men and their vicissitudes -to picture to himself the processes by which the face -he strove to reproduce sketchily could have been shaped -to its cast of sorrowful pretense; he only felt, cloudily -and without knowledge, that it signaled a strange and -unlovely fate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His knack served him well on that evening, and -besides, there was not an elusive remembrance of form -to be courted, but the living original before him. The -tramp seemed to sleep; and swiftly, with merciless -assurance, the salient thing about him came into existence -between Paul's hands. Long before the light failed or -the gourd-drum at the farmhouse door commenced its -rhythmic call, the thing was done—a mere sketch, with -the thumb-prints not even smoothed away, but stamped -none the less with the pitiless print of life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Done it?" inquired the tramp, rousing as Paul -uncrossed his legs and prepared to put the clay away. -"Let 's have a look?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It wants to be made smooth," explained Paul, as he -passed it to him. "And it's soft, of course, so don't -squeeze it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't squeeze it," the tramp assured him and -took it. He gazed at it doubtfully, letting it lie on -his knee. "Oho!" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's only a quick thing," said Paul. "There -was n't time to do it properly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wasn't there?" said the tramp, without looking up. -"It 's like me, is it? Damn you, why don't you say -it and have done with it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why," cried Paul bewildered, and coloring furiously. -"What's the matter? It </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> like you. I modeled -it from you just now as you were lying there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An' paid me a shilling for it." The tramp thrust -an impetuous hand into his pocket; possibly he was -inspired to draw forth the coin and fling it in Paul's -face. If so, he decided against it; he looked at the coin -wryly and returned it to its place.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," he said finally; "you 've got me nicely. -The cue is to shy you and your bally model into the -dam together—an' what about my supper? Eh? Yes, -you 've got me sweetly. Here, take the thing, or I -might make up my mind to go hungry for the pleasure -of squashing it flat on your ugly mug."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't like it?" asked Paul, as he received the -clay again from the tramp's hands. He did not -understand; for all he knew, there were men who surprised -their mothers by being born with that strange stamp -upon them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The tramp gave him a slow wrathful look. "The -joke 's on me," he answered. "</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> know. I look a -drunk who 's been out all night; I 'm not denying it. -I 've got a face that 'll get me blackballed for admission -to hell. I know all that and you 've made a picture -of it. But don't rub it in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul looked at the clay again, and although the man's -offense was dawning on his understanding, he smiled at -the sight of a strong thing strongly done.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't mean any joke," he protested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let 's call it a joke," said the tramp. "Once when -I was nearly dying of thirst up beyond Kimberly, a -feller that I asked for water gave me a cup of paraffin. -That was another joke. Tramps are fair game for you -jokers, aren't they? Well, if that meal you spoke -about wasn't a joke, too, let 's be getting up to the -house."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right," said Paul. He hesitated a minute, for -he hated to part with the thing he had made. "Oh, -it can go," he exclaimed, and threw the clay up over -the wall. It fell into the dam above their heads with -a splash.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't mean any joke, truly," he assured the tramp.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't rub it in," begged the other. "We don't -want to make a song about it. And anyhow, I want to -try to forget it. So come on—do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They came together through the kraals and across the -deserted yard to the house-door, the tramp looking about -him at the apparatus of well-fed and well-roofed life -with an expression of genial approval. Paul would have -taken him round to the back-door, but he halted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not bad," he commented. "Not bad at all, -considering. An' this is the way in, I suppose."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We 'd better go round," suggested Paul, but the -tramp turned on the doorstep and waved a nonchalant -hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, this 'll do," he said, and there was nothing for -Paul to do but to follow him into the little passage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The door of the parlor stood open, and within was -Mrs. du Preez, flicking a duster at the furniture in a -desultory fashion. The tramp paused and looked at her -appraisingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The lady of the house, no doubt," he surmised, with -his terrible showy smile, before she could speak. "It 's -the boy, madam; he wouldn't take no for an answer. -I </span><em class="italics">had</em><span> to come home to supper with him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His greedy quick eyes were busy about the little room; -they seemed to read a price-ticket on each item of its -poor pretentious furniture and assess the littleness of -those signed and framed photographs which inhabited -it like a company of ghosts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why," he cried suddenly, and turned from his inspection -of these last to stare again at Mrs. du Preez.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His plausible fluency had availed for the moment to -hide the quality of his clothes and person, but now -Mrs. du Preez had had time to perceive the defects of both.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What d'you mean?" she demanded. "How d 'you -get in here? Who are you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The tramp was still staring at her. "It 's on the tip -of my tongue," he said. "Give me a moment. -Why"—with a joyous vociferation—"who 'd ha' -thought it? It 's little Sinclair, as I 'm a sinnair—little -Vivie Sinclair of the old brigade, stap my vitals if -it ain't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man filled the narrow door, and Paul had to -stoop under his elbow to see his mother. She was leaning -with both hands on the table, searching his face with -eyes grown lively and apprehensive in a moment. The -old name of her stage days had power to make this -change in her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is it?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Think," begged the tramp. "Try! No use? -Well—" he swept her a spacious bow, battered hat -to heart, foot thrown back—"look on this picture"—he -tapped his bosom—"and on that." His big -creased forefinger flung out towards the photograph -which had the place of honor on the crowded -mantel-shelf and dragged her gaze with it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It 's not—" Mrs. du Preez glanced rapidly back and -forth between the living original and the glazed, -immaculate counterfeit—"it isn't—it can't be—</span><em class="italics">Bailey</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is; it can," replied the tramp categorically, and -Boy Bailey, in the too, too solid flesh advanced into the -room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. du Preez had a moment of motionless amaze, and -then with a flushed face came in a rush around the -table to meet him. They clasped hands and both -laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why," cried Mrs. du Preez; "if this don't—but -Bailey! Where ever do you come from, an' like this? -Glad to see you? Yes, I am glad; you 're the first -of the old crowd that I 've seen since I—I married."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Married, eh?" The tramp tempered an over-gallant -and enterprising attitude. "Then I mustn't—eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His face was bent towards hers and he still held her -hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No; you mustn't," spoke Paul unexpectedly, from -the doorway, where he was an absorbed witness of the -scene.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They both turned sharply; they had forgotten the boy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be silly, Paul," said his mother, rather -sharply. "Mr. Bailey was only joking." But she -freed her hands none the less, while Mr. Bailey bent his -wary gaze upon the boy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The interruption served to bring the conversation -down to a less emotional plane, and Paul sat down on -a chair just within the door to watch the unawaited -results of promising a meal to a chance tramp. The -effect on his mother was not the least remarkable -consequence. The veld threw up a lamentable man at your -feet; in charity and some bewilderment you took him -home to feed him, and thereupon your mother, your -weary, petulant, uncertain mother, took him to her arms -and became, by that unsavory contact, pink and vivacious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There 's more of you," said Mrs. du Preez, making -a fresh examination of her visitor. "You 're fatter -than what you were, Bailey, in those old days."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boy Bailey nodded carelessly. "Yes, my figure 's -gone too," he agreed; "gone with all the rest. -Friends, position, reputation—all but my spirits and my -talents. I know. Ah, but those were good times, -weren't they?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Too good to last," sighed Mrs. du Preez.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They didn't last for me," said Boy Bailey. -"When we broke down at Fereira—lemme see! That -must be nearly twenty years ago, ain't it?—I took my -leave of Fortune. Never another glance did I get -from her; not one bally squint. I did advance agent -for a fortune-teller for a bit; I even came down to -clerking in a store. I 've been most things a man can -be in this country, except rich. And why is it? -What 's stood in my way all along? What 's been my -handicap that holds me back and nobbles me every time -I face the starter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" exclaimed Mrs. du Preez sympathetically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't need to tell you," continued Boy Bailey, -"you not being one of the herd, that it 's temperament -that has me all the time. I don't boast of it, but you -know how it is. You remember me when I had scope; -you 've seen me at the game; you can judge for -yourself. A man with temperament in this country has got -as much chance as a snowflake in hell. Perhaps, -though, you 've found that out for yourself before now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't I know it," retorted Mrs. du Preez. "Bailey, -if you 'll believe me, I have n't heard that word -'temperament,' since I saw you last. Talk of scope—why you -can go to the winder there and see with your eyes all -the scope I 've had since I married. It 's been tough, -Bailey; it 's been downright tough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Still—" began Mr. Bailey, but paused. "We must -have another talk," he substituted. "There 's a lot to -hear and to tell. Do you think you could manage to -put me up for a day or two? I suppose your husband -wouldn't mind?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why should he?" demanded Mrs. du Preez. -"You 're the first in all these years. Still, it wouldn't -be a bad idea if you was to have a change of clothes -before he sees you, Bailey. It isn't me that minds, -you know; so far as that goes, you 'd be welcome in -anything; but—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boy Bailey waved her excuses away. "I understand," -he said. "I understand. It's these prejudices—have -your own way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The resources of Christian du Preez's wardrobe were -narrow, and Christian's wife was further hampered in -the selection of clothes for her guest by a doubt -whether, if she selected too generously, Christian might -not insist on the guest stripping as soon as he set -eyes on him. Her discretion revealed itself, when -Mr. Bailey was dressed, in a certain sketchiness of his total -effect, an indeterminate quality that was not lessened -by the fact that all of the garments were too narrow -and too long; and though no alteration of his original -appearance could fail to improve it, there was no -hiding his general character of slow decay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It 's hardly a disguise," commented Boy Bailey, as -he surveyed himself when the change was made. -"Disguise is n't the word that covers it, and I 'm hanged if -I know what word does. But these pants are chronic."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can roll 'em up another couple of inches," -suggested Mrs. du Preez.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't that," complained Mr. Bailey. "If they -want to cover my feet, they can. But I 'd need a -waist like a wasp before the three top buttons would -see reason. Damme, I feel as if I was going to break -in halves. What 's that dear boy of yours grinning at?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wasn't grinning," protested Paul. "I was only -going to say that father 's coming in now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The tramp and his mother exchanged a glance of -which the meaning was hidden from him, the look of -allies preparing for a crucial moment. Already they -were leagued to defeat the husband.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Christian du Preez came with heavy footsteps along -the passage from the outer door, saw that there was a -stranger in the parlor and paused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Christian," said Mrs. du Preez, with a false -sprightliness. "Come in; here 's a—an old friend of -mine come to see us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An old friend?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Boer stared at the stranger standing with -straddled legs before the fireplace, and recognized him -forthwith. Without speaking, he made a quick -comparison of the bold photograph, whose fleshy perfection -had so often invited him to take stock of his own -imperfections, and then met the living Boy Bailey's rigid -smile with a smile of his own that had the effect of -tempering the other's humor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see," said the Boer. "What's the name?" He -came forward and read from the photograph where -the bold showy signature sprawled across a corner. -"'Yours blithely, Boy Bailey,'" he read. "And you -are Boy Bailey?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 've got it," replied the photograph's original. -"Older, my dear sir, and it may be meatier; but the -same man in the main, and happy to make the -acquaintance of an old friend's husband."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His impudence cost him an effort in face of the Boer's -stare of contemptuous amusement, a stare which -comprehended, item by item, each article of his grotesque -attire and came to rest, without diminishing its -intensity, upon the specious, unstable countenance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Allemachtag,</em><span>" was the Boer's only reply, as he -completed his survey.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't think you saw Bailey, that time we were -married, Christian," said Mrs. du Preez. "But he -was a dear old friend of mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Christian nodded. "You walked here?" he inquired -of the guest. On the Karoo, the decent man -does not travel afoot, and none of the three others who -were present missed the implication of the inquiry. -Mrs. du Preez colored hotly; Boy Bailey introduced his -celebrated wave of the hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see you know what walking means," he replied. -"It ain't a human occupation—is it now? What I say -is—if man had been meant for a </span><em class="italics">voetganger</em><span> (a -walker)"—he watched the effect of the Dutch word on -the Boer—"he 'd have been made with four feet. Is n't -that right? You bet your shirt it is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My shirt." Christian seemed puzzled for the -moment, though the phrase was one which his wife used. -She watched him uneasily. "Oh, I see. Yes, you can -keep that shirt you 've got on. I don't want it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boy Bailey made him a bow. "Ah, thanks. A shirt -more or less don't matter, does it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Christian turned to Paul. "You brought him in?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," answered Paul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, come and help me with the sacks. Your -mother an' her friend wants to talk, an' we don't want -to listen to them talking."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boy Bailey watched them depart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What 's he mean by that?" he asked of Mrs. du Preez.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind what he means," she answered. "He -can't have his own way in everything. Sit down an' -tell me about the others an' what happened to them -after I left. There was Kitty Cassel—what did she -do? Go home?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boy Bailey pursed his lips. "No," he answered -slowly. "She and I went down to Capetown together. -She did n't come to any good, Kitty did n't. Ask me -about some one else; I don't want to offend your ears."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>But Mrs. du Preez was in error in one particular: -Christian had seen Boy Bailey "that time we were -married," and remembered him very clearly. Those were -days when he, too, lived vividly and the petty incidents -and personalities of the moment wrote themselves deep -on his boyish mind. As he worked at the empty sacks, -telling them over by the stencils upon them, while Paul -waded among them to his knees and flung them towards -him, he returned in the spirit to those poignant years -when a thin girl walking across a little makeshift stage -could shake him to his foundations.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He remembered the little town to which the -commando had returned to be paid off and disbanded, a -single street straggling under a rampart of a -gray-green mountain, with the crude beginnings of other -streets budding from it on either side, and the big -brown, native location like a tuberous root at its lower -end. Along its length, beetle-browed shops, with -shaded stoeps and hitching-rails for horses, showed -interior recesses of shade and gave an illusion of dignified -prosperous commerce, and at the edge of it all there was -a string of still pools, linked by a dribble of water, -which went by the name of a river and nurtured along -its banks gums and willows, the only trees of greater -stature than a mimosa-bush that Christian had ever seen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a small, stagnant veld dorp, in fact, one of -hundreds that are littered over the face of the Colony, -and have for their districts a more than metropolitan -importance. Christian knew it as a focus of life, the -center of incomprehensible issues and concerns and when -his corps returned to it, flavored in its single street -the pungencies of life about town. The little war in -the neighborhood had drawn to it the usual riff-raff -of the country that follows on the heels of troops, -wherever armed men are gathered together, predatory -women too wise in their generation, a sample or two -of the nearly extinct species of professional -card-sharper, a host of the sons of Lazarus intent upon -crumbs that should fall from the pay-table, and a fair -collection of ordinary thieves. These gave the single -street a vivacity beyond anything it had known, and -the armed burgher, carrying his rifle slung on his back -from mere habit, would be greeted by the name of -"Piet" and invited to drink once for every ten steps he -took upon it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hither came Christian—twenty-two years of age, -six-foot in his bare soles of slender thew and muscle, not -yet bearded and hungry with many appetites after a -campaign against Kafirs. The restless town was a bait -for him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At that time, there was much in him of that -solemn-eyed quality which came to be Paul's. The steely -women laughed harshly as he passed them by, with all -the sweetness of his youth in his still face, his lips parted, -his look resting on them and beyond them to the virtues -and the delicacy they had thrown off to walk the faster -on their chosen road. His ears softened their -laughter, his eyes redeemed their bitterness; everything -was transfigured for him by the dynamic power of his -mere innocence and his potent belief in his own -inferiority to the splendor of all that offered itself to -his vision. He saw his comrades, fine shots and hard -men on the trek, lapse into drunkenness and evil -communications, and it was in no way incompatible with his -own ascetic cleanliness of apprehension that he -excused them on the grounds of the hardships they had -undergone. He could idealize even a sot puking in -a gutter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was here that he saw a stage-play for the first -time in his life, sitting in a back-seat in the town hall -among young shop-assistants and workmen, not a little -distracted between the strange things upon the stage -which he had paid to witness and the jocular -detachment from them by the young men about him. The -play at first was incomprehensible; the chambermaid -and the footman, conversing explanatorily, with which -it opened, were figures he was unable to recognize, and -he could not share the impression that seemed to -prevail among the characters in general that the fat, whitish -heroine was beautiful. The villain, too, was murderous -in such a crude fashion; not once did he make a -clean job of an assassination. Christian felt himself -competent to criticize, since it was only a week or so -since he had pulled a trigger and risen on his elbow -to see his man halt in mid-stride and pitch face -forward to the earth. He was confirmed in his -dissatisfaction by the demeanor of his neighbors; they, men -about town, broken to the drama and its surprises, were -certainly not taking the thing seriously. After a while, -therefore, he made no effort to keep sight of the thread -of the play; he sat in an idle content, watching the -women on the stage, curious to discover what it was in -each one of them that was wrong and vaguely repellent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His neighbors had no doubts about it. "There 's not -a leg in the whole caboodle," one remarked. "It 's all -mouth and murder, this is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Christian did not clearly understand the first phrase, -but the second was plain and he smiled in agreement. -He looked up to take stock of another character, a girl -who made her entrance at that moment, and ceased to -smile. Her share in the scene was unimportant enough, -and she had but a few words to speak and nothing to do -but to walk forward and back again. She was thin -and girlish and carried herself well, moving with a -graceful deliberation and speaking in an appealing little -tinkle to which the room lent a certain ring and -resonance; she accosted the villain who replied with -brutality; she smiled and turned from him, made a face -and passed out again. And that was all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young man who had deplored the absence of legs -nudged his neighbor to look at the tall young Boer and -made a joke in a cautious whisper. His precaution -was unnecessary; he might have shouted and Christian -would not have heard. He was like a man stunned by -a great revelation, sitting bolt upright and staring at -the stage and its lighted activity with eyes dazzled by -a discovery. For the first time in his life he had seen -a woman, little enough to break like a stick across his -knee, brave and gay at once, delicate and tender, -touching him with the sense of her strength and courage -while her femininity made all the male in him surge -into power. Gone was his late attitude of humorous -judgment, that could detach the actress from her work -and assess her like a cow; the smile, the little -contemptuous grimace had blown it all away. He was aghast, -incapable of reducing his impression to thoughts. For a -while, it did not occur to him that it would be possible -to see her again. When it did, he leaned across the -two playgoers who were next to him and lifted a -program from the lap of the third, who gaped at him but -found nothing to say.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That </span><em class="italics">meisjie</em><span>, the one in a red dress—is her name -in this?" he inquired of his neighbor, and surprised -him into assistance. Together they found it; the -unknown was Miss Vivie Sinclair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Skinny, wasn't she?" commented the helpful -neighbor sociably.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Christian was already on his feet and making -his way out, and the conversational one got nothing -but a slow glare for an answer across intervening -heads.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And yet the truth of it was, a connoisseur in girls -could have matched Miss Vivie Sinclair a hundred -times over, so little was there in her that was peculiar -or rare. The connoisseur would have put her down -without hesitation for a product of that busy -manufactory which melts down the material of so many good -housemaids to make it into so many bad actresses. Her -sex and a grimace—these were the total of her assets, -and yet she was as good a peg as another for a cloudy -youth to drape with the splendors of his inexperienced -fancy and glorify with the hues of his secret longings. -Probably she had no very clear idea of herself in those -days; she was neither happy nor sad, as a general thing; -and her aspirations aimed much more definitely at -the symptoms of success—frocks, bills lettered large -with her name, comely young men in hot pursuit of her, -gifts of jewelry—than at success itself. As she passed -down the main street next morning, on her way to -the telegraph office in the town hall, she offered to -the slow, appraising looks from the stoeps a sketchy -impression of a rather strained modernity, an effect of -deftly managed skirts and unabashed ankles which in -themselves were sufficient to set Fereira thinking. It -was as she emerged from the telegraph office that she -came face to face with Christian.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, where d'you think you 're comin' to?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This was her greeting as he pulled up all standing to -avert a collision. Clothes to fit both his stature and -his esthetic sense had not been procurable, and he had -been only able to wash himself to a state of levitical -cleanliness. But his youthful bigness and his obvious -reverence of her served his purpose. She stood looking -at him with a smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I saw you," he said, "in the play."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you? What d' you think of it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Allemachtag,</em><span>" he answered. "I have been thinking -of it all night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To his eye, she was all she had promised to be. The -fragility of her was most wonderful to him, accustomed -to the honest motherly brawn of the girls of his -own race. The rather aggressive perkiness of her -address was the smiling courage that had thrilled and -touched him. He stood staring, unable to carry the -talk further.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But it was for this kind of thing that Miss Vivie -Sinclair had "gone on the stage," and she was not at -all at a loss.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm going this way," she said, and in her hands, -Christian was wax—willing wax. He found himself -walking at her side under the eyes of the town. She -waited before she spoke again till they were by the -stoep of Pagan's store, where a dozen loungers became -rigid and watchful as they passed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 've heard about the smash-up?" she inquired then.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Smash-up?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Our smash-up? Oh, a regular mess we 're in, the -whole lot of us. You had n't heard?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Padden 's cleared out. He was our manager, you -know, and now he 's run away with the treasury and -left us high and dry. Went last night, it seems, after -the show."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Left you?" repeated Christian. The old story was -a new one to him and he did not understand. Miss -Sinclair thought him dense, but proceeded to enlighten -him in words of one syllable, as it were.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That 's why I was telegraphing," she concluded. -"There was a feller in Capetown I used to know; I -want to strike him for my fare out of this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So she was in trouble; there was a call upon her -courage, an attack on her defenselessness. Miss Sinclair, -glancing sidelong at his face, saw it redden quickly -and was confirmed in her hope that the "feller" in -Capetown was but an alternative string to her bow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That telegram took all I 'd got but a couple of shillings," -she added. "Padden had been keeping us short -for a long time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The long street straggled under the sun, bare to its -harsh illumination, a wide tract of parched dust hemmed -between walls and roofs of gray corrugated iron. The -one thing that survived that merciless ordeal of light -without loss or depreciation was the girl. They halted -at the door of the one-storied hotel where her room -was and here again the shaded stoep was full of ears -and eyes and Christian had to struggle with words to -make his meaning clear to her and keep it obscure to -every one else.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It 'll be all right," he assured her stammeringly. -"I 'll see that it 's all right. I 'll come here an' see -you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When?" she asked, and helped him with a suggestion. -"This evening? There 'll be no show to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This evening," he agreed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Miss Sinclair gave him her best smile, all the better -for the mirth that helped it out. She was as much -amused as she was relieved. As she passed the bar on -her way indoors, she winked guardedly to a florid youth -within who stood in an attitude of listening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If Christian had celebrated the occasion with -libations in the local fashion, if he had talked about it -and put his achievement to the test of words—if, even, -he had been capable of thinking about it in any clear -and sober manner instead of merely relishing it with -every fiber of his body—the evening's interview might -have resolved itself into an act of charity, involving -the sacrifice of nothing more than a few sovereigns. -As it was, he spent the day in germinating hopes and -educating his mind to entertain them. Under the -stimulating heat of his sanguine youth, they burgeoned -superbly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he walked away from the hotel, the florid youth -spoke confidentially to the fat shirt-sleeved barman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hear that?" he asked. "</span><em class="italics">She</em><span> 'll do all right, she -will. That 's where a girl 's better off than a man. -Who 's the feller, d'you know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The barman heaved himself up to look through the -window, and laughed wheezily. He was a married man -and adored his children, but it was his business to be -knowing and worldly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It 's young Du Preez," he answered, as Christian -stalked away. "One of them Boers, y'know. Got a -farm out on the Karoo."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rich?" queried the other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not bad," said the barman. "Most of those Dutch -could buy you an' me an' use us for mantel ornaments, -if they had the good taste."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So—ho," exclaimed the florid youth. "But they -don't carry it about with 'em, worse luck."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sighed and grew thoughtful. He was thoughtful -at intervals for the rest of the morning, and by the -afternoon was melancholy and uncertain of step. But -he was on hand and watchful when Christian arrived.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Christian was vaguely annoyed when a young man of -suave countenance and an expression of deep solemnity -thrust up to him at the hotel door and stood swaying and -swallowing and making signs as though to command his -attention.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What d'you want?" he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Word with you," requested the other. "Word -with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was sufficiently unlike anything that was native -to Fereira to be recognizable as an actor and Christian -suffered himself to be beckoned into the bar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall I do it or you?" asked the other. "I shtood -so many to-day, sheems to me it 's your turn. Mine 's -a whisky. Now, 'bout this li'l girl upshtairs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh?" Christian was startled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm man of the world," the other went on, with the -seriousness of the thoroughly drunken. "Know more -'bout the world then ever you knew in yer bally life. -An' I don't blame you—norra bit. Now what I want -shay is this: I can fix it for you if you 're good for -a fiver. Jush a fiver—shave trouble and time, eh? -Nice li'l girl, too. Worth it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Christian watched him lift his glass and drink. He -was perplexed; these folk seemed to have a language of -their own and to be incomprehensible to ordinary folk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Worth it?" he repeated. "Fix </span><em class="italics">what</em><span>?" he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nod 's good 's wink," answered the other. "Don't -want to shout it. Bend your long ear down to me—tell -you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They had a corner by the bar to themselves. Near -the window the barman had a customer after his own -heart and was repeating to him an oracular saying by -his youngest daughter but two, glancing sideways while -he spoke to see if Christian and the other were listening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Christian bent, and the hot breath of the other, -reeking of the day's drinking, beat on his neck and the side -of his head. The hoarse whisper, with its infernal -suggestion, seemed to come warm from a pit of vileness -within the man's body.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that plain 'nough?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Christian stood upright again, trembling from head -to foot with some cold emotion far transcending any -rage he had ever felt. For some instant he could not -lift his hand; he had seen the last foul depths of evil -and was paralyzed. The other lifted his glass again. -His movement released the Boer from the spell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took the man by the wrist that held the glass with -so deadly a deliberation that the barman missed his -hostile purpose and continued to talk, leaning with his fat, -mottled arms folded on the bar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What you doin', y' fool?" The cry was from the -florid youth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" Christian put out his strength with a maniac -fury, and the youth's hand and the glass in it were -dashed back into that person's face. No hand but his -own struck him, and the countenance Christian saw as -a blurred white disk broke under the blow and showed -red cracks. He struck again and again; the barman -shouted and men came running in from outside. Christian -dropped the wrist he held and turned away. Those -in the doorway gave him passage. On the floor in the -corner the florid youth bled and vomited.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Christian knew him later as a bold and serene face -in a plush photograph frame, signed across the lower -right corner: "Yours blithely, Boy Bailey."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How he made inquiries for the girl's room and came -at last to the door of it was never a clear memory to -him. But he could always recall that small austere -interior of whitewash and heat-warped furniture to which -he entered at her call, to find her sitting on the narrow -bed. He came to her bereft of the few faculties she -had left him, grave, almost stern, gripping himself by -force of instinct to save himself from the outburst of -emotion to which the scene in the bar had made him -prone. Everything tender and protective in his nature -was awake and crying out; he saw her as the victim of -a sacrilegious outrage, threatened by unnamable dangers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him under the lids of her eyes, quickly -alive to the change in him. It is necessary to record -that she, too, had made inquiries since the morning, and -learned of the farm that stood at his back to guarantee -him solid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wondered if you 'd come," she said. "That feller -in Capetown has n't answered."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I said I 'd come," he replied gravely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I know. All the same, I thought—you know, -when a person 's in hard luck, nothing goes right, an' -a girl, when she 's in a mess, is anybody's fool. Is n't -that right?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She knew her peril then; she lived open-eyed in face -of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You shall not be anybody's fool," he answered. "If -anybody tries to be bad to you, I 'll kill him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was still standing just within the closed door, no -nearer to her than the size of the little chamber compelled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't you sit down?" she invited.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh?" His contemplation of her seemed to absorb -him and make him absent-minded. "No," he replied, -when she repeated her invitation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As you like," she conceded, wondering whether after -all he was going to be amenable to the treatment she -proposed for him. It crossed her mind that he was -thinking of getting something for his money and her silly -mouth tightened. If her sex was one of her assets, her -virtue—the fanatic virtue which is a matter of prejudice -rather than of principle,—was one of her liabilities. -She had nothing to sell him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know," she said, "the worst of it is, none of us -have n't had any salary for weeks. That's what puts -us in the cart. We 're all broke. If Padden had let -us have a bit, we would n't be stranded like this. And -the queer thing is, Gus Padden 's the last man you 'd -have picked for a wrong 'un. Fat, you know, and -beaming; a sort of fatherly way, he had. He used to remind -me of Santa Claus. An' now he 's thrown us down -this way, and how I 'm going to get up again I can't -say." She gave him one of her shrewd upward glances; -"tell me," she added.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can tell you," he replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How, then?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marry me," said Christian. "This acting—it's no -good. There 's men that is bad all around you. One -of them—I broke his face like a window-glass downstairs -just now—he said you was—bad, like him. And -it was time to see what he was worth. Unless you can -you are ach—so—so little, so weak. Marry me, my -</span><em class="italics">kleintje</em><span> and you shall be nobody's fool."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl on the bed stared at him dumbly: this was -what she had never expected. Salvation had come to -her with both hands full of gifts. She began to laugh -foolishly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marry me," repeated Christian. "Will you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She jumped up from her seat, still laughing and took -two steps to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will I?" she cried. "Will a duck swim? Yes, I -will; yes, yes, yes!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Christian looked at her dazed; events were sweeping -him off his feet. He took one of her hands and dropped -it again and turned from her abruptly. With his arm -before his face he leaned against the door and burst -into weeping. The girl patted him on the back soothingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take it easy," she said kindly. "You'll be all -right, never fear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That 's all the Port Elizabeth ones," said Paul. -"How many do you make them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Christian du Preez looked up uncertainly. "</span><em class="italics">Allemachtag,</em><span>" -he said. "I forgot to count. I was thinking."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh. About the tramp?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. Paul, what did you bring him in for? -Couldn't you see he was a </span><em class="italics">skellum</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul nodded. "Yes, I could see that. But—</span><em class="italics">skellums</em><span> -are hungry and tired, too, sometimes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His father smiled in a worried manner. He and Paul -never talked intimately with each other, but an intimacy -existed of feeling and thought. They took many of the -same things for granted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Like us," he agreed. "Come on to supper, Paul."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-x"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER X</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was nearing the lunch hour when Margaret -walked down from the Sanatorium to the farm, -leaving Ford and Mr. Samson to their unsociable -preoccupations on the stoep, and found Paul among the -kraals. He had some small matter of work in hand, -involving a wagon-chain and a number of yokes; these -were littered about his feet in a liberal disorder and -he was standing among them contemplating them -earnestly and seemingly lost in meditation. He turned -slowly as Margaret called his name, and woke to the -presence of his visitor with a lightening of his whole -countenance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Were you dreaming about models?" inquired Margaret. -"You were very deep in something."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul shook his head. "It was about wagons," he -answered seriously. "I was just thinking how they are -always going away from places and coming to more -places. That's all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wishing you had wheels instead of feet? I -see," smiled the girl. "What a traveler you are, -Paul."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled back. In their casual meetings they had -talked of this before and Paul had found it possible to -tell her of his dreams and yearnings for what lay at -the other end of the railway and beyond the sun mist -that stood like a visible frontier about his world.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall travel some day," he answered. "Kamis -says that a man is different from a vegetable because -he hasn't got roots. He says that the best way to see -the world is to go on foot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I expect he 's right," said Margaret. "It's jolly -for you, Paul, having him to talk to. Do you know -where he is now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," answered the boy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then, when can I see him? He told me you -could always let him know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This afternoon?" suggested Paul. "If you could -come down to the dam wall then, he can be there. -There is a signal I make for him in my window and he -always sees it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll come then," promised Margaret. "Thank you, -Paul. But that signal—that 's rather an idea. Did -you think of it or did he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He did," answered Paul. "He said it wouldn't -trouble him to look every day at a house that held a -friend. And he does, every day. There was only once -he didn't come, and then he had twisted his ankle a -long way off on the veld, walking among ant-bear holes -in the dark."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Which window is it?" asked Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul pointed. "That end one," he showed her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret looked, and a figure lounging against one -of the doorposts of the house took her look for himself -and bowed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's nobody," said Paul quickly. "Don't look -that way. It 's—it 's a tramp that came to me—and I -gave him a shilling to keep still and be modeled—and -he knows my mother—and he 's staying in the house. -He 's beastly; don't look that way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His solicitude and his jealousy made Margaret smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shouldn't see him if I did," she said. "Don't -you worry, Paul. Then—this afternoon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Under the dam," replied Paul. "Good-by. He's -waiting for a chance to come and speak to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let him wait," replied Margaret, and turned homewards, -scrupulously averting her face from the ingratiating -figure of Boy Bailey.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That pensioner of fortune watched her pass along -the trodden path to the Sanatorium till she was clear -of the farm, and then put himself into easy movement -to go across to Paul. The uncanny combination of -Christian's clothes and his own personality drifted -through the arrogant sunlight and over the sober earth, -a monstrous affront to the temperate eye. He was like -a dangerous clown or a comical Mephistopheles. Paul, -pondering as he came, thought of a pig equipped with -the venom of the puff-adder of the Karoo. As he drew -near, the boy fell to work on the chain and yokes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, my dear boy." The man's shadow and his -voice reached Paul together. He did not look up, but -went on loosening the cross bar of a yoke from its -link.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There 's more in this place of yours than meets the -eye at a first glance," said Boy Bailey. "You 're well -off, my lad. Not only milk and honey for the trouble -of lifting 'em to your mouth, but dalliance, silken -dalliance in broad daylight. What would your dear mother -say if she knew?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," said the boy. "Ask her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And spoil sport? Laddie, you 'll know me better -some day. Not for worlds would I give a chap's game -away. It's not my style. Poor I may be, but not that. -No. I admire your taste, my boy. You 've an eye in -your head. But you forgot to introduce the lady to your -mother's old friend. However, you 'll be seeing her -again, no doubt, an' then—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't forget," said Paul. Still he did not look -up. The iron links shook in his hands, and he detached -the stout crosspiece and laid it across his knees.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh?" Boy Bailey's face darkened a little, and his -wary eyes narrowed. He looked down on the boy's -bent back unpleasantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You didn't?" he said. "I see. Well, well. A -chap that 's poor must put up with these slights." His -slightly hoarse voice became bland again. "But have -it your own way; Heaven knows, </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> don't mind. She 's -a saucy little piece, all the same, an' p'r'aps you 're -right not to risk her with me. If I got her by herself, -there 's no saying—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped; the boy had looked up and was rising. -His face stirred memories in Boy Bailey; it roused -images that were fogged by years, but terrible yet. In -the instant's grace that was accorded him, he felt his -wrist gripped once more and saw the livid clenched -face, tense with the spirit of murder, that burned above -his ere his own hand and the glass it held were dashed -athwart his eyes. The boy was rising and he held the -cross-bar of the yoke like a weapon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boy Bailey made to speak but failed. With a sort of -squeak he turned and set off running towards the house, -pounding in panic over the ground with his grotesque -clothes flapping about him like abortive wings. Paul, -on his feet amid the tangled chains, watched him with -the heavy cross-bar in his hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If he had any clear feeling at all, it was disappointment -at the waste of a rare energy. He could have -killed the man in the heat of it, and now it was wasted. -Boy Bailey was whole, his pulpy face not beaten in, his -bones functioning adequately as he ran instead of -creaking in fractures to each squirm of his broken body. It -was an occasion squandered, lost, thrown away. It had -the unsatisfying quality of mere prevention when it -might have been a complete cure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret returned to the Sanatorium in time to meet -Mrs. Jakes in the hall as she led the way to lunch and to -receive the unsmiling movement of recognition which -had been her lot ever since the night of Dr. Jakes' -adventure. Contrary to Margaret's expectation, -Mrs. Jakes had not come round; no treatment availed to -convince her that she had not been made a victim of black -treachery and the doctor wantonly exposed and humiliated. -When she was cornered and had to listen to explanations, -she heard them with her eyes on the ground -and her face composed to an irreconcilable woodenness. -When Margaret had done—she tried the line of humorous -breeziness, and it was a mistake—Mrs. Jakes sniffed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you please," she said frigidly, "we won't talk -about it. The subject is very painful. No doubt all -you say is very true, but I have my feelings."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So have I," said Margaret. "And mine are being hurt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am extremely sorry," replied the little wan woman, -with stiff dignity. "If you wish it, I will ask the doctor -to recommend you a Sanatorium elsewhere, where you -may be more comfortable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know that is n't what I want," protested Margaret. -"This is all very silly. I only want you to -understand that I have n't done you any harm and that I -did the best I could and let's stop acting as if one of -us had copied the other's last hat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No doubt I am slow of understanding, Miss Harding," -retorted Mrs. Jakes formidably. "However—if -you have quite finished, I 'm in rather a hurry and I -won't detain you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And she made her escape in good order, marching -unhurried down the matted corridor and showing to -Margaret a retreating view of a rigid black alpaca back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dr. Jakes was equally effective in his treatment of -the incident. He went to work upon her lungs quite -frankly, sending her to bed for a couple of days and -gathering all his powers to undo the harm of which he -had been the cause. On the third day, there was a -further interview in the study, a businesslike affair, -conducted without unnecessary conversation, with -monosyllabic question and reply framed on the most -formal models. At the close of it, he leaned back in his -chair and faced her across the corner of his desk. He -was irresistibly plump and crumpled in that attitude, -with his sad, uncertain eyes expressing an infinite -apprehension and all the resignation of a man who has -lost faith in mercy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is all, then, Miss Harding. Unless—?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The last word was breathed hoarsely. Margaret -waited. He gazed at her owlishly, one nervous hand -fumbling on the blotting-pad before him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is nothing else you want to say to me?" he -asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't think of anything," said Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He continued to look at her, torpidly, helplessly. It -was impossible to divine what fervencies of inarticulate -emotion burned and quickened behind his mask of -immobile flesh. The rumpled hair, short and blond, lay -in disorder upon his forehead and his lips were parted -impotently. He had to blink and swallow before he -could speak again, visibly recalling his wits.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you don't tell me, I can't answer," he said, and -sighed heavily. He raised himself in his big chair -irritably.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing more, then?" he asked. "Well—take care -of yourself, Miss Harding. That 's all you have to do. -Whatever happens, your business is to take care of -yourself; it's what you came here for."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will," answered Margaret. She wished she could -find a plane on which it would be possible to talk to -him frankly, without evasions and free from the -assumptions which his wife wove about him. But the -resignation of his eyes, the readiness they expressed to -accept blows and penalties, left her powerless. The gulf -that separated them could not be bridged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then—" he rose, and in another pair of moments -Margaret was outside the study door in the hall, where -Mrs. Jakes, affecting to be concerned in the arrangement -of the furniture, examined her in sidelong glances, -to know whether she had used the weapon which the -doctor's adventure had put into her hand. Apparently -there was no convincing her that the girl's intentions -were not hostile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It did not simplify life for Margaret, this enmity of -Mrs. Jakes. Lunch and breakfast under her pale, -implacable eye, that glided upon everything but skipped -Margaret with a noticeable avoidance, had become -ordeals to be approached with trepidation. Talk, when -there was anything to talk about, died still-born in that -atmosphere of lofty displeasure. It was done with a -certain deftness; Mrs. Jakes was incapable of anything -crude or downright; and when it was necessary, in -order that the state of affairs should not be conspicuous, -she could smile towards the wall at the girl's back and -spare her an empty word or so, in a way that was -sometimes as galling as much more dexterous snubs that -Margaret had seen administered. One can "field" a snub -that conveys its purpose in its phrasing and return it -with effect to the wicket; but there is nothing to be -done with the bare word that just stops a gap from -becoming noticeable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford was waiting outside the front door when Margaret -came out after exercising the virtue of forbearance -throughout a meal for which she had had no appetite.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What 's the row with Mrs. Jakes?" he asked, -without wasting words on preamble.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, nothing," answered Margaret crossly. "You 'd -better ask her if you want to know. I 'm not going to -tell you anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, don't, then. But you couldn't arrange a -truce for meal-times, could you? It turns things -sour—the way you two avoid looking at each other."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't care," said Margaret. "It 's not my fault. -I 've been as loyal as anybody—more loyal, I think, and -certainly more helpful. I 've done simply everything -she asked of me, and now she 's like this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford gave her a whimsical look of question.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure you haven't at some time done more than she -asked you?" he inquired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?" Margaret was surprised. She laughed -unwillingly. "Is it shrewdness or have you heard -something?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I haven't heard a word," he assured her. "But is -that it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It 's just your natural cleverness, then? Wonderful," -said Margaret. "You ought to go on the stage, -really. Yes, that 's what it is—I suppose. And now -d'you think she 'll see the reasonable view of it? Not -she! I 'm a villain in skirts and if I won't stand it, -she 'll ask the doctor to recommend a Sanatorium where -I can be more comfortable. And just at this moment, I -don't think I can stand much more of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh?" Ford scowled disapprovingly. "That 's a -rotten thing to say. You don't feel inclined to tell me -about it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't; I mustn't. That 's the worst of it," -answered Margaret. "I can't tell you anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At any rate," said Ford, "don't take it into your -head to go away. This won't do you any harm in the -end. You weren't thinking of it seriously, were you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wasn't I? I was, though. I hate all this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford took a couple of steps toward the door and a -couple back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It won't weigh with you," he said, "but I 'd be -sorry if you went. </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> would, personally—awfully sorry. -But if you must go, you must. It 's a thing you can -judge for yourself. Still, I 'd be sorry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret shrugged impatiently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I 'd be sorry, too. It 's been jolly, in a way, -with you here, and all that. I 'd miss you, if you want -to know. But—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stopped. Ford was looking at her very gravely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't go," he said, and put his thin, sun-browned -hand upon her shoulder. "It 'll make things simpler -for me if you say you won't. Things will arrange -themselves, but even if they don't—don't go away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Simpler? How do you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just that," he answered. "If you stay, here we -are—friends. We help each other out and talk and -see each other and have time before us and there 's no -need to say anything. And it's because a lunger like -me must n't say anything till he sees whether he 's -going to get well or—or stay here forever, that it 'll be -simpler if you don't go. Do you see?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His hand upon her shoulder was pleasant to feel; she -liked the freedom he took—and gave—in resting it there; -and his young, serious face, touched to delicacy by the -disease that governed him, was patient and wise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It 's not because of that </span><em class="italics">that</em><span> you mustn't say -anything," she answered. "I did n't know—you 've given -me no warning. What can I say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say you won't go," he begged. "Say you won't -act on any decision you 've made at present. And then -we can go on—me lecturing you, and you flouting me, -till—till I can say things—till I 'm free to say what I -like to anybody."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled rather nervously. "If I agree now," she -answered, "it will look as if—" she paused; the thing -was difficult to put in its nicety. But he was quick in -the uptake.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It won't," he said. "I 'm not such a bounder as that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I 'd rather be here than take my chance among -other people," she went on. "I suppose I can -stand Mrs. Jakes if I give my mind to it, particularly -if you 'll see me through."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll do what I can," he promised. "You 'll do it, -then? You'll stay?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose so," said Margaret. His hand for a -moment was heavier on her shoulder; she felt as though she -had been slapped on the back, with the unceremoniousness -of a good friend; and then he loosed her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good of you," he answered shortly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Both were weighted by the handicap of their race; -they had been, as it were, trapped into a certain depth -of emotion and self-revelation, and both found a -difficulty in stepping down again to the safe levels of -commonplace intercourse. Ford shoved both hands into his -pockets and half-turned from her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—doing anything this afternoon?" he inquired -in his tersest manner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Margaret, whom the position could amuse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh—going yachting," she retorted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sniffed and nodded. "I 'm going to paint," he -announced. "So long."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret smiled at his back as he went, and its -extravagant slouch of indifference and ease. She knew -he would not look round; once his mood was defined, it -was reliable entirely; but she felt she would have -forgiven him if he had. The last word in such a matter -as this is always capable of expansion, and probably -some such notion was in the mind of the oracle who first -pronounced that to women the last word is dear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was still at his easel when she set forth to keep her -appointment under the dam wall, working on his helpless -canvas with an intensity that spared not a look as -she went by on the parched grass below the stoep. It -was a low easel, and he sat on a stool and spread his -legs to each side of it, like a fighter crouched over an -adversary, and his thumb was busy smudging among -masses of pigment. Margaret could see the canvas as a -faintly shining insurrection of colors which suggested -that he had broken an egg upon it. A score of times -in the past weeks those cryptic messes had irritated her -or showed themselves as a weakness in their author. -The domineering thumb and the shock tactics of the -palette knife had supplied her with themes for ridicule, -and the fact that the creature could not paint and yet -would paint and refused all instruction had put the seal -of bitterness on many a day of weary irritation. But -suddenly his incompetence and his industry, and even -the unlovely fruit of their union—the canvases that he -signed large with his name and hung unframed upon -the walls of his room—were endearing; they were laughable -only as a little child is laughable, things to smile -at and to prize.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her smiling and thoughtful mood went with her -across the grass and dust and around the curved -shoulder of the dam wall, where Kamis, obedient to -Paul's signal, sat in the shade and awaited her. At her -coming he sprang up eagerly with his face alight. His -tweed clothes were, if anything, shabbier than before, -but it seemed that no usage could subdue them to -congruity with the broad black face and its liberal smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is great luck," he said. "I half expected -you 'd find it too hot for you. Are you all right again -after that night?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret seated herself on the slope of the wall and -rested with one elbow on the freshness of its water-fed -grass.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite all right," she assured him. "Dr. Jakes has -done everything that needed to be done. But I didn't -thank you half enough for what you did."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled and murmured deprecatingly and found -himself a place to sit on at the foot of the wall, with legs -crossed and his back to the sun. Leaning forward a -little in this posture, with his drooping hat-brim -shadowing him, it was almost possible for Margaret to avoid -seeing the blunt negro features for which she had come -to feel something akin to dread; they affected her in the -same way that darkness with people moving in it will -affect some children.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I saw Paul's signal," said Kamis. "We have an -understanding, you know. He hangs a handkerchief in -his window when he wants me and when you want me -he hangs two. It shows as far as one can see the -window; all the others are just black squares, and his has a -white dash in it. That 's rather how I see Paul, you -know. Other people are just blanks, but he means -something—to me, at any rate. By the way, before I -forget—did you want me for anything in particular?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret shook her head. "I wanted to talk," she -said; "and to make that police matter clear to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, that." He looked up. "Thank you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you know of a Mr. Van Zyl, a police-officer?" -she asked him. "He thinks you are guilty of sedition -among the natives. I suppose it 's nonsense, but he -means to arrest you, and I thought you 'd better -know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It 's awfully good of you to bother about it," he -answered. "I 'll take care he doesn't lay hands on me. -But it is nonsense, certainly, and anybody but he would -know it. He 's been scouring the kraals in the south -for me and giving the natives a tremendous idea of my -importance. They were nervous enough of me before, -but now—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shrugged his shoulders disgustedly, but still -smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is what he said—they 're uneasy," agreed -Margaret. "But why are they? You see, I know scarcely -more of you than Mr. Van Zyl. What is it that -troubles them about you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," the Kafir deliberated. "It's simple enough, -really. You see," he explained, "the fact is, I 'm out -of order. I don't belong in the scheme of things as the -natives and Mr. Van Zyl know it. These Kafirs are the -most confirmed conservatives in the world, and when -they see a man like themselves who can't exist without -clothes and a roof to sleep under, who can't walk -without boots or talk their language and is unaccountable -generally, they smell witchcraft at once. Besides, it has -got about that I 'm Kamis, and they know very well -that Kamis was hanged about twenty years ago and his -son taken away and eaten by the soldiers. So it's -pretty plain to them that something is wrong somewhere. -Do you see?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Still"—Margaret was thoughtful—"Mr. Van Zyl -is n't an ignorant savage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," agreed Kamis. "He isn't that. For dealing -with Kafirs, he 's probably the best man you could find; -the natives trust him and depend on him and when -they 're in trouble they go to him and he gives them the -help they want. When they misbehave, he 's on hand -to deal with them in the fashion they understand and -probably prefer. And the reason is, Miss Harding—the -reason is, he 's got a Kafir mind. He was born among -them and nursed by them; he speaks as a Kafir, -understands as a Kafir and thinks as a Kafir, and he 'll never -become a European and put away Kafir things. -They 've made him, and at the best he 's an ambassador -for the Kafirs among the whites. That 's how they -master their masters. Oh, they 've got power, the Kafirs -have, and a better power than their hocus-pocus of -witchcraft."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The afternoon was stored with the day's accumulated -heat and the cool of the grass beneath and the freshness -of the water, out of sight beyond the wall but diffusing -itself like an odor in the air, combined to contrast the -spot in which they talked with the dazed sun-beaten -land about them and gave to both a sense of privacy and -isolation. The Kafir's words stirred a fresh curiosity -in Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He thinks you are making the natives dangerous," -she said. "I don't believe that, of course, but what are -you doing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What am I doing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The black face was lifted to hers steadily and regarded -her for a space of moments without replying. Nothing -mild or subtle could find expression in its rude shaping -of feature; the taciturnity of the Karoo itself -governed it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What am I doing?" repeated Kamis. He dropped -his eyes and his hands plucked at the grass absently. -"Well, I 'm looking for a life for myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret waited for him to continue but he was silent, -plucking the grass shoots and shredding them in his fingers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A life," she prompted. "Yes; tell me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kamis finished with the grass in his hand and threw -it with an abrupt gesture from him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll tell you if you like," he said, as though -suppressing a feeling of reluctance. "It isn't anything -wonderful; still—. You know already how I began; -Paul told me how you learnt that; and you can see where -I 've got to with my education and my degree and my -profession and all that. I 'm back where I came from, -and besides what I 've learned, I 've got a burden of -civilized habits and weaknesses that keep me tied by the -leg. I need friendship and company and equality with -people about me, just as you do, and I 'm apt to find -myself rather forlorn and lost without them. In England, -I had those things—I had some of them, at any rate; -but what was there for a black doctor to do, do you -think, among all those people who look on even a white -foreigner as rather a curiosity?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wasn't there anything?" Margaret was watching -the nervous play of his gesticulating hands, so oddly -emphasizing his pleasant English voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing worth while. That 's another of my troubles, -you see. They taught me and trimmed me till I -could n't be content with occasional niggers at the docks -suffering from belaying-pin on the brain. It was n't odd -jobs I wanted, handed over to me to keep me happy; I -wanted work. We niggers, we 're a strong lot and we -can stand a deal of wear and tear, but we don't improve -by standing idle. I wanted to come out of that glass -case they kept me in, with tutors and an allowance from -the Government and an official guardian and all that -sort of thing, and make myself useful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused. "You understand that, don't you?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course I do," replied Margaret. "If I could -only come out too! But I 've got all those weaknesses -of yours and this as well." Her hand rested on her -chest and he nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 're different," he said. "You must n't be worn -and torn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, so you came out here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It 's my country," he answered, and waved a hand -at its barrenness. "It was my father's, a good deal of -it, in another sense too. When I saw that living in -England wasn't going to lead to anything, I thought of -this. Somebody ought to doctor the poor beggars who -live here and give them a lead towards a more comfortable -existence, and I hoped I was the man to do it. I -must have relations among them, too; that 's queer, is n't -it? Aunts—my father had lots of wives—and lashings -of cousins. I thought the steamer was bringing me out -to them and I had a great idea of a welcome and all -that; but I 'm no nearer it now than I was when I -started. If ever I seem too grateful to you for your -acquaintance, Miss Harding—if I seem too humble to be -pleasant when I thank you for letting me talk to you—just -remember I know that over there my poor black -aunts are slaving like cattle and my uncles are driving -them, and when I come they dodge among the huts and -maneuver to get behind me with a club."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," answered Margaret slowly. "I 'll remind you -instead of all you 're doing while I do nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his head. "I know what you do to me," he -said. "And I can't let you pity me. It was n't for want -of warnings I came out here. I even had a letter from -the Colonial Secretary. And I must tell you about the -remonstrances of my guardian."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed, with one of those quick transitions of -mood which characterize the negro temperament. It -jarred a little on Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He was the dearest old thing," he went on. "He 's -one of the greatest living authorities on the Bantu -tongues—those are the real old negro languages, I -believe—and he was out here once in his wild youth. The -Colonial Office appointed him to take charge of me and -he used to come down to the schools where I was and -give me a sovereign. He 'd have made a capital uncle. -He had a face like a beefy rose, one of those big flabby -ones that tumble to pieces when you pick them—all pink -and round and clean, with kind, silly blue eyes behind -gold spectacles. I had to get his consent before I could -move, and I went to see him in a little room at the -British and Foreign Bible Society's place in Queen Victoria -Street, where they grow the rarer kinds of Bible under -glass in holes in the wall; you know. He was correcting -the proofs of a gospel in some Central African dialect -and he had smudges of ink round his mouth. Sucking -the wrong end of the pen, I suppose. He really was -rather like a comic-paper professor, but as kind as could -be. I sat down in the chair opposite to him, with the -desk between us, and he heard what I 'd got to say, -wiping his pen and sucking it while I told him. I fancy I -began by being eloquent, but I soon stopped that. He 's -good form to the finger-tips and he looked so pained. -So I cut it short and told him what I wanted to do and -why. And when I 'd finished, he gave me a solemn -warning. I must do what seemed right to me, he said; -he wouldn't take the responsibility of standing in my -way; but there were grave dangers. He had known -young men, promising young men, talented young -men—all negroes, of course—who had returned to -Africa after imbibing and accepting the principles of -our civilization. They, it was true, were West -Africans, but my danger was the same. They had left -England in clothes, with a provision of soap in their trunks, -and the result of their return to their own place -was—they had lapsed! They had discontinued the clothes -and forsworn the soap. 'One of them,' he said, -'presented a particularly sad example. He whom we had -known and respected as David Livingstone Smith -became the leader of a faction or party whose activities -necessitated the despatch of a punitive expedition. -Under a name which, being interpreted, signifies "The -Scornful," he presided over the defeat and massacre -of that armed force.' And he went on warning me -against becoming an independent monarch and forcing -an alliance on Great Britain by means of an ingenious -war. He seemed relieved when I assured him that I had -no ambition to sit in the seat of the Scornful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed again, looking up at Margaret with his -white teeth flashing broadly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she said. "That was—funny."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Odd! It made her vaguely restive to hear the Kafir -make play with the shortcomings of the white man. It -touched a fund of compunction whose existence she had -not suspected. Something racial in her composition, -something partizan and unreasoning, lifted its obliterated -head from the grave in which her training and the -conscious leanings of her mind had buried it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had no thoughts of what it was that kept her from -returning his smile. He imagined that his mission, his -loneliness and his danger had touched her and made her -grave.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, you see how it all came about?" he went on. -"It isn't really so extraordinary, is it? And I 'm not -discouraged, Miss Harding. I shall find a way, sooner -or later; they 're bound to get used to me in the end. -In the meantime, Paul is teaching me Kafir, and there 's -you. You make up to me for a lot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I?" Margaret roused herself and sat up, deliberately -thrusting down out of her consciousness that -instinctive element which bade her do injustice and -withhold from the man before her his due of acknowledgment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I?" she said. "I 'd be glad if that were so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He made to speak but stopped at her gesture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she said. "I </span><em class="italics">would</em><span> be glad. It 's a wonderfully -great thing you 've started to do, and you 're lucky -to have it. You feel that, don't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he said thoughtfully. "Oh, yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She eyed him with a moment's hesitation, for he had -not agreed with any alacrity, and a martyr who regards -his stake with aversion is always disappointing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you 're sure to succeed," she said. "People -who undertake things like this don't fail. And if, as -you say, I 'm any kind of help to you, I 'm glad. I 'm -awfully glad of it. It makes coming out here worth -while, and I shall always be proud that I was your -friend."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you? Does it strike you like that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was above him on the bank and he sat on the -ground with his head at the level of her knees. His -worn and shabby clothes, the patience of his face, and -even the hands that lay empty in his lap, joined with -his lowly posture to give him an aspect of humility. -He was like a man acclimatized to oppression and ill -fortune, accepting in a mild acquiescence, without -question and without hope, the wrongs of a tyrannous -destiny.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall be proud," she repeated. "Always." She -held forth her hand to him in token of that friendship, -leaning down that he might take.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not do so at once. His eyes flashed to her -with a startled glance, and he seemed at a loss. He -lifted himself to his knees and put his own hand, large -and fine for all the warm black of the back of it, the -hand of a physician, refined to nice uses, under hers -without clasping it. His movement had some of the -timidity and slavishness of a dog unused to caresses; a -dumb-brute gratitude was in his regard. He bent his -black head humbly and printed a kiss upon her slender -fingers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a thing that exhausted the situation; Margaret, -a little breathless and more than a little moved, met -his gaze as he rose with a smile that was not clear of -embarrassment. Neither knew what to say next; the -kiss upon her hand had transformed their privacy into -secrecy.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"My love is like a black, black rose."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It sounded above them, from the top of the dam wall, -an outrageous bellow of melody that thrust itself -obscenely between them and split them asunder with the -riving force of a thunderbolt. Intolerably startled by -the suddenness of it, Margaret nearly fell down the -slope, and saving herself with her hands turned her -face, whitened by the shock, towards the source of the -noise. Another face met hers, parting the long grasses -on the crown of the wall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her amazed and ambushed faculties saw it as a face -only. It was attached to no visible body, solitarily -self-sufficient in an unworthy miracle. It did not occur to -her that the owner of it must be lying on his belly at -the water's edge, and for the moment she was not -equal to deducing that he must have heard, and possibly -even seen, all that had passed. She saw merely a -face projected over her, that grinned with a fixity that -was not without an imbecile suggestion. It was old with -a moldy and decayed quality, bunched into pouches -between deep wrinkles, and yet weak and appealing. A -wicked captive ape might show that mixture of gleeful -sin and slavishness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't think I 'm not shocked, because I am," it -uttered distinctly. "Kissing! </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> saw you. An' if -anybody had told me that a lady of your looks would take -on a Kafir, I wouldn't ha' believed it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The face heaved and rose and lifted to corroborate it -the cast-off clothes of Christian du Preez, enveloping -the person of Boy Bailey. He shuffled to a sitting -position on the edge of the wall, and it was a climax to -his appearance that his big and knobly feet were bare -and wet. He had been taking his ease with his feet in -the water while they talked below, a hidden audience -to their confidences. He shook his head at them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dam walls have got dam ears," he observed. "You -naughty things, you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret turned helplessly to Kamis for light.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had jumped to his feet and away from her at -the first sound, and now turned a slow eye upon her. -The negro countenance is the home of crude emotions; -the untempered extremes have been its sculptors through -the ages. Its mirth is a guffaw, its sorrow is a howl, -its wrath is the naked spirit of murder. He looked -at her now with a face alight and transfigured with -slaughterous intention.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go away," he said, in a whisper. "Go away now. -He must have heard. I 'll deal with him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't," said Margaret. She rose and put a hand -on his arm. "Will you speak to him, or shall I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not you," he answered quickly. "But—" he was -breathless and his face shone as with a light sweat. -"He 'll </span><em class="italics">tell</em><span>," he urged, still whispering. "You don't -know—it would be frightful. Go quickly away and -leave me with him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They 're at it still," sounded the voice above them. -"Damme, they can't stop."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kamis was desperate and urgent. He cast a wild eye -towards the man on the top of the wall, and went on -with agitated earnestness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I tell you, you don't know. It 's enough that you -were here with a Kafir and he kissed your hand." He -slapped his forehead in an agony. "Oh, I ought to be -hanged for that. They 'll never believe—nobody will. -In this country that sort of thing has only one -meaning—a frightful one. I can't bear it. If you don't -go"—he gulped and spoke aloud—"I 'll go up and -kill him before your eyes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, now!" The voice remonstrated in startled tones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret still had her hand on his arm, and could -feel that he was trembling. She had recovered from -the shock of the surprise and was anxious to purge the -situation of the melodramatic character which it seemed -to have assumed. Kamis' whispered fears failed to -convince her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 'll do nothing of the kind," she said. "I don't -care what people think. Speak to the man or I will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kamis lifted his head obediently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come down," he said. "Come down and say what -you want."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Bailey recovered his smile as he shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can say it here," he replied. "Don't you worry, -Snowball; it won't strain my voice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kamis gulped. "What do you want?" he repeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! What?" inquired Boy Bailey rhetorically. -"I come here of an afternoon to collect my thoughts an' -sweeten the dam by soaking my Trilbies in it an' what -happens? I 'm half-deafened by the noise of kissing. -I look round, an' what do I see? I ask you—what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He brought an explanatory forefinger into play, thick -and cylindrical like a damaged candle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"First, thinks I, here 's a story that's good for -drinks in any bar between Dopfontein and Fereira—with -perhaps a tar-and-feathering for the young -lady thrown in." He nodded meaningly at Margaret. -"And it wouldn't be the first time that's happened -either."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye-es," said Kamis, who seemed to speak with -difficulty. "But you won't get away alive to tell that -story."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hear me out." Boy Bailey shook his finger. -"That 's what I thought </span><em class="italics">first</em><span>. My second thought was: -what 's the sense of making trouble when perhaps -there 's a bit to be got by holdin' my tongue? How -does that strike you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret had been leaning on her stick while he -spoke, prodding the earth and looking down. Now she -raised her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The first thought was the best," she said. "You -won't get anything here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh?" Mr. Bailey was astonished. "You don't -understand, Miss," he said. "Ask Snowball, there—he 'll -tell you. In this country we don't stand women -monkeying with niggers. Hell—no. It 's worth, -well—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a penny," said Margaret. "I don't care in -the least whom you tell. But—not one penny."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kamis was listening in silence. Margaret smiled at -him and he shook his head. On the top of the wall -Mr. Bailey leaned forward persuasively. He had -something the air, in so far as his limitations permitted, of -benevolence wrestling with obstinacy, the air which in -auctioneers is an asset.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't mean that, I know," he said indulgently. -"I can see you 're going to be sensible. You would n't -let a trifle of ready money stand between you an' -keepin' your good name—a nice, ladylike girl like -you. Why, for less than what you 've done, women -have been stoned in the streets before now. Come now; -I 'm not going to be hard on you. Make an offer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sat above them against the sky, beaming painfully, -always with a wary apprehension at the back of -his regard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You won't go away?" demanded Kamis suddenly. -"You won't? You know I can't do it if you 're here. -Then I 'm going to pay."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You shan't," retorted Margaret. "I won't have -it, I tell you. I don't care what he does."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm going to pay," repeated Kamis. "It 's that -or—you won't go away?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said the girl angrily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I 'm going to pay." He turned from her. -"I 'll give you twenty pounds," he called to Bailey.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Double it," replied Boy Bailey promptly; "add -ten; take away the number you thought of; and the -answer is fifty pounds, cash down, and dirt cheap at -that. Put that in my hand and I 'll clear out of here -within the hour and you 'll never hear of me again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kamis nodded slowly. "If I do hear of you again," -he said, "I 'll come to you. Paul will bring you the -money to-morrow morning, and then you 'll go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Right-O." Mr. Bailey rose awkwardly to his feet -and made search for his boots. With them in his hands, -he looked down on the pair again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's your risk," he warned them. "If that cash -don't come to hand, you look out; there 'll be a slump -in Kafirs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went off along the wall, disappearing in sections -as he descended its shoulder. His gray head in its -abominable hat was the last to disappear; it sailed -loftily, as became the heir to fifty pounds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret frowned and then laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What an absurd business," she cried. "Supposing -he had told and there had been a row—it would have -been better than this everlasting stagnation. It would -have been more like life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Kafir sighed. "Not life," he answered gently. -"Not your life. It meant a death in life—like mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His embarrassed and mournful look passed beyond -her to the Karoo, spreading its desolation to the skies -as a blind man might lift his eyes in prayer.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xi"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The deplorable hat which shielded Mr. Bailey -from the eye of Heaven traveled at a thoughtful -pace along the path to the farmhouse, cocked at a -confident angle upon a head in which faith in the -world was re-established. Boy Bailey had no doubt -that the money would be forthcoming. What he had -heard of the conversation between Margaret and Kamis -had assured him of the Kafir's resources and he felt -himself already as solvent as if the minted money were -heavy in his pockets. A pleasant sense of security -possessed his versatile spirit, the sense that to-morrow -may be counted upon. For such as Mr. Bailey, every -day has its price.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He gazed before him as he walked, at the house, with -its kraals clustered before it and its humble appanage -of out-buildings, with a gentle indulgence for all its -primitive and domestic quality. Meals and a bed were -what they stood for, merely the raw framework of -intelligent life, needing to be supplemented and filled -in with more stimulating accessories. They satisfied -only the immediate needs of a man adrift and hungry; -they offered nothing to compensate a lively mind for -its exile from the fervor of the world. Fifty pounds, -the fine round sum, not alone made him independent -of its table and its roof, but opened afresh the way to -streets and lamplight, to the native heath of the -wandering Bailey, who knew his fellow men from above and -below—Kafirs, for instance, he saw from an altitude—but -had few such opportunities as this of meeting -them on a level of economic equality. There came to -him, as he dwelt in thought upon his good fortune, -a clamorous appetite for what fifty pounds would buy. -Capetown was within his reach, and he recalled small -hotels on steep streets, whose back windows looked -forth on flat roofs of Malay houses, where smells of -cooking and people loaded the sophisticated air and -there was generally a woman weeping and always a man -drunk. A little bedroom with an untidy bed and beer -bottles cooling in the wash-hand basin by day; -saloons where the afternoon sun came slanting upon -furtive men initiating the day's activities over glasses; -the electric-lit night of Adderley Street under the big -plate-glass windows, where business was finished for the -shops and offices and newly begun for the traders in -weakness and innocence—he knew himself in such -surroundings as these. He could slip into them as -noiselessly as a snake into a pool, with no disturbance to -those inscrutable devotees of daylight and industry -who carry on their plain affairs and downright -transactions without suspecting the existence of the world -beneath them, where Boy Bailey and his fellows stir -and dodge and hide and have no illusions, save that -hunger is ever fed or thirst quenched.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused at the open door of the farmhouse, recalled -to the present by the sound of voices from the -kitchen at the end of the passage, where Christian du -Preez and his wife were engaged in bitter talk. Boy -Bailey stepped delicately over the doorstep on to the -mat within and stood there to listen, if there should be -anything worth listening to. A smile played over his -large complacent features, and he waited with his head -cocked to one side. Something in which the word -"tramp" occurred as he came through the door -flattered him with the knowledge that the dispute was -about himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. du Preez spoke, and her shrill tones were -plainly audible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't make no fuss when your dirty old Doppers -outspan here an' come sneakin' in for coffee, an' some -of them would make a dog sick. Bailey 's got his -troubles, but he don't do like Oom Piet Coetzee did -when—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An infuriate rumble from Christian broke in upon -her. Boy Bailey smiled and shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, now," he murmured. "Language, please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He 's worse than a Kafir in the house," Christian -went on. "Woman, it makes me sick when he looks at -you, like an old silly devil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So long as he don't look like an old silly Dutchman, -I don't mind," retorted his wife. "I 'm fairly -sick of it all—you an' your Doppers and all. And just -because you can't tell when a gentleman 's having his -bit of fun, you come and howl at me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Howl." The word seemed to sting. "Howl. Yes, -instead of howling I should take my gun and let him -have one minute to run before I shoot at him. You -like that better, eh? You like that better?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Christian." There was alarm in Mrs. du Preez's -voice. Behind the shut door of the kitchen, Bailey -could picture Christian reaching down the big Martini -that hung overhead with oiled rags wrapped about its -breech.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Time for me to cut in at this," reflected Mr. Bailey. -"I never was much of a runner."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He walked along the passage with loud steps, acting -a man returned from a constitutional, restored by the -air and at peace with the whole human race.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. du Preez and Christian were facing one another -over the length of the table; they turned impatient and -angry faces towards the door as he opened it and thrust -his personality into the scene. He fronted them with -his terrible smile and his manner of jaunty amity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hot, ain't it?" he inquired. "I 've been down by -the dam and the water 's nearly on the boil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neither answered; each seemed watchful of the -other's first step. Christian gave him only a dark -wrathful look and Mrs. du Preez colored and looked -away. Boy Bailey, retaining his smile under difficulties, -tossed his hat to a chair and entered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not interrupting anything, am I?" he inquired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 're not interrupting </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>," replied Mrs. du -Preez. "I 've said all I 'd got to say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I haven't said all I 've got to say," retorted -Christian from his end of the table. "We was talking -about you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About me?" said Bailey, with mild surprise. "Oh."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes." The Boer, leaning forward with his hands -gripping the thick end of the table, had a dangerous -look which warned Bailey that impudence now might -have disastrous consequences.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—about you. My wife says you are a gentleman -and got gentleman's manners and you are her old -friend. She says you don't mean harm and you -don't look bad and dirty. She says I don't know how -gentlemen speak and look and I am wrong to say you -are a beast with the mark of the beast."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bailey shifted uncomfortably under his gaze of fury -held precariously in leash, and edged a little towards -Mrs. du Preez. He was afraid the big, bearded man -might spring forward and help out his words with his -fist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very kind of Mrs. du Preez," he murmured warily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She says all that. But </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> say"—the words rasped -from Christian's lips—"</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> say you are a man rotten -like an old egg and the breath in your mouth is a stink -of wickedness. And I tell her that sometimes I get up -from my food and go out because if I don't I shall -stamp you to death. </span><em class="italics">Gott verdam</em><span>! Your dirty eyes -and your old yellow teeth grinning—I stand them no -longer. You have had rest and </span><em class="italics">skoff</em><span>—now you go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bailey's face showed some discomposure. His -disadvantage lay in the danger that the Boer was plainly -willing to be violent. He had returned to the house -with the intention of announcing that on the morrow -he would take his departure, but it was not the prospect -of spending a night in the open that disconcerted him. -It was simply that he disliked to be treated thus loftily -by a man he despised. He stole a glance at Mrs. du -Preez.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was staring at her husband with shrewdness and -doubt expressed in her face, as though she were checking -her valuation of him by the fierce figure at the other -end of the table, with big, leathery hands clutched on -the edge of the board and thin, sun-tanned face intent -and wrathful above the uneven beard. She was -revisiting with an unsympathetic eye each feature of that -irreconcilable factor in her life, her husband.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"D'you hear me?" thundered the Boer. "You go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He pointed with sudden forefinger to the door, and his -gesture was unspeakably daunting and wounding.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye-es," hesitated Boy Bailey, and sighed. The -pointing finger compelled him like a hand on his -collar, and he moved with shuffling and unwilling feet to -the chair where his hat lay. He fumbled with it as -he picked it up and it fell to the floor. The finger did -not for a moment pretermit its menacing command. -He sighed again and drew the door open.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bailey." Mrs. du Preez spoke sharply, with a -trembling catch in her voice. "Bailey, you stop here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh?" He turned in the doorway with alacrity. -Another moment and it might have been too late.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on," cried the Boer. "Out you go, or I 'll—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop where you are, Bailey," cried Mrs. du Preez.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She came across the room with a run and put herself -in front of Bailey, facing her husband.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now," she said, "</span><em class="italics">now</em><span> what d'you think you'll do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Boer heaved himself upright, and they fronted -one another stripped of all considerations save to be -victor in the struggle for the fate of Boy Bailey. It -was the iron-hard cockney against the Boer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I told him to go," said Christian. "If he doesn't -go—I'll shoot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He cast an eye up to the gun in its place upon the wall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will, will you?" The bitter voice was mocking. -"Now, Christian, you just listen to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He 'll go," said the Boer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, he 'll go," answered Mrs. du Preez. "He 'll -go all right, if you say so. But mark my words. You -go turning my friends out of the house like this, and -so help me, I 'll go too. Get that straight in your head, -old chap—it's right. Bailey 's not fretting to stay -with you, you know. You 're not such good company -that you need worry about it. It 's me he came to -see, not you. And you pitch him out; that 's all. -Bailey goes to-night, does he? Then I go in the morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded at him, the serious, graphic nod that -promises more earnestly than a shaken fist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What!" The Boer was taken by surprise. "If -he goes—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll go—yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was entirely in earnest; her serious purpose was -plain to him in every word she spoke. She threatened -that which no Boer could live down, the flight of a -wife. He stared at her almost aghast. In the slow -processes of his amazed mind, he realized that this, too, -had had to come—the threat if not the deed; it was -the due and logical climax of such a marriage as his. -Her thin face, still pretty after its fashion, and her -slight figure that years had not dignified with matronly -curves, were stiffened to her monstrous purpose. -Whether she went or not, the intention dwelt in her. -It was another vileness in Boy Bailey that he should -have given it the means of existence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Both of them, his wife and Mr. Bailey, screened by -her body, thought that he was vanquished. He stood -so long without answering that they expected no -answer. Bailey was framing a scene for the morrow in -which he should renounce the reluctant hospitality of -the Boer: "I can starve, but I can't stand meanness." He -had got as far as this when the Boer recovered himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With an inarticulate cry he was suddenly in motion, -irresistibly swift and forceful. A sweep of his arm -cleared Mrs. du Preez from his path and sent her -reeling aside, leaving Boy Bailey exposed. Christian -seemed to halt at the threshold of the room and thrust -a long arm out, of which the forked hand took Boy -Bailey by the thick throat and dragged him in. He -held the shifty, ruined face, now contorted and writhen -from his grip like the face of a hanged man, at the -level of his waist and beat upon it with the back of -his unclenched right hand again and again. Boy -Bailey's legs trailed upon the floor lifelessly; only at -each dull blow, thudding like a mallet on his blind -face, his weak arms fluttered convulsively. Mrs. du -Preez, who had fallen against the table, leaned forward -with hands clasped against her breast and watched with -a fascinated and terror-stricken stare.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boy Bailey uttered a windy moan and Christian -dropped him with a gesture of letting fall something -that defiled his hand. The beaten creature fell like a -wet towel and was motionless and limp about his feet. -Across his body, Christian looked at his wife. He -seemed to her to tower above that meek and impotent -carcass, to impend hatefully and dreadfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Throw water on him," he said. "In an hour, I will -come back and if I see him then, I will shoot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not answer, but continued to stare.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You hear?" he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gulped. "Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good," he said. He stepped over the body of Boy -Bailey and mounted on a chair, where he reached down -the rifle. He gave his wife another look; she had not -moved. He shrugged and went out with the gun under -his arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not till the noise of his steps ceased at the -house-door that Mrs. du Preez moved from her attitude -of defeat and fear. She came forward on tiptoe, edged -past Boy Bailey's feet and crouched to peer round the -doorpost. She had to assure herself that Christian was -gone. She went furtively along the passage and -peeped out over the kraals to be finally certain of it -and saw him, still with the gun, walking down to the -further fold where Paul was knee-deep in sheep. She -came back to the room and closed the door carefully, -going about it with knitted brows and a face steeped -in preoccupation. Not till then did she turn to attend -to Boy Bailey.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, God," she cried in a startled whisper as she bent -above him, for his eyes were open in his bloody face -and the battered features were feeling their way to the -smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She fell on her knees beside him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bailey," she said breathlessly. "I thought you—I -thought he 'd killed you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boy Bailey rose on one elbow and felt at his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Him!" he exclaimed, with all the scorn that could -be conveyed in a whisper. "Him! He couldn't kill -me in a year. Why, he never even shut his fist."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He wiped the blood from his fingers by rubbing them -on the smooth earth of the floor and sat up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why," he said, "take his gun away and I wouldn't -say but what I 'd hammer him myself. Him kill -me—why, down in Capetown once I had a feller go for -me with a bottle an' leave me for dead, an' I was -havin' a drink ten minutes after he 'd gone. He isn't -coming back yet, is he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—not for an hour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had hardly heard him, so desperately was she -concentrated on the one idea that occupied her mind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I won't wait for him," said Mr. Bailey. -"I 'll get some of this muck off my face an'—an' have -a drink, if you 'll be so kind, and then I 'll fade. But -if ever I see him again—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bailey," said Mrs. du Preez, "where 'll you go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where? Well, to-night I reckon to sleep in plain -air, as the French say—or is it the Germans?—somewhere -about here till I can get word with a certain -nigger who owes me money. And then, off to the -station on my tootsies and take train back to the land -of ticky (threepenny) beer and Y.M.C.A.'s."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"England?" asked Mrs. du Preez.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"England be—" Boy Bailey hesitated—"mucked," -he substituted. "Capetown, me dear; the metropolis -of our foster motherland. It 's Capetown for me, where -the Christian Kafirs come from."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bailey," said Mrs. du Preez. "Bailey, take me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?" demanded Boy Bailey. "Take you where?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take me with you." She was still kneeling beside -him and she put a hand on his arm urgently, looking -into his blood-stained and smashed face. "I won't stay -with him now. I said I wouldn't and I won't. I 'd -die first. And you and me was always good pals, -Bailey. Only for that breakdown at Fereira, we 'd -have—we might have hitched up together. You were -always hinting—you know you were, Bailey. Don't -you know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hinting?" He was surprised at last, but still -wary. "But I wasn't hinting at—supporting you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't say you were," she answered eagerly. -"Bailey, I 'm not a fool; I 've got temperament too. -You said yourself I had, only the other day. And—and -I can't stop with him now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Bailey looked at his fingers thoughtfully and felt -his face again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fact is," he said deliberately, "you 're off your -balance. You 'll live to thank me for not taking -advantage of it. You 'll say, 'Bailey had me and let me -go, as a gentleman would. He remembered I was a -mother. Bless him.' That 's what you 'll say when -you 're an old woman with your grandchildren at your -knee. And anyhow, what d'you think you 'd do in -Capetown? You ain't far off forty, are you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook him by the arm she held to fix his attention.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bailey," she said. "That don't matter for a time. -I 've got a bit of money, you know. I 'm not leaving -that behind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Money, have you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The wonderful thing in women such as Mrs. du Preez -is that they see so clearly and yet act so blindly. -They know they are sacrificed for men's gain and do -not conceal their knowledge. They count upon -baseness, cruelty and falsity as characteristics of men in -general and play upon these qualities for their purposes. -But furnish them with a reason for depending upon a -man, and they will trust him, uphold him, obey him, lean -upon him and compensate the flimsiest rascal for the -world's contempt and hardness by yielding him a -willing victim.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They looked at each other. Bailey still sitting on -the floor, she on her knees, and each read in the other's -eyes an appraisement and a stratagem. The coffee-pot -that stood all day beside the fire to be ready for -Boer visitors, sibilated mildly at their backs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It would n't last for ever, the bit you 've got," said -Bailey. "There 's that to think of."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It 's a good bit," she replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it—is it as much as fifty pounds?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It 's more," she answered. "Never you mind how -much it is, Bailey. It's a good bit and it 's mine, not -his."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He thought upon it with his under-lip caught up between -his teeth, almost visibly reviewing the possibilities -of profit in the company of a woman who had money -about her. Mrs. du Preez continued to urge him in hard -whispers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'd never manage it by myself, Bailey, or I -wouldn't be begging you like this. I 've tried to bring -myself to it again and again, but I was n't game enough. -And it isn't as if I was goin' to be a burden to you. -It won't be long before I 'll get a job—you 'll see. -A barmaid, p'r'aps, or I might even get in again with -a show. I haven't lost my figure, anyhow. And as -for staying here now, with him, after this—Bailey, I 'll -take poison if you leave me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boy Bailey frowned and looked up at the clock which -swung a pendulum to and fro against the wall, as -though to invite human affairs to conduct themselves in -measure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, we haven't got too much time to talk about -it," he said. "He said an hour. Now supposin' I -take you, you know it's a case of footin' it down the -line to the next siding? It wouldn't suit me to be -nabbed with you on my hands. He 'd shoot as soon -as think about it, and then where would I be?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can walk," Mrs. du Preez assured him eagerly. -"You 'll take me with you, then, Bailey?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boy Bailey sighed. "Oh, I'll take you," he said. -"I 'll take you, since your mind 's made up. My good -nature has been the ruin of me—that and my temperament. -But don't forget later on that I warned you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. du Preez jumped up. "I won't forget," she -promised. "This is my funeral. Get up from there, -Bailey, and we 'll have a drink on it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They made their last arrangements over the glasses. -Christian's absence was to be counted upon for the -greater part of the next day; their road would be clear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The first word above a whisper which had been -spoken since Christian left them was by Mrs. du Preez. -She sat down her glass at the last with a jolt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Bailey," she cried, on a note of hysterical -gaiety, "Bailey—we got to be careful, I know, and all -that—but what a lark it 'll be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stared at her, not quick enough to keep up with -her mounting mood. She was flushed and feverish with -excitement and the reaction of strong feeling and her -eyes danced like a child's on the brink of mischief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The woman 's a fool," thought Boy Bailey.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His own attitude towards the affair, as he reviewed -it that night in the forage-shed, where he reposed full -dressed in the scent of dry grasses and stared reflectively -through a gap in the roof at the immortal patience of -the stars, was strictly businesslike. Not even a desire -to be revenged upon Christian du Preez, who had called -him names and beaten him, impaired the consistency of -that attitude. Boy Bailey allowed for a certain -proportion of thrashings in his experiences; they ranked -in the balance-sheet of his transactions as a sort of -office expenses. They had to be kept down to the -lowest figure compatible with convenience and good -business, but they were not to be weighed against a -lucky deal. The one thing that engaged his fancy was -the fact that the woman, though close on forty, would -come with money about her—more than fifty pounds. -It would make up his equipment to a handsome, an -imposing, figure. Never before had he possessed a round -hundred pounds in one sum. The mere possibilities -that it opened out were exciting; it seemed as large -and as inexhaustible as any other large sum. He did -not dwell on the fact that it belonged to Mrs. du Preez -and not to him; he did not even give his mind to a -scheme for securing it. All that was detail, a thing to -be settled at any advantageous moment. A dodge, a -minute of drowsiness on her part—or perhaps, at most, -a blow on the breasts—would secure the conveyance of -the money to him. In the visions of Capetown that -hovered on the outskirts of his thought, a ghostly -seraglio attending his nod, there moved many figures, -but Mrs. du Preez was not among them. His imagination -made a circuit about her and her fate, or at most -it glanced with brevity and distaste on the spectacle of a -penniless woman weeping on a bench at a wayside -station, seeing the tail-lights of a vanishing train -blurred through tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I knew I 'd strike it lucky one of these days," was -Mr. Bailey's reflection, as he composed himself to -slumber. "With two or three more like her—I 'll be a -millionaire yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The stars watched his upturned face as he slept with -a still scrutiny that must have detected aught in its -unconscious frankness that could redeem it or suggest -that once it had possessed the image of God. He -slept as peacefully, as devotedly, as a baby, confiding -his defenselessness to the night with no tremors or -uncertainty. He left unguarded the revelations of his -loose and feeble face that the mild stars searched, -always with their stare of stagnant surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the farmhouse, there was yet a light in the -windows when dawn paled the eastward heaven. Christian -du Preez slept in his bed unquietly, with clenched hands -outstretched over the empty place beside him, and in -another room Paul had transferred himself from -waking dreams to a dream-world. Tiptoeing here and there -in the house, Mrs. du Preez had gathered together the -meager handful of gear that was to go with her; she -had shaken out a skirt that she treasured and made -ready a hat that smelt of camphor. Her money, in -sovereigns, made a hard and heavy knob in a knotted -napkin. All was gathered and ready for the journey -and yet the light shone in the window of the parlor -where she sat through the hours. Her hands were in -her lap and there were no tears in her eyes—it was -beyond tears. She was taking leave of her furniture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She saw her husband at breakfast, facing him across -the table with a preoccupied expression that he took -for sullenness. She did not see the grimness of his -countenance nor mark his eye upon her; she was -thinking in soreness of heart of six rosewood chairs, -upholstered in velvet, a rosewood table, a sofa, and the -rest of it—the profit of her marriage, her sheet-anchor -and her prop. She felt as though she had given her -life for them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Christian rode away with his back to the sun, with -no word spoken between them, and as his pony broke -into a lope—the Boer half-trot, half-canter,—he caught -and subdued an impulse to look back at the house. -Even if he had looked, he would hardly have seen the -cautious reconnoiter of Boy Bailey's head around the -corner of it, as that camp-follower of fortune made -sure of his departure. Thrashings Mr. Bailey could -make light of, but the Boer's threat of shooting had -stuck in his mind. He rested on his hands and knees -and stuck his chin close to the ground in prudent care -as he peered about the corner of the house to see the -owner of the rifle make a safe offing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Even when the Boer had dwindled from sight, swallowed -up by the invisible inequalities of the ground -that seemed as flat as a table, he avoided to show -himself in the open. He lurked under the walls of kraals, -frightening farm Kafirs who came upon him suddenly -and finally made a sudden appearance before Paul at -the back of the house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't waste words on you," he said to the boy. -"I 've got something better to do, thank God. But I 'm -told you have a message for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Two messages," said Paul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One 'll do," replied Boy Bailey. "I don't want to -hear you talking. I 've been insulted here and I 'm -not done with you yet. Mind that. So hand over what -you 've got for me and be done with it—d'you hear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here it is." Paul put his hand into the loose bosom -of his shirt and drew out a small paper packet. He -held it out to Boy Bailey.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That!" Boy Bailey trembled as he seized it, with -a frightful sense of disappointment. He had seen the -money as gold, a brimming double handful of minted -gold, with gold's comforting substance and weight. -The packet he took into his hand was no fatter than -a fat letter and held no coin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He rent the covering apart and stared doubtfully at -the little wad of notes it contained, sober-colored paper -money of the Bank of Africa. It had never occurred -to him that the Kafir, Kamis, would have his riches in so -uninspiring a shape. Two notes of twenty pounds each -and one of ten and all three of them creased and dirty. -No chink, no weight to drag at his pocket and keep him -in mind of it, none of the pomp and panoply of riches.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why—why," he stammered. "I told him—cash -down. Damn the dirty Kafir swindler, what does he -call this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Blackmail, I think he said," replied Paul. "That -was the other message. If you don't do what you said -you 'd do, you 'll go to </span><em class="italics">tronk</em><span> (jail) for it, and I am to -be a witness. That 's if he does n't kill you himself—like -I told him he 'd better do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boy Bailey arrived by degrees at sufficient composure -to pocket the notes, thrusting them deep for greater -security and patting them through the cloth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you told him that, did you?" he said. "And -you call yourself a white man, do you? Murder, is it? -You look out, young feller. You don't know the risks -you 're running. I 'm not a man that forgets."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Paul was not daunted. He watched the battered -face that threatened him with an expression which the -other did not understand. There was a curious warm -interest in it that might have flattered a man less bare -of illusions as to his appearance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose you 've never seen a black eye before, -you gaping moon-calf," he cried irritably. "What are -you staring like that for?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul smiled. "I would give you a shilling again to -let me make a model of you," he answered. "I 'd give -you two shillings."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boy Bailey swore viciously and swung on his heel. -He was stung at last and he had no answer. He made -haste to get around the corner and away from eyes that -would keep the memory of him as he appeared to Paul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was more than an hour later that Mrs. du Preez -discovered him, squatting under the spikes of a dusty -aloe, humped like a brooding vulture and grieving over -that last affront. He lifted mournful eyes to her as she -stood before him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bailey," she said breathlessly. "I hunted everywhere -for you. I thought you 'd gone without me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was ready for the long flight on foot. All that -she had in the way of best clothes was on her body, -everything she could not bring herself to leave. The -seemliness of Sunday was embodied in her cloth coat -and skirt, her cream silk bosom and its brooches, the -architectural elaborateness of her hat. She stood in the -merciless sun in all her finery, with sweat on her -forehead and a small bundle in each hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 're coming, then?" he asked stupidly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stamped her foot impatiently. "Of course I 'm -coming," she said. "Don't go into all that again, -Bailey. D' you think I 'd stop with him now, -after—after everything?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was holding desperately to her resolution, eager -to be off before the six rosewood chairs, the table and -the sofa should overcome her and make good their claim -to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What 's those?" Bailey nodded at the bundles torpidly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," she was burning to be moving, to be committed, -to see her boats flaming and smoking behind -her. "This is grub, Bailey. We 'll want grub, won't -we? And this is my things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The—er—money, I suppose, an' all that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes. Oh, do come on, Bailey. The money 's -all here. Everything 's here. You carry the grub an' -let 's be going."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The grub, eh?" Mr. Bailey rose grunting to his -feet. "You 'd rather—well, all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>None viewed that elopement to mark how Mrs. du -Preez slipped her free hand under Bailey's arm and -went forth at his side in the bravery she had donned -as though to bring grace to the occasion. Paul was -down at the dam with sheep, and before he returned the -brown distances of the Karoo had enveloped them and -its levels had risen behind them to blot out the -dishonored roof of the house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the hour of the midday meal, Paul ate alone, -contentedly and unperturbed by his mother's absence. -For all he knew she had one of her weeping fits -upstairs in her bedroom, and he was careful to make no -noise.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xii"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Margaret entered the drawing-room rather -late for tea and Mrs. Jakes accordingly -acknowledged her arrival with an extra stoniness of -regard. In his place by the window, Ford turned from -his abstracted contemplation of the hot monotony -without and sent her a discreet and private smile -across the tea-table. Mrs. Jakes, noting it and the -girl's response, tightened her mouth unpleasantly as -the suspicion recurred to her that there was "something -between" Mr. Ford and Miss Harding. More than -once of late she had noticed that their intercourse had -warmed to the stage when the common forms of expression -need to be helped out by a code of sympathetic looks -and gestures. She addressed the girl in her thinnest -tones of extreme formality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought perhaps you were n't coming in," she said. -"I 'm afraid the tea 's not very hot now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll ring," said Mr. Samson, diligently handing a -chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please don't," said Margaret, taking it. "I don't -mind at all. Don't bother, anybody."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I forget if you take sugar, Miss Harding," said -Mrs. Jakes, pouring negligently from the pot. Ford -grinned and turned quickly to the window again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No sugar, thanks," answered Margaret agreeably; -"and no milk and no tea."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No tea?" Mrs. Jakes raised her eyebrows in severe -surprise and looked up. The movement sufficed to -divert the stream from the tea-pot so that it flowed -abundantly on the hand which held the cup and splashed -thence into the sugar basin. She sat the pot down -sharply and reached for her handkerchief with a -smothered ejaculation of annoyance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I 'm sorry," said Margaret. "But how lucky -you didn't keep it hot for me. You might have been -scalded, might n't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," replied Mrs. Jakes, with all the dignity -she could summon while she mopped at her sleeve. -"Thank you; I am not hurt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That was the second time Margaret had turned her -own guns, her own little improvised pop-guns of -ineffectual enmity, back upon her; and she did not quite -understand how it was done. The first time had been -when she had pretended not to hear a remark -Margaret had addressed to her. The girl had crossed the -room and joined Dr. Jakes in his hearth-rug exile, and -Mr. Samson had stared while Ford laughed silently -but visibly. Mrs. Jakes had not understood the -implication of it; she was only aware, reddening and -resentful, that Margaret had scored in some subtle -fashion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The hatred of Mrs. Jakes was a cue to consistency -of action no less plain than her love. "I like people to -know their own minds," was one of her self-revelations, -and she believed that worthy people, decent people, good -people were those who saw their way clear under all -circumstances of friendship and hostility and were -prepared to strike and maintain a due attitude upon any -encounter. Her friends were those who indulged her -the forms of courtesy and consideration; her -enemies those who opposed her or were rude to her. To -her friends she returned their indulgence in kind; her -enemies she pursued at each meeting and behind their -backs with an implacable tenacity of hate. One -conceives that in the case of such lives as hers, only those -survive whose feebleness is supplemented by claws. -Take away their genuine capacity for making themselves -disagreeable at will, and they would be trodden under -and extinguished. Mrs. Jakes' girlhood was illuminated -by the example of an aunt, who lived for fourteen years -with only a thin wall between her and a person with -whom she was not on speaking terms. The aunt had -known her own mind with such a blinding clearness that -she was able to sit with folded hands, listening through -the wall to the sounds of a raving husband murdering -her enemy, and no impulse to cry for help had arisen -to dim the crystal of that knowledge. "She was a bad -one at forgiving, was your Aunt Mercy," Mrs. Jakes -had been told, always with a suggestion in the speaker's -voice that there was something admirable in such -inflexibility. Primitive passions, the lusts of skin-clad -ancestors, fortified the anemia of the life from which she -was sprung. Marriage by capture would have shocked -her deeply, but she would not have been the worse squaw.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She dropped into a desultory conversation with -Mr. Samson, with occasional side-references to Dr. Jakes, -and managed at the same time to keep an eye on the other -two. Margaret had walked across to Ford, and was -sitting at his side on the window-ledge; he had a -three-days-old copy of the </span><em class="italics">Dopfontein Courant</em><span>, in which the -scanty news of the district was printed in English and -Dutch and they were looking it over together. Ford -held the paper and Margaret leaned against his arm to -share it; the intimacy of their attitude was disagreeable -to Mrs. Jakes. An alliance between the two of them -would be altogether too strong for her, and besides, it -was warfare as she understood it to destroy the foe's -supports whenever possible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing in the rag, I suppose, Ford?" asked -Mr. Samson, in his high, intolerant voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a thing," answered Ford, "unless you 're -interested in the price of wools."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Grease wool per pound," suggested Margaret. -"Guess how much that is, Mr. Samson."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It ought to be cheap," said Mr. Samson. "It sounds -beastly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then, how 's this?" Margaret craned across -Ford's shoulder and read: "'Mr. Ben Bongers of Tomtown, -the well-known billiard-marker, underwent last -week the sad experience of being kicked at the hands of -Mr. Jacobus Van Dam's </span><em class="italics">quaai</em><span> cock. Legal proceedings -are pending.' There now. But does anybody know -what kicked him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cock ostrich," rumbled Dr. Jakes from the back of -the room. "</span><em class="italics">Quaai</em><span>—that means bad-tempered."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see," said Ford, "ostriches are common hereabouts. -They say cock and ostrich is understood. What -would they call a barn-door cock, though?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A poultry," said Mr. Samson. "But we must watch -for those legal proceedings; they ought to be good."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes had listened in silence, but now an idea -occurred to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There 's nothing about that woman in Capetown -this week?" she asked, and smiled meaningly as she -caught Margaret's eye.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Ford. "I was looking for that, but -there 's nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What woman was that?" inquired Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, a rotten business. A woman married a Kafir -parson—a white woman. There 's been a bit of a row -about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said Margaret, understanding Mrs. Jakes' -smile. "I didn't see the paper last week."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at Mrs. Jakes with interest. Evidently -the little woman saw the matter of Kamis, and Margaret's -familiar acquaintance with him, as a secret with -which she could be cowed, a piece of dark knowledge that -would be held against her as a weapon of final resort. -The fact did more than all Kamis' warnings and Boy -Bailey's threats to enlighten her as to the African view -of a white woman who had relations, any relations but -those of employer and servant, with a black man. Not -only would a woman in such a case expose herself to the -brutal scandal that flourishes in the atmosphere of bars -where Boy Baileys frame the conventions that society -endorses, but she would be damned in the eyes of all the -Mrs. Jakes in the country. They would tar and feather -her with their contumely and bury her beneath their -disgust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She returned Mrs. Jakes' smile till that lady looked -away with a long-drawn sniff of defiance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why a row?" asked Margaret. "If she was -satisfied, what was there to make a row about?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She really wanted to hear what two sane and average -men would adduce in support of Mrs. Jakes' views.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Old Mr. Samson shook his head rebukingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Men and women ain't on their own in this world," -he said seriously. "They 've got to think of the rest of -the crowd. We 're all in the same boat out here—white -people holdin' up the credit of the race. Can't afford -to have deserters goin' over to the other camp, don't y' -know. Even supposin'—I say, </span><em class="italics">supposin'</em><span>—there was -nothing else to prevent a white girl from taking on a -nigger, it's lowerin' the flag—what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A woman like that deserves to be horsewhipped," -cried Mrs. Jakes, with sudden vigor. "To go and marry -a </span><em class="italics">Kafir</em><span>—the vile creature."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is very interesting," said Margaret. "Do you -mean the Kafir is vile, Mrs. Jakes, or the woman?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I mean both," retorted Mrs. Jakes. "In this -country we know what such creatures are. A respectable -woman does n't let a Kafir come near her if she can help -it. She never speaks to them except to give them their -orders. And as to—to marrying them, or being friendly -with them—why, she 'd sooner die."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret had started a subject which no South -African can exhaust. They discuss it with heat, with -philosophic impartiality, with ethnological and eugenic -inexactitudes, and sometimes with bloodshed; but they -never wear it out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see, Miss Harding, there are other reasons against -it," Mr. Samson struck in again. "There 's the general -feelin' on the subject and you can't ignore that. One -woman mustn't do what a million other women feel -to be vile. It 's makin' an attack on decency—that 's -what it comes to. A woman might feel a call in the -spirit to marry a monkey. It might suit her all right—might -be the best thing she could do, so far as a woman -of that sort was concerned; but it would n't be playin' -the game. It wouldn't be cricket."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his spirited white head with a frown.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see," said Margaret. "But there 's one other -point. I only want to know, you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Naturally," agreed Mr. Samson. "What's the point?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, there are about ten times as many black people -as white in this country. What about their sense of -decency? Doesn't that suffer a little by this—this -trades-union of the whites? That woman in Capetown -has all the whites against her and all the blacks for her—I -suppose. There 's a majority in her favor, at any rate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hold on," cried Mr. Samson. "You can't count -the Kafirs like that, you know. They 're not in it. -We 're talking about white people. The whole point is -that Kafirs </span><em class="italics">are n't</em><span> whites. A white woman belongs to -her own people and must stand by their way of lookin' -at things. If we take Kafir opinion, we 'll be chuckin' -clothes next and goin' in for polygamy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would we?" said Margaret. "I wonder. D'you -think it will come to that when the Kafirs are all as -civilized as we are and the color line is gone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The color line will never go," replied Mr. Samson, -solemnly. "You might as well talk of breakin' down -the line between men and beasts."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, evolution did break it down," said Margaret. -"Think, Mr. Samson. There will come a day when we -shall travel on flying machines, and all have lungs -like drums. We shall live in cities of glazed brick -beside running streams of disinfectant. There will be no -poverty and no crime and no dirt, and only one language. -Where will the Kafirs be then? Still in huts on the -Karoo being kept in their place?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm not a prophet," said Mr. Samson. "I don't -know where they 'll be. It won't bother me when that -time comes. I 'll be learning the harp."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There 'll be a statue in one of those glazed-brick -cities to the woman in Capetown," Margaret went on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It 'll be inscribed in letters of gold—'To —— (whatever -her name was): She felt the future in her bones.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson blew noisily. "Evolution 's not in my -line," he said. "It 's all very well to drag in Darwin -and all that but black and white don't mix and you can't -get away from that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should think not, indeed." Mrs. Jakes corroborated -him with a shrug. She had found herself intrigued -by the glazed-brick cities, and shook them from -her as she remembered that she was not "friends" with -their inventor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Margaret was keen on her theory and would not -abandon it for a fly-blown aphorism.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 'd never have been satisfied with that woman," -she said. "Supposing she had n't married the Kafir? -Supposing that being fond of him and believing in him, -she had bowed down to your terrible decency and not -married? You 'd still have been down on her for liking -him, and she 'd have been persecuted if she spoke to him -or let him be friendly with her. Is n't that so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson pursed his lips and bristled his white -mustache up under his nose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he said. "That is so. I won't pretend I 've -got any use for women who go in for Kafirs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nobody has." Mrs. Jakes came in again at the tail -of his reply with all the confidence of a faithful -interpreter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret, marking her righteous severity, had an -impulse to stun them both with a full confession. She -found in herself an increasing capacity for being -irritated by Mrs. Jakes, and had a vision of her, flattened -beyond recovery, by the revelation. She repressed the -impulse because the vision went on to give her a glimpse -of the tragedy that would close the matter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford had not yet spoken. He sat beside her, listening. -Across the room, Dr. Jakes was listening also. -She put the question to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you think, Dr. Jakes?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh?" He started at the sound of his name and -put up an uncertain hand to straighten his spectacles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About all this—about the general principle of it?" -she particularized.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, well." He hesitated and cleared his throat. -There was a fine clear-cut idea floating somewhere in -his mind, but he could not bring it into focus with his -thoughts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's simply that—Kafirs are Kafirs," he said dully. -Mrs. Jakes interposed a warm, "Certainly," and further -disordered him. He gave her a long and gloomy look -and tried to go on. "When they are—further -advanced, that will be the time to—to think about -inter-marriage, and all that. Now—well, you can see what -they are."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He wiped his forehead nervously with his handkerchief, -and Ford entered the conversation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jakes has got it," he said. "Intermarriage may -come—perhaps; but at present every marriage of a -white person with a Kafir means a loss. It's a sacrifice -of a civilized unit. D' you see, Miss Harding? You 've -got to reckon not only what that woman in Capetown -does but what she doesn't do as well. She might have -been the mother of men and women. Well, now she 'll -bear children to be outcasts. She ought to have waited -a couple of hundred years."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps she was in a hurry," answered Margaret. -"But there 's the other question—what if she hadn't -married?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said Ford. "In point of reason and all that, -she 'd have been right enough. But people are n't -reasonable. Look at Samson—and look at me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean—you 've 'no use' for her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's prejudice," he answered. "It's anything you -like. But the plain fact is, I 'd probably admire such -a woman if I met her in a book; but as flesh and blood, -I decline the introduction. Does that shock you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret smiled rather wryly. "Yes," she said. -"It does, rather."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned towards her, humorous and whimsical, but -at that moment Dr. Jakes made a movement doorward -and Mrs. Jakes began her usual brisk fire of small-talk -to cover his retreat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I only wish there was some way we could get the -papers regularly—such a lot of things seem to be -happening just now," she prattled. "Some of the papers -have cables from England and they are most interesting. -That </span><em class="italics">Cape Times</em><span> you lent me, Mr. Samson—it -had the names of the people at the Drawing-Room. -Do you know, I 've often been to see the carriages drive -up, and it 's just like reading about old friends. There -was one old lady, rather fat, with a mole on her chin, -who always went, and once we saw her drinking out of -a flask in the carriage. My cousin William—William -Penfold—nicknamed her the Duchess de Grundy, and -when we asked a policeman about her, it turned out she -really was a Duchess. Was n't that strange?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson heard this recital with unusual attention.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A flask?" he asked. "Leather-covered thing, big -as a quart bottle? Fat old girl with an iron-gray -mustache?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why," cried Mrs. Jakes. "You 've seen her too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson glared around him. "Seen her," he -exclaimed. "Why, ma 'am, once—she would walk with -the guns, confound her—once I put a charge of shot -into her. And why I didn't give her the other barrel -while I was about it, I 've never been able to imagine. -Seen her, indeed. I 've seen her bounce like a bally -india-rubber ball with a gunful of lead to help her -along. Used to write to me, she did, whenever a pellet -came to the surface and dropped out. I should just -think I had seen her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fancy," said Mrs. Jakes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson did not go off forthwith, as his wont was. -He showed a certain dexterity in contriving to keep -Margaret in the room with himself till the others had -gone. Then he closed the door and stood against it, -smiling paternally but still with gallantry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wanted just a word with you, if you 'll allow me," -he said, with a hand to the point of his trim mustache. -He was a beautifully complete thing as he stood with his -back to the door, groomed to a hair, civilized to the -eyebrows. He presented a perfected type of the utterly -conventionalized, kindly and uncharitable gentleman of -England.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Mr. Samson, this is so sudden," said Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's that? Oh, you be—ashamed of yourself," he -answered. "Tryin' to fascinate an old buffer like me. -But, I say, Miss Harding, I wish you 'd just let me say -something I 've got on my mind—and forgive -beforehand anything that sounds like preaching. We old -crocks—we 've got nothing to do but worry the -youngsters, and we have to be indulged—what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go ahead," agreed Margaret. "But if you preach -at me, after shooting a duchess,—I'll scream for help. -What is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a small matter," said Mr. Samson. "I want -you just to let us go on likin' and admirin' you, without -afterthought or anything to spoil the effect. You're -new out here, and of course you don't know and could n't -know; you 're too fresh and too full of sweetness and -innocence; but—well, it kind of jars to hear you standin' -up for a woman like that woman in Capetown. You -mean a lot to us, Miss Harding. We have n't got much -here, you know; we had to leave what we had and run -out here for our lives—run like bally rabbits when a -terrier comes along. It 'ud be a kindness if you -wouldn't—you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no mistaking the kindliness with which he -smiled at her as he spoke. It was another warning, but -conveyed differently from the others she had received. -Mr. Samson managed to make his air of pleading for a -matter of sentiment convincing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You—you 're awfully kind," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not kind," he replied. "Oh no; it is n't that. It 's -what I said. It 's us I 'm thinking of. You 've no idea -of what you stand for. You 're home, and afternoons -when one meets pretty girls who are all goin' to marry -some bally cub, and restaurants full of nice women with -jolly shoulders, and fields with tailor-made girls runnin' -away from cows. You 're the whole show. But if you -start educatin' us, though we 're an ignorant lot, we lose -all that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her with a trace of anxiety.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It 's cheek, I know, puttin' it to you like this," he -added. "But I 'm relyin' on your being a sportsman, -Miss Harding."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is n't cheek," Margaret answered. "It's awfully -good of you. I—I see what you mean, and I should be -sorry if I—well, failed you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stood aside from the door at once, throwing it open -as he did so.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sportsman to the bone," he said. "Bless your heart, -did n't I know it. Though I could n't have blamed you -if you 'd kicked at all this pow-wow from a venerable -ruin old enough to be your grandfather."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hand to mustache, crooked elbow cocked well up, -brows down over bold eyes, the venerable ruin -challenged the title he gave himself. Margaret found -his simple and comely tricks of posture and -expression touching; he played his little game of pose so -harmlessly and faithfully. She stopped in front of him -as she walked to the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you 'll shut your eyes and keep quite still, I 'll -give you something," she offered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha!" snorted Mr. Samson zestfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He closed his eyes and stood to attention, smiling. -The lids of his eyes were flattened and seamed with blue -veins, and they gave him, as he waited unmoving, some -of the unreality and remoteness of a corpse. He looked -like a man who had died suddenly while proposing a -loyal toast or paying a compliment, who carries his -genial purpose with him into the dark and leaves only the -shell of it behind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret put a light hand on his trim gray shoulder -and rising on tiptoe touched him with her lips between -the eyes. Then she turned and went out, unhurrying, -and Mr. Samson still stood to attention with closed eyes -till the sound of her feet was clear of the stone-flagged -hall and had passed out to the stoep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not go at once to the spot where a square stone -pillar screened Ford's easel, as her custom was. She -came to rest at the side of the steps and stood -thoughtfully looking out to the veld, where the brown showed -hints of gold as the sun went westward. It hung now, -very great and blinding, above the brim of the earth, and -bathed her with steep rays that riddled the recesses of the -stoep with their radiant artillery. To one hand, a road -came from the horizon and passed to the opposite -horizon on the other hand, linking unseen and unheard-of -stopping-places across the gulf of that emptiness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What has all this got to do with me?" was her -thought, as her eyes traveled over the flat and unprofitable -breast of land, whose featurelessness seemed to defy -her even to fasten it in her memory. She recollected -Ford's saying that she was a bird of passage, with all -this but a stage in her flight from sickness to health. -Her starting and halting points were far from Karoo; -she touched it only as the dust that moves upon it when -a chance wind raises fantastic spirals and drives them -swaying and zigzagging till they break and are gone. -Nothing that she did could be permanent here; her pains -would be spent in vain. Even the martyrdom that had -been held up to her for a warning—even that, if she -accepted it, would be ineffectual, the "sacrifice of a -civilized unit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Along the stoep, Ford's leg protruded from behind the -pillar as he sat widely asprawl on his camp-stool; the -heel of the white canvas shoe was on the flags and the -toe cocked up energetically. He found things simple -enough, reflected Margaret; as simple as Mrs. Jakes -found them. Where knowledge and reason failed him, -he availed himself frankly of prejudices and dealt -honestly with his instincts. He permitted himself the -indulgence of plain dislikings and was not concerned to -justify or excuse them. It was possible to conceive him -wrong, irrational, perverse, but never inconsistent or -embarrassed. In the drawing-room he had spoken -lightly, but Margaret knew the steadfastness of mind -that was behind the trivial manner of speech. Well, he -would have to be told, sooner or later, of the secret she -shared with the veld. That confession was pressing -itself upon her. With Mrs. Jakes and Boy Bailey already -privy to it, it could not be withheld much longer. She -stood, gazing at the outstretched leg, and tried to -foresee his reception of the news.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said Ford, looking up absently when -presently she walked down to him. "Did Samson crush you -or did you crush him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was a draw," answered Margaret. "He 's a dear -old thing, though. And what a guarantee of good faith -to be able to cap a duchess story like that. Wasn't it -good?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rotten shooting, though," said Ford. "He -wouldn't have admitted he 'd peppered a commoner."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're jealous," retorted Margaret. "Mr. Samson 's -quite all right, and I won't have him sneered at -after he 's been paying me compliments."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Once I hit an Honorable with a tennis racket. It -slipped out of my hand just as I was taking a fearful -smack at a high one and hit him like a boomerang. So -I 'm not as jealous as you might think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One can't throw a tennis racket without hitting an -Honorable nowadays. That 's nothing," said Margaret. -"And you 're just an ordinary person, anyhow. Mr. Samson, -now—he 's not only a gentleman, but he looks -like it and sounds like it, and you could tell him with a -telescope twenty miles off for the real thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye-es." Ford drew a leisurely thumb across the -foreground of his picture and surveyed the result with -his head on one side. "You know," he went on, kneading -reflectively at the sticky masses of paint, "some of -that 's true. He does sound exactly like it. If you -wanted to know the broad general view of the class that -he represents, and all the other classes that take a pattern -from it, you 'd be fairly safe in asking Samson. Those -dashing men of the world, you know—they 're all for the -domestic virtues and loyalty and fair play. If you find -fault with gambling and drinking and cursing, they say -you 've got the Nonconformist Conscience. But when -they stand for a principle, they 've got the consciences -of Sunday School pupil-teachers. Samson's ideal of -England is a nation of virtuous women and honest men, -large families, Sunday observance, and no damned -French kickshaws. For that, he 'd go to the stake smiling."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said Margaret, "why not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I 'm not saying anything against him," answered -Ford. "I 'm telling you what he stands for and how -far he counts when he turns on the oracle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean that Kafir business, of course?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Ford. "That 's what I mean."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I gathered," said Margaret slowly, "that you agreed -with him about that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was still at work with his colors and did not raise -his head as he answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a bit of it. I don't agree with him at all. He -talks absolute drivel as soon as he begins to argue."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," began Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say I don't agree with him," continued Ford; -"but that 's not to say I don't feel just the same. As a -matter of fact I do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you 're too subtle," said Margaret impatiently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That 's not subtle," said Ford imperturbably. "You -were sounding us all inside there and you got eloquence -from old Samson and a shot in the dark from Jakes and -thunder and lightning from Mrs. Jakes. Now, if you -listen, you 'll get the real thing from me. As you said, -I 'm just an ordinary person. Well, the ordinary -person knows all right that a matter of tar-brush in the -complexion doesn't make such a mighty difference in -two human beings. He sees they 're both bustling along -to be dead and done with it as soon as possible, and that -they 'll turn into just the same kind of earth and take -their chance of the same immortality or annihilation—as -the case may be. He sees all right; he even sees a sort -of romance and beauty in it, and makes it welcome when -it doesn't suggest the real thing too clearly. But all -that doesn't prevent him from barring niggers utterly -in his own concerns. It doesn't stop his flesh from -creeping when he reads of the woman in Capetown, and -imagines her sitting on the Kafir's knee. And it does n't -hinder him from looking the other way when he meets -her in the street. It isn't reason, I know. It isn't -sense. It is n't human charity. But it is a thing that's -rooted in him like his natural cowardice and his bodily -appetites. Is that at all clear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret did not answer at once. She seemed to be -looking at the canvas.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she said finally. "It 's clear enough. But -tell me—is that you? I mean, were you describing your -own feelings about it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You and I are going to quarrel before long," Margaret -answered. "We 'll have to. You won't be able -to help yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said Ford. "Why 's that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because you 're such an ordinary person," retorted -Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He lifted his head at the tone of her voice, but further -talk was arrested by the sight of a man on horseback -coming across from the road towards them. Both -recognized Christian du Preez. They saw him at the -moment that he switched his cantering pony round towards -the house, and came swiftly over the grass. He had his -rifle slung upon his back by a sling across the chest, and -he reined up short immediately below them, so that he -remained with his face just above, the rail of the stoep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Daag,</em><span>" he said awkwardly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Afternoon," replied Ford. "Are you painted for -war, or what, with that gun of yours?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Boer, checking his fretting pony with heel and -hand, gave him a bewildered look. The dust was thick -in his beard, as from long traveling, and lay in damp -streaks in each furrow of his thin face. The faint, acrid -smell of sweating man and horse lingered about him. -He moistened his lips before he could speak further.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My wife is gone out," he said, speaking as though -he restrained many eager words. "I must speak to her -at once. She is not here—not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't think so," said Ford.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret was more certain. "Mrs. du Preez has n't -been here this afternoon," she assured the Boer. -"There 's nothing wrong, I hope."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Christian looked from one to the other as they -answered with quick nervous eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he said. "But it is something—I must speak -to her. She is not here, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They answered him again, wondering somewhat at his -strangeness. He tried to smile at them but bit his lip -instead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—" he hesitated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will fetch Mrs. Jakes if you like," said Margaret. -"But I 'm quite sure Mrs. du Preez hasn't been here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he said forlornly. "Thank you. Good-by, -Miss Harding."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The pony leaped under the spur, and they saw him -gallop back to the road and across it towards the farm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Queer," said Ford. "Did you notice how humble -he was while his eyes looked like murder?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Margaret had been struck by something else.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought he looked like Mrs. Jakes," she said, -"when I answer her back."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xiii"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was Kamis, the Kafir, ranging upon one of his -solitary quests, who came upon them in the late -afternoon, arriving unseen out of the heat-haze and -appearing before them as incomprehensibly as though he -had risen out of the ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. du Preez had groaned and sat down for the -fourth or fifth time in three miles and Mr. Bailey's -patience was running dry. For himself, the trudge -through the oppression of the sun was not a new -experience; he was inured to its discomforts and pains by -many years of use while he had been a pilgrim from door -to distant door of the charitable and credulous, and he -had gathered a certain adeptness in the arts of the trek. -He had set a good lively pace for this journey, partly -because a single vigorous stage would see them at the -railway line, but also because he sincerely believed in -Christian du Preez's willingness to shoot him, and was -concerned to be beyond the range of that vengeance. -Therefore, at this halt, he turned and swore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. du Preez fanned herself feebly with one hand -while the other still held the little bundle that contained -her money.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't help it, Bailey," she said painfully. "I mus' -have a rest. I 'm done."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Done." He spat. "Bet I could make you walk if -I started. Are you goin' to come on?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook her head slowly, with closed eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't," she said. "I mus' jus'—have a sit down, -Bailey."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her elaborate hat nodded drunkenly on her head, and -all the dust of the long road could not make her clothes -at home in the center of the wide circle of dumb and -forsaken land in which she sat, surrendered to her -weariness, but never relaxing her hold on her money. Not -once since their setting out had she loosed her grip on -that, save when she changed the burden of it from one -hand to the other. Her faith was in the worth and -power of that double handful of sovereigns, and she -would have felt poorer on a desert island by the loss of -a single one of them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 've been patient with you," Boy Bailey said, -looking at her fixedly. "I 've been very patient with you. -But it 's about time there was an end of this -two-steps-and-a-squat business. There 's no knowing what minute -that husband of yours might come ridin' up with his gun."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll be—all right—soon," she said. "Give me a -half hour, Bailey."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take your own time," he replied. "Take all the -time there is. Only—I 'm goin' on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She opened her eyes at that and blinked at him in an -effort to see him through the hot mist that stood before -them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Goin'—to leave me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he said. "What d' you think?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her look, her parted lips and all her accusing -helplessness were before his eyes; he looked past them and -shuffled. To the weak man, weakness is horrible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I warned you about comin'," he said, seeking the -support of reasonable words as such men do. "You 've -got yourself to blame, and I don't see why I should stop -here to be shot by a man that grudged me a bite and a -bed. It isn't as if I 'd asked you to come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll be better soon," was all she could say, still -holding him with that look of a wounded animal, the reproach -that neither threatens nor defies and is beyond all answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Better soon," he grumbled scornfully, and fidgeted. -Her hand never left the little bundle. Would she -struggle much, he was thinking. He could take it from her, -of course, but he did n't want her to scream, even in that -earless solitude. The thought of her screams made him -uneasy. She might go on crying out even when he had -torn the bundle from her and the cries would follow at -his back as he carried it off, and he would know that she -was still crying when he had passed out of hearing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Still—a kick, perhaps. Boy Bailey looked at her -bowed body and at the toe of his shoe. He began to -breathe short and to tremble. It was necessary to wait -a moment and let energy accumulate for the deed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't—go off," gasped Mrs. du Preez, with her face -bent over her knees, and Bailey relaxed. The words -had snapped the tension of his resolve, and it would have -to be keyed up again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me that bundle," he said hoarsely. "Give it to -me, or else—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sat up with an effort and he stopped in the middle -of his threat. He was pale now and trembling strongly. -She drew the bundle closer to her defensively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she answered. "I won't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give it here," he croaked, from a dry throat. -"Come on—God! I'll—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The moment of resolution had come to him, and for -the instant he was fit and strong enough to do murder. -He plunged forward with his lower lip sucked in and -his ragged teeth showing in a line above his chin, and -all his loose and fearful face contorted into a maniac -rage. The woman fell over sideways with a strident -cry, her bundle hugged to her breast. Boy Bailey -gasped and flung back his foot for the swinging kick that -would save him from the noise of her complainings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He kicked, blind to all but the woman on the ground, -alone with her in a narrow theater of bestial purpose -and sweating terrors. He neither heard nor saw the -quick spring of the waiting Kafir, who charged him -with a shoulder, football fashion, while the kick still -traveled in the air and pitched him aside to fall brutally -on his ear and elbow. He tumbled and slid upon the -dust with the unresisting lifelessness of a sack of flour -and lay, making noises in his throat and moving his -head feebly, till the world grew visible again and he -could see.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Kafir stood above Mrs. du Preez, who lay where -she had thrown herself, and stared up at him with eyes -in which the understanding was stagnant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be frightened," he said. "I know who you -are. I 'll take you safely where you want to go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He spoke in tones as matter-of-fact as he could make -them, for his professional eye told him that the woman -was at the limit of her endurance and could support -no further surprises. But he took in the pretentious -style of her dress with the dust upon it and the fact -that she was in company with the tramp upon a path -that led to the railway and wondered darkly. It was -almost inconceivable, in spite of the situation in which -he found her, that she could be running away from her -husband in favor of the creature who now lay in the -road, moving his limbs tentatively and watching with -furtive eyes to see if it was safe to sit up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. du Preez moistened her lips. "I got nowhere to -go, now," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you 'd better go home," said Kamis. "Rest -a little first—there 's plenty of time, and it 'll be cooler -presently. Then I 'll take you back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned to look over his shabby tweed shoulder at -Boy Bailey and addressed him curtly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can go now," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boy Bailey sat up awkwardly, with an expression of -pain, as though it hurt him to move. He had not yet -mastered the change in the state of affairs and -attempted to temporize till matters should define themselves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 've got to see first if I can stand," he said. "It's -all very well, but you can't slam a man down on his -funny-bone and then order him to do the goose-step."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hurry," said the Kafir.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Bailey passed an exploring hand about his -shoulder. "Ouch!" He winced. "Broken bone," he -explained. "You say you 're a doctor—see for -yourself. And anyhow, I want a word in private with the -lady."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kamis took two deliberate steps in his direction -and—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hey!" yelled Boy Bailey, and scrambled to his -feet. "What d'you kick me like that for, you black -swine?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He backed before the Kafir, with spread hands in -agitated protestation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Kickin' a man when he 's down," he cried. "Is -that a game to play? All right, all right; I 'm goin', -aren't I? You keep where you are and let me turn -round. No, you stop first. I 'm not goin' to be kicked -again like that if I can help it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kamis came to a halt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Next time I see you, I 'll murder you," he -promised. "Murder you." He paused at Mr. Bailey's -endeavor to save his dignity with a sneer. "Don't you -believe that?" he asked. "Say—don't you believe I 'll -do it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Bailey's sneer failed as he looked into the black -face that confronted him. By degrees the sheer -sinister power that inhabited it, lighting it up and making -it imminently terrible with its patent willingness to -kill, burned its way to his slow intelligence. His -pendulous underlip quivered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you?" repeated the Kafir, with a motion of -his shoulders like a shrug. "Don't you believe I 'll -slaughter you like a pig next time I see you? -Answer—don't you believe it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye-es," stammered Boy Bailey.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Kafir's deliberate nod was indescribably menacing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's right," he said. "It's very true indeed. -And you remember what I paid you fifty pounds for, -too. A word about that, Bailey, and I 'll have you. -Now go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A hundred paces off, Boy Bailey halted, to get breath -and ideas, and stood looking back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He waited, watching the Kafir bring Mrs. du Preez to -a condition in which she could stand again and bear the -view of the backward road coiling forth to the featureless -skyline, and thence to further and still featureless -skylines, traversing intolerably far vistas that gave no -sign of a destination. With his returning wits, he -found himself wondering what arguments the man had -to induce her to brave her husband.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As it happened, there was need of none. The woman -was broken and beyond thought. She was reduced to -instincts. The homing sense that sets a wounded -rock-rabbit of the kranzes crawling in agony to die in its -burrow moved in her dimly; she could not even summon -force to wonder at the apparition of the English-speaking, -helpful Kafir. Under the practised deftness -of his suggestion and persuasion she rose and put her -limp arm in his, and they moved away together, following -their long shadows that went before them, gliding -upon the dust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There they go," said Mr. Bailey bitterly. "There -they go. And what about </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He saw that the Kafir propped the exhausted woman -with his arm and helped her. He was protecting and -assured, a strength and a shield. Almost unconsciously -Boy Bailey followed after them. He could not have -given a reason for doing so; he only knew that he was -very unwilling to be left alone with his bruises and his -sense of failure and defeat. In less than a quarter of -an hour, the veld that had been comfortingly empty -had become lonely. He went on tiptoe, with long -ungainly strides and much precaution to be unheard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He followed perhaps for half a mile and then the -Kafir looked back and saw him. Mr. Bailey stopped -within speaking distance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was coming to apologize," he called. "That 's -all. I lost my temper and I want to apologize."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Kafir let Mrs. du Preez sit down and came -walking back slowly. When half the distance to -Mr. Bailey was covered he broke suddenly into a run. For -some seconds Mr. Bailey abode, his mind racing, and -then he too turned and ran as he had never run before. -With fists clenched and head back, he faced the west -and fled in leaps, and as he went he emitted small -squeals and fragments of speech.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My mistake," he would utter, through failing -breath. "As long as I live, I 'll never—I swear -it—I swear it. O-o-oh. You 're very—hard—on me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Kafir had ceased to run when Mr. Bailey -turned to flee. He stood and watched him go, -unpursued and terrified, with the dust spirting under -his feet like the smoke of a powder-train. Then he -went back and aided Mrs. du Preez to rise and together -they set out again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The last of Boy Bailey was a black blot against the -sky; he was too far off for Kamis to see whether he -still ran or stood. It merely testified that a -degenerate human frame will stand blows and much emotion -and effort under a hot sun and yet hold safe for -further evil the life within it. Man of all animals is the -most tenacious of his existence; he lives not for food -but for appetite. What was assured was that the far -blot that represented Boy Bailey was still avid and still -unsatisfied. He had not even gratified his last desire -to apologize.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sun dawdled over the final splendid ceremony -of his setting, drawing out the pomp of departure while -night waited in the east for his going with pale -premature stars. The small wind that clears the earth -of the sun's leavings of heat sighed about them, and -produced from each side of their path a faint rustle as -though it stirred trees at a little distance. Above -them the sky began to light up with a luminous powder -of stars, that strained into radiant clearness before -the west was empty of its last pink stain. They went -slowly, Mrs. du Preez leaning heavily on Kamis' arm, -and still faithfully carrying her bundle. She had not -spoken since they started. She went with her eyes on -the ground, and unequal steps, till the evening breeze -touched her and she lifted her face to its gentle -refreshment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had to sit down every little while, but she was -stronger after the setting of the sun, and it was not -till the night had surrounded them that she spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When I saw you first," she said suddenly, "the sun -was in my eyes. And I thought you was—</span><em class="italics">black</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?" said Kamis. "That wasn't the sun," he -said slowly. "I am black."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But—" she hesitated. "I don't mean just black," -she said vaguely. "I meant—a black man, a nigger."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was peering up at him anxiously, while her -weight rested in his arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, wouldn't you have let a nigger help you?" -asked Kamis quietly. "Isn't it a nigger's business, -when he sees a white woman in trouble, to do what he -can for her? One of your farm niggers, now—wouldn't -you have called to him if he 'd been there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," fretfully. "But I thought </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> was a nigger."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm a doctor," said Kamis. "I was at schools and -colleges in England. The English Government gives -me hundreds of pounds a year. You 're quite safe with me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was the sun in my eyes," she murmured uncertainly. -"I said it was the sun."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, it wasn't the sun," he said. "You saw quite -well. I am a nigger."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How can a doctor be a nigger?" she asked. "Niggers—why, -I know all about niggers. You can't fool me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't try," answered Kamis. "But—one thing; -you 've got to get home, haven't you? And you can't -do it alone. You wouldn't refuse to let a nigger help -you to walk, would you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she said wonderingly. "I </span><em class="italics">got</em><span> to get home. -I got to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right," said Kamis. "Then look here. Take -a good look and satisfy yourself. There 's no sun now -to get in your eyes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had halted and drawn his arm from hers. A -match crackled and its flame showed him to her, -illuminating his negro features, and her drawn face, -frowning in an effort to comprehend. He held it till it -burned to his fingers and then dropped it, and the -darkness fell between them again like a curtain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now do you see?" he asked. "A Kafir like any -other, flat nose, big lips, woolly hair, everything—just -plain Kafir; but a doctor none the less. The Kafir will -help you to walk and the doctor will see to you if you -find by and by that you can't walk any further. Will -that satisfy you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not answer immediately; she stood as though -she were still trying to scan the face which the match -flame had revealed. She was searching for a formula, -he told himself with a momentary bitterness, which -would save her white-skinned dignity and yet permit -her to avail herself of his services.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then her moving hand touched him on the arm, -gently and unexpectedly, and she answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You poor devil," she said. "You poor devil."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kamis stood quite still, her timid touch upon him, -the ready pity of her voice in his ears. Mingled with -his surprise he felt a sense of abasement in the presence -of this other outcast, so much weaker than he, and he -could have begged for her pardon for the wrong which -his thoughts had done her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," he said abruptly. "Thank you, Mrs. du -Preez. It's—it's kind of you. You shall be very -safe with me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a strange companionship in which they went -forward through the night, he matching his slow steps -to her weariness, with her thin arm, bony and rigid -through the cloth sleeve, weighing within his. She was -too far spent for talk; they moved in a silence of effort -and desperate persistence, with only her harsh and -painful breathing sounding in reply to the noises which -the darkness evoked upon the veld. Every little while -she had to sit down on the ground, and at each such -occasion she would make her small excuse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll have to take a spell, now," she would say -apologetically. "You see, I was walking since before noon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then her arm would slide from his and she would -sink to earth at his feet, panting painfully, with her -head bowed on her bosom and her big hat roofing her -over. Thus she would remain motionless for a space -till her breath came more easily, and then the hat -would tilt up again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I could move on a bit, now, if you 'd give me a -hand up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her courage was a thing he wondered at. Again -and again, as the hours spun themselves out, she rose -to her feet, groped for his sustaining arm, with her -face a pallid disk against the shadow of her hat, and -faced the cruel miles. Her feet, in her smart town -boots, tormented her without ceasing; her strength was -drained from her like blood from an opened vein; and -the slowness of their progress protracted the dreary -horror of the road that remained to be covered. At -times she seemed to talk to herself in whispers -between sobbing breaths, and his ear caught hints of -words shaped laboriously, but nothing that had -meaning. But she uttered no complaint.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At one point where she rested rather longer than -usual, he tried to find out what she expected at the -journey's end.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you thought what you 'll say," he asked, -"when you get home?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She raised her head slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," she answered. "I—I got to take my -gruel, I suppose. Whatever it is, I got to take it. -It 's up to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the sum of her wisdom; those free-lances of -their sex add it early into the conclusion that saves -them the futile effort of evading payment for the -fruit they snatch when the world is not looking. After -the fun, the adventure, the thrill, comes the gruel, and -they have to take it. It is up to them. By the short -cut of experience, they reach thus the end and destination -of a severe morality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He can't shut you out, at any rate," said Kamis, -half-aloud.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't he?" she said. "Can't he, though! Can't -stand there feelin' noble and righteous and point to the -veld and shut the door with a big slam? You don't -know him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She rose again presently, clicking her tongue -between her teeth at the anguish of her swollen and -abraded feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Boers got sense," she said. "A person 's a -fool to go on foot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the only reference she made to her pain and -weariness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was long past midnight when they came at last -past the sheds behind the farmhouse and saw that there -was yet a light in the kitchen. The window shone -broad and yellow in the vague bulk of the house, and -as they lifted their faces towards it, a shadow moved -across it, grotesque and abrupt after the manner of -shadows, which seem to have learned from men how to -mock their makers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That 's Christian," said Mrs. du Preez, whispering -harshly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you afraid?" asked Kamis. "Will you sit -here while I go and speak to him first?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she replied. "No use. This is where I get -what's comin' to me. I wish I wasn't so done up, -though. If he knew, I believe p'r'aps he 'd let me off -till the morning. But he doesn't know, and it -wouldn't be him if he did."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Better let me speak to him first," urged Kamis. -"I could tell him—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she said again. "No use dodging it. We 'll -go to the back door; I 'd rather have him shut that on -me than the front."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Near the door she drew her arm away from the -Kafir's and left him standing to one side, while she -approached and knocked upon it with the back of her -hand. She meant to eat the dreaded gruel alone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silence succeeded upon her knocking, and then -deliberate footsteps within that came towards the door. -A pair of bolts were thrust back, crashing in their -sockets. Mrs. du Preez gathered her sparse energies -and stood upright as the door opened and the figure of -her husband appeared, tall and black against the light -inside which leaked past him and spilt itself about her -feet. For some moments they stood facing each other, -and neither spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was drama in the atmosphere. The Kafir -standing without its scope, watched absorbedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Christian," said Mrs. du Preez, at length; "it's me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes." The Boer's deep voice was grave. "Where -have you been?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She lifted her shoulders in a faint hopeless shrug.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ran away," she said. "Like I said I would. But -I wasn't up to it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You ran away," he repeated slowly. "With that Bailey?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Christian. But—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Christian caught sight of the dark figure of the Kafir -and started sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that him there?" he cried. "Is that Bailey?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no," she answered eagerly. "That 's—that 's -a Kafir, Christian; he helped me to get back. He came -up when I was too tired to go any further, and Bailey -was starting to kick me to get my money away from -me—I 've got it here, Christian, all safe—an' he -knocked Bailey over and chased him off. If it hadn't -ha' been for him—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?" Christian interrupted strongly. "What -did you say? Bailey was going to—kick you? You -was too tired to walk and he was going to kick you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Christian. And if it hadn't ha' been for this -Kafir, he would ha' done. I was sitting down, you see, -and he got mad with me and wanted me to hand him -over the money. So when I screamed—what did you -say, Christian?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I swore," answered the Boer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," exclaimed Mrs. du Preez, as though she -apologized for interrupting. "And then the Kafir -came up. If it was n't for him, Christian, I 'd—I 'd ha' -had to die out of doors. I could never have managed -to get back by myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The effort merely to stand upright taxed her -sorely, but she went on doggedly to praise the Kafir -and to try in her confused and inadequate tongue to -convey to the Boer that this Kafir was not as other -Kafirs. Her small voice, toneless and desperate, beat -on pertinaciously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He 's a doctor, Christian," she concluded. "He 's -been educated an' all that, an' he speaks English like a -gentleman. And he 's been a white man to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said the Boer. His mind was stuck fast -upon one point of her story. "Yes. But—you said -Bailey was going to </span><em class="italics">kick</em><span> you—out there all alone by -yourselves in the veld?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It daunted him; his intelligence shrank from the -picture of that brutality unleashed under the staring -skies.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Christian," answered Mrs. du Preez submissively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here—come in," he bade abruptly, and stood aside -to make room for her to pass. "Come in. Come in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a couple of seconds before she fully -comprehended. She made a small moaning sound and began -to totter. The Boer took her by the arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait," he said curtly, over her head, to the Kafir, -and led her within.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kamis waited, leaning against the wall of the house. -He had brought his task to an end and the finish had -arranged itself fortunately; it had been worthy of his -pains. The Boer had been startled from his balance; -he had seen that nothing he could do would bear an -equality with Boy Bailey's natural impulses; pardon -and generosity were the only course left open to him. -The work was complete and pleasing; and now he had -leisure to feel how weary he was. He shut his eyes -with an exhausted man's content at the relaxation of -effort, and opened them again to find the Boer had -returned and was standing in the doorway. He started -upright, amazed to find that sleep had trapped him -while he leaned and was aware that the Boer made a -sudden and indistinct movement. Something heavy -struck the ground at his feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked down at it where it lay, white and -rounded, and recognized Mrs. du Preez's bundle, for -which Boy Bailey had been ready to kick her into -dumbness. Without addressing a word to him, the -Boer had tossed him that double handful of money.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It took him a moment to realize what had taken place.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's this for?" he demanded then, possessed by -a sudden anger that forgot he spoke from the mouth -of a negro to ears of a white man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is true you speak English, then?" said the Boer. -"That is money—about a hundred pounds. It is for -you. Pick it up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pick it up yourself," retorted the Kafir. "I don't -want your money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh?" The Boer did not understand in the least. -"It is for you," he repeated. "A hundred sovereigns, -because you have been good, very good, to the Vrouw -du Preez. It is in that bundle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Kafir turned on his heel. "Take care of your -wife," he said shortly. "If you worry her now, -she 'll be ill. Good night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here," cried the Boer, as Kamis walked away. -"Here, boy, wait. Come back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kamis halted. "I 've plenty of money," he -answered. "I 'm not Boy Bailey, you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come here," called the Boer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kamis did not move, so he stepped down and went -forward himself. The Kafir's last word stuck in his -thought.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he agreed. "But who are you? Man, why -don't you take the money?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I were a Boer, I should take it," answered -Kamis. "I 'd pick it up from a dunghill, wouldn't I? -But, then, you see, I 'm not a Boer. I 'm a Kafir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you want, then?" demanded Christian.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, nothing that you can give," was the retort.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—but you must have something," urged -Christian. "You—you have saved my wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you haven't even said 'thank you,'" replied -the Kafir.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I threw you the money," protested Christian. "It -is a hundred pounds. But—well—you have been -good and I thank you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Kafir laughed. He knew the mere words -created an epoch, for Boers do not thank Kafirs. -They pay them, but no more. Strange how a matter -of darkness abrogates a difference of color. It would -never have happened in the daytime.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 're satisfied, then?" he inquired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Me?" The Boer was puzzled. "You will take the -money now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, thanks. I 'm too—oh, much too tired and -hungry to carry it. You see, I brought your wife a -long way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Christian. "She said so—a very long -way. I will wake the boys [the Kafirs of the household]. -They will find you a place to sleep and I will -make them bring you some food."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, thanks," said the Kafir again. "I don't -speak their language. You—you haven't a man who -speaks English, I suppose?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Christian. "You want—yes, I see. -But—you 'd better take the money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But take it," urged the Boer. "A hundred -pounds—it is much. Perhaps it is more; I have not -counted it. If it is less, I will give the rest, to make -a hundred pounds. You will take it—not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No." The answer was definite. "No—I won't -take it, I tell you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then—" Christian half-turned towards the -house, with a heaviness in his movements which had -not been noticeable before. "Come in and eat," he -bade gloomily. "</span><em class="italics">Gott verdam</em><span>—come and eat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Kafir checked another laugh. "With -pleasure," he said, and followed at the Boer's back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Boer stooped to pick up the bundle of money -where it lay on the earth and led the way without -looking round to the kitchen where he had left his -wife. The Kafir paused in the kitchen door, looking in, -acutely alive to the delicacy of a situation in which he -figured, under the Boer's eye, as part of the company -which included the Boer's wife. He waited to see how -Christian would adjust matters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The table was spread with the materials of supper. -Mrs. du Preez had a chair by it, and now leaned over -it, with her head resting on her arms, to make room -for which plates and cups were disordered. Her -flowery hat was still on her head; she had not -commanded the energy necessary to withdraw the long -pins that held it and take it off. In her dust-caked -best clothes, she sprawled among the food and slept, -and the paraffin lamp on the wall shed its uncharitable -glare on her unconscious back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Christian dumped the heavy little bundle on the -table beside her and she moved and muttered. He -called her by name. With a sigh she dragged her heavy -head up and her black-rimmed tragic eyes opened to -them in an agony of weariness. They rested on the -waiting Kafir on the doorway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 've brought him in?" she said. "Christian, -I hoped you would."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is going to eat with me," said Christian, with -eyes that evaded hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she said dully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you go to bed," he urged, with an effort to -seem natural. "You—you're too sleepy; you go to -bed now. I 'll be up soon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Christian," she protested, while she wrestled -with the need for slumber that possessed her; "I got to -speak to you. There—there 's something I want to say -to you first about—about—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No." His hand rested on her shoulder. "It's all -right. There 's nothing to say; I don't want to hear -anything. It 's all right now; you go on up to bed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She rose obediently, but with an effort, and her hands -moved blindly in front of her as she made for the -door, as though she feared to fall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good night, Christian," she quavered. "You 're -awful good. An' good night, you"—to the Kafir. -"You been a white man to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good night," replied Kamis, and made way for her -carefully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The queer little scene was sufficiently clear to him. -He understood it entirely. The Boer, face to face with -an emergency for which his experience and his training -prescribed no treatment, could stoop to sit at meat -with a Kafir, but he could not suffer his wife to share -that descent. The white woman must be preserved at -any cost in her aloofness, her sanctity, none the less -strong for being artificial, from contact and communion -with a black man. Better anything than that.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit down," bade Christian. "Take one of those -cups, and I will bring you coffee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," replied the Kafir, and obeyed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The paraffin lamp shed its unwinking light on a -scene that challenged irresponsible fancy with the -reality of crazy fact. The Boer's consciousness of the -portentous character of the event governed him -strongly; there was majesty in his bearing as he brought -the coffee pot from the fire and stood at the side of -the seated Kafir and poured him a cupful. It was done -with the high sense of ceremony, the magnificent -humility, of a Pope washing the immaculate feet of -highly sanitary and disinfected beggars.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is mutton," he said, pointing; "or I have -sardines. Shall I fetch a tin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will have mutton, thanks," replied Kamis, with -an equal formality, and drew the dish towards him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Boer seated himself at the opposite side of the -table. The compact, as he understood it, required that -he should eat also. He cut himself meat and bread -very precisely, doubtfully aware that he was rather -hungry. This, he felt vaguely, stained a situation -where all should have been formal and symbolic. He -ate slowly, with a dim, religious appetite.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kamis might have found the meal more amusing if he -had been less weary. An idea that he would insist -upon conversation visited him, but he dismissed it; he -was really too tired to assault the heavy solemnity which -faced him across the table. It would yield to no casual -advances; he would have to exert himself, to be -specious and dexterous, to waylay the man's interest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He pushed his unfinished food from him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will go home, now," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have had enough?" questioned the Boer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," said Kamis, and rose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Boer rose, too, very tall and aloof. His hand -touched the money which still lay on the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will take this with you?" he questioned. -"No?" as the Kafir shook his head. "You are sure? -You will not have it? Nor anything else?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have had all I want," replied Kamis, taking up -his battered hat. "You 've done everything, and more -than I thought you would."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Boer was insistent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want you to be—satisfied," he said, still standing -in the same place. Kamis found his lofty, still face -rather impressive. It had a certain high austerity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must say if you want anything more," he -went on, with a grave persistence. "All you want you -shall have—till you are satisfied."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>("Can't rest under an obligation to me," thought Kamis).</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm quite satisfied," he replied. "You don't owe -me anything, if that's what 's worrying you. I 'm -paid in full."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In full," repeated the Boer. "You are paid in full?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, then. And now you shall go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went before and stood at the side of the door -while Kamis went forth, ready to bolt it at his back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me," he said, as the Kafir stepped over the -threshold. "Who are you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The other turned. "My name is Kamis," he replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Kamis?" The Boer leaned forward, trying to -peer at him. "You said—Kamis? You are the little -Kafir that the General Lascelles took when—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said the Kafir.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Boer did not answer at once. He hung in the -doorway, staring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I saw them hang your father," he said at last, -very slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you?" said Kamis. "Good night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good night," replied the Boer when he was some -paces distant and closed the door carefully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The noise of its bolts being shot home was the last -sound the Kafir heard from the house. The wind that -comes before the dawn touched him and he shivered. -He turned up the collar of his coat and set off walking -as briskly as his fatigue would allow.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xiv"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The drawing-room of the Sanatorium was available -until tea-time for the practice of correspondence. -It offered for this purpose a small table with -the complexion of mahogany and a leather top, upon -which reposed an inkstand containing three pots, -marked respectively in plain letters, "black," "red," -and "copying," and a number of ancient pens. When -a new arrival had overcome his wonder and consternation -at the various features of the establishment, he -usually signalized his acceptance of what lay before -him by writing to Capetown for a fountain-pen. As -old inhabitants of the Cape reveal themselves to the -expert eye by carrying their tobacco loose in a side -pocket of their coats, so the patient who had conceded -Dr. Jakes' claims to indulgence was to be distinguished -by the possession of a pen that made him independent -of the establishment's supply and frequently by stains -of ink upon his waistcoat in the region of the -left-hand upper pocket, where custom has decided a man -shall carry his fountain-pen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret had brought her unanswered letters to this -privacy and her fountain-pen was busy in the -undisturbed interval following the celebration of lunch. -Hers was the common task of the exile in South Africa, -to improvize laboriously letters to people at home who -had plenty to see and do and no need of the post -to inject spice into their varied lives. There was -nothing to write about, nothing to relate; the heat -of the sun, the emptiness of the veld, the grin of Fat -Mary—each of her letters played over these worn -themes. Yet unless they were written and sent, the -indifferent folk to whom they were addressed would -not write to her, and the weekly mail, with its -excitements and its reminders, would fail her. No dweller -in lands where the double knock of the postman comes -many times in the day can know the thrill of the -weekly mail, discharged from the steamship in -Capetown and heralded in its progress up the line by -telegrams that announce to the little dorps along the -railway the hour of its coming. They have not waited -with a patient, preoccupied throng in the lobby of -the post-office where the numbered boxes are, and heard -beyond the wooden partition the slam of the bags -and the shuffle of the sorters, talking at their work -about things remote from the mail. The Kafir -mail-runners, with their skinny naked legs and their -handfuls of smooth sticks know how those letters are -awaited in the hamlets and farms far remote from the -line, by sun-dried, tobacco-flavored men who are up -before the dawn to receive them, by others whose -letters are addressed to names they are not called by, -and by Mrs. Jakes, full-dressed and already a little -tired two hours before breakfast. All those letters are -paid for by screeds that suck dry the brains of their -writers, desperately searching over the chewed ends -of penholders for suggestions on barren ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was one letter which Margaret had set herself -to compose that had a different purpose. There were -not lacking signs that her position in Dr. Jakes' -household would sooner or later become impossible, and it -was desirable to clear the road for a retreat when -no other road would be open to her. It was not only -that Mrs. Jakes burned to be rid of her and had taken -of late to dim hints of her desire in this respect, for -Margaret was prepared, if she were forced to it, to -find Mrs. Jakes' enmity amusing and treat it in that -light. Such a course, she judged would paralyze -Mrs. Jakes; in the face of laughter, the little woman was -impotent. But there was also the prospect, daily -growing nearer and more threatening, of an exposure -which would show her ruthlessly forth as the friend -and confidante of the Kafir, Kamis, the woman for -whom Ford and Mr. Samson, had, in their own -phrase, "no use." The hour when that exposure -should be made loomed darkly ahead; nothing could -avert its sinister advance upon her, nor lighten it of -its quality of doom. She no longer invited her secret -to make itself known. By degrees the warnings of -Kamis, the threats of Boy Bailey, the malice of -Mrs. Jakes, had struck their roots in her consciousness, -and she was becoming acclimatized to the South-African -spirit which threatens with vague penalties, -not the less real for being vague, such transgressors -as she of its one iron rule of life and conduct. When -it should come upon her, she decided, she would -summon her strength to accept it, and confront it serenely, -in the manner of good breeding. But when that was -done, she would have to go.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was writing therefore to the legal uncle of -Lincoln's Inn Fields, who controlled her affairs and -manifested himself with sprightly letters and punctual -cheques. He was an opinionative uncle, like most men -who jest along the established lines of humor, but -amenable to a reasonable submissiveness on the part -of his ward and niece. He liked to be inflexible—good-naturedly -inflexible, like an Olympian who condescends -to earth, but he could be counted upon to repay an -opportunity for a display of his inflexibility by liberal -indulgence upon other points. Therefore Margaret, -after consideration, commenced the serious part of her -epistle to the heathen with a suggestion in regard to -investments which she knew would rouse him. Then, in a -following paragraph:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I am better than I was when I came out, but not -better than I was a month ago, and I don't think I -am improving as rapidly as Dr. David hoped. It may -be that I am a little too far to the East of the Karoo. -Was it you or somebody else who advised me to keep -to the West?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"That 'll help to fetch him," murmured Margaret, as -she wrote the last words.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Perhaps, later on, if Dr. Jakes thinks well of it, I -might move to a place I hear of over in the West. I 'm -letting you know now in plenty of time; but I don't -want you to think there is anything seriously wrong. -Please don't be at all anxious.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Now something fluffy," pondered Margaret. "If I -get it right, he 'll order me to go."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>What makes me hesitate, she wrote, is the trouble -it will cost me to move from here. Would you please -show this letter to Dr. David and ask his opinion?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"That 'll do the trick," she decided unscrupulously. -"Dr. David will see there 's something in it and he 'll -back me up. And then, when the row comes, they shall -each have a cut at me,—Mrs. Jakes and Fat Mary and -all—they shall each have their chance to draw blood, -and then I 'll go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>While she wrote, there had been the sound of footsteps -on the stone floor of the hall outside the room, but she -had been too busy to note them. Otherwise, she would -quickly have marked an unfamiliar foot among them. -They were reduced to that at the Sanatorium; they knew -every foot that sounded on its floors and a strange one -fetched them running to look from doors. But Margaret's -occupation had robbed her of that mild exhilaration, -and she looked up all unsuspiciously as Mrs. Jakes -pushed open the door of the drawing-room, entered and -closed it carefully behind her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She came a couple of paces into the room and halted, -looking at the girl in a manner that recalled to -Margaret that fantastic night when she had come with a -candle to seek aid for Dr. Jakes. Though she had not -now her little worried smile, she wore the same -bewildered and embarrassed aspect, as of a purpose crossed -and complicated by considerations and doubts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you looking for me, Mrs. Jakes?" asked Margaret, -when she had waited in vain for her to speak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," replied Mrs. Jakes, in a hushed voice, and -remained where she stood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again Margaret waited in vain for her to speak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm rather busy just now," she said. "What is -it you want with me, please?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes looked to see that the door was closed -before she answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't me," she said then. "We—we don't get -on very well, Miss Harding; but this isn't my doing. -I 've never whispered a word to a soul. I haven't, -indeed, if I never speak another word."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret stared at her, perceiving suddenly that the -small bleak woman was all a-thrill with some nervous -tension. Her own nerves quivered in response to it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it?" she demanded. "What has happened?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It 's the police," breathed Mrs. Jakes. She gave -the word the accent in which she felt it. "The police," -she said, with a stricken sense of all that police stand -for, of which unbearable and public shame is chief. -She was trembling, and her small hands, with their -rough red knuckles like raw scars upon them, were -picking feverishly at her loose black skirt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret's heart beat the more quickly at the mere -tone of her whisper, fraught with dim fears; but the -words conveyed nothing to her. If anything, they -relieved her. In the hinterland of her consciousness the -forward-cast shadow of that impending hour was -perpetually dark; but the police could have no concern in -that.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, do please talk plainly," she said irritably. -"What exactly do you want to tell me? And what -have I got to do with the police?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The stimulus of her impatient tones was what was -needed to restore Mrs. Jakes to coherence. She stared -at the girl with a sort of stupefaction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What have you got to do with it," she repeated. -"Why—it 's all about you. Somebody 's told about you -and that Kafir—about you knowing him and all about -him, and now Mr. Van Zyl is in the doctor's study. -He 's come to inquire about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said Margaret slowly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had struck then, the bitter hour of revelation; it -had crept upon her out of an ambush of circumstance -when she least expected it, and the reckoning was due. -There was to be no time allowed her in which to build -up her courage; even her retreat must be over strange -roads. Before the gong went to gather the occupants -of the house for tea, the stroke would have fallen, and -her place in the minds of her fellows would be with -Dr. Jakes on the hearth-rug, an outcast from their circle. -Unless, indeed, Dr. Jakes should also decline her -company, as seemed likely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the image in her mind of a scornful and superior -Jakes that excited the smile with which she looked -up at Jakes' frightened wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So long as he does n't bother me, he can inquire as -much as he likes," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes did not understand. "It 's you he 's -going to inquire of," she said. "I suppose, of course—I -suppose you 'll tell him about—about that night?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shan't tell him anything," replied Margaret. -"Oh, you needn't be afraid, Mrs. Jakes. I 'm not -going to take this opportunity of punishing you for all -your unpleasantness. I shall simply refuse to answer -any questions at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't do that." Mrs. Jakes showed her relief -plainly in her face and in the relaxation of her attitude. -She had forgotten one of the first rules of her manner -of warfare, which is to doubt the enemy's word. But -in spite of a reluctant gratitude for the contemptuous -mercy accorded to her, she felt dully resentful at this -high attitude of Margaret's towards the terrors of the -police.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't do that," she said. "He 's got a right -to know—and he 's a sub-inspector. He 'll insist—he 'll -make you tell—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think not," said Margaret quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But he 's—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes broke off sharply as a hand without turned -the handle of the door and pushed it open. Ford -appeared, and paused at the sight of them in conversation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hallo," he said. "Am I interrupting?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes hesitated, but Margaret answered with -decision.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not at all," she said. "Come in, please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It occurred to her that the blow would be swifter if -Ford himself were present when it fell and there were -no muddle of explanations to drag it out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford entered reluctantly, scenting a quarrel between -the two and suspicious of Margaret's intentions in -desiring his presence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There 's a horse and orderly by the steps," he said. -"Is Van Zyl somewhere about? That's why I came -in, to see if he was here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He—he is in the study," answered Mrs. Jakes, in -extreme discomfort. She turned to Margaret. "If -you will come now, I will take you to him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford turned, surprised.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What for?" asked Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He—sent for you." Mrs. Jakes did not understand -the question; she only perceived dimly that some quality -in the situation was changed and that she no longer -counted in it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what the dickens did he do that for?" asked Ford.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We 'll see," said Margaret, forestalling Mrs. Jakes' -bewildered reply. "Please tell him, Mrs. Jakes, that -I am here and can spare him a few minutes at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," acquiesced Mrs. Jakes, helplessly, and departed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford came lounging across the room to Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's up?" he inquired. "You haven't been -murdering somebody and not letting me help?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret shook her head. She was standing guard -over her composure and could not afford to jest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit down over there," she bade him, motioning him -towards the couch at the other side of the wide room. -"And don't go away, even if he asks you to. Then -you 'll hear all about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He wondered but obeyed slowly, leaning back against -the end of the couch with one long leg lying up on the -cushions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If he talks in the tone of his message to you," -he said meditatively, "I shall be for punching his -head."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sub-Inspector Van Zyl had had the use of a clothes-brush -before expressing his desire to see Margaret; it -was a tribute he paid to his high official mission. He -had cleared himself and his accoutrement of dust and -the stain of his journey; and it was with the enhanced -impressiveness of spick-and-span cleanliness that he -presented himself in the drawing-room, pausing in the -doorway with his spurred heels together to lift his hand -in a precise and machine-like salute. At his back, -Mrs. Jakes' unpretentious black made a relief for his rigid -correctitude of attire and pose, and the pallid agitation -of her countenance, peering in fearful curiosity to one -side of him, heightened his military stolidity. His -stone-blue eyes rested on Ford's recumbence with a -shadow of surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Afternoon, Ford," he said curtly. "You 'll excuse -me, but I 've a word or two to say to Miss Harding."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Afternoon, Van Zyl," replied Ford, not moving. -"Miss Harding asked me to stay, so don't mind me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Van Zyl looked at him inexpressively. "I 'm on -duty," he said. "Sorry, but I wish you 'd go. My -business is with Miss Harding."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fire away," replied Ford. "I shan't say a word -unless Miss Harding wishes it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret moved in her chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will say what you please," she said. "Don't -regard me at all, Mr. Ford. Now—what can I do for -you, Mr. Van Zyl?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Van Zyl finished his scrutiny of Ford and turned to -her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I sent to ask you to see me in the other room, Miss -Harding, because I thought you would prefer me to -speak to you in private," he said, with his wooden -preciseness of manner. "That was why. Sorry if it -offended you. However—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stood aside and held the door while Mrs. Jakes -entered, and closed it behind her. Stalking imperturbably, -he placed a chair for her and drew one out for -himself, depositing his badged "smasher" hat on the -ground beside it. Seated, he drew from his smoothly -immaculate tunic a large note-book and snapped its -elastic band open and laid it on his knee. Ford, from -his place on the couch, watched these preparations with -gentle interest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Van Zyl looked up at Margaret with a pencil in his -fingers. His pale, uncommunicative eyes fastened on -her with an unemotional assurance in their gaze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"First," he said; "where were you, Miss Harding, -on the afternoon of the —th?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He mentioned a date to which Margaret's mind ran -back nimbly. It was the day on which Boy Bailey had -made terms from the top of the dam wall, the day on -which the Kafir had kissed her hand, nearly two weeks -before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had herself sufficiently in hand, and returned -his gaze with a faint smiling tranquillity that told him -nothing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have no information to give you, Mr. Van Zyl," -she replied evenly. "It is quite useless to ask me any -questions; I shan't answer them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was not disturbed. "Sorry," he said, "but I 'm -afraid you must. I hope you 'll remember that I have -my duty to do, Miss Harding."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Must, eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That was Ford, thoughtfully, from the couch. Van -Zyl looked in his direction sharply with a brief frown, -but let it pass.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's no use, Mr. Van Zyl," said Margaret. "I -simply am not going to answer any questions, and your -duty has nothing to do with me. So if there is nothing -else that you wish to say to me, your business is -finished."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he said; "it isn't finished yet, Miss Harding. -You refuse to say where you were on that afternoon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret smiled slowly and he made a quick note -in his book.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ought to say, perhaps," he went on, looking up -when he had finished writing, "that the information I -am asking for relates to a—a person, who is wanted by -the police on a charge of sedition and incitement to -commit a breach of the peace. You were seen on the -afternoon in question in the company of that—person, -Miss Harding; and I believe—I </span><em class="italics">believe</em><span> you can help us -to lay hands on him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it Samson?" inquired Ford, raising his head. -"I 've always had my suspicions of Samson."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Mr. Ford," exclaimed Mrs. Jakes, pained.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It 's not Mr. Samson," said the sub-inspector -calmly; "and it is not any business of yours, Ford."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes; it is," answered Ford. "Because if it -isn't Samson it must be me—unless it 's Jakes. You -seem to think we see a good deal of company here, Van -Zyl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't think anything at all," retorted the sub-inspector -stiffly; "and I 've nothing to say to you. My -business is with Miss Harding, and you won't help her -by making a nuisance of yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh?" Ford sat up suddenly. "What's that—won't -help her? Are you trying to frighten Miss Harding -by suggesting that you can use any sort of compulsion -to her? Because, if that 's your idea, you 'd better -look out what you 're doing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm not responsible to you, Ford," replied Van Zyl -shortly. "You can hold your tongue now. Miss -Harding understands well enough what I mean."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes," said Margaret, as Ford looked towards -her. "I understand, but I don't care."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was taking its own strange course, but she was not -concerned to deflect it or make it run more directly. -She conserved her powers for the moment when the -thing would be told, and Ford's indignant championship -arrested brusquely by the mere name of her offense. -Presently Van Zyl would cease to speak of "a person" -and come out with the plain word, "Kafir." How he -had gained his information she did not attempt to guess; -but that he had the means to break her there was no -doubting. She would answer no questions; she was -determined upon that; but now that the hour of revelation -was come, she would do nothing to fog it. It should -pass and be done with and leave her with its -consequences clear to weigh and abide.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She made a motion of the hand that hung over the -back of her chair to Ford, as though she would hush -him. He was puzzled and looked it, but subsided -provisionally against the end of the couch again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Van Zyl eased his shoulders in their bondage of slings -and straps with a practised shrug, crossed one booted leg -over the other and faced her afresh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Miss Harding, you see that I am not speaking -by guess; and it 's for you to say whether you will have -the rest of this here or in private. I 'm anxious to give -you every possible consideration."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shan't answer any questions," said Margaret, -"and I decline any privacy, Mr. Van Zyl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No? Very well. I must do my duty as best I -can," replied the sub-inspector, with official resignation. -He referred to a back page of his note-book perfunctorily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On the —th of this month, man discovered weeping -and disorderly on the platform at Zeekoe Siding, stated -to Corporal Simms that he had been robbed of five -hundred pounds by confidence trick on down train. Under -examination, varied the sum, and finally adhered to -figure of forty-three pounds odd, which he alleged was -part of fifty pounds he had received from the—person -in whose company he had seen you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" Margaret found herself smiling absently at -the memory of Boy Bailey making his bargain on the -top of the dam wall, with his bare unbeautiful feet -fidgeting in the grass.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sub-inspector Van Zyl surveyed her with his -impersonal stare and continued:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He gave the name of Claude Richmond, but was -afterwards identified as one Noah Bailey, alias Boy -Bailey, alias Spotted Dog, etc., wanted by the police in -connection with—a certain affair. On being charged, -feigned to fall in a fit but came to under treatment, and -made a certain communication, which was transmitted -to me as bearing upon my search for this—person. The -communication was detailed, Miss Harding, and he stood -to it under a searching examination, and satisfied us -that we were getting the truth out of him. Acting upon -the information thus received, I next called upon you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked up. "You see what I have to go upon?" -he said. "Since you know yourself what took place on -the afternoon about which I asked you, you can understand -that the police require your assistance. Do you -still refuse to answer me, Miss Harding?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course," replied Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now it would come, she thought. Van Zyl would -spare her no longer. She watched his smooth, tanned -face with nervous trepidation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He frowned slightly at her answer, and leaned forward -with the note-book in his hand, his forefinger -between the pages to keep the place.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do?" he demanded, his voice rising to a sharp -note. Ford sat up again, watchful and angry. "You -refuse, do you? Now, look here, Miss Harding, we 'll -have to make an end of this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford struck in crisply. "Good idea," he said. "I -suggest Miss Harding might quit the room for that -purpose, and leave you to explain to me what the devil -you mean by this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Van Zyl turned on him quickly. "You look out," he -said. "If I 've got to arrest you to shut your mouth, -I 'll do it—and quick too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?" demanded Ford. "That 'll be as good -a way for you to get the lesson you need as any -other."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">You'll</em><span> get a lesson," began Van Zyl, making as -though to rise and put his threat into action.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, please," cried Margaret; "none of this is -necessary. Sit down, Mr. Ford; please sit down and listen. -Mr. Van Zyl, you have only to speak out and you will be -free from further trouble, I 'm sure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 've taken too much trouble as it is," retorted the -sub-inspector. "I 'll have no more of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glared with purpose at Ford. Though he had not -at any moment doffed his formality of demeanor, the -small scene had lit a spark in him and he was newly -formidable and forceful. Ford met his look with the -narrow smile with which a man of his type masks a -rising temper, but so far yielded to Margaret's urgency -as to lean back upon one elbow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 'll be sorry for all this presently," Margaret -said to him warningly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very soon, in fact," added the sub-inspector, "if -he repeats the offense."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He settled himself again on his chair, confronting -Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, Miss Harding," lie resumed briskly. "Out -with it? You admit you were there, eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no," said Margaret. "You 're asking -questions again, Mr. Van Zyl."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I 'm going to have an answer, too," he replied -zestfully. "You 've got a wrong idea entirely of -what 's before you. You can still have this in private, -if you like; but here or elsewhere, you 'll speak or out -comes the whole thing. Now, which is it going to -be—sharp?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 've nothing to tell you," she maintained.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His blond, neat face hardened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Haven't you, though. We'll see? You know a -Kafir calling himself—" he made a lightning reference -to his book—"calling himself Kamis?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She made no answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know the man, eh? It was with him you spent -the afternoon of the —th, was n't it? Under the wall of -the dam down yonder—yes? You 've met him more -than once, and always alone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She kept a constraint on herself to preserve her -faintly-smiling indifference of countenance, but her face -felt stiff and cold, and her smile as though it sagged to -a blatant grin. She did not glance across to see how -Ford had received the news; that had suddenly become -impossible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see?" There was a restrained triumph in Van -Zyl's voice. "We know more than you think, young -lady—and more still. You won't answer questions, -won't you? You let a Kafir kiss you under a wall, and -then put up this kind of bluff."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was an explosion from Ford as he leaped to his -feet, with the hectic brilliant on each cheek.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You liar," he cried. "You filthy Dutch liar."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Van Zyl did not even turn his head. A hard smile -parted his squarely-cut lips as he watched Margaret. -At his word, she had made a small involuntary -movement as though to put a hand on her bosom, but had let -it fall again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You may decide to answer that, perhaps," suggested -the sub-inspector. "Do you deny that he kissed -you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a pause, while Ford stood waiting and the -sound of his breathing filled the interval. The fingers -of Margaret's left hand bent and unbent the flap of the -envelope destined for the legal uncle, but her mind was -far from it and its contents. "You liar," Ford had -cried, and it had had a fine sound; even now she had -but to rise as though insulted and walk from the room, -and his loyalty would endure, unspotted, unquestioning, -touchy and quick. She might have done well to -choose the line that would have made that loyalty valid, -and she felt herself full of regrets, of pain and loss, -that it must find itself betrayed. The vehemence of the -cry was testimony to the faith that gave it utterance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And then, for the first time in the interview, she dwelt -upon the figure that stood at the back of all this -disordered trouble—that of Kamis, remote from their -agitated circle, companioning in his solitude with griefs of -his own. He came into her mind by way of comparison -with the directness and vivid anger of Ford, standing -tense and agonized for her reply, with all his honest -soul in his thin dark face. His flimsy silk clothes made -apparent the lean youth of his body. The other went -to and fro in the night and the silence in shabby tweeds, -and his face denied an index to the strong spirit that -drove him. He suffered behind blubber lips and a -comical nose; he was humble and grateful. The two had -nothing in common if it were not that faith in her, to -which she must now do the peculiar justice that the -situation required.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let 's have it," urged the sub-inspector. "He -kissed you, this nigger did, and you let him? Speak up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boy Bailey had said, imaginatively: "She held out -both her arms to him—wide; and he took hold of her an' -hugged her, kissin' her till I couldn't stand the sight -any longer. 'You shameless woman!' I shouted"—at -that point he had been kicked by a scandalized corporal, -and had screamed. "I wish I may die if he did n't kiss -her," was the form that kicking finally reduced it to, -but they could not kick that out of him. He stood for -one kiss while bruises multiplied upon him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, did he kiss you or didn't he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret sighed. "I will tell you that," she said -wearily. "Yes, he did—he kissed my hand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sub-inspector Van Zyl sat up briskly. "I thought -we 'd get something before we were done," he said, and -smiled with a kind of malice at Ford. "You 'd like to -apologize, I expect?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford did not answer him; he was staring in mere -amazement at Margaret's immovable profile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that true?" he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret forced herself to look round and meet the -wonder of his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, quite," she answered. "Quite true."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His eyes wavered before hers as though he were -ashamed and abashed. He put an uncertain hand to -his lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see," he said, very thoughtfully, and sat again -upon the couch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, after that, what 's the sense of keeping -anything back?" Van Zyl went on confidently. "You see -what comes of standing out against the police? Now, -what are your arrangements for meeting this Kafir? -Where do you send to let him know he 's to come and see -you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Margaret. "It 's no use; I won't tell -you any more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, you will." Van Zyl felt quite sure of it. -He eyed her acutely and decided to venture a shot in -the dark. "You 'll tell me all I ask,—d'you hear? I -have n't done with you yet. You 've seen him at night, -too, when you were supposed to be in bed. You can't -deceive me. I 've seen your kind before, plenty of them, -and I know the way to deal with them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His shot in the dark found its mark. So he knew of -that night when Dr. Jakes had fallen in the road. -Mrs. Jakes must have told him, and her protests had been -uneasy lies. Margaret carefully avoided looking at her; -in this hour, all were to receive mercy save herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Van Zyl went on, rasping at her in tones quite unlike -the thickish staccato voice which he kept for his unofficial -moments. That voice she would never hear again; impossible -for her ever to regain the status of a person in -whom the police have no concern.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 'll save yourself trouble by speaking up and -wasting no time about it," he urged, with the kind of -harsh good nature a policeman may use to the offender -who provides him with employment. "You 've got to -do it, you know. How do you get hold of your -nigger-friend when you want him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook her head without speaking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Answer!" he roared suddenly, so that she started -in her chair. "What 's the arrangement you 've got -with him? None of your airs with me, my girl. Out -with it, now—what 's the trick?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him affrightedly; he seemed about to -spring upon her from his chair and dash at her to wring -an answer out of her by force. But from the sofa, -where Ford sat, with his head in his hands, came no -sign. Only Mrs. Jakes, frozen where she sat, uttered -a vague moan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wha—what 's this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The door opened noiselessly and Dr. Jakes showed his -face of a fallen cherub in the opening, with sleepy eyes -mildly questioning. Margaret saw him with quick -relief; the intolerable situation must change in some -manner by his arrival.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I heard—I heard—was it </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> shouting, Van Zyl?" -he inquired, stammeringly, as he came in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," replied the sub-inspector, shortly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" Jakes felt uncertainly for his straggling -mustache. "Whom were you shouting at?" he -inquired, after a moment of hesitation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was speaking to her," replied the other impatiently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor followed the movement of his hand and -the light of his spectacles focused on Margaret stupidly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well." He seemed baffled. "Miss Harding, you -mean, eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sub-inspector nodded. "You 're interrupting an -inquiry, Dr. Jakes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh." Again the doctor seemed to wrestle with -thoughts. "Am I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. You 'll excuse us, but—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Jakes, with an appearance of grave -thought. "No; certainly not. You—you mustn't -shout here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look here," began Van Zyl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor turned his back on him and came over -to Margaret, treading lumberingly across the worn carpet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't allow shouting," he said. "It means—temperature. -I—I think you 'd better—yes, you 'd better -go and lie down for a while, Miss Harding."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was as vague as a cloud, a mere mist of benevolence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As unexpectedly and almost as startlingly as Van -Zyl's sudden loudness, Mrs. Jakes spoke from her -chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must take the doctor's advice, Miss Harding," -she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret rose, obediently, her letters in her hand. -Van Zyl rose too.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Once and for all," he said loudly, "I won't allow -any—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll report you, Van Zyl," said the little doctor, -huskily. "You 're—you 're endangering life—way -you 're behaving. Go with Mrs. Jakes, Miss Harding."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">You 'll</em><span> report me," exclaimed Van Zyl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye-es," said Jakes, foggily. "I—I call Mr. Ford -to witness—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned quaveringly towards the couch and stopped -abruptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What 's this?" he cried, in stronger tones, and -walked quickly toward the bent figure of the young -man. "Van Zyl I—I hold you responsible. You 've -done this—with your shouting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret was in the door; she turned to see the doctor -raise Ford's head and lift it back against the cushions. -Van Zyl went striding towards them and aided to place -him on his back on the couch. As the doctor stood up -and stepped back, she saw the thin face with the high -spot of red on each cheek and the blood that ran down -the chin from the wry and painful mouth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hester," Dr. Jakes spoke briskly. "The ergotin—and -the things. In the study; you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know." And Mrs. Jakes—so her name was -Hester—ran pattering off.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They shut Margaret out of the room, and she sat on -the bottom step of the stairs, waiting for the news -Mrs. Jakes had promised, between breaths, to bring out to -her. Van Zyl, ordered out unceremoniously—the -doctor had had a fine peremptory moment—and allowing a -certain perturbation to be visible on the regulated -equanimity of his features, stood in the hall and gave her -side glances that betrayed a disturbed mind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Harding," he said presently, after long -thought; "I hope you don't think it 's any pleasure to -me to do all this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret shook her head. "You can do what you -like," she said. "I shan't complain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is n't that," he answered irritably, but she -interrupted him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't care what it is," she said. "I don't care; I -don't care about anything. Stand there, if you like, -or come and sit here; but don't talk any more till we -know what 's happened in there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sub-inspector Van Zyl coughed, but after certain -hesitation, he made up his mind. When Mrs. Jakes came -forth, tiptoe and pale but whisperingly exultant, she -found them sitting side by side on the stairs in the -attitude of amity, listening in strained silence for sounds -that filtered through the door of the room. She was -pressed and eager, with no faculty to spare for surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Splendid," she whispered. "Everything 's all -right—thank God. But if it hadn't been for the -doctor, well! I'm going to fetch the boys with the -stretcher to carry him up to his room."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm awfully glad," said Van Zyl as she hurried away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So am I," said Margaret. "But I ought to have -seen before the doctor did. I ought to have known—and -I did know, really—that he would have taken -you by the throat before then, if something hadn't -happened to him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had risen, to go up the stairs to her room and -now stood above him, looking down serenely upon him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Me by the throat," exclaimed Van Zyl, slightly -shocked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As Kamis would," she said slowly. "And choke -you, and choke you, and choke you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She went up then without looking back, leaving him -standing in the hall, baffled and outraged.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xv"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Not the stubbornness of a race too prone to -enthusiasms, any more than increasing years and -the </span><em class="italics">memento mori</em><span> in his chest, could withhold Mr. Samson -from the zest with which he initiated each new day. -Bathed, razored and tailored, he came out to the -stoep for his early constitutional, his hands joined -behind his back, his soft hat cocked a little forward on -his head, and tasted the air with puffs and snorts of -appetite, walking to and fro with a eupeptic briskness -in which only the closest observer might have detected -a delicate care not to over do it. Nothing troubled -him at this hour of the morning; it belonged to a duty -which engrossed it to the exclusion of all else, and -not till it was done was Mr. Samson accessible to the -claims of time and place.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked straight before him as he strode; his -manner of walking did not allow him to bestow a glance -upon the Karoo as he went. Head well up, chest -open—what there was of it—and neck swelling over the -purity of his collar: that was Mr. Samson. It was only -when Mrs. Jakes came to the breakfast-room door and -set the gong booming melodiously, that he relaxed and -came back to a mild interest in the immediate earth, -as though the gong were a permission to stand at ease -and dismiss. He halted by the steps to wipe his -monocle in his white abundant handkerchief, and -surveyed, perfunctorily at first and then with a narrowing -interest, the great extent of brown and gray-green that -stretched away from the foot of the steps to a silvery -and indeterminate distance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A single figure was visible upon it, silhouetted -strongly against the low sky, and Mr. Samson worked -his monocle into his eye and grasped it with a pliant -eyebrow to see the clearer. It was a man on a horse, -moving at a walk, minutely clear in that crystal air -in spite of the distance. The rider was far from the -road, apparently aimless and at large upon the veld; -but there was something in his attitude as he rode -that held Mr. Samson gazing, a certain erectness and -ease, something conventional, the name of which -dodged evasively at the tip of his tongue. He knew -somebody who sat on a horse exactly like that; dash -it, who was it, now? It wasn't that Dutchman, Du -Preez, nor his long-legged youngster; they rode like -Dutchmen. This man was more like—more like—ah! -Mr. Samson had got it. The only folk who had that -look in the saddle were troopers; this must be a man -of the Mounted Police.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A tinge of annoyance colored his thoughts, for the -far view of the trooper, slowly quartering the land, -brought back to his mind a matter of which it had -been purged by the ritual morning march along the -stoep, and he found it returning again as distasteful -as ever. He had been made a party to its details by -Mrs. Jakes, when he inquired regarding Ford's breakdown. -The communication had taken place at the foot -of the stairs, when he was preparing to ascend to -bed, on the evening of Van Zyl's visit. At dinner -he had noted no more than that Ford was absent and -that Margaret was uneasy; he kept his question till -her skirt vanished at the bend of the stairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say; what 's up?" he asked then.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes, standing by to give good night, as her -wont was, fluttered. She gave a little start that shook -her clothes exactly like the movement of an agitated -bird in a cage, and stared up at him, rather breathlessly, -while he leaned against the balustrade and -awaited her answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know what you mean." It was a formula -that always gave her time to collect her thoughts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes, you do," insisted Mr. Samson, with severe -geniality. "Ford laid up and Miss Harding making -bread pills, and all that. What 's the row?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes regarded him with an eye as hard and -as wary as a fowl's, and then looked round to see that -the study door was securely shut.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm afraid, Mr. Samson," she said, in the low -tones of confidential intercourse—"I 'm afraid we 've -been mistaken in Miss Harding."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh? What 's that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Old Mr. Samson </span><em class="italics">would</em><span> speak as though he were -addressing a numerous company, and Mrs. Jakes' -nervousness returned at his loud exclamation. She made -hushing noises.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, but what's all this nonsense?" demanded -Mr. Samson. "Somebody 's been pullin' your leg, -Mrs. Jakes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, indeed, Mr. Samson," Mrs. Jakes assured him -hastily, as though urgent to clear herself of an imputation. -"There is n't any doubt about it,—I 'm sorry to -gay. You see, Mr. Van Zyl came here this afternoon and -wanted to see Miss Harding in the study. Well, she -would n't go to him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why the deuce should she?" inquired Mr. Samson -warmly. "Who 's Van Zyl to send for people like this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was about a Kafir," said Mrs. Jakes. "The -police are looking for the Kafir and Miss Harding -refused to help them. So—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson's lips moved soundlessly, and he changed -his position with a movement of lively impatience.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let 's have it from the beginning, please, Mrs. Jakes," -he said, with restraint. "Can't make head or -tail of it—way you 're telling it. Now, why did this -ass Van Zyl come here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the right way to get the tale told forthright. -His indignation and his scorn fanned the spark of -spite in the core of Mrs. Jakes, who perceived in -Mr. Samson another victim to Margaret's duplicity. She -was galled by the constant supply of champions of the -girl's cause who had to be laid low one after the other. -She addressed herself to the incredulity and anger in -the sharp old face before her, and spoke volubly and -low, telling the whole thing as she knew it and perhaps -a little more than the whole. As she went on, she -became consumed with eagerness to convince Mr. Samson. -Her small disfigured hands moved jerkily in incomplete -gestures, and she rose on tiptoe as though to approach -nearer to the seat of his intelligence. He did not again -interrupt her, but listened with intentness, watching -her as the swift words tumbled on one another's heels -from her trembling lips. His immobility and silence -were agonizing to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So that's why I say that we 've been mistaken in -Miss Harding," she concluded at last. "You wouldn't -have thought it of her, would you, Mr. Samson? And -it is a shocking thing to come across here, in the house, -isn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson withdrew a hand from his pocket, -looked thoughtfully at three coins in the palm of it, and -returned them to the pocket again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 're quite certain," he asked, "that she admitted -the kissin'? There 's no doubt about that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I never speak another word," declared Mrs. Jakes, -with fervor. "If I die here where I stand. If I never -move from this spot—those were her exact words. It -was then that poor Mr. Ford had his attack—he was so -horrified."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said Mr. Samson, with a sigh, after another -inspection of his funds, "so that 's the trouble, is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The doctor and I are much disturbed," continued -Mrs. Jakes. "Naturally disturbed. Such a thing has -never happened here before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson heaved himself upright and put one foot -on the bottom stair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's only ignorance, of course," he said. "The poor -little devil don't know what she 's letting herself in -for. If she 'd only taken a bad turn after a month -or so and—and gone out, Mrs. Jakes, we 'd have -remembered her pleasantly enough then. Now, of course, -she 'll have this story to live with. Van Zyl 'll put it -about; trust him. Poor little bally fool."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm sorry for her, too, of course," replied Mrs. Jakes, -putting out her hand to shake his. "Only of -course I 'm—I 'm disgusted as well. Any woman would be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Mr. Samson thoughtfully, commencing -the ascent; "yes, she 'll be sure to get lots of that, now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a vexation that abode with him that night and -through the next day; it kept him from the sincere -repose which is the right of straightforward and -uncompromising minds, whose cleanly-finished effects have no -loose ends of afterthought dangling from them to goad -a man into revising his conclusions. Lying in the -dark, wide awake and regretful, he had a vision of her -in her room, welcoming its solitude and its freedom -from reproachful eyes, glad now not of fellows and -their companionship but of this refuge. It gave him -vague pain. He experienced a sense of resentment -against the arrangement and complexity of affairs that -had laid open this gulf at Margaret's feet, and made -its edges slippery to trap her. A touch of a more -personal anger entered his thoughts as he dwelt on the -figure of the girl, the fine, dexterous, civilized creature -that she had been. She had known how to hold him -with a pleasant humor, a light and stimulating irreverence, -and to soften it to the point at which she bade -him close his eyes and kissed him. But—and Mr. Samson -flushed to the heat at which men swear—the Kafir, -the roaming criminal nigger, had had that much out -of her. Mrs. Jakes had not been faithful to detail on -that head. "Kiss," she had said, not "kissed her -hand." Mr. Samson might have seen a difference -where Van Zyl, lacking his pretty discrimination of -degrees in the administration and reception of kisses, had -seen none.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The morning had brought no counsel; the day had -delivered itself of nothing that enlightened or -consoled him. Margaret had managed somehow, after a -manner of her own, to withdraw herself from his -immediate outlook, and there were neither collisions nor -explanations. It was not so much that she preserved -a distance as avoided contact, so that meals and -meetings in the drawing-room or about the house suffered -from no evidences of a change in their regard for each -other. The adroitness with which it was contrived -moved him to new regrets; she might, he thought, have -done so well for herself, whereas now she was wasted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This was the second morning since he had invaded -Mrs. Jakes' confidences at the foot of the stairs and -extracted her story from her. The gong at the -breakfast-room door made soft blurred music at his back -while he stood watching the remote figure of the -trooper, sliding slowly across the skyline. It finished -with a last note of added emphasis, a frank whack at -the middle of the instrument, and he turned deliberately -from his staring to obey it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes, engine-driving the urn, was alone in the -room when he entered, and gave him good morning with -the smile which she had not varied for years.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A beautiful day, is n't it?" she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, perfect," agreed Mr. Samson, receiving a cup -of coffee from her. "I say. You haven't seen any -signs of Van Zyl to-day, have you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-day? No," replied Mrs. Jakes, surprised. -"Were you expecting—did he say—?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson shook his head. "No; I don't know anything -about him," he told her. "It 's just that matter -of Miss Harding, you know. From the stoep, just now, -I was watching a mounted man riding slowly about on -the veld, and it looks as if they were arranging a -search. Eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, dear," exclaimed Mrs. Jakes, "I do hope they -won't come here again. I 've never had any trouble -with the police before. And Mr. Van Zyl, generally -so gentlemanly—when I saw how he treated Miss -Harding, I was really sorry for her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson sniffed. "Man must be a cad," he said. -"Anyhow, I don't see what right he 's got to put his -foot inside these doors. It was simply a bluff, I fancy. -Next time he comes, I hope you 'll let me know, -Mrs. Jakes. Can't have him treatin' that poor little fool -like that, don't y' know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But they 've got a </span><em class="italics">right</em><span> to search, surely?" -protested Mrs. Jakes. "And it never does to have the -police against you, Mr. Samson. I had a cousin once—at -least, he wasn't exactly a cousin—but he took -a policeman's number for refusing to arrest a man -who had been rude to him, and the policeman at once -took him in custody and swore the most dreadful oaths -before the magistrate that he was drunk and disorderly. -And my cousin—I always used to call him a -cousin—was next door to a teetotaller."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps the teetotaller bribed the policeman," -suggested Mr. Samson, seriously. "Still—what about -Miss Harding? She has n't said anything to you about -goin' back home, has she?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Mrs. Jakes. She let the teetotaller pass for -the time being as the new topic opened before her. "But -I wanted to speak to you about that, Mr. Samson."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Best thing she can do," he said positively. -"There 's a lot of people at Home who don't mind -niggers a bit. Probably would n't hurt her for a month -and her doctors can spot some other continent for her -to do a cure in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now I 'm very glad to hear you say so, Mr. Samson," -declared Mrs. Jakes. "You see, what to do with -her is a good deal on our minds—the doctor's and -mine. My view is—she ought to go before the story -gets about."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite right," agreed Mr. Samson.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But Eustace—he 's so considerate, you know. He -thinks of her feelings. He 's dreadfully afraid that -she 'll fancy we 're turning her out and be hurt. He -really doesn't quite see the real state of affairs; he -has an idea it 'll all blow over and be forgotten."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson shook his head. "Not out here," he -said. "That sort of story don't die; it lives and grows. -Might get into the papers, even."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, now," Mrs. Jakes' voice was soft and -persuasive; "do you mind my telling the doctor how you -look at it? He doesn't pay any attention to what I -say, but coming from you, it 's bound to strike him. -It would be better than you talking to him about it, -because he would n't care to discuss one of his patients -with another; but if I were just to mention, as an -argument, you know—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, certainly," acquiesced Mr. Samson, "certainly. -Those are my views; anybody can know 'em. Tell -Jakes by all means."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," said Mrs. Jakes, with feeling. "It -does relieve me to know that you agree with me. And -it is such a responsibility."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret's entrance shortly afterwards brought their -conference to a close, and Mr. Samson was able to -return to his food with undivided attention.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret's demeanor since the exposure was a -phenomenon Mrs. Jakes did not profess to understand. -The tall girl came into the room with a high serenity -that stultified in advance the wan little woman's -efforts to meet her with a remote dignity; it suggested -that Mrs. Jakes and her opinions were things already -so remote from her interest that they could not recede -further without becoming invisible. What she lacked, -in Mrs. Jakes' view, was visible scars, tokens of -punishment and suffering; she could conceive no other -attitude in a person who stood so much in need of the -mercy of her fellows. To a humility commensurate -with her disapproval, she would have offered a forbearance -barbed with condescension, peppered balm of her -own brand, the distillation of her narrow and -purposeful soul. As it was, she not only resented the -girl's manner—she cowered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good morning," said Margaret, smiling with intention.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good morning, Miss—ah—Miss Harding," was the -best Mrs. Jakes could do.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Morning," responded Mr. Samson, lifting his white -head jerkily, hoping to convey preoccupation and casual -absence of mind. "Morning, Miss Harding. Jolly -day, what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no end jolly," agreed Margaret, dropping into -her place. "Yes, coffee, please, Mrs. Jakes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly, Miss Harding," replied Mrs. Jakes, who -had made offer of none, and fumbled inexpertly with -the ingenious urn whose chauffeur and minister she was.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How is Mr. Ford?" inquired Margaret next.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes," chimed in Mr. Samson, anxious to -prevent too short a reply; "how 's he this morning, -Mrs. Jakes. Nicely, thank you, and all that—eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes was swift to seize the opportunity to reply -in Mr. Samson's direction exclusively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He 's not to get up to-day," she explained. "But -he 's doing very well, thank you. When I asked him -what he 'd like for breakfast, he said: 'Oh, everything -there is, please.' But, of course, he 's had a -shock."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Er—yes," said Mr. Samson hurriedly. "I 'll look -him up before lunch, if I may."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly," said Mrs. Jakes graciously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good idea," said Margaret. "So will I."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes shot a pale and desperate glance at her -and then looked for support to Mr. Samson. But that -leaning tower of strength was eating devotedly and -would not meet her eye.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She envisaged with inward consternation a future -punctuated by such meals, with every meal partaking of -the nature of a hostile encounter and every encounter -closing with a defeat. Her respectability, her sad -virtue, her record clean of stain, did not command -heavy enough metal to breach the gleaming panoply -of assurance with which Margaret opposed all her -attacks, and she felt the grievance common to those who -are ineffectually in the right. The one bright spot in -the affair was the possibility that she might now bend -Jakes to her purpose, and be deputed to give the girl -notice that she must leave the Sanatorium. She felt -she could quote Mr. Samson with great effect to the -doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Samson feels strongly that she should leave at -once. He said so in the plainest words," she would -report, and Jakes would be obliged to take account of -it. Hitherto, her hints, her suggestions and even her -supplications, had failed to move him. He had a way, -at times, of producing from his humble and misty -mildness a formidable obstinacy which brooked no -opposition. With bent head, he would look up at her out of -the corners of his eyes, while she added plausibility -to volubility, unmoving and immovable. When she had -done, for he always heard her ominously to an end, he -would shake his head slightly and emit a negative. It -was rather impressive; there was so little show of force -about it; but Mrs. Jakes had long known that it -betokened a barrier of refusal that it was useless to hope -to surmount. If he were pressed further, he would -rouse a little and amplify his meaning with phrases of -a deplorable vulgarity and force. In his medical -student days, the doctor had been counted a capable -hand at the ruder kinds of out-patient work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The last time she had pressed him to decree Margaret's -departure was in the study, where he sat with -his coat off and his shirt-sleeves turned up, as though -he contemplated an evening of strenuousness; the -bottles and glasses were grouped on the desk at his -elbow. Mrs. Jakes had represented vivaciously her -sufferings in having to meet Miss Harding and contain -the emotions that effervesced in her bosom. She sat in -the patient's chair, and carefully guided her eyes away -from the drinking apparatus. The doctor had uttered -his "No" as usual, and she tried, against her better -sense, to reason with him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There 's me to think of, too," she urged anxiously. -"The way she walks past me, Eustace, you 'd think I 'd -never had a silk lining in my life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said the doctor again, with a little genteel -cough behind three fingers. "No, we can't. 'T would -n't do, Hester. Bringing her out o' bed in her -night-gown that night—it was doing her dirt. Yes, I know -all about the nigger, and dam lucky it was for me -she 'd got him handy. I might have been there yet -for all you did. And as for silk linings, don't you get -your shirt out, Hester. She 's all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He put out a hand to the whisky bottle, looking at -her impatiently with red-rimmed eyes, and she had -risen with a sigh, knowing it was time for her to go. -She fired one parting shot of sincere feeling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I suppose I 've got to suffer in silence, if -you say so, Eustace," she observed resignedly. "But -it 's as bad as if we kept a shop."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But as the mouthpiece of Mr. Samson, she would be -better equipped. It could be made to appear to Jakes -that remonstrances were in the air and that there was -a danger of losing Samson and Ford, and he would -have to give ground. Mrs. Jakes thought well of the -prospects of her enterprise now. She would have been -alarmed and astonished if any responsible person had -called her spiteful and unscrupulous, for she knew she -was neither of these things. She was merely creeping -under obstacles that she could not climb over, going to -work with such means as came to her hand to secure -an entirely worthy end. She knew her own mind, in -short, and if it had wavered in its purpose, she would -have known it no longer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret, all unconscious of the ingenuity that spent -itself upon her, ate a leisurely breakfast, giving -Mr. Samson ample time to escape to the stoep alone and -establish himself there. She didn't at all mind being -left alone with Mrs. Jakes. That lady's stiffness and -the facial expressions which she tried on, one after -the other, in an endeavor to make her countenance -match her mind, could be made ineffective by the simple -process of ignoring them and her together. By dint of -preserving a seeming of contented tranquillity and -speaking not one word, it was possible to abash poor -Mrs. Jakes utterly and leave her writhing in impotence -behind her full-bodied urn. This was the method that -commended itself to Margaret and which she employed -successfully. Everybody should have a cut at her, she -had decided; she would not baulk one of them of the -privilege; but Mrs. Jakes had had her turn, and could -not be permitted to cut and come again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There were several remarks that Mrs. Jakes might -have made with effect, but none of them occurred to -her till Margaret had left the room, departing with an -infuriating rustle of silk linings. Mrs. Jakes moved in -her chair to see her cross the hall and go out. A look -of calculation overspread her sour little face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't notice the silk in </span><em class="italics">that</em><span> one," she murmured -thoughtfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson, with a comparatively recent weekly -edition of the </span><em class="italics">Cape Times</em><span> to occupy him did not notice -her rubber-soled approach till her shadow fell on the -page he was reading. He looked up sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Miss Harding," he said weakly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She leaned with her back against the rail, looking -down at him in his basket chair, half-smiling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You want to speak to me, don't you?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson did not understand. "Do I?" he said. -"Did I say so? I wonder what it was."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You didn't say so," Margaret answered, "But I -know you do. You wouldn't send me finally to -Coventry without saying anything at all, would you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" He made a weary gesture with one hand, -as though he would put the subject from him. -"But—but I 'm not sending you to Coventry, my—Miss -Harding, I mean. Don't think it, for a moment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his white head with a touch of sadness, -looking up at her slender, civilized figure as she stood -before him with a gaze that granted in advance every -claim she could make on his consideration and forbearance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know what I mean," said Margaret steadily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I though? Well, yes, I suppose I do," he -said. "No use fumbling with it, is there? And you're -not the fumbling kind. Each of us knows what the -other means all right, so what's the use of talking -about it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret would not let him off; she did not desire -that he should spare her and could see no reason for -sparing him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to talk about it, this once," she answered. -"You won't have many more chances to tell me what -you think of me. I know, of course; but I was n't -going to shirk it. I 've disappointed you, have n't I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't say so," he replied, with careful gentleness. -"I don't say anything of the kind, Miss Harding. -You took your own line as you 'd every right to do. If -I had—sort of—imagined you were different, you 're -not to blame for my mistake. God knows I don't set -up for an example to young ladies. Not my line at -all, that sort of thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing to say, then?" queried Margaret. He -shook his head again. "You know," she added, "I 'm -not a bit ashamed—not of anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course you 're not," he agreed readily. "You -did what you thought was right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you don't think so?" she persisted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Harding," replied Mr. Samson; "so far as I -can manage it, I don't think about the matter at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret had a queer impulse to reply to this by -bursting into tears or laughter, whichever should offer -itself, but at that moment Mrs. Jakes came out, and -restrained a too obvious surprise at the sight of the -pair of them in conversation. Circumstances were -forever lying in ambush against Mrs. Jakes and deepening -the mystery of life by their unexpected poppings up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She addressed Mr. Samson and pointedly ignored Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Ford could see you now, if you cared to go -up," she announced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly, certainly," said Mr. Samson, with alacrity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret spoke, smiling openly at Mrs. Jakes' -irreconcilable side-face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, would you mind if I went first?" she asked. -"I rather want to see him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By all means," agreed Mr. Samson, with the same -alacrity. "I 'm not perishin' to inspect him, you -know. Tell him I 'll look him up afterwards."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes turned a fine bright red, and swallowed -two or three times. She had matured a plan for -declaring that Ford must not be disturbed again after -Mr. Samson's visit, and she was fairly sure that -Margaret had suspected it. She watched the girl's -departure with angry and baffled eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She 's doing it on purpose," was her thought. -"She swings them like that so as to make me hear the -frow-frow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford was propped against pillows in his bed, with -most of the books in the house piled alongside of him -on chairs and a bedside table. He was expecting -Mr. Samson and sang out a hearty, "Come in; don't stand -drumming there," at Margaret's rap on the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's me," announced Margaret, pushing it open; -"not Mr. Samson. He 'll look you up afterwards. Do -you mind?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He flushed warmly, staring at her unexpected appearance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course I don't mind," he said. "It 's awfully -good of you. If you 'd shove these books off on the -floor, I could offer you a chair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret did as he suggested, but rose again at once -and set the door wide open.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The proprieties," she remarked, as she returned to -her seat. "Also Mrs. Jakes. That keyhole might -tempt her beyond her strength."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The room was a large one, with a window to the -south full of sunshine and commanding nothing but the -eternal unchanging levels of the Karoo and the hard -sky rising from its edge. Its walls were rainbow-hued -with unframed canvasses clustering upon them, -exemplifying Ford's art and challenging the view through -the window. She liked vaguely the spareness of the -chamber's equipment and its suggestions of uncompromising -masculinity. The row of boots and shoes, with -trees distributed among the chief of them, the leather -trunks against the wall, the photographs about the -dressing table, and the iron bath propped on end under -the window,—these trifles seemed all to corroborate the -impression she had of their owner. They were so -consistent with the Ford she knew, units in the sum of him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," she said, looking at him frankly; "are we -going to talk or just exchange civilities?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We won't do that," he answered, meeting her look. -"Civilities be blowed, anyhow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I 'd like to ask you how you feel, first of all," -said Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, first-rate. I 'd get up if it wasn't for Jakes," -he assured her eagerly. "And I say," he added, with -a quick touch of awkwardness, "I hope, really, you -haven't been bothering about me, and thinking it was -that affair in the drawing-room that made the trouble. -Because it wasn't, you know. I 'd felt something of -the kind coming on before lunch. Jakes says that -running up stairs may have done it—thing I 'm always -forgetting I mustn't do. A chap can't always be -thinking of his in'ards, can he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," agreed Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She recognized a certain tone of politeness, of civil -constraint, in his manner of speaking. He was doing -his best to be trivial and ordinary, but she could not be -deceived.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was rotten, though," he went on quickly. "That -brute Van Zyl—look here! I 'm most fearfully sorry -I wasn't able to put a stop to his talk, Miss Harding. -It makes me sick to think of you being badgered by that -fellow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It didn't hurt me," said Margaret thoughtfully. -"All that is nothing. But are n't we being rather civil, -after all?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He made a slight grimace. He looked very frail -against the pillows, with his nervous, sun-tanned hands -fidgeting on the coverlet. One button of his pyjamas -was loose at the throat, and let his lean neck be seen, -with the tan stopping short where the collar came and -giving place to white skin below.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, well," he said, in feeble protest. "Why bother?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought you 'd want to," replied Margaret. "I -don't expect you to—to approve, but I did rely on -your bothering about it all a little. But if you 'd -rather not, that ends the matter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't mean it like that," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me," demanded Margaret; "don't you think -I owe you an explanation?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He considered her gravely for some seconds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he answered finally. "I think you ought to -tell me about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm willing to," she said earnestly. "Oh, I -wanted to often and often before. But I had to be -careful. This Kafir is in danger of arrest by Mr. Van -Zyl, and though he could easily clear himself before -a court, you know what it means for a native to be -arrested by him. He 'takes the kick out of them.' So -I was n't really free to speak."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps you weren't," granted Ford. "But you -were free to keep away from him, and from niggers -in general—were n't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite," agreed Margaret. "It is n't niggers in -general, though—it 's just this one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She leaned forward, with both elbows on the edge -of the bed and her fingers intertwined. She felt that -the color had mounted in her face, but she was sedulous -to keep her eyes on his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He 's a nigger—yes," she said; "black as your hat, -and all that. But there 's a difference. This—nigger—I -hate that word—was taken away when he was six -years old and brought up in England. He was -properly educated and he 's a doctor, a real doctor with -diplomas and degrees, and he 's come out here to try -and help his own people. As yet, he can't even speak -Kafir, and he 's had a fearful time ever since he landed. -Talking to him is just like talking to any one else. -He 's read books and knows a bit about art, and all -that; and he 's ever so humble and grateful for just -a few words of talk. He 's out there in the veld, all -day and all night, lonely and hunted. Of course I -spoke to him and was as friendly as I could be. Don't -you see, Mr. Ford? Don't you see?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded impartially.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I see," he answered. "Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, that's all," said Margaret. "Oh, yes—you -mean the—the kiss? That was absolutely nothing. I -used to make him talk and he 'd been telling me about -how hard it was to make a start with his work, and -how grateful he was to me for listening to him, and -I said there was no need to be so grateful, and that it -was a noble thing he had undertaken and that—yes—that -I 'd always be proud I 'd been a friend of his. -I held out my hand as I was saying this, and instead of -shaking it, he kissed it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That was what the blackmailer saw, was it?" asked -Ford. Margaret nodded. "By the way, who paid him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">He</em><span> did," Margaret answered. "I wouldn't have -paid a penny. He insisted on paying."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was watching him anxiously. He was frowning -in deep thought. She felt her heart beat more rapidly -as he remained for a time without answering.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was worth paying for, if the fellow had kept -faith," he said at last. "The whole thing 's in -that—you don't know what such a secret is worth. It 's -the one thing that binds people together out here, -Dutch and English, colonials and Transvaalers and all -the rest—the color line. But you didn't know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes," Margaret made haste to correct him. "I -did know. But I didn't care and I don't care now. -I 'm not going to take that kind of thing into account -at all. I won't be bullied by any amount of prejudices."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't prejudice," said Ford wearily. "Still—we -can't go into all that. I 'm glad you explained to -me, though."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 're wondering still about something," Margaret -said. She could read the doubt and hesitation that he -strove to hide from her. "Do let 's have the whole thing -out. What is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had half-closed his eyes but now he opened them -and surveyed her keenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 've told me how reasonable the whole thing -was," he said, in deliberate tones. "It was reasonable. -That part of it 's as right as it can be. I understand -the picturesqueness of it all and the sadness; it is a sad -business. I could understand your connection with it, -too, in spite of the man's hiding from the police, if only -he wasn't a nigger. Beg pardon—a negro."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret was following his words intently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What has that got to do with it?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't see it?" inquired Ford. "Didn't you -find it rather awful, being alone with him? Didn't it -make you creepy when he touched your hand?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was curious about it, apart from her share in the -matter. He was interested in the impersonal aspect of -the question as well.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't like his face, at first," admitted Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And afterwards?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Afterwards I didn't mind it," she replied. "I 'd -got used to it, you see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded. Upon her answer he had dropped his -eyes and was no longer looking at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, that 's all," he said. "Don't trouble about -it any more. You 've explained and—if you care to -know—I 'm quite satisfied."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret sat slowly upright.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, you 're not," she answered. "That isn't true; -you 're not satisfied. You 're disappointed that I did n't -shrink from him and feel nervous of him. You are—you -are! I 'm not as good as you thought I was, and -you're disappointed. Why don't you say so? What's -the use of pretending like this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford wriggled between the sheets irritably.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 're making a row," he said. "They 'll hear -you downstairs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret had risen and was standing by her chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't care," she said, lowering her voice at the -same time. "But why are n't you honest with me? -You say you 're satisfied and all the time you 're -thinking: 'A nigger is as good as a white man to her.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm not," protested Ford vigorously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I </span><em class="italics">did n't</em><span> shrink," said Margaret. "My flesh didn't -crawl once. When I shake his hand, it feels just the -same as yours. That disgusts you—I know. There 's -something wanting in me that you thought was there. -Mrs. Jakes has got it; her flesh can crawl like a -caterpillar; but I have n't. You did n't know that when you -asked me not to go away, did you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit down," begged Ford. "Sit down and let me -ask you again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Margaret. "You shan't overlook things -like that. I 'm going—going away from here as soon -as I can. I 'm not ashamed and I won't be indulged."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She walked towards the door. There was a need to get -away before the tears that made her eyes smart should -overflow and expose themselves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come back," cried Ford. "I say—give a fellow a -chance. Come back. I want to say something."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She would not answer him without facing him, even -though it revealed the tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm not coming," she replied, and went out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had fulfilled her purpose; they had all had their -cut at her, save Dr. Jakes, who would not take his turn, -and Mrs. Jakes, to whom that privilege was not due. -Only one of them had swung the whip effectually and -left a wheal whose smart endured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes did not count on being left out of the -festival. Her rod was in pickle. She was on hand -when the girl came out of her room, serene again and -ready to meet any number of Mrs. Jakeses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Miss Harding."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes arrested her, glancing about to see that the -corridor was empty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The doctor wishes me to tell you," said Mrs. Jakes, -aiming her words at the girl's high tranquillity, "that -he considers you had better make arrangements to -remove to some other establishment. You understand, of -course?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course," agreed Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A month's notice, then," said Mrs. Jakes smoothly. -"That is usual. But if it should be convenient for you -to go before, the doctor will be happy to meet you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very good of the doctor," smiled Margaret, and -walked on, her skirts rustling.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xvi"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Voices below the window of her room that -alternated briskly and yet guardedly, drew Margaret -to look out. On the stoep beneath her, Fat Mary was -exchanging badinage of the most elementary character -with a dusty trooper of the Mounted Police, who stood -on the ground under the railing with his bridle looped -over his arm and his horse awaiting his pleasure at his -elbow. Seen from above, the main feature of Fat Mary -was her red-and-yellow headkerchief tied tightly over -her large and globular skull, presenting the appearance -of a strikingly-colored bubble at the summit of her -person.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You savvy tickle?" the trooper was saying. "By'-mby -I come up there and tickle you. You like that plenty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fat Mary giggled richly. "You lie," she returned, -with immense enjoyment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tickle do you good," rejoined the trooper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was a tall lathy man, with the face of a tired -Punchinello, all nose and chin with a thin fastidious -mouth hidden between. His eyes wandered restlessly -while he talked as though in search of better matter for -his interest; and he chaffed the stout Kafir woman with -a mechanical ease suggesting that this was a trick he -had practised till it performed itself. The tight-fitting -blue uniform, in spite of the dust that was thick upon -it, and all his accoutrement of a horseman, lent a -dandified touch to his negligent attitude; and he looked -like—what he probably was—one of those gentlemen of -sporting proclivities in whom the process of decay is arrested -by the preservative discipline and toil of service in a -Colonial force.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret, examining him unseen from above, with -hatpins in her hands, found his miserable and well-bred -face at once repellent and distantly terrible; he seemed -to typify so completely what she had learned to fear in -the police, a humanity at once weak and implacable. -His spurs, his revolver, his authority were means of -inflicting pain given into feeble hands to supply the place -of power. Within a few days she had come to know -the dread which the street-hawker in the gutter feels -for the policeman on the pavement who can destroy him -when he chooses. It did not call for much imagination -to see how dreadful the bored perfunctory man below -might become when once he had fastened on his quarry -and had it to himself to exercise upon it the arts of which -the revolver and the rest were the appliances.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His presence under her window was a sign that the -search for Kamis' hiding-place was still going forward. -At any hour of the day now the inmates of the -Sanatorium might lift up their eyes to see the unusual -phenomenon of a human being sharing with them the -solitude and the silence. Van Zyl had high hopes of laying -his hands on the mysterious Kafir who had committed -the crime of being incomprehensible to nervous kraals, -whose occupants had a way of shaking off wonder and -alarm by taking exercise with their weapons among the -cattle of their neighbors. The Sanatorium, under his -orders, was being watched for any indications of -messages passing between Margaret and the Kafir, and the -dusty, armed men came and went continually, a succession -of drilled shoulders, tanned, unconcerned faces, and -expressionless eyes puckered against the sun's stare.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Their chief effect was to keep Margaret in a state of -anxious fear lest their search should be successful, and -she should be a witness of their return, riding past at -the walk with a handcuffed figure trudging helplessly -before them. She saw in painful dreams the dust that -rose about them cloudily and the prisoner's bowed back -as he labored to maintain the pace. The worst of -the dreams followed their progress to a moment when -the man on foot flagged, or perhaps fell, and one of the -riders pressed forward with a foot disengaged from its -stirrup and the spur lifted to rowel him to livelier -efforts. Such was the fruit of Van Zyl's pregnant word -when he spoke of prisoners who had had "the kick -taken out of them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had had no opportunity of seeing Paul, to send -through him a warning message to Kamis, since her -interview with Van Zyl; but on this day she had glimpsed -him from the stoep, as he moved about among the farm -buildings, and she lost no time in preparing to go to -him. She was putting on her hat as she watched the -trooper and Fat Mary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The couple of them were still at work upon their -flirtation when she came out of the Sanatorium and descended -the steps. The man's wandering eyes settled on her at -once with grateful interest, and followed her as she -went across to the path at a pace suited to the ardor of -the sun. His Punchinello features brightened almost -hopefully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fat Mary, observing the direction of his gaze, giggled -afresh and gave information in a whisper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What—her? That lady there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fat Mary nodded corroboratively. The trooper swore -softly in mere amazement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're sure that's her?" he demanded. "Well, I 'm—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stared at Margaret's receding back with a frown -of perplexity, then drew the reins over his horse's head -and prepared to mount.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You go now?" asked Fat Mary, disappointed at the -effect of her news.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You bet," was the answer, as he swung up into the -saddle and moved his horse on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret turned as the sound of hoofs padding on the -dust approached from behind and was met by a salute -and bold avaricious eyes above the drooping beak. He -reined up beside her, looking down from the height of -his saddle at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Harding, isn't it?" he said. "May I ask -where you 're goin'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was jocular invitation in his manner of saying -it, the gallantry of a man who despises women.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm going to the farm, there," Margaret answered. -The unexpected encounter had made her nervous, -and she found herself ill at ease under his regard. -"Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I 'll ask you for the pleasure of accompanyin' -you so far, if you don't mind," he returned. -"I want a look at the happy man you 're goin' to see. -Hope you don't object?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't stop you," replied Margaret. "You will do -as you please, of course."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned and walked on, careful not to hurry her -steps. The trooper rode at her side, and though she -did not look up, she felt his eyes resting on her profile -as they went.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bit slow, livin' out here, Miss Harding," he remarked, -after they had gone for a minute or so in silence. -"Not what you 've been use to, I imagine. Found -yourself rather short of men, didn't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," replied Margaret thoughtfully; "no."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, come now." The mounted man laughed thinly, -failing utterly to get his tolerant and good-natured -effect. "If you 'd had a supply of decent chaps to do -the right thing by a girl as pretty as you—admire you, -an' flirt, and all that, I mean—you wouldn't have fallen -back on this nigger we 're lookin' for, would you, now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This was what it meant, then, to have one's name -linked with that of a Kafir. She was anybody's game; -not the lowest need look upon her as inaccessible. She -had to put a restraint upon herself to keep from -quickening her pace, from breaking into a run and fleeing -desperately from the man whose gaze never left her. -Its persistence, though she was aware of it without -seeing it, was an oppression; she imagined she could detect -the taint of his breath blowing hot upon her as she -walked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He saw the flush that rose in her cheek, and laughed -again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You needn't answer," he said. "I can see for -myself I 'm right. Lord, whenever was I wrong when it -came to spottin' a girl's feelings? Say, Miss -Harding—did n't I hit it first shot? Of course I did. -Of course I did," he repeated two or three times, -congratulating himself. "Trust me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say," he began again presently. "This little -meetin'—I hope it 's not goin' to be the last. I expect -you 've learnt by now that niggers have their drawbacks, -and it is n't a safe game for you to play. People simply -won't stand it, you know. Now, what you want is a -friend who 'll stand by you and show you how to make -the row blow over. With savvy and a touch of tact, it -can be done. Now, Miss Harding—I don't know your -Christian name, but I fancy we could understand each -other if you 'd only look up and smile."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The farm was not far now. Paul had seen them -coming and was standing at gaze to watch them approach, -with that appearance of absorbed interest which almost -anything could bring out. Soon he must see, he could -not fail to see, that she was in distress and needing aid, -and then he would come forward to meet them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No?" the trooper inquired, cajolingly. "Come -now—one smile. No? No?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He waited for an answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wouldn't try the haughty style," he said then. -"Lord, no. You wouldn't find it pay. After the -nigger business, haughtiness is off. What I 'm offering you -is more than most chaps would offer; it isn't everybody -'ll put on a nigger's boots, not by a long sight. -Now, we don't want to be nasty about it, do we? One -smile, or just a word to say we understand each other, -and it 'll be all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was insupportable, but now Paul was coming -towards them, shyly and not very fast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who 's this kid?" demanded the trooper. "Quick, -now, before he 's here. Look up, or he 'll smell a rat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret raised her eyes to his slowly, cold fear and -disgust mingling in her mind. He met her with a smile -in which relief was the salient character.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When Mr. Van Zyl hears how you have insulted me," -she began trembling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh?" He stared at her suspiciously. "Van Zyl?" He -seemed suddenly enlightened. "I say, I could n't -tell you 'd—you 'd made your arrangements. Could I, -now? I would n't have dreamed—look here, Miss -Harding; I 'm awfully sorry. Couldn't we agree to forget -all this? You can't blame a chap for trying his luck."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not entirely understand; she merely knew that -what he said must be monstrous. No clean thing could -issue from that hungry, fastidious mouth. She walked -on, leaving him halted and staring after her, perturbed -and apprehensive. His patient horse stood motionless -with stretched neck; he sat in the saddle erect as to the -body, with the easy secure seat which drill had made -natural to him, but with the Punchinello face drooped -forward, watching her as she went. He saw her meet -Paul, saw the pair of them glance towards him and then -turn their backs and walk down to the farm together. -Pain, defeat and patience expressed themselves in his -countenance, as in that of an ignoble Prometheus. -Presently he pulled up the docile horse's head with a jerk -of the bridoon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My luck," he said aloud, and swung his horse about.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul had not time to question Margaret as to her -trouble, for she spoke before he could frame his slow -words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Paul," she cried, "I want to speak to you. But—oh, -can I sit down somewhere? I feel—I feel—I must -sit down."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked over her shoulder nervously, and Paul's -glance followed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it him?" he inquired. "Sit here. I 'll go to him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she said vehemently. "Don't. You mustn't. -Let 's go to your house. I want to sit down indoors."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her senses were jangled; she felt a need of relief from -the empty immensity of sun and earth that surrounded -her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come on," said Paul. "We 'll go in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not offer her his arm; it was a trick he had yet -to learn. He walked at her side between the kraals, and -brought her to the little parlor which housed and was -glorified by Mrs. du Preez's six rosewood chairs, -upholstered in velvet, sofa to match, rosewood center-table -and the other furniture of the shrine. He looked at her -helplessly as she sank to a seat on the "sofa to match."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You want some water," he said, with an inspiration, -and vanished.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret had time somewhat to recover herself before -he returned with his mother and the water.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. du Preez needed no explanations.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now you 'll have a bit of respect for our sun, Miss -Harding," she said, after a single, narrow-eyed look at -the girl. "Hand that water here, Paul; you didn't -bring it for show, did you? Well, then. And just you -let me take off this hat, Miss Harding. Bond Street, -I 'll bet a pound. They don't build for this sun in -Bond Street. Now jus' let me wet this handkerchief -and lay it on your forehead. Now, ain't that better?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned her head to drive a fierce whisper at Paul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Get out o' this. Come in by an' by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks awfully." Margaret shivered as the dripping -handkerchief pressed upon her brow let loose drops -that gravitated to her neck and zigzagged under the -collar of her blouse. "I 'm feeling much better now. I 'd -rather sit up, really."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So long as you haven't got that tight feeling," -conceded Mrs. du Preez.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stood off, watching the girl in a manner that -expressed something striving within her mind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right now?" she asked, when Margaret had got -rid of the wet handkerchief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite," Margaret assured her. "Thanks ever so much."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. du Preez arranged the glass and jug neatly upon -the iron tray on which they had made their appearance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Harding," she said suddenly. "I know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh? What do you know?" inquired Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. du Preez glanced round to see that Paul had -obeyed her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know all about it," she answered, with reassuring -frowns and nods. "Your Fat Mary told my Christian -Kafir and she told me. About—about Kamis; </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The story had the spreading quality of the plague; it -was an infection that tainted every ear, it seemed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean—you 'd like me to go?" suggested Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No! </span><em class="italics">No</em><span>! NO!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. du Preez brought both hands into play to aid her -face in making the negatives emphatic. "Go? Why, if -it was n't for the mercy of God I 'd be in the same box -myself. I would—Me! I 've got nothing to come the -heavy about, even if I was the sort that would do it. So -now you know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't understand," said Margaret. "Do you mean -that you—?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I mean," interrupted Mrs. du Preez, "that if it -wasn't for that Kafir I 'd ha' been hopping in hell -before now; and if people only knew it—gosh! I 'd have -to hide. I wanted to tell you so 's you should know there -was some one that could n't throw any stones at you. -You 're beginnin' to find things rather warm up there, -aren't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret smiled. The true kindness of Mrs. du -Preez's intention moved her; charity in this quarter was -the last thing she had expected to find.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A little warm," she agreed. "Everybody 's rather -shocked just now, and Mrs. Jakes has given me notice to -leave."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Has</em><span> she?" demanded Mrs. du Preez. "Well, I suppose -it was to be expected. I 've known that woman now -for more years than I could count on my fingers, and -I 've always had my doubts of her. She 's no more -got the spirit of a real lady than a cow has. That 's -where it is, Miss Harding. She can't understand that a -lady 's got to be trusted. For two pins I 'd tell her so, -the old cross-eyed </span><em class="italics">skellpot</em><span>. So you 're going? Well, -you won't be sorry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But—how did you come across Kamis?" asked Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it 's a long story. I was clearin' out of here—doing -a bolt, you know, an' I got into trouble with a feller -that was with me. It was a feller named Bailey that -was stoppin' here," explained Mrs. du Preez, who had -not heard the whole history of Margaret's exposure. -"He was after a bit of money I 'd got with me, and he -was startin' in to kick me when up jumps that nigger -and down goes Bailey. See?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret saw only vaguely, but she nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That 's Bailey," said Mrs. du Preez, drawing her -attention to the Boy's photograph. "Christian warned -me against smashing it when I wanted to. He 's got -notions, Christian has. 'Leave it alone,' he says; 'we 're -not afraid of it.' So of course I had to; but I 'd be -more 'n a bit thankful if it was gone. I can't take any -pleasure in the room with it there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I could help you in that, perhaps," suggested Margaret. -"You 've helped me. It was sweet of you to tell -me what you did, the friendliest thing I ever knew."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'd rather you did n't speak about it to Christian," -objected Mrs. du Preez.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did n't mean to," Margaret assured her, rising.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She crossed to the narrow mantel as though to look -more particularly at Boy Bailey's features. She lifted -the plush frame from its place.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There are people who would call this face handsome," -she remarked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Heaps," agreed Mrs. du Preez. "In his best days, -he 'd got a style—Lord! Miss Harding."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret had let the photograph fall face-downwards -on the edge of the fender and the crash of its glass cut -Mrs. du Preez short. She stared at Margaret in astonishment -as the girl put a foot on the picture and broke it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wasn't that clumsy of me?" she asked, smiling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, of all the cheek," declared Mrs. du Preez, -slowly. "I never guessed what you were after. But I -don't know what Christian will say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He can't mend it, anyhow," replied Margaret. -"You did want it gone, did n't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You bet," said Mrs. du Preez. "But—but that was -a dodge. Here, let's make sure of it while we 're at it; -those two pieces could be easily stuck together. I 'll -stamp some of that smashed glass into it. Still—I -should think, after this, you 'd be able to hold your own -with Mrs. Jakes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She kicked the pieces of the now unrepairable -photograph into a little heap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll leave it like that for Christian to see," she said. -"But, look here. Didn't you want to speak to Paul? -You 'll be wondering when I 'm goin' to give you a -chance. I 'll just tap the drum for him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul's whistle from behind the house answered the first -strokes and Mrs. du Preez, with an unusual delicacy, did -not return to the parlor with him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 're all right now?" he asked, as he entered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes. That was nothing," said Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul took his stand by the window, leaning with a -shoulder against it, looking abstractedly at her face, and -waiting to hear her speak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Paul," asked Margaret, "do you know where Kamis is now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you see him? Can you speak to him for me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't see him much now," answered Paul. "That -is because the policemen are riding about looking for him. -But I can speak to him to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He must take care not to be caught," said Margaret. -"They 're very anxious to find him just now. You 've -heard, Paul, that they 've found out about me and him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye-es," answered Paul. "I heard something."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's true," said Margaret. "So I 've got to go away -from here. They won't have me at the Sanatorium any -longer and the police are watching to see if Kamis comes -anywhere near me and to catch him if he does. You -must warn him to keep right away, Paul. He mustn't -send any messages, even."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will tell him," said Paul. "But—you are going -away? To England?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps," replied Margaret. "I expect I shall have -to now. They tell me that people won't let me live in -South Africa any more. I 'm a sort of leper, and I must -keep my distance from healthy people. So we shan't -see each other again after a few more days. Are you -sorry, Paul?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He reddened boyishly and fidgeted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it is best for you to go," he answered, uncomfortably.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Paul! But why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It 's—it 's not your place," he said, facing the -difficulty of putting an elusive thought into words. "This -country—people don't know what 's good and what 's -bad—and there isn't enough people. Not like -London. You should go to London again. Kamis was -telling me—theaters and streets and pictures to see, -and people everywhere. He says one end of London -is just like you and the other end is like that Bailey. -That is where you should go—London, not here. I -will go to London soon, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see," said Margaret. "I was afraid at first that -you were sick of me too, Paul. I needn't have been -afraid of that, need I? Wouldn't it be fine if we -could meet in London?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We can," said Paul seriously. "I have got a -hundred and three pounds, and I will go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's a good deal," said Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a lot," he agreed. "My father gave it to me -the other day, all tied up tight in a little dirty bundle, -and there was my mother's marriage lines in it too. -He said he didn't mean me to have those but the -money was for me. It was on the table in the morning -and he rolled it over to me and said: 'Here, Paul. -Take this and don't bring any more of your tramps -in the house.' That was because I brought that -Bailey here, you know. So now—soon—I will go -to London and Paris and make models there. Kamis says—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?" asked Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He says I will think my eyes have gone mad at -first when I see London. He says that coming to -Waterloo Station will be like dying and waking in -another world. But he says too—blessed are the pure -in heart, for they will see God even in Waterloo -Station."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He ought to go back himself," said Margaret, with -conviction. "He 's wasted here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you see him before you go?" asked Paul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Margaret. "No; I daren't. Tell him, -Paul, please, that I 'd like to see him ever so much, -but that it 's too dangerous. Say I wish him well with -all my heart, and that I hope most earnestly that he -won't let himself be caught."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He won't," said Paul, with confidence. "But I 'll -tell him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And say," continued Margaret—"say he 's not to -feel sorry about what has happened to me. Tell him -I 'm still proud that I was his friend, and that all this -row is worth it. Can you remember all that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul nodded. "I can remember," he assured her. -"It is—it is so fine to hear, for me, too. I won't forget -anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please don't, if you can help it. I want him to -have that message," said Margaret. "And now, Paul, -I 'll have to say good-by to you, because I shan't come -here again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul stood upright as she rose. His slow smile was -very friendly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It doesn't matter," he said. "You are going to -London, and soon I shall see you there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wonder," she said, giving him her hand. "I 'll -write you my address and send it you before I leave, -Paul."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should find you anyhow," he assured her confidently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. du Preez, also, had to be taken leave of, and shed -a tear or so at the last. In her, a strong emotion -found a safety valve in ferocity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As for that Jakes woman," she said, in conclusion, -"you tell her from me, Miss Harding—from </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>, -mind,—that it wouldn't cost me any pain to hand her a -slap acrost the mug."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret went homeward through the late light -dreamily. Far away, blurred by the sun's horizontal -rays, the figure of the trooper occupied the empty -distance, no larger than an ant against the flushed sky. -Peace and melancholy were in the mood of the hour, -a cue to lead her thoughts towards sadness. It caused -her to realize that she would not leave it all without -a sense of loss. She would miss its immensity, its effect -of setting one at large on an earth without trimmings -under a heaven without clouds, to make the most of -one's own humanity. It would be a thing she had -known in part, but which henceforth she would never -know even as she herself was known. She could never -now find the word that expressed its wonder and its appeal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson was on the stoep as she went up the -steps to enter the Sanatorium. He put down his paper -and toddled forward to open the door for her, anxiously -punctilious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ford was down for tea," he said. "Askin' for -you, he was."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, was he?" replied Margaret inanely, and went in.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>At supper that evening in the farmhouse kitchen, -Christian du Preez, glancing up from the food which -occupied him, observed by a certain frowning deliberation -on Paul's face, that his son was about to deliver -himself in speech.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what is it, Paul?" he inquired encouragingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul looked up with a faint surprise at having his -purpose thus forecasted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That money," he said doubtfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh." The Boer glanced uneasily at his wife, who -laid down her knife and fork and began to listen with -startled interest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That 's all right," said Christian. "Do what you -like with it. Go to the dorp and spend it; it 's yours. -Now eat your supper."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am going to London," said Paul then, seriously, -and having got it off his mind, said, heard and done -with, he resumed his meal with an appetite.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"London," echoed the Boer. "London?" exclaimed -Mrs. du Preez.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Paul. "To make models. Here there -is nobody to see them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is gone mad," said the Boer with conviction. -"He has been queer for a long time and now he is -mad. Paul, you are mad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I?" asked Paul respectfully, and continued to eat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His father and mother had much to say, agitatedly, -angrily, persuasively, but people were always saying -things to him that had no real meaning. It was -ridiculous, for instance, that the Boer should call him a -dumb fool because at the close of a lecture he should -ask for more coffee. He wasn't dumb and didn't -believe he was a fool. People were n't fools because they -went to London; on the contrary, they had to be rather -clever and enterprising to get there at all. And at -the back of his mind dwelt the thing he could not hope -to convey and did not attempt to—a sense he had, -which warmed and uplifted him, of nearing a goal after -doubt and difficulty, the Pisgah exaltation and -tenderness, the confidence that to him and to the work which -his hands should perform, Canaan was reserved, -virgin and welcoming. It was a strength he had in -secret, and the Boer knew himself baffled when after -an hour of exhortation to be sane and explanatory and -obedient and comprehensible, he looked up and said, -very thoughtfully:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In London, people pay a shilling to look at clays, -father."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xvii"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Ford's return to normal existence coincided with -the arrival of mail-morning, when the breakfast -menu was varied by home letters heaped upon the -plates. Mrs. Jakes had one of her own this morning -and was very conscious of it, affecting to find her -correspondent's caligraphy hard to read. Old Mr. Samson -had his usual pile and greeted him from behind -a litter of torn wrappers and envelopes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hullo, Ford," he cried, "up on your pins, again? -Feelin' pretty bobbish—what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nice way you 've got of putting it," replied Ford, -taking his seat before the three letters on his plate. -"I 'm all right, though. You seem fairly well -supplied with reading-matter this morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The usual, the usual," said Mr. Samson airily. -"People gone to the country; got time to write, don't -you know. Here 's a feller tells me that the foxes down -his way are simply rotten with mange."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Awful," said Ford, glancing at the first of his own -letters. "And here 's a feller tells </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> that he 's sent -in the enclosed account nine times and must press for -a cheque without delay. What 's the country coming -to? Eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You be blowed," retorted Mr. Samson, and fell -again to his reading.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From behind the urn Mrs. Jakes made noises indicative -of lady-like exasperation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The way some people write, you 'd never believe -they 'd been educated and finished regardless of -expense," she declared. "There 's a word here—she 's -telling me about a lady I used to know in Town—and -whether she suffers from her children (though I never -knew she was married) or from a chaplain, I can't -make out. Can you see what it is, Mr. Ford? There, -where I 'm pointing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes," said Ford. "It 's worse than you think, -Mrs. Jakes. It 's chilblains."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O-oh." Mrs. Jakes was enlightened. "Why, of -course. I remember now. Even when she was a girl -at school, she used to suffer dreadfully from them. I -thought she couldn't have been married, with such -feet. But is n't it a dreadful way to write?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She would have indulged them with further information -regarding the lady who suffered, but Margaret's -entrance drove her back behind the breastwork of the -urn. She distrusted her own correctness when the -girl's eyes were on her, and her sure belief that -Margaret had revealed herself as anything but correct by -every standard which Mrs. Jakes could apply, failed to -reassure her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good morning, Miss Harding," she said frostily. -"You will take coffee?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good morning," replied Margaret, passing to her -place at the table. "Yes, it is lovely."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Er—the coffee?" asked Mrs. Jakes, suspicious and -uncomprehending.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, coffee. Yes, please," said Margaret. "I -thought you said something about the weather."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford grinned at the letter he was reading and -greeted her quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Glad you 're better," she replied, not returning his -smile, and turned at once to the letters which awaited -her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was watching her while she sorted them, examining -first the envelopes for indications of what they -held. One seemed to puzzle her, and she took it up to -decipher the postmark. Then she set it down and -opened the fattest of all, a worthy, linen-enveloped -affair, containing a couple of typewritten sheets as well -as a short letter. She read it perfunctorily and looked -through the business-like typescripts impatiently, -folded them all up again and tucked them back into -the linen envelope. Then followed the others, and the -one with the smudged postmark last of all. She -scrutinized the outside of this again before she opened -it; it was not an English letter, but one from some -unidentifiable postal district in South Africa. At last -she opened it, and drew out the dashing black scrawl -which it harbored. A glance at the end of the letter -seemed to leave her in the dark, and Ford saw her -delicate brows knit as she began to read.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He found himself becoming absorbed in the mere -contemplation of her. He was aware of a character in -her presence at once familiar to him by long study and -intangible; it had the quality of bloom, that a touch -destroys. She had hair that coiled upon her head and -left its shape discernible, and beneath it a certain -breadth and frankness of brow upon which the eyebrows -were etched marvelously. She was like a lantern -which softens and tempers the impetuous flame within -it, and turns its ardor into radiance. The Kafir and -the shame and the imprudence of that affair did not -suffice to darken that light; at the most, they could but -cause it to waver and make strange shadows for a -moment, like the candle one carries, behind a guarding -hand, through a windy corridor. It did not cool the -strong flame that was the heart of the combination.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly Margaret laid the letter down. She put -it back on her plate with an abrupt gesture and he -noted that she had gone pale, and that her mouth was -wry as though with a bitter taste. She even withdrew -her fingers from the sheet with exactly the movement -of one who has by accident set his hand on some -unexpected piece of foulness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She went on with her breakfast quietly enough, but -she did not look at her letters again. They were -perhaps the first letters in years to come to the Sanatorium -and be dismissed with a single perusal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fog in London," said Mr. Samson, suddenly. -"Feller writes as though it was the plague. </span><em class="italics">He</em><span> -does n't know what it is to have too much bally sun."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The glare that shone through the window returned -his glance unwinking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fog?" responded Mrs. Jakes, alertly. "That is -bad. Such dreadful things happen in fogs. I -remember a lady at Home, who was divorced afterwards, who -lost her way in a fog and didn't get home for two -days, and even then she had somebody else's umbrella -and could no more remember where she 'd got it than -fly. And she was so confused and upset that all she -could say to her husband was: 'Ed,'—his name was -Edwin—'Ed, did you remember to have your hair cut?'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Had he remembered?" demanded Mr. Samson.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think not," replied Mrs. Jakes. "What with -the worry, and the things the servant said, I don't -believe he 'd thought of it. He always did wear it -rather long."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Think of that," said Mr. Samson, with solemn surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret finished her breakfast in silence and then -gathered up her letters. Ford thought that as she -picked up the sheet which had distressed her, she -glanced involuntarily at him. But the look conveyed -nothing and she departed in silence. He was careful -not to follow her too soon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not difficult to find her. For some two hours -after breakfast was over, the only part of the -Sanatorium which it was possible to inhabit with comfort -was the stoep. The other rooms were given over to -Fat Mary and her colleagues for the daily ceremony -known as "doing the rooms," a festival involving -excursions and alarms, skylarking, breakages and fights. -To seek seclusion in the drawing-room, for example, -was to be subjected to a cinematograph impression of -surprised and shocked black faces peering round the -door and vanishing, to scuffling noises on the mat and -finally to hints from Mrs. Jakes herself: "</span><em class="italics">Would</em><span> you -mind the girls just sweeping round your feet? -They 're rather behindhand this morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret had betaken herself and her chair to the -extreme end of the stoep, beyond the radius of Ford's -art and Mr. Samson's meditations. Her letters were -in her lap, but she was not looking at them. She was -gazing straight before her at the emptiness which -stretched out endlessly, affording no perch for the eye -to rest on, an everlasting enigma to baffle sore minds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford was innocent of stratagem in his manner of approach.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say," he said, and she looked up listlessly. "I -say—I 'm sorry. Can't we make it up?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right," she answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her closely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But is it all right?" he persisted. "You 're hurt -about something; I can see you are; so it 's not all right -yet. Look here, Miss Harding: you were wrong about -what I was thinking."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh no." Margaret shifted in her chair with a tired -impatience. "I wasn't wrong," she answered. "I -could see; and I think you should n't go back on it now. -The least you can do is stand by your beliefs. You -won't find yourself alone. I had a letter from some -one this morning who would back you up to the last -drop of his blood, I 'm sure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who 's that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," she answered. "It 's my first -anonymous letter. Somebody has heard about me and -therefore writes. He thinks just as you do. Would -you like to see it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She handed him the bold, crowded scrawl and sat back -while he leaned on the rail to read it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the second sentence in the letter he looked up -sharply and restrained an ejaculation. She was not -looking at him, but a tinge of pink had risen in her -quiet face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was an anonymous letter of the most villainous -kind. Something like horror possessed him as he -realized that her grave eyes had perused its gleeful and -elaborate offense. The abominable thing was a vileness -fished from the pit of a serious and blackguard mind. -It had the baseness of ordure, and a sort of frivolity -that transcended commonplace evil.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say," he cried, before the end of the ingenious -thing was reached. "You have n't read this through?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not quite," she answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I should think not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With quick nervous jerks of his fingers which -betrayed the hot anger he felt, he tore the letter into -strips and the strips again into smaller fragments, -and strewed them forth upon the stiff dead shrubs -below.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's getting about, you see," said Margaret, with a -sigh. "I suppose, before I manage to get away, I shall -be accustomed to things of that kind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But this is awful," cried Ford. "I can't bear -this. You, of all people, to have to go through all -that this means and threatens—it 's awful. Miss -Harding, let me apologize, let me grovel, let me do -anything that 'll give you the feeling that I 'm with you -in this. You can't face it alone—you simply can't. -I'm sorry enough to—to kick myself. Can't you let -me stand in with you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stopped helplessly before Margaret's languid -calm. She was not in the least stirred by his appeal. -She lay back in her chair listlessly, and only withdrew -her eyes from the veld to look at him as he ceased to -speak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it doesn't matter," she said indifferently. -"It's a silly business. Don't worry about it, please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But—" began Ford, and stopped. "You mean—you -won't have me with you, anyhow?" he asked. -"What you thought I thought, upstairs—you can't -forget that? Is that it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled slowly, and he stared at her in dismay. -Nothing could have expressed so clearly as that faint -smile her immunity from the passion that stirred in him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps it 's that," she answered, always in the -same indifferent, low voice. "I 'm not thinking more -about it than I can help."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't think any harm of you," Ford protested -earnestly, leaning forward from his perch on the rail -and striving to compel her to look at him. "We 've -been good friends, and you might have trusted me -not to think evil of you. I simply didn't -understand—nothing else. You can't seriously be offended -because you imagined that I was thinking certain -thoughts. It isn't fair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm not offended," she answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hurt, then," he substituted. "Anything you please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stepped down from his seat and walked a few -paces away, with his hands deeply sunk in his pockets, -and then walked back again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say," he said abruptly; "it 's a question of what -I think of you, it seems. Let me tell you what I do -think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret turned her face towards him. He was -frowning heavily, with an appearance of injury and -annoyance. He spoke in curt jets.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It 's only since I 've known you that I 've really -worried over being a lunger," he said. "The Army—I -could stand that. But seeing you and talking to -you, and knowing I 'd no right to say a word—no right -to try and lead things that way, even, for your sake -as much as mine—it 's been hard. Because—this is -what I do think—it 's seemed to me that you were -worth more than everything else. I 'd have given the -world to tell you so, and ask you—well, you know what -I mean."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret was not so steeped in sorrows but she -could mark this evasion of a plain statement with amusement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford, staring at her intently, clicked with impatience.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then," he said in the tone of one who is -goaded to extreme lengths; "well then, Miss—er—Margaret—" -he paused, seemingly struck by a pleasant -flavor in the name as he spoke it—"Margaret," he -repeated, less urgently; "I 'm hanged if I know how -to say it, but—I love you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was an appreciable interval while they -remained gazing at each other, he breathless and -discomposed, she grave and unresponding.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you?" she said at last. "But—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do," he urged. "On my soul, I do. Margaret, -it 's true. I 've been—loving—you for a long time. -I thought perhaps you might care a little, too, -sometimes, and I 'd have told you if it was n't for this -chest of mine. That 's what I meant when you said -you were going away and I asked you to stay. I -thought you understood then."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did understand," she replied, and sat thoughtful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She wondered vaguely at the apathy that mastered -her and would not suffer her to feel even a thrill. -Some virtue had departed out of her and drawn with -it the whole liveliness of her mind and spirit, so that -what remained was mere deadness. She knew, in -some subconscious and uninspiring manner, that Ford -was what he had always been, with passion added to -him; he was waiting in a tension of suspense for her -to answer, with his thin face eager and glowing. It -should have moved her with compassion and liking for -the stubborn, faithful, upright soul she knew him to -be. But the letter, the confident approaches of the -Punchinello policeman, and even Mrs. Jakes' -ill-restrained joy in bidding her leave the place, had been -so many blows upon her function of susceptibility. -The accumulation of them had a little stunned her, and -she was not yet restored.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford saw her lips hesitate before she spoke, and his -heart beat more quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked up at him uncertainly and made a -movement with her shoulders like a shrug.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I can't," she said suddenly. "No, I can't. -It 's no use; you must leave me alone, please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His look of sheer amazement, of pain and bewilderment, -returned to her later. It was as though he had -been struck in the face by some one he counted on as -a friend. He stood for an instant rooted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sorry," he said, then. "I might have seen I was -worrying you. Sorry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His retreating feet sounded softly on the flags of -the stoep, and she sank back in her chair, wondering -wearily at the event and its inconsequent conclusion, -with her eyes resting on the wide invitation of the -veld.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I going to be ill?" was the thought that came -to her relief. "Am I going to be ill? I 'm not really -like this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The ordeal of lunch had to be faced; she could not -eat, but still less could she face the prospect of -Mrs. Jakes with a tray. Afterwards, there was the dreary -labor of writing letters to go before her to England -and make ready the way for her return. There -would have to be explanations of some kind, and it -was a sure thing that her explanations would fail to -satisfy a number of people who would consider -themselves entitled to comment on her movements. There -would have to be some mystery about it, at the best. -For the present, she could not screw herself up to the -task of composing euphemisms. "Expect me home by -the boat after next. I will tell you why when I see -you"; that had to suffice for the legal uncle, his lawful -wife, the philosophic aunt and all the rest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then came tea and afterwards dinner; the day -dragged like a sick snake. Dr. Jakes made mournful -eyes at her and talked feverishly to cover his -nervousness and compunction, and now and again he looked -down the table at his wife and Mr. Samson with furtive -malevolence. Afterwards, in the drawing-room, -Mrs. Jakes, having made an inspection of the doctor, played -the intermezzo from "Cavalleria Rusticana" five times, -and Ford and Samson spent the evening over a -chessboard. Margaret, on the couch, found herself coming -to the surface of the present again and again from -depths of heavy and turgid thought, to find the -intermezzo still limping along and Mr. Samson still -apostrophizing his men in an undertone ("Take his bally -bishop, old girl; help yourself. No, come back—he 'll -have you with that knight"). It was interminable, a -pocket eternity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then the view of the stairs sloping up to the dimness -above and the cool air of the hall upon her neck and -face, and the sourness of Mrs. Jakes trying to give her -"good night" the intonation of an insult—these -intruded abruptly upon her straying faculties, and she -came a little dazed into the light of the candles in her -own room, where her eyes fell first on the breadth of -Fat Mary's back, as that handmaid stood at the -window with the blind in her hand and peered forth into -the dark. As she turned, Margaret gained an impression -that the stout woman's interest in something below -was interrupted by her entrance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fat Mary had been another of Margaret's -disappointments since the exposure. The Kafir woman's -manner to her had undergone a notable change. There -was no longer the touch of reverence and gentleness -with which she had tended Margaret at first, which -had made endearing all her huge incompetence and -playfulness. There had succeeded to it a manner of -familiarity which manifested itself chiefly in the -roughness of her handling. Margaret was being called -upon to pay the penalty which the African native -exacts from the European who encroaches upon the -aloofness of the colored peoples.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fat Mary grinned as Margaret came through the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mo' stink," she observed, cheerfully, and pointed -to the dressing-table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret's eyes followed the big black finger to -where a bunch of aloe plumes lay between the candles -on the white cloth, brilliantly red. The sight of them -startled the girl sharply. She went across and raised -them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where did they come from?" she asked quickly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That Kafir," grinned Fat Mary. "Missis's Kafir, -he bring 'im."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did he say? Did he give any message?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," replied Fat Mary. "Jus' stink-flowers, an' -give me Scotchman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Scotchman" is Kafir slang for a florin; it has for -an origin a myth reflecting on the probity of a great -race. But Margaret did not inquire; she was pondering -a possible significance in this gift of bitter -blooms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fat Mary eyed her acutely while she stood in thought.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He say don't tell nobody," she remarked casually. -"I say no fear—me! I don't tell. Missis like that -Kafir plenty?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mary," said Margaret. "You can go now. I -shan't want you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All a-right," replied Fat Mary willingly, and took -herself off forthwith. She had her own uses for a -present of spare time at this season.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret put the red flowers down as the door -closed behind Fat Mary, and set herself before the -mirror. There was still that haze between her thoughts -and the realities about her, a drifting cloudiness that -sometimes obscured them all together, and sometimes -broke and let matters appear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She noted in the mirror the strange, familiar specter -of her own face, and saw that the hectic was strong -and high on either cheek. Then the aloe plumes plucked -at her thoughts, and the haze closed about her again, -leaving her blind in a deep and aimless preoccupation -in which her thoughts were no more than a pulse, -repeating itself to no end. Ford's declaration and his -manner of making it; the Punchinello countenance of -the trooper, bestially insinuating; Mrs. Jakes eating soup -at Mr. Samson;—these came and went in the dreadful -arena of her mind and made a changing spectacle that -baffled the march of the clock-hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not know how long she had been sitting -when a rattle at the window surprised her into -looking up. She stared absently at the blind till it came -again. It had the sound of some one throwing earth -from below. She rose and went across and looked out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had not touched her nerves at all; it was not -the kind of thing which could frighten her. The -window was raised at the bottom and she kneeled on the -floor and put her head, cloudily haloed with her loose -hair, out to the star-tempered dark.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A whisper from below, where the whisperer stood -invisible in the shadow at the foot of the wall, hailed -her at once.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Harding," it said. "Miss Harding. I 'm -here, directly below you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She could see nothing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is it?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush." She had spoken in her ordinary tones. -"Not so loud. It 's dangerous."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is it?" she asked again, subduing her voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why—Kamis, of course." The answer came in a -tone of surprise. "You expected me, did n't you? -Your light was burning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Expected you? No," said Margaret "I didn't -expect you; you ought n't to have come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But—" the voice was protesting; "my message. -It was on the paper around the aloe plumes. I -particularly told the fat Kafir woman to give you that, -and she promised. If your light was burning, I 'd -throw something up at your window, and if not, I 'd -go away. That was it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The night breeze came in at the tail of his words -with a dry rustling of the dead vines.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There was no paper," said Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Kafir below uttered an angry exclamation which -she did not catch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If only you don't mind," he said, then. "I got -Paul's message from you and I had to try and see you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Margaret. She could not see him at -all; under the lee of the house the night was black, -though at a hundred paces off she could make out the -lie of the ground in the starlight. His whispering -voice was akin to the night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you don't mind?" he urged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't mind, of course," said Margaret. "But it 's -too risky."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Further along the stoep there was a dim warmish -glow through the red curtains of the study and a leak -of faint light under the closed front door. The house -was loopholed for unfriendly eyes and ears. There -was no security under that masked battery for their -privacy. At any moment Mrs. Jakes might prick up -her ears and stand intent and triumphant to hear their -strained whispers in cautious interchange. Margaret -shrank from the thought of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I only want a word," answered Kamis from the -darkness. "I may not see you again. You won't let -me drop without a word—after everything?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret hesitated. "Some one may pick up that -paper and read your message and watch to see what -happens. I couldn't bear any more trouble about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a pause.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," agreed Kamis, then. "No—of course. I -didn't think of that. I 'll say good-by now, then."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret strained to see him, but the night hid him -securely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait!" she called carefully. "I don't want you -to go away like that; it 's simply that this is too -risky." She paused. "I 'd better come down to you," -she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She could not tell what he answered, whether joy or -demurral, for she drew her head in at once, and then -opened the door and went out to the corridor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was good to be doing something, and to have to -do with one whose sympathies were not strained. She -went lightly and noiselessly down the wide stairs, and -recognized again, with a smile, the secret aspect of the -hall in the dark hours. There was a thread of light -under the door of Dr. Jakes' study, and within that -locked room the dutiful small clock was still ticking -off the moments as stolidly as though all moments were -of the same value. The outer door was closed with -a mighty lock and a great iron key, and opened with a -clang that should have brought Dr. Jakes forth to -inquire. But he did not come, and she went unopposed -out to the stoep under the metallic rustle of its dead -vines.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was going swiftly, with her velvet-shod feet, to -that distant part of it which was under the broad light -of her window, when the Kafir appeared before her so -suddenly that she almost ran into him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh." She uttered a little cry. "You startled me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm sorry," he answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You ought n't to be here," Margaret said, "because -it 's dangerous. But I am glad to see you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That 's good of you," he said. "I got Paul's -message. I had to come. I had to see you once more, -and besides, he said you were—in trouble. About me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yes," said Margaret. "No end of trouble, all -about you. An anonymous letter, notice to quit, pity -and smiles, two suitors, one with intentions which were -strictly dishonorable, and so on. And the simple truth -is, I don't care a bit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Lord!" said the Kafir.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were standing close to the wall, immersed in its -shadow and sheltered from the wind that sighed above -them and beside them and made the vines vocal. -Neither could see the other save as a shadowy presence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't care," said Margaret, "and I refuse to -bother about it. I 've got to go, of course, and I don't -like the feeling of being kicked out. That rankles a -little bit, when I relax the strain of being superior and -amused at their littleness. But as for the rest, I don't -care."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's my fault," said the Kafir quietly. "It's all -my fault. I knew all the time what the end of it would -be; and I let it come. There 's something mean in a -nigger, Miss Harding. I knew it was there well enough, -and now it shows."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't," said Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There fell a pause between them, and she could hear -his breathing. She remembered the expression on -Ford's face when he had questioned her as to whether -she did not experience a repulsion at a Kafir's -proximity to her, and tried now to find any such aversion -in herself. They stood in an intimate nearness, so that -she could not have moved from her place without -touching him; but there was none. Whoever had it -for a pedestal of well and truly laid local virtues, she -had it not.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is good-by, of course," said the Kafir, in his -pleasant low tones. "I 'll never see you again, but -I 'll never forget how good and beautiful you were to -me. I must n't keep you out here, or there are a -hundred things I want to say to you; but that 's the chief -thing. I 'll never forgive myself for what has -happened, but I 'll never forget."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There 's nothing you need blame yourself for," said -Margaret eagerly. "It 's been worth while. It has, -really. You 're somebody and you 're doing something -great and real, while the people in here are just shams, -like me. Oh," she cried softly; "if only there was -something for me to </span><em class="italics">do</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For you," repeated the Kafir. "You must be—what -you are; not spoil it by doing things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Margaret. "No. That 's just chivalry -and nonsense. I want something to do, something real. -I want something that </span><em class="italics">costs</em><span>—I don't care what. Even -this silly trouble I 'm in now is better than being a -smiling goddess. I want—I want—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her mind moved stiffly and she could not seize the -word she needed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It would be wasting you," Kamis was saying. "It -would be throwing you away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to suffer," she said suddenly. "Yes—that 's -what I want. You suffer—don't you? That woman -in Capetown will have to suffer; everybody who really -does things suffers for it; and I want to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you?" said Kamis, with a touch of awkwardness. -"But—what woman in Capetown do you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you must have heard," said Margaret impatiently. -"She married a Kafir; it 's been in the papers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he said, "I remember now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I told them all, in here, a long time ago, that in -some city of the future there would be a monument -to her, with the inscription: 'She felt the future in -her bones.' But while she lives they 'll make her -suffer; they 'll never forgive her. I wish I could have -met her before I go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a brief pause. "Why?" asked Kamis -then, in a low voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why? Because she 'd understand, of course. I 'd -like to talk to her and tell her about you. Don't you -see?" Margaret laughed a little. "I could tell her -about it as though it were all quite natural and -ordinary, and she 'd understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She heard the Kafir move but he did not reply at -once.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps she would," he said. "However, you 're -not going to meet her, so it does n't matter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," said Margaret, puzzled at the lack of -responsiveness in his tone and words, "don't you think -she was splendid? She must have known the price she -would have to pay; but it didn't frighten her. Don't -you think it was fine?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," Kamis answered guardedly; "I suppose she -knew what she was about."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," persisted Margaret, "you don't think it -was fine?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She found his manner of speaking of the subject -curiously reminiscent of Ford.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kamis uttered an embarrassed laugh. "Well," he -said, "I 'm afraid I 'm not very sympathetic. I -suppose I 've lived too long among white people; my proper -instincts have been perverted. But the fact is, I think -that woman was—wrong."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said Margaret. "Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There isn't any why," he answered. "It 's a -matter of feeling, you know; not of reason. Really, it -amounts to—it 's absurd, of course, but it 's practically -negrophobia. You can't bring a black man up as a -white man and then expect him to be entirely free from -white prejudices. Can you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But—" Margaret spoke in some bewilderment. -"What's the use of being black," she demanded, "if -you 've got all the snobbishness of the white? That 's -the way Mr. Ford spoke about it. He said he could -feel all that was fine in it, but he wouldn't speak to -such a woman. I thought that was cruel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I don't know," said Kamis.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Another time," said Margaret deliberately, "he -asked me whether it didn't make my flesh creep to -touch your hand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He thought it ought to?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. But it doesn't," said Margaret. "How does -your negrophobia face that fact? Doesn't it condemn -me to the same shame as the woman in Capetown? Or -does it make exceptions in the case of a particular negro?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I said I did n't reason about it," replied Kamis. -"I told you what I felt. You asked me and I told you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish you hadn't," said Margaret. "I thought -that you at any rate—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She broke off at a quick movement he made. A -sudden sense came to her that they two were no longer -alone, and, with a stiffening of alarm, she turned -abruptly to see what had disturbed him. Even as she -turned, she lifted her hand to her bosom with a -premonition of imminent disaster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the head of the steps that led down to the garden, -and in the dim light of the half-open front door, a figure -had appeared. It came deliberately towards them, with -one hand lifted holding something.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hands up, you boy!" it said. "Up, now, or I 'll—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By the door, the face was visible, the unhappy, greedy, -Punchinello features that Margaret knew as those of the -policeman. Its hard eyes rested on the pair of them -over the raised revolver that threatened the Kafir.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The driving mists returned to beat her back from the -spectacle; she was helpless and weak. Warmth filled -her throat, chokingly; an acrid taste was in her mouth. -She took two groping steps forward and fell on the flags -at the policeman's feet and lay there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From a window over their heads, there came the -gurgle of Fat Mary's rich mirth.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xviii"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was the scream of Mrs. Jakes that woke Ford, -when, hearing unaccountable noises and attributing -them to the doctor, she went to the hall and was -startled to see in the doorway the figure of the Kafir, -with his hands raised strangely over his head, as though -he were suspended by the wrists from the arch, and -behind him the shadowy policeman, with his revolver -protruded forward into the light. She caught at her heart -and screamed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford found himself awake, leaning up on one elbow, -with the echo of her scream yet in his ears, and -listening intently. He could not be certain what he had -heard, for now the house was still again; and it might -have been some mere incident of Jakes' transit from -the study to his bed, into which it was better not to -inquire. But some quality in the cry had conveyed to -him, in the instant of his waking, an impression of -sudden terror which he could not dismiss, and he continued -to listen, frowning into the dark.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His room was over the stoep, but at some distance -from the front door, and for a while he heard nothing. -Then, as his ears became attuned to the night's -acoustics, he was aware that somewhere there were voices, -the blurred and indistinguishable murmur of people -talking. They were hardly audible at all; not a word -transpired; he knew scarcely more than that the -stillness of the night was infringed. His curiosity -quickened, and to feed it there sounded the step of a booted -foot that fell with a metallic clink, the unmistakable -ring of a spur. Ford sat upright.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A couple of moments later, some one spoke distinctly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Keep those hands up," Ford heard, in a quick -nasal tone; "or I 'll blow your head off."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford thrust the bedclothes from his knees and got out -of bed. He lifted the lower edge of the blind and -leaned forth from the open window. Below him the -stone stoep ran to right and left like a gray path, and a -little way along it the light in the hall, issuing from the -open door, cut across it and showed the head of the wide -steps. Beyond the light, a group of dark figures were -engaged with something. As he looked, the group began -to move, and he saw that Mrs. Jakes came to the side -of the door and stood back to give passage to four -shuffling Kafirs bearing the stretcher which was part of the -house's equipment. There was somebody on the -stretcher, as might have been seen from the laborious -gait of the bearers, but the thing had a hood that -withheld the face of the occupant as they passed in, with -Mrs. Jakes at their heels.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Two other figures brought up the rear and -likewise entered at the doorway and passed from sight. -The first, as he became visible in the gloom beyond the -light, was dimly grotesque; he seemed too tall and not -humanly proportioned, a deformed and willowy giant. -Once he was opposite the door, his height explained -itself; he was walking with both arms extended to their -full length above his head and his face bowed between -them. Possibly because the attitude strained him, he -went with a gait as marked as his posture, a measured -and ceremonial step as though he were walking a slow -minuet. The light met him as he turned in the -doorway and Ford, staring in bewilderment, had a -momentary impression that the face between the raised arms -was black. He disappeared, with the last of the figures -close behind him, and concerning this one there was -no doubt whatever. It revealed itself as a trooper of -the Mounted Police, belted and spurred, his "smasher" -hat tilted forward over his brows, and a revolver held -ready in his hand, covering the back of the man who -walked before him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here," ejaculated Ford, gazing at the empty stoep -where the shadow-show had been, with an accent of -dismay in his thoughts. The affair of Margaret and the -Kafir leaped to his mind; all that had occurred below -might be a new and poignant development in that bitter -comedy, and but for a chance he might have missed it all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was quick to make a light and find his dressing-gown -and a pair of slippers, and he was knotting the -cord of the former as he passed out to the long corridor -and went swiftly to the head of the stairs, where the -lamp that should light Dr. Jakes to his bed was yet -burning patiently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The stretcher was already coming up the staircase -and he paused and stood aside to make room for it. -The four Kafirs were bringing it up head first, treading -carefully and breathing harshly after the manner of -the Kafir when he is conscious of eyes upon him. -Behind them followed Mrs. Jakes, shepherding them up -with hushing noises. A gray blanket covered the form -in the stretcher with limp folds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Kafirs saw Ford first and acknowledged his -presence with simultaneous grins. Then Mrs. Jakes saw -him and made a noise like a startled moan, staring up -with vexed, round eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Mr. Ford," she exclaimed faintly. "Please go -back to bed. It 's—it 's three o'clock in the morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Beyond and below her was the hall, in which the lamp -had now been turned up. Ford looked past her -impassively, and took in the two men who waited there, the -Kafir, with his raised arms—trembling now with the -fatigue of keeping them up—and the saturnine policeman -with his revolver. The stretcher had come abreast of -him and he bent to look under the hood. The bearers -halted complaisantly that he might see, shifting their -grips on the poles and smiling uneasily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret's face had the quietude of heavy lids closed -upon the eyes and features composed in unconsciousness. -But the mouth was bloody, and there were stains of -much blood, bright and dreadful, on the white linen -at her throat. For all that Ford knew what it betokened, -the sight gave him a shock; it looked like murder. -They had broken her hair from its bonds in lifting her -and placing her in the stretcher and now her head was -pillowed on it and its disorder made her stranger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes was babbling nervously at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Ford, you really must n't. I wish you 'd go -back to bed. I 'll tell you about it in the morning, if -you 'll go now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford motioned to the Kafirs to go on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where's the doctor?" he demanded curtly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said Mrs. Jakes, "I 'll see to all that. Mr. Ford, -it 's </span><em class="italics">all right</em><span>. You 're keeping me from putting -her to bed by standing talking like this. Don't you -believe me when I say it 's all right? Why are you -looking at me like that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is he in the study?" asked Ford.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," replied Mrs. Jakes. "But </span><em class="italics">I 'll</em><span> tell him, -Mr. Ford. I—I—promise I will, if only you 'll go back -to bed now. I will really."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford glanced along the corridor where the Kafirs -had halted again, awaiting instructions from Mrs. Jakes. -There was a picture on the wall, entitled "Innocence"—early -Victorian infant and kitten—and they were staring -at it in reverent interest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Better see to Miss Harding," he said, and passed -her and went down to the hall. She turned to see what -he was going to do, in an agony of alertness to preserve -the decency of the locked study door. But he went -across to speak to the policeman, and she hurried after -the Kafirs, to get the girl in bed and free herself to deal -with the demand for the presence of the doctor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Kafir stood with his back to the wall, near the -big front door, closer to which was the trooper, always -with the revolver in his hand and a manner of watching -eagerly for an occasion to use it. Ford went to them, -knitting his brows at the spectacle. The prisoner saw -him as a slim young man of a not unusual type in a -dressing-gown, with short tumbled hair; the policeman, -with a more specialized experience, took in the quality -of his manner with a rapid glance and stiffened to -uprightness. He knew the directness and aloofness that -go to the making of that ripe fruit of our civilization, -an officer of the army.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have n't you searched him for weapons?" demanded Ford.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said the policeman, and added "sir," as an -afterthought.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford stepped over to the Kafir and passed his hands -down his sides and across his breast, feeling for any -concealed dangers about his person.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing," he said. "You can handcuff him if you -want to, but there 's no need to keep him with his hands -up. It's torture—you hear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir," responded the policeman again. "Put -them down," he bade his prisoner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kamis, with a sigh, lowered his hands, wincing at the -stiffness of his cramped arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," he said to Ford, in a low voice. "I 've -had them up—it must be half an hour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, you 're all right now," responded Ford, with -a nod.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He tried the study door but it was locked and there -was no response to his knocks and his rattling of the -handle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jakes," he called, several times. "I say, you 're -wanted. Jakes, d'you hear me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kamis and the trooper watched him in silence, the -latter with his bold, unhappy features set into something -like a sneer. They saw him test the strength of the lock -with a knee; it gave no sign of weakness and he stood -considering on the mat. An idea came to him and he -went briskly, with his long stride, to the front door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say," called the Kafir as he went by.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford paused. "Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In case you can't rouse him," said the Kafir, "you -might like to know that I am a doctor—M.B., London."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you?" said Ford thoughtfully. "You're -Kamis, are n't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," answered the Kafir.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll let you know if there 's anything you can do,", -said Ford.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The contrast between the Kafir's pleasant, English -voice and his negro face was strange to him also. But -stranger yet, he could not in the presence of the -contemptuous policeman speak the thing that was in his -mind and tell the Kafir that he was to blame for the -whole business. The voice, the address, the manner of -the man were those of his own class; it would have been -like quarreling before servants.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," said the Kafir, as Ford went out to the -stoep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sill of the study window was only three feet -above the ground, a square of dull light filtering through -curtains that let nothing be seen from without of the -interior of the room. Ford wasted no more time in knocking -and calling; he drew off a slipper and using it as a -hammer, smashed the glass of the window close to the -catch. Half the pane went crashing at the first blow, -and the window was open. He threw a leg over the sill -and was in the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A bracket lamp was burning on the wall and shooting -up a steady spire of smoke to the ceiling, where a thick -black patch had assembled and was shedding flakes of -smut on all below it. The slovenliness of the smoking -lamp was suddenly an offense to him, and before he -even looked round he went across and turned the flame -lower. It seemed a thing to do before setting about the -saving of Margaret's life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The room was oppressively hot with a sickening -closeness in its atmosphere and a war of smells pervading -it. The desk had whisky bottles, several of them, all -partly filled, standing about its surface, with a water -jug, a syphon and some glasses. Papers and a book or -two had their place there also, and liquor had been spilt -on them and a tumbler was standing on the yellow cover -of a copy of "Mr. Barnes of New York." A collar -and a tie lay on the floor in the middle of the room and -near them was a glass which had fallen and escaped -breakage. Dr. Jakes was in the padded patient's chair; -it had its back to the window, and at first Ford had -imagined with surprise that the room was empty. He -looked round wonderingly, till his eyes lighted on the -top of the doctor's blond, childish head, showing round -the chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dr. Jakes had an attitude of extreme relaxation. He -had slipped forward on the smooth leather seat till his -head lay on one of the arms and his face was upturned -to the smirched ceiling. His feet were drawn in and -his knees protruded; his hands hung emptily beside him. -The soot of the lamp had snowed on him copiously, -dotting his face with black spots till he seemed to have -broken out in some monstrous plague-rash. His lips -were parted under his fair mustache, and the eyes were -closed tight as if in determination not to see the ruin -and dishonor of his life. He offered the spectacle of a -man securely entrenched against all possible duties and -needs, safe through the night against any attack on his -peace and repose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jakes," cried Ford urgently, in his ear, and shook -him as vigorously as he could. "Jakes, you hog. Wake -up, will you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doctor's head waggled loosely to the shaking and -settled again to its former place. It was infuriating to -see it rock like that, as though there were nothing stiffer -than wool in the neck, and yet preserve its deep -tranquillity. Ford looked down and swore. There was no -help here.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He unlocked the door and threw it open. In the -hall the Kafir and the policeman were as he had left them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come in here," he ordered briefly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Kafir came, with the trooper and the revolver -close at his back. The latter's eye made notes of the -room, the glasses, the doctor, all the consistent details; -and he smiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 're a doctor," said Ford to the Kafir. "Can -you do anything with this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This" was Dr. Jakes. Kamis made an inspection -of him and lifted one of the tight eyelids.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can make him conscious," he answered, "and sober -in a desperate sort of fashion. But he won't be fit for -anything. You mustn't trust him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will he be able to doctor Miss Harding?" demanded Ford.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," answered Kamis emphatically. "He won't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," said Ford, "what the deuce are we to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Kafir was still giving attention to Dr. Jakes, and -was unbuttoning the neck of his shirt. He looked up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you would let me see her," he suggested, "I 've -no doubt I could do what is necessary for her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford ran his fingers through his short stiff hair in -perplexity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't see what else there is to do," he said, frowning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The trooper had not yet spoken since he had entered -the room. He and his revolver had had no share in -events. He had been a part of the background, like -the bottles and the soot, forgotten and discounted. Not -even his prisoner, whose life hung on the pressure of his -trigger-finger, had spent a glance on him. But at -Ford's reply to the suggestion of the Kafir he restored -himself to a central place in the drama.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There will be none of that," he remarked in his -drawling nasal voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Both turned towards him, the Kafir to meet the pistol-barrel -pointing at his chest. The trooper's mouth was -twisted to a smile, and his Punchinello face was mocking -and servile at once.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"None of what?" demanded Ford.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"None of your taking this nigger into women's -bedrooms. He 's my prisoner."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll take all responsibility," said Ford impatiently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The trooper's smile was open now. He had Ford -summed up for such another as Margaret, a person who -held lax views in regard to Kafirs and white women. -Such a person was not to be feared in South Africa.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he said. "Can't allow that. It isn't done. -This nigger 'll stay with me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look here," said Ford angrily. "I tell you—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You look here," retorted the other. "Look at this, -will you?" He balanced the big revolver in his fist. -"That Kafir tries to get up those stairs, and I 'll drill a -hole in him you could put your fist in. Understand?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded at Ford with a sort of geniality more -inflexibly hostile than any scowls.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford would have answered forcibly enough, but from -the doorway came a wail, and he looked up to see -Mrs. Jakes standing there, with a hand on each doorpost and -her small face, which he knew as the shopwindow of the -less endearing virtues, convulsed with a passion of alarm -and horror. At her cry, they all started round towards -her, with the single exception of Dr. Jakes, who lay in -his chair with his face in that direction already, and was -not stirred at all by her appearance on the scene that -had created itself around him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"O-o-oh," she cried. "Eustace—after all I 've done; -after all these years. Why didn't you lock the door, -Eustace? And what will become of us now? O-oh, Mr. Ford, -I begged you to go to bed. And the Kafir to see it, -and all. The disgrace—o-o-h."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The tears ran openly down her face; they made her -seem suddenly younger and more human than Ford had -known her to be.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, come in, Mrs. Jakes," he begged. "Come in; -it 's—it 's all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right," repeated Mrs. Jakes. "But—everybody -will know, soon, and how can I hold up my head? I 've -been so careful; I 've watched all the time—and I 've -prayed—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She bowed her face and wept aloud, with horrible sobs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford was at the end of his wits. While he pitied -Mrs. Jakes, Margaret might be dying in her room, under -the bland and interested eyes of Fat Mary. He turned -swiftly to the Kafir.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Could you prescribe if I told you what she looked -like?" he asked, in a half-whisper. "Could you do -anything in that way?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps." The Kafir was quick to understand. -Even in the urgency of the time, Ford was thankful -that he had to deal with a man who understood readily -and replied at once, a man like himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me pass, Mrs. Jakes," he said, and made for the -stairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As soon as he had gone, the trooper advanced to the -desk and laid hands on a bottle and a glass. He mixed -himself a satisfactory tumbler and turned to Mrs. Jakes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The ladies, God bless 'em," he said piously, and -drank.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kamis, looking on mutely, saw the little woman blink -at her tears and try to smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't mention it," she murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She came into the room and examined Dr. Jakes, -bending over him to scan his tranquil countenance. -There was nothing in her aspect of wrath or rancor; -she was still submissive to the fate that stood at the -levers of her being and switched her arbitrarily from -respectability to ruin. She seemed merely to make sure of -features in his condition which she recognized without -disgust or shame.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would you please just help me?" she asked, looking -up at the policeman, very politely, with her hands on the -doctor's shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Charmed," declared the policeman, with an equal -courtesy, and aided her to raise the drunken and -unconscious man to a more seemly position in his chair. It -was seemlier because his head hung forward, and he -looked more as if he were dead and less as if he were -drunk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," she said, when it was done. "It is—it -is quite a fine night, is it not? The stars are -beautiful. There is whisky on the desk—very good whisky, -I believe. Won't you help yourself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 're very good," said the trooper, cordially, and -helped himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford came shortly. He ignored Mrs. Jakes and the -trooper entirely and spoke to the Kafir only. His -manner made a privacy from which the others were excluded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say," he said, with a manner of trouble. "She 's -still in a faint. Very white, not breathing much, and -rather cold. She looks bad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Kafir nodded. "You could n't take her temperature, -of course," he said. "There hadn't been any -fresh hemorrhage?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," replied Ford. "I asked Fat Mary. She was -there, and she said there 'd been no blood. I say—is -it very dangerous?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was a layman; flesh and blood—blood particularly—were -beyond his science and within the reach only of -his pity and his fear. He had stood by Margaret's bed -and looked down on her; he had bent his ear to her lips -to make sure that she breathed and that her white -immobility was not death. His hand had felt her forehead -and been chilled by the cold of it; and he had tried -inexpertly to find her pulse and failed. Fat Mary, -holding a candle, had illuminated his researches, grinning the -while, and had answered his questions humorously, till -she realized that she was in some danger of being -assaulted; and then she had lied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He made his appeal to the Kafir as to a man of his -own kind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm afraid it 's not much use," he said—"what I -can tell you, I mean. But do you think there 's much -danger?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kamis shook his head. "There should n't be," he -answered. "I wish I could see her. Cold, was she? Yes; -temperature subnormal. I could cup,—but you could -n't. Do you think you could make a hypodermic -injection, if I showed you how?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I could do any blessed thing," declared Ford, fervently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Digitalin and adrenalin," mused Kamis. "He won't -have those, though. Do you know if he 's got any -ergotin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has," replied Ford. "He shoved some into me. -Mrs. Jakes—ergotin? where is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes was leaning on the back of the chair which -contained the doctor. She had recovered from the -emotion which had convulsed and unbalanced her at the -discovery of the study's open door. She looked up now -languidly, in imitation of Margaret's manner when she -was not pleased with matters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really, you must ask the doctor," she said. "I -couldn't think of—ah—disposing of such things."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kamis had not waited to hear her out. Already he -was overhauling the drawers of the desk for the syringe. -Ford aided him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is this it?" he asked, at the second drawer he -opened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank God," ejaculated Kamis. He could not help -sending a glance of triumph at Mrs. Jakes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now attend to me," he said to Ford. "First I 'll -show you how to inject it. Give me your arm; can you -stand a prick?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go ahead," said Ford; "slowly, so that I can watch."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take a pinch of skin like this," directed the Kafir, -closing his forefinger and thumb on a piece of -Ford's forearm. "See? Then, with the syringe in -your hand, like this, push the needle in—like this. -See?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, now do it to me. Here 's the place."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The arm he bared was black brown, full and -muscular. Ford took the syringe and pinched the smooth -warm skin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In with it," urged the Kafir. "Don't be afraid, -man. Now press the plunger down with your forefinger. -See? Go on, can't you? You mustn't mess the -business upstairs. Do it again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That 's enough," said Ford.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Drops of blood issued from the puncture as he withdrew -the needle, and he shivered involuntarily. It had -been horrible to press the point home into that smooth -and rounded arm; his own had not bled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mind now," warned the Kafir. "You must run it -well in. And now about the drug."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was minute in his instructions and careful to -avoid technical phrases and terms of art. He took the -syringe and cleaned and charged and gave it to Ford.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't funk it," was his final injunction. "This is -nothing. There may be worse for you to do yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't funk it," promised Ford. "But—" he appealed -to the Kafir with a shrug of deprecation—"but -isn't it a crazy business?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was like a swiftly-changing dream to him. The -hot and dirty room, with the Kafir busy and thoughtful, -the malevolent trooper and his revolver, the sprawl of -the doctor and his slumberous calm and Mrs. Jakes -groping through the minutes for a cue to salvation, were -unconvincing even when his eyes dwelt on them. They -had not the savor of reality. Six paces away was the -hall, severe and grand, with its open door making it a -neighbor of the darkness and the stars. Then came the -vacant stairs and the long lifeless corridors running -between the closed doors of rooms, and the light leaking -out from under the door of Margaret's chamber. -Through such a variety one moves in dreams, where -things have lost or changed their values and nothing is -solid or immediate, and death is not troublous nor life -significant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fat Mary was resting in Margaret's armchair when -he pushed open the door and came in, carrying the syringe -carefully with its point in the air. She rose hastily, -fearful of a rebuke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Harding wake up yet?" Ford asked her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. Missis sleep all-a-time," replied Fat Mary. -"She plenty quiet, all-'e-same dead."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shut up," ordered Ford, in a harsh whisper. -"You're a fool."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fat Mary sniffed in cautious defiance and muttered -in Kafir. Since her duties had lain about Margaret's -person, she had become unused to being called a fool. -She pouted unpleasantly and stood watching unhelpfully -as Ford went to the bedside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The blood had been washed away and there was -nothing now to suggest violence or brutality. The girl -lay on her back in the utter vacancy of unconsciousness; -the face had been wiped clean of all expression and left -blank and void. Mrs. Jakes had known enough to -remove the pillows, which were in the chair Fat Mary had -selected for her ease, and the head lay back on the level -sheet with the brown hair tumbled to each side of it. -Ford, looking down on her, was startled by a likeness to -a recumbent stone figure he had seen in some church, -with the marble drapery falling to either side of it as -now the bedclothes fell over Margaret Harding. It -needed only the crossed arms and the kneeling angel to -complete the resemblance. The idea was hateful to him, -and he made haste to get to the work he had to do in -order to break away from it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sleeve of the nightgown had soft lace at the wrist -and a band of lace inserted higher up; softness and -delicacy surrounded her and made his task the harder. The -forearm, when he had stripped the sleeve back, was cool -and silk-smooth to his touch, slender and shining. His -fingers almost circled its girth; it was strangely -feminine and disturbing. A blue vein was distinct in the -curve of the elbow, and others branched at the wrist -where his finger could find no pulse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fat Mary forgot her indignation in her curiosity, and -came tiptoeing across the floor, holding a candle to light -him, and stood at his shoulder to watch. Her big ridiculous -face was gleeful as he took up the syringe; she knew -a joke when she saw one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford pinched the white skin with thumb and forefinger -as he had been bidden and touched it with the -point of the needle. The point slipped and was reluctant -to enter; he had to take hold firmly and thrust it, like a -man sewing leather. The girl's hand twitched slightly -and fell open again and was passive. He felt sickish -and feeble and had to knit himself to run the needle in -deep and depress the plunger that deposited the drug in -the arm. Over his shoulder Fat Mary watched avidly -and grinned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He drew the sleeve down again and laid the arm back -in its place. He passed a hand absently over his -forehead and found it damp with strange sweat, and he was -conscious of being weary in every limb as though he had -concluded some extreme physical effort. He looked -carefully at the unconscious girl, seeking for signs and -indices which he should report to Kamis. The likeness of -the marble figure did not recur to him; his thoughts -were laborious and slow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He woke Mr. Samson on his way downstairs, -invading his room without knocking and shaking him -by the shoulder. Mr. Samson snorted and thrust up -a bewildered face to the light of the candle. His white -mustache, which in the daytime cocked debonair points -to port and starboard, hung down about his mouth and -made him commonplace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What the devil 's up?" he gasped, staring wildly. -"Oh, it 's you, Ford."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Get up," said Ford. "There 's the deuce to pay. -That Kafir 's arrested—Kamis, you know; Miss -Harding 's had a bad hemorrhage and Jakes is dead drunk. -I want you to go to Du Preez's and send a messenger -for another doctor. Hurry, will you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My sainted aunt," exclaimed Mr. Samson, in -amazement. "You don't say. I 'll be with you in -a jiffy, Ford. Don't you wait."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He threw a leg over the edge of the bed, revealing -pyjamas strikingly striped, and Ford left him to -improvise a toilet unwatched.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The trooper was talking to Mrs. Jakes in the study -when Ford returned there. He had relieved himself -of his hat, and his big head, on which the hair was -scant, was naked to the lamp. He had found himself -a chair at the back of the desk, and reclined in it -spaciously, with his half-empty tumbler at his elbow. -The Kafir still stood where Ford had left him, his eyes -roving gravely over the room and its contents. The -trooper looked up as Ford came in, lifting his saturnine -and aggressive features with a smile. He had drunk -several glasses in a quick succession and was already -thawed and voluble.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," he said loudly. "How's interestin' -patient? 'S well 's can be expected—what? Didn't -express wish to thank med'cal adviser in person, I -s'pose?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford bent a hard look on him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll attend to you in good time," he said, with -meaning. "For the present you can shut up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned at once to the Kafir and began to tell him -what he had seen and done, while the other steered him -with brief questions. The trooper gazed at them with -a fixed eye.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shup," he said, to Mrs. Jakes. "Says I can -shup—for the present. Supposin' I don't shup, -though."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He drank, with a manner of confirming by that action -a portentous resolution, and sat for some minutes -grave and meditative, with his bitter, thin mouth -sucked in. He never laid down the big revolver which -he held. Its short, businesslike barrel rested on the -blue cloth of his knee, and the blued metal reflected -the light dully from its surfaces.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it dangerous?" Ford was asking. "From what -I can tell you, do you think there 's any real danger? -She looks—she looks deadly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, she would," replied the Kafir thoughtfully. -"I think I 've got an idea how things stand. As long -as that unconsciousness lasts, there 'll be no more -hemorrhage, and there 's the ergotin too. If there 's -nothing else, I don't see that it should be serious—more -serious, that is, than hemorrhages always are."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You really think so?" asked Ford. "I wish you -could see her for yourself, and make certain. Perhaps -presently that swine with the revolver will be drunk -enough to go to sleep or something, and we might -manage it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Kafir shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If it were necessary, the revolver wouldn't stop -me," he said. "But as it is—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, do you think it would make things better for -Miss Harding if you took me into her bedroom? You -see what has happened already, because she has spoken -to me from time to time. How would this sound, when -it was dished up for circulation in the dorps?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford frowned unhappily. He did not want to meet -the mournful eyes in the black face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You think," he began hesitatingly—"you think -it—er—it wouldn't do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You were here when the other story came out," -retorted Kamis. "Can you remember what you thought -then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I was a fool of course," said Ford; "but, -confound it, I did n't think any harm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Didn't you? But what did everybody think? -Isn't it true that as a result of all that was said -and thought Miss Harding has to risk her life by -returning to England?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, it wouldn't do, I suppose," said Ford. "Between -us we 've made it a pretty tough business for -her. We 're brutes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The thick negro lips parted in a smile that was not -humorous.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At a little distance," said Kamis, "say, from the -other side of the color line, you certainly make a poor -appearance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson made his entry with an air of coming to -set things right or know the reason.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I 'll be hanged," he exclaimed in the doorway, -making a sharp inspection of the scene.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had got together quite a plausible equivalent -for his daily personality, and had not omitted to make -his mustache recognizable with pomade. A Newmarket -coat concealed most of his deficiencies; his -monocle made the rest of them insignificant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes sighed and fidgeted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Mr. Samson," she said. "What can I say to you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say 'good-morning,'" suggested Mr. Samson, with -his eye on Jakes. "Better send for the 'boys' to carry -him up to bed, to begin with—what? Well, Ford, here -I am, ready and waiting. This the fellow, eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His arrogant gaze rested on the Kafir intolerantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is Kamis," said Ford. "Dr. Kamis, of -London, by the way. He is treating Miss Harding at -present."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh?" Mr. Samson turned on him abruptly. -"You 've taken him up there, to her room?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Ford. "Not yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See you don't, then," said Mr. Samson strongly. -"What you thinkin' about, Ford? And look here, -what 's your name!"—to the Kafir. "You speak -English, don't you? Well, I don't want to hurt your -feelin's, you know, but you 've got to understand quite -plainly—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kamis interrupted him suavely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You need n't trouble," he said. "I quite agree with -you. I was just telling Mr. Ford the same thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Were you, by Jove," snorted Mr. Samson, entirely -unappeased. "Pity you didn't come to the same -conclusion a month ago. You may be a doctor and all -that; I 've no means of disprovin' what you say; but -in so far as you compromised little Miss Harding, -you 're a black cad. Just think that over, will you? -Now, Ford, what d'you want me to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was power of a sort in Mr. Samson, the power -of unalterable conviction and complete sincerity. In -his Newmarket coat and checked cloth cap he thrust -himself with fluency into the scene and made himself -its master. He gave an impression of din, of shouting -and tumult; he made himself into a clamorous crowd. -Mrs. Jakes trembled under his glance and the trooper -blinked servilely. Ford, concerned chiefly to have a -messenger despatched without delay, bowed to the -storm and gave him his instructions without protest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mind, now," stipulated Mr. Samson, ere he departed -on his errand; "no takin' the nigger upstairs, -Ford. There 's a decency in these affairs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The trooper nodded solemnly to the departing flap of -the Newmarket tails, making their exit with a -Newmarket </span><em class="italics">aplomb</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Noble ol' buck," he observed, approvingly. "Goo' -style. Gift o' the gab. Here 's luck to him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He gulped noisily in his glass, spilling the liquor on -his tunic as he drank.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Knows nigger when he sees 'im," he said. "Frien' -o' yours?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Samson," replied Mrs. Jakes seriously, "is a -very old friend."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Goblessim," said the trooper. "Less 'ave anurr."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kamis and Ford regarded one another as Mr. Samson -left them and both were a little embarrassed. -Plain speaking is always a brutality, since it sets every -man on his defense.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm sorry there was a fuss," said Ford -uncomfortably. "Old Samson 's such a beggar to make -rows."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He was right," said Kamis; "perfectly right. -Only—I didn't need to be told. I 've been cursing -myself ever since I heard that the thing had come -out. It 's my fault altogether—and I knew it long -before the row happened, and I let it go on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford nodded with his eyes on the ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You could hardly—order her off," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That wasn't it," answered Kamis. "Man, I was -as lonely as a man on a raft, and I jumped at the -chance of her company now and again. I sacrificed -her, I tell you. Don't try to make excuses for me. -I won't have them. Go up and see how she is. What -are we talking here for?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God knows," said Ford drearily. "What else 'is -there to do? We 've both wronged her, haven't we?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no change in Margaret; she was as he had -left her, pallid and motionless, a temptation to death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fat Mary was asleep in the armchair, gross and -disgustful, and he woke her with the heel of his slipper -on her big splay foot. She squeaked and came to life -angrily and reported no movement from Margaret. He -had an impulse to hit her, she was so obviously -prepared to say anything he seemed to require and she was -so little like a woman. It was impossible in reason and -sentiment to connect her with the still, fragile form -on the bed, and he had to exercise an actual and -conscious restraint to refrain from an openhanded smack -on her bulging and fatuous countenance. He could -only call her wounding names, and he did so. She -drooped her lower lip at him piteously and again he -yearned to punch her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no change to report to Kamis, who nodded -at his account and spoke a perfunctory, "All right. -Thanks." The trooper sat in a daze, scowling at his -boots; Mrs. Jakes was lost in thought; the doctor had -not moved. Ford fidgeted to and fro between the -desk and the door for a while and finally went out to -the stoep and walked to and fro along its length, -trying to realize and to feel what was happening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He knew that he was not appreciating the matter -as a whole. He was like a man dully afflicted, to -whom momentary details are present and apparent, -while the sum of his trouble is uncomprehended. He -could dislike the apprehensive and timidly presumptuous -face of the trooper, pity Mrs. Jakes, distaste -Mr. Samson's forceful loudness, smell the foulness of the -study and wonder at the Kafir; but the looming -essential fact that Margaret lay in a swoon on her bed, -lacking the aid due to her and in danger of death -in a dozen forms—that had been vague and diffused -in his understanding. He had not known it passionately, -poignantly, in its full dreadfulness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He told himself the facts carefully, going over them -with a patient emphasis to point them at himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Margaret may die; it 's very likely she will, with -only a fool like me to see how she looks. I never -called her Margaret till to-day—but it 's yesterday -now. And here 's this damned story about her, which -every one knows wrongly and adds lies to when he -tells it. It would look queer on the stage—Kamis -doctoring her like this. But the point is—she may die."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sky was full of stars, white and soft and misty, -like tearful eyes, and the Southern Cross, in which he -had never been able to detect anything like a cross, -rode high. He could not hold his thoughts from -wandering to it and the absurdity of calling a mere -blotch like that a cross. Heaps of other stars that did -make crosses—neat and obvious ones. The sky was -full of crosses, for that matter. Astronomers were -asses, all of them. But the point was, Margaret might die.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That you, Ford?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson was coming up the steps and with him -were Christian du Preez and his wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"These good people are anxious to help," explained -Mr. Samson. "Very good of 'em—what? And young -Paul 's gone off on a little stallion to send Dr. Van -Coller. Turned out at the word like a fire engine and -was off like winkin'. Never saw anything smarter. -If the doctor 's half as smart he 'll be here in four -hours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's good," said Ford.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Mrs. du Preez 'll stay with Miss Harding an' -do what she can," said Mr. Samson.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll do any blessed thing," declared Mrs. du Preez -with energy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson stood aside to let his companions enter -the house before him. He whispered with buoyant -force to Ford.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A chaperon to the rescue," he said. "We 've got -a chaperon, and the rest follows. You see if it don't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a brief interview between Mrs. du Preez -and the Kafir under the eyes of the tall Boer. -Mr. Samson had already informed them of the situation -in the study, and they were not taken by surprise, and -the Kafir fell in adroitly with the tone they took. -Ford thought that Mrs. du Preez displayed a curious -timidity before the negro, a conspicuous improvement -on her usual perky cocksureness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just let me know if there is any change," Kamis -said to her. "That is all. If she recovers -consciousness, for instance, come to me at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will," answered Mrs. du Preez, with subdued -fervor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There seemed nothing left for Ford to do. Mrs. du -Preez departed to her watch, and it was at least -satisfactory to know that Fat Mary would now have to -deal with one who would beat her on the first -occasion without compunction. Mr. Samson and the Boer -departed to the drawing-room in search of a breathable -air, and after an awkward while Ford followed them -thither.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Samson, as he appeared. -"Here you are. You 'd better try and snooze, Ford. -Been up all night, haven't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pretty nearly," admitted Ford. "I couldn't -sleep, though."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You try," recommended Mr. Samson urgently. -"Lie down on the couch and have a shot. You 're -done up; you 're not yourself. What d' you think, -Du Preez? He was nearly takin' that nigger up to -Miss Harding's room. What d' you think of that, eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was sitting on the music stool, an urbane and -adequate presence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Boer shook his head. "That would be bad," he -said seriously. "He is a good nigger—</span><em class="italics">ya</em><span>! But better -she should die."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford laughed wearily as he sat down. "That was his -idea," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He leaned back to listen to their talk. Sleep, he -felt, was far from him. Margaret might die—that had -to be kept in mind. He heard them discuss the Kafir -stupidly, ridiculously. It was pothouse talk, the -chatter of companionable fools, frothing round and -round their topic. Their minds were rigid like a pair -of stiffened corpses set facing one another; they never -reached an imaginative hand towards the wonder and -pity of the matter. And Margaret—the beautiful -name that it was—Margaret might die.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Half an hour later, Mr. Samson slewed his monocle -towards him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sleepin' after all," he remarked. "Poor devil—no -vitality. Not like you an' me, Du Preez—what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford knew he had slept when the Boer woke him -in the broad daylight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The doctor is here," said Christian. "He says it -is all right. He says—she has been done right with. -She will not die."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank God," said Ford.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson was in the room. The daylight showed -the incompleteness of his toilet; he was a mere -imitation of his true self. His triumphant smile failed to -redeem him. The bald truth was—he was not dressed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Everything 's as right as rain," he declared, -wagging his tousled white head. "Sit where you are, -my boy; there 's nothing for you to do. Dr. Van -Coller had an infernal thing he calls a motor-bicycle, -and it brought him the twenty-two miles in fifty -minutes. Makes a noise like a traction engine and stinks -like the dickens. Got an engine of sorts, you know, -and goes like anything. But the point is, Miss -Harding 's going on like a house on fire. Your nigger-man -and you did just the right thing, it appears."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is he?" asked Ford.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The nigger-man?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson and the Boer exchanged glances.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look here," said Mr. Samson; "Du Preez and I -had an understanding about it, but don't let it go -any further. You see, after all that has happened, -we could n't let the chap go to gaol. No sense in that. -So the bobby being as drunk as David's sow, I had a -word with him. I told him I didn't retract anything, -but we were all open to make mistakes, and—to cut it -short—he 'd better get away while he had the chance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Ford. "Did he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He didn't want to at first," replied Mr. Samson. -"His idea was that he had to clear himself of the -charge on which he was arrested. Sedition, you know. -All rot, of course, but that was his idea. So I -promised to write to old Bill Winter—feller that owes -me money—he 's governor of the Cape, or something, -and put it to him straight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He will write to him and say it is lies," said the -Boer. "He knows him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Know him," cried Mr. Samson. "Never paid me -a bet he lost, confound him. Regular old welcher, -Bill is. Van Coller chipped in too—treated him like -an equal. And in the end he went. Van Coller says -he 'd like to have had his medical education. I say, -what 's that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A sudden noise had interrupted him, a sharp report -from somewhere within the house. The Boer nodded -slowly, and made for the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That policeman has shot somebody," he said.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Dr. Jakes waked to the morning light with a taste -in his mouth which was none the more agreeable for -being familiar. He opened his hot eyes to the strange -disarray of his study, the open door and the somnolent -form of the policeman, and sat up with a jerk, almost -sober. He stared around him uncomprehending. -The lamp burned yet, and the room was stiflingly hot; -the curtains had not been put back and the air was -heavy and foul. He got shakily to his feet and went -towards the hall. His wife, with coffee cups on a -tray, was coming down the stairs. She saw him and -put the tray down on the table against the wall and -went to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Eustace?" she said tonelessly. "What is it -now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He cleared his burning throat. "Who opened the -door?" he asked hoarsely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook her head. "I don't know," she answered. -"It does n't matter—we 're ruined at last. -It 's come, Eustace."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He made strange grimaces in an endeavor to clear -his mind and grasp what she was saying. She watched -him unmoved, and went on to tell him, in short bald -sentences of the night's events.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dr. Van Coller will be down presently," she -concluded. "He 'll want to see you, but you can lock -your door if you like. He 's seen me already."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had her meaning at last. He blinked at her -owlishly, incapable of expressing the half-thoughts that -dodged in his drugged brain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor old Hester," he said, at last, and turned -heavily back to his study.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes smiled in pity and despair, and took up -her tray again. She thought she knew better than -he how poor she was.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He slammed the door behind him, but he did not -trouble to lock it. Something he had seen when he -opened his eyes stuck in his mind, and he went -staggeringly round the untidy desk, with its bottles and -papers, to where the policeman sprawled in a chair -with his Punchinello chin on his breast. His loose -hands retained yet the big revolver.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He 'll come to it too," was Dr. Jakes' thought as -he looked down on him. He drew the weapon with -precaution from the man's hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stood an instant in thought, looking at its neat -complication of mechanism and then raised it slowly -till the small round of the muzzle returned his look. -His face clenched in desperate resolution. But he did -not pull the trigger. At the critical moment, his eye -caught the lamp, burning brazenly on the wall. He -went over and turned it out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now," he said, and raised the revolver again.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xix"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIX</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Upon that surprising morning when Mr. Samson, -taking his early constitutional, was a witness -to the cloud that rode across the sun and presently -let go its burden of wet to fall upon the startled -earth in slashing, roaring sheets of rain, there stood -luggage in the hall, strapped, locked, and ready for -transport.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gad!" said Mr. Samson, breathless in the front -door and backing from the splashes of wet that leaped -on the railing of the stoep and drove inwards. -"They 'll have a wet ride."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He flicked at spots of water on the glossy surface of -his gray coat and watched the rain drive across and -hide the Karoo like a steel-hued fog. The noise of it, -after months of sun and stillness, was distracting; it -threshed vehemently with uproar and power, in the -extravagant fashion of those latitudes. It was the -signal that the weather had broken, justifying at length -Mrs. Jakes' conversational gambit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She came from the breakfast-room while he watched, -with the wind from the open door romping in her thin -skirts, and stood beside him to look out. They -exchanged good mornings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is n't it wet?" said Mrs. Jakes resourcefully. -"But I dare say it 's good for the country."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rather," agreed Mr. Samson. "It 'll be all green -before you know it. But damp for the travelers—what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They will have the hood on the cart," replied Mrs. Jakes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was not noticeably changed since the doctor's -death, three weeks before. Her clothes had always -been black, so that she was exempt from the gruesome -demands of custom to advertise her loss in her -garments. The long habit of shielding Jakes from open -shame had become a part of her; so that instead of -abandoning her lost position, she was already in the -way of canonizing him. She made reverential references -to his professional skill, to his goodness, his -learning, his sacrifices to duty. She looked people -steadily and defiantly in the eyes as she said so, and -had her own way with them. The foundations were -laid of a tradition which presented poor Jakes in a -form he would never have recognized. He was in his -place behind the barbed wire out on the veld, sharing -the bed of little Eustace, heedless that there was -building for him a mausoleum of good report and loyal -praise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hate to see luggage in a house," remarked Mr. Samson, -as they passed the pile in the hall on their -way to the breakfast-room. "Nothing upsets a house -like luggage. Looks so bally unsettled, don't you -know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Things </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> a little unsettled," agreed Mrs. Jakes -civilly. "What with the rain and everything, it -doesn't seem like the same place, does it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gave a tone of mild complaint to her voice, -exactly as though a disturbance in the order of her life -were a thing to be avoided. It would not have been -consistent with the figure of the late Jakes, as she -was sedulous to present it, if she had admitted that -the house and its routine, its purpose, its atmosphere, -its memories, the stones in its walls and the tiles on -its roof, were the objects of her living hate. She was -already in negotiations for the sale of it and what she -called "the connection," and had called Mr. Samson -and Ford into consultation over correspondence with -a doctor at Port Elizabeth, who wrote with a -typewriter and was inquisitive about balance-sheets. -Throughout the consequent discussions she maintained -an air of gentle and patient regret, an attitude of -resigned sentiment, the exact manner of a lady in a story -who sells the home of her ancestors to a company -promoter. Even her anxiety to sell Ford and -Mr. Samson along with the house did not cause her to -deflect for an instant from the course of speech and -action she had selected. There were yet Penfolds in -Putney and Clapham Junction, and when the sale was -completed she would see them again and rejoin their -congenial circle; but her joy at the prospect was -private, her final and transcendent secret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nothing is more natural to man than to pose; by a -posture, he can correct the crookedness of his nature -and be for himself, and sometimes for others too, the -thing he would be. It is the instinct towards -protective coloring showing itself through broadcloth and -bombazine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson accepted his coffee and let his monocle -fall into it, a sign that he was discomposed to an -unusual degree. He sat wiping it and frowning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did I tell you," he said suddenly, "that—er—that -Kafir 's going to look in just before they start?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Jakes looked up sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean—that Kamis?" she demanded. "He 's -coming </span><em class="italics">here</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye-es," said Mr. Samson. "Just for a minute or -two. Er—Ford knows about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To see Miss Harding, I suppose?" inquired -Mrs. Jakes, with a sniff.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," replied Mr. Samson again. "It isn't my -idea of things, but then, things have turned out so -dashed queer, don't you know. He wrote to ask if he -might say good-by; very civil, reasonable kind of -letter; Ford brought it to me an' asked my opinion. -Couldn't overlook the fact that he had a hand in -saving her life, you know. So on my advice, Ford wrote -to the feller saying that if he 'd understand there was -going to be no private interview, or anything of that -kind, he could turn up at ten o'clock an' take his -chance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," said Mrs. Jakes hopefully, "supposing the -police—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bless you, that 's all right," Mr. Samson assured -her. "The police don't want to see him again. Seems -that old Bill Winter—you know I wrote to him?—seems -that old Bill went to work like the dashed old -beaver he is, and had Van Zyl's head on a charger -for his breakfast. The Kafir-man 's got a job of some -sort, doctorin' niggers somewhere. The police never -mention him any more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said Mrs. Jakes, "I can't prevent you, of -course, from bringing Kafirs here, Mr. Samson, but -I 've got my feelings. When I think of poor Eustace, -and that Kafir thrusting himself in—well, there!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson drank deep of his coffee, trying vaguely -to suggest in his manner of drinking profound -sympathy with Mrs. Jakes and respect for what she -sometimes called the departed. Also, the cup hid her from -him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was strange how the presence of Margaret's -luggage in the hall pervaded the house with a sense of -impermanence and suspense. It gave even to the -breakfast the flavor of the mouthful one snatches while -turning over the baffling pages of the timetable. -Ford, when he came in, was brusk and irresponsive, -though he was not going anywhere, and Margaret's -breakfast went upstairs on a tray. Kafir servants were -giggling and whispering up and down stairs and were -obviously interested in the leather trunks. A house -with packed luggage in it has no character of a -dwelling; it is only a stopping-place, a minister to -transitory needs. As well have a coffin in the place as -luggage ready for removal; between them, they comprise -all that is removable in human kind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said Mr. Samson to Ford, attempting conversation; -"we 're goin' to have the place to ourselves -again. Eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You seem pleased," replied Ford unamiably.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm bearin' up," said Mr. Samson. "You seem -grieved, though."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That," said Ford, with venom, "is because I 'm -being bored."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The deuce you are." Mr. Samson was annoyed. -"I don't want to talk to you, you know. Sulk all you -want to; doesn't affect me. But if you could substitute -a winnin' smile for the look you 're wearin' at -present, it would be more appetizin'."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Er—the rain seems to be drawing-off, I think," -remarked Mrs. Jakes, energetically. "It might be quite -fine by-and-by. What do you think, Mr. Samson?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson, ever obedient to her prompting, made -an inspection of the prospect through the window. But -his sense of injury was strong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There are things much more depressing than rain," -he said, rancorously, and occupied himself pointedly -with his food.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ford made his apology as soon as they were free -from Mrs. Jakes. She had much to do in the unseen -organization of the departure, and apologized for -leaving them to themselves. It was another adjunct of -the luggage; not within the memory of man had inmates -of the Sanatorium sat at table without Mrs. Jakes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sorry," said Ford then, in a matter-of-fact way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you?" said Mr. Samson grudgingly. "All right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And that closed the incident.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Soon after breakfast, when the stoep was still -uninhabitable and the drawing-room unthinkable and the -hall uncongenial, Margaret came downstairs, -unfamiliar in clothes which the Sanatorium had not seen -before. Mrs. Jakes made mental notes of them, gazing -with narrow eyes and lips moving in a soundless -inventory. She came down smiling but uncertain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't know it could rain," was her greeting. -"Did you see the beginning of it? It was -wonderful—like an eruption."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I saw it," said Mr. Samson. "I got wet in it. -It 'll be cool for your drive to the station, even if it 's -a bit damp."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There 's still half an hour to wait before the cart -comes," said Margaret. "Where does one sit when -it 's raining?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One doesn't," said Mr. Samson. "One stands -about in draughts and one frets, one does."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come into the drawing-room," said Ford briefly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret looked at him with a smile for his seriousness -and his manner of one who desires to get to business, -but she yielded, and Mr. Samson ambled in their -wake, never doubting that he was of their company. -Ford, holding the door open for Margaret, surprised -him with a forbidding scowl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We don't want </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>," he whispered fiercely, and -shut the affronted and uncomprehending old -gentleman out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The drawing-room was forlorn and very shabby in the -cold light of the rainy day and the tattoo of the -rain-splashes on its window. Margaret went to the hearth -where Dr. Jakes had been wont to expiate his crimes, -and leaned her arm on the mantel, looking about the -apartment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It 's queer," she said; "I shall miss this."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Margaret," said Ford.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned to him, still smiling. She answered -nothing, but waited for him to continue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wanted to tell you something," he went on -steadily. "You know I love you, don't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she answered slowly. "You—you said so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I said it because I do," he said. "Well, Dr. Van -Coller was here yesterday, and when he had done -with you, I had a word with him. I wanted to know -if I could go Home too; so he came up to my room -and made an examination of me, a careful one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Margaret had ceased to smile. "Yes," she said. -"Tell me: what did he say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He said No," replied Ford. "I mustn't leave -here. He was very clear about it. I 've got to stay."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The emphasis with which he spoke was merely to -make her understand; he invited no pity for himself -and felt none. He was merely giving information.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," said Margaret,—"never? It isn't as bad -as </span><em class="italics">that</em><span>, is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He couldn't tell. He isn't really a lung man, -you know. But it doesn't make any real difference, -now you 're going. Two years or ten years or -forever—you 'll be away among other people and I 'll be -here and the gap between us will be wider every day. -We 've been friends and I had hopes—nothing cures -a chap of hoping, not even his lungs; but now I 've -got to cure myself of it, because it's no use. I would -n't have told you, Margaret—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, you would," interrupted Margaret. "You -wouldn't have let me go away without knowing, since -you—you love me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's it, exactly." He nodded; he had been -making a point and she had seen it. "I felt you were -entitled to know, but I can't say why. You understand, -though, don't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she said. "I understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I knew you would," he answered. "And you -won't think I 'm whining. I 'm not. I 'm so -thankful that we 've been together and understood each -other and that I love you that I don't reckon myself -a loser in the end. It 's all been pure gain to me. -As long as I live I shall be better off for it; I shall -live on it always and never let any of it go. If I never -see you again, I shall still be to the good. But perhaps -I shall. God knows."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you will," cried Margaret. "You 're sure to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled suddenly. "That's what I tell myself. -If I get all right, it 'll be the easiest thing in the world. -I 'll come and call on you, wherever you happen to be, -and send in my card. And if I 'm not going to get -well, I shall have to know it sooner or later, and then, -if you 'd let me, I 'd come just the same.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shouldn't expect anything," he added quickly. -"Not a single thing. Don't be afraid of that. Just -send in my card, as I said, and see you again and talk -to you, and call you Margaret. I would n't cadge; you -could trust me not to do that, at least."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must get well and then come," said the girl -softly. "And if you call me Margaret, I will call -you—"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stopped. "I never heard your Christian -name," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just John," he answered, smiling. "John—not -Jack or anything. I will come, you can be sure. -Either free or a ticket-of-leave, I 'll come. And now, -say good-by. I mustn't keep you any longer; I 've -hurt old Samson's feelings as it is. Good-by, Margaret. -You 'll get well in Switzerland, but you won't forget -the Karoo, will you? Good-by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't forget anything," said Margaret, with eyes -that were bright and tender. "Good-by. When your -card comes in, I shall be ever so glad. Good-by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a fidgety interval before the big cart drove -up to the house, its wheels rending through the gritty -mud and its horses steaming as though they had been -boiled. Mr. Samson employed each interlude in the -talk to glare at Ford in lofty offense; he seemed only -to be waiting till this dull business of departure was -concluded to call him to account. Mrs. du Preez, who had -come across in the cart to bid Margaret farewell, was -welcome as a diversion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, where 's the lucky one?" she cried. "Ah, -Miss Harding, can't you smell London from here? If -you could bottle that smell, with a drop o' fog, a drop -o' dried fish and a drop o' Underground Railway to -bring out the flavor, you 'd make a fortune, sellin' it -to us poor Afrikanders. But you 'll be sniffin' it from -the cask in three weeks from now. Lord, I wish it was me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You ought to make a trip," suggested Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Christian don't think so," declared Mrs. du Preez, -with her shrill laugh. "He knows I 'd stick where I -touched like a fly in a jam-pot, and he 'd have to come -and pull me out of it himself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She took an occasion to drop a private whisper into -Margaret's ear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Kamis is outside, waitin' to see you go. He 's -talkin' to Paul."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The farewells accomplished themselves. That of Mrs. Jakes -would have been particularly effective but for the -destructive intrusion of Mrs. du Preez.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Er—a pleasant voyage, Miss Harding," she said, -in a thin voice. "I may be in London soon myself—at -Putney. But I suppose we 're hardly likely to meet -before you go abroad again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wonder," said Margaret peaceably.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was then that Mrs. du Preez struck in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Putney," she said, in a loud and callous voice, in -itself sufficient to scrape Mrs. Jakes raw. "South the -water, eh? But you can easy run up to London from -there if Miss Harding sends for you, can't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kamis came eagerly to the foot of the steps as -Margaret came down, and Mr. Samson, with a loud cough, -posted himself at the head of them to superintend.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am glad you came," said Margaret. "I didn't -want to go away without seeing you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced up at Mr. Samson and the others, a -conscientious audience ranged above him, deputies of the -Colonial Mrs. Grundy, and smiled comprehendingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I had to come," he said. "I had to bid you -good-by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no change in his appearance since she had -seen him last. His tweed clothes were worn and shabby -as ever, and still strange in connection with his negro -face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I wanted to thank you for what you did for -me that night," said Margaret earnestly. "It was a -horrible thing, wasn't it? But I hear—I have heard -that it has come all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson coughed again. Mrs. Jakes, with an -elbow in each hand, coughed also.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right for me, certainly," the Kafir answered. -"They have given me something to do. There 's an -epidemic of smallpox among the natives in the Transkei, -and I 'm to go there at once. It couldn't be better -for me. But you. How about you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Kafir boys who were carrying out the trunks and -stacking them under Paul's directions in the cart were -eyeing them curiously, and the audience above never -wavered in its solemn watch. It was ridiculous and -exasperating.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I shall do very well," said Margaret, striving -to be impervious to the influence of those serious eyes. -"You have my address, have n't you? You must write -me how you get on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you like," he agreed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must," she said. "I shall be keen to hear. I -believed in you when nobody else did, except Paul."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A frightful cough from above did not silence her. -She answered it with a shrug. She meant to say all she -had to say, though the ground were covered with -eaves-droppers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shan't forget our talks," she went on; "under -the dam, with Paul's models. You 'll get on now; -you 'll do all you wanted to do; but I was in at the -beginning, wasn't I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You were, indeed," he answered; "at the darkest -part of it, the best thing that ever happened to me. -And now you 've got to go. I 'm keeping you too -long."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson coughed again as they shook hands and -came down the steps to assist Margaret into the cart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Remember," said the girl; "you must write. And -I shall always be glad and proud I knew you. -Good-by and good luck."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-by," said the Kafir. "I 'll write. The best -of luck."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul put his rug over her knees and reached for his -whip. The tall horses leaned and started, and the stoep -and its occupants, and the Kafir and Mr. Samson, slid -back. A thin chorus of "good-bys" rose, and Margaret -leaned out to wave her hand. A watery sun shone on -them feebly between clouds and they looked like the -culminating scene in some lugubrious drama.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When next she looked back, she saw the house against -the gray sky, solitary and little, with all the Karoo for -its background. It looked unsubstantial and vague, as -though a mirage were left over from the months of sun, -to be the abode of troubles and perplexities that would -soon be dim and remote also. Paul pulled his horses to -a standstill that she might see better; but even at that -moment fresh rain drummed on the hood of the cart -and came threshing about them, blotting the house from -view.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That 's the last of it, Paul," said Margaret. "No -more looking back now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Paul smiled slowly and presently found words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When we come to the station," he said, "I will find -a Kafir to hold the horses and I will take you to the -train. But I will not say much good-by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?" inquired Margaret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because soon I am coming to London too," he -answered happily, "and I will see you there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson and Ford were the last to reënter the -house. The Kafir had gone off unnoticed, saying nothing; -and Mrs. Jakes could not escape the conversational -attentions of Mrs. du Preez and was suffering in the -drawing-room. The two men stayed to watch the cart -till the rain swept in and hid it. Then Mr. Samson -resumed his threatful glare at Ford.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look here," he said formidably. "What d'you -mean by your dashed cheek? Eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sorry," said Ford calmly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Samson snorted. "</span><em class="italics">Are</em><span> you?" he said. "Well—all -right!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">THE END</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 6em"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="backmatter"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst" id="pg-end-line"><span>*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>FLOWER O' THE PEACH</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="cleardoublepage"> -</div> -<div class="language-en level-2 pgfooter section" id="a-word-from-project-gutenberg" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<span id="pg-footer"></span><h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><span>A Word from Project Gutenberg</span></h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span>We will update this book if we find any errors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This book can be found under: </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/44195"><span>http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/44195</span></a></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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