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diff --git a/5898-0.txt b/5898-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6275036 --- /dev/null +++ b/5898-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11805 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Jess, by H. Rider Haggard + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world 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 Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Jess + +Author: H. Rider Haggard + +Release Date: April 22, 2006 [eBook #5898] +[Most recently updated: March 31, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: John Bickers; Dagny and David Widger + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JESS *** + + + + +Jess + +by H. Rider Haggard + +First Published 1887. + +TO MY WIFE + + +Contents. + + CHAPTER I. JOHN HAS AN ADVENTURE + CHAPTER II. HOW THE SISTERS CAME TO MOOIFONTEIN + CHAPTER III. MR. FRANK MULLER + CHAPTER IV. BESSIE IS ASKED IN MARRIAGE + CHAPTER V. DREAMS ARE FOOLISHNESS + CHAPTER VI. THE STORM BREAKS + CHAPTER VII. LOVE’S YOUNG DREAM + CHAPTER VIII. JESS GOES TO PRETORIA + CHAPTER IX. JANTJE’S STORY + CHAPTER X. JOHN HAS AN ESCAPE + CHAPTER XI. ON THE BRINK + CHAPTER XII. OVER IT + CHAPTER XIII. FRANK MULLER SHOWS HIS HAND + CHAPTER XIV. JOHN TO THE RESCUE + CHAPTER XV. A ROUGH JOURNEY + CHAPTER XVI. PRETORIA + CHAPTER XVII. THE TWELFTH OF FEBRUARY + CHAPTER XVIII. AND AFTER + CHAPTER XIX. HANS COETZEE COMES TO PRETORIA + CHAPTER XX. THE GREAT MAN + CHAPTER XXI. JESS GETS A PASS + CHAPTER XXII. ON THE ROAD + CHAPTER XXIII. IN THE DRIFT OF THE VAAL + CHAPTER XXIV. THE SHADOW OF DEATH + CHAPTER XXV. MEANWHILE + CHAPTER XXVI. FRANK MULLER’S FAMILIAR + CHAPTER XXVII. SILAS IS CONVINCED + CHAPTER XXVIII. BESSIE IS PUT TO THE QUESTION + CHAPTER XXIX. CONDEMNED TO DEATH + CHAPTER XXX. “WE MUST PART, JOHN” + CHAPTER XXXI. JESS FINDS A FRIEND + CHAPTER XXXII. HE SHALL DIE + CHAPTER XXXIII. VENGEANCE + CHAPTER XXXIV. TANTA COETZEE TO THE RESCUE + CHAPTER XXXV. THE CONCLUSION OF THE MATTER + + + + +JESS. + + + + +CHAPTER I. +JOHN HAS AN ADVENTURE + + +The day had been very hot even for the Transvaal, where the days still +know how to be hot in the autumn, although the neck of the summer is +broken—especially when the thunderstorms hold off for a week or two, as +they do occasionally. Even the succulent blue lilies—a variety of the +agapanthus which is so familiar to us in English greenhouses—hung their +long trumpet-shaped flowers and looked oppressed and miserable, beneath +the burning breath of the hot wind which had been blowing for hours +like the draught from a volcano. The grass, too, near the wide roadway +that stretched in a feeble and indeterminate fashion across the veldt, +forking, branching, and reuniting like the veins on a lady’s arm, was +completely coated over with a thick layer of red dust. But the hot wind +was going down now, as it always does towards sunset. Indeed, all that +remained of it were a few strictly local and miniature whirlwinds, +which would suddenly spring up on the road itself, and twist and twirl +fiercely round, raising a mighty column of dust fifty feet or more into +the air, where it hung long after the wind had passed, and then slowly +dissolved as its particles floated to the earth. + +Advancing along the road, in the immediate track of one of these +desultory and inexplicable whirlwinds, was a man on horseback. The man +looked limp and dirty, and the horse limper and dirtier. The hot wind +had “taken all the bones out of them,” as the Kafirs say, which was not +very much to be wondered at, seeing that they had been journeying +through it for the last four hours without off-saddling. Suddenly the +whirlwind, which had been travelling along smartly, halted, and the +dust, after revolving a few times in the air like a dying top, slowly +began to disperse in the accustomed fashion. The man on the horse +halted also, and contemplated it in an absent kind of way. + +“It’s just like a man’s life,” he said aloud to his horse, “coming from +nobody knows where, nobody knows why, and making a little column of +dust on the world’s highway, then passing away, leaving the dust to +fall to the ground again, to be trodden under foot and forgotten.” + +The speaker, a stout, well set-up, rather ugly man, apparently on the +wrong side of thirty, with pleasant blue eyes and a reddish peaked +beard, laughed a little at his own sententious reflection, and then +gave his jaded horse a tap with the _sjambock_ in his hand. + +“Come on, Blesbok,” he said, “or we shall never get to old Croft’s +place to-night. By Jove! I believe that must be the turn,” and he +pointed with his whip to a little rutty track that branched from the +Wakkerstroom main road and stretched away towards a curious isolated +hill with a large flat top, which rose out of the rolling plain some +four miles to the right. “The old Boer said the second turn,” he went +on still talking to himself, “but perhaps he lied. I am told that some +of them think it is a good joke to send an Englishman a few miles +wrong. Let’s see, they told me the place was under the lee of a +table-topped hill, about half an hour’s ride from the main road, and +that is a table-topped hill, so I think I will try it. Come on, +Blesbok,” and he put the tired nag into a sort of “tripple,” or ambling +canter much affected by South African horses. + +“Life is a queer thing,” reflected Captain John Niel to himself as he +cantered along slowly. “Now here am I, at the age of thirty-four, about +to begin the world again as assistant to an old Transvaal farmer. It is +a pretty end to all one’s ambitions, and to fourteen years’ work in the +army; but it is what it has come to, my boy, so you had better make the +best of it.” + +Just then his cogitations were interrupted, for on the farther side of +a gentle slope suddenly there appeared an extraordinary sight. Over the +crest of the rise of land, now some four or five hundred yards away, a +pony with a lady on its back galloped wildly, and after it, with wings +spread and outstretched neck, a huge cock ostrich was speeding in +pursuit, covering twelve or fifteen feet at every stride of its long +legs. The pony was still twenty yards ahead of the bird, and travelling +towards John rapidly, but strive as it would it could not distance the +swiftest thing on all the earth. Five seconds passed—the great bird was +close alongside now—Ah! and John Niel turned sick and shut his eyes as +he rode, for he saw the ostrich’s thick leg fly high into the air and +then sweep down like a leaded bludgeon! + +_Thud!_ It had missed the lady and struck her horse upon the spine, +just behind the saddle, for the moment completely paralysing it so that +it fell all of a heap on to the veldt. In a moment the girl on its back +was up and running towards him, and after her came the ostrich. Up went +the great leg again, but before it could come crashing across her +shoulders she had flung herself face downwards on the grass. In an +instant the huge bird was on the top of her, kicking at her, rolling +over her, and crushing the very life out of her. It was at this +juncture that John Niel arrived upon the scene. The moment the ostrich +saw him it gave up its attacks upon the lady on the ground and began to +waltz towards him with the pompous sort of step that these birds +sometimes assume before they give battle. Now Captain Niel was +unaccustomed to the pleasant ways of ostriches, and so was his horse, +which showed a strong inclination to bolt; as, indeed, under other +circumstances, his rider would have been glad to do himself. But he +could not abandon beauty in distress, so, finding it impossible to +control his horse, he slipped off it, and with the _sjambock_ or +hide-whip in his hand valiantly faced the enemy. For a moment or two +the great bird stood still, blinking its lustrous round eyes at him and +gently swaying its graceful neck to and fro. + +Then all of a sudden it spread out its wings and came for him like a +thunderbolt. John sprang to one side, and was aware of a rustle of +rushing feathers, and of a vision of a thick leg striking downwards +past his head. Fortunately it missed him, and the ostrich sped on like +a flash. Before he could turn, however, it was back and had landed the +full weight of one of its awful forward kicks on the broad of his +shoulders, and away he went head-over-heels like a shot rabbit. In a +second he was on his legs again, shaken indeed, but not much the worse, +and perfectly mad with fury and pain. At him came the ostrich, and at +the ostrich went he, catching it a blow across the slim neck with his +_sjambock_ that staggered it for a moment. Profiting by the check, he +seized the bird by the wing and held on like grim death with both +hands. Now they began to gyrate, slowly at first, then quicker, and yet +more quick, till at last it seemed to Captain John Niel that time and +space and the solid earth were nothing but a revolving vision fixed +somewhere in the watches of the night. Above him, like a stationary +pivot, towered the tall graceful neck, beneath him spun the top-like +legs, and in front of him was a soft black and white mass of feathers. + +Thud, and a cloud of stars! He was on his back, and the ostrich, which +did not seem to be affected by giddiness, was on _him_, punishing him +dreadfully. Luckily an ostrich cannot kick a man very hard when he is +flat on the ground. If he could, there would have been an end of John +Niel, and his story need never have been written. + +Half a minute or so passed, during which the bird worked his sweet will +upon his prostrate enemy, and at the end of it the man began to feel +very much as though his earthly career was closed. Just as things were +growing faint and dim to him, however, he suddenly saw a pair of white +arms clasp themselves round the ostrich’s legs from behind, and heard a +voice cry: + +“Break his neck while I hold his legs, or he will kill you.” + +This roused him from his torpor, and he staggered to his feet. +Meanwhile the ostrich and the young lady had come to the ground, and +were rolling about together in a confused heap, over which the elegant +neck and open hissing mouth wavered to and fro like a cobra about to +strike. With a rush John seized the neck in both his hands, and, +putting out all his strength (for he was a strong man), he twisted it +till it broke with a snap, and after a few wild and convulsive bounds +and struggles the great bird lay dead. + +Then he sank down dazed and exhausted, and surveyed the scene. The +ostrich was perfectly quiet, and would never kick again, and the lady +too was quiet. He wondered vaguely if the brute had killed her—he was +as yet too weak to go and see—and then fell to gazing at her face. Her +head was pillowed on the body of the dead bird, and its feathery plumes +made it a fitting resting-place. Slowly it dawned on him that the face +was very beautiful, although it looked so pale just now. Low broad +brow, crowned with soft yellow hair, the chin very round and white, the +mouth sweet though rather large. The eyes he could not see, because +they were closed, for the lady had fainted. For the rest, she was quite +young—about twenty, tall and finely formed. Presently he felt a little +better, and, creeping towards her (for he was sadly knocked about), +took her hand and began to chafe it between his own. It was a +well-formed hand, but brown, and showed signs of doing plenty of hard +work. Soon she opened her eyes, and he noted with satisfaction that +they were very good eyes, blue in colour. Then she sat up and laughed a +little. + +“Well, I am silly,” she said; “I believe I fainted.” + +“It is not much to be wondered at,” said John Niel politely, and +lifting his hand to take off his hat, only to find that it had gone in +the fray. “I hope you are not very much hurt by the bird.” + +“I don’t know,” she said doubtfully. “But I am glad that you killed the +_skellum_ (vicious beast). He got out of the ostrich camp three days +ago, and has been lost ever since. He killed a boy last year, and I +told uncle he ought to shoot him then, but he would not, because he was +such a beauty.” + +“Might I ask,” said John Niel, “are you Miss Croft?” + +“Yes, I am—one of them. There are two of us, you know; and I can guess +who you are—you are Captain Niel, whom uncle is expecting to help him +with the farm and the ostriches.” + +“If all of them are like that,” he said, pointing to the dead bird, “I +don’t think that I shall take kindly to ostrich farming.” + +She laughed, showing a charming line of teeth. “Oh no,” she said, “he +was the only bad one—but, Captain Niel, I think you will find it +fearfully dull. There are nothing but Boers about here, you know. No +English people live nearer than Wakkerstroom.” + +“You overlook yourself,” he said, bowing; for really this daughter of +the wilderness had a very charming air about her. + +“Oh,” she answered, “I am only a girl, you know, and besides, I am not +clever. Jess, now—that’s my sister—Jess has been at school at Capetown, +and she _is_ clever. I was at Cape Town, too, though I didn’t learn +much there. But, Captain Niel, both the horses have bolted; mine has +gone home, and I expect yours has followed, and I should like to know +how we are going to get up to Mooifontein—beautiful fountain, that’s +what we call our place, you know. Can you walk?” + +“I don’t know,” he answered doubtfully; “I’ll try. That bird has +knocked me about a good deal,” and accordingly he staggered on to his +legs, only to collapse with an exclamation of pain. His ankle was +sprained, and he was so stiff and bruised that he could hardly stir. +“How far is the house?” he asked. + +“Only about a mile—just there; we shall see it from the crest of the +rise. Look, I’m all right. It was silly to faint, but he kicked all the +breath out of me,” and she got up and danced a little on the grass to +show him. “My word, though, I am sore! You must take my arm, that’s +all; that is if you don’t mind?” + +“Oh dear no, indeed, I don’t mind,” he said laughing; and so they +started, arm affectionately linked in arm. + + + + +CHAPTER II. +HOW THE SISTERS CAME TO MOOIFONTEIN + + +“Captain Niel,” said Bessie Croft—for she was named Bessie—when they +had painfully limped one hundred yards or so, “will you think me rude +if I ask you a question?” + +“Not at all.” + +“What has induced you to come and bury yourself in this place?” + +“Why do you ask?” + +“Because I don’t think that you will like it. I don’t think,” she added +slowly, “that it is a fit place for an English gentleman and an army +officer like you. You will find the Boer ways horrid, and then there +will only be my old uncle and us two for you to associate with.” + +John Niel laughed. “English gentlemen are not so particular nowadays, I +can assure you, Miss Croft, especially when they have to earn a living. +Take my case, for instance, for I may as well tell you exactly how I +stand. I have been in the army fourteen years, and I am now +thirty-four. Well, I have been able to live there because I had an old +aunt who allowed me 120 pounds a year. Six months ago she died, leaving +me the little property she possessed, for most of her income came from +an annuity. After paying expenses, duty, &c., it amounts to 1,115 +pounds. Now, the interest on this is about fifty pounds a year, and I +can’t live in the army on that. Just after my aunt’s death I came to +Durban with my regiment from Mauritius, and now they are ordered home. +Well, I liked the country, and I knew that I could not afford to live +in England, so I got a year’s leave of absence, and made up my mind to +have a look round to see if I could not take to farming. Then a +gentleman in Durban told me of your uncle, and said that he wanted to +dispose of a third interest in his place for a thousand pounds, as he +was getting too old to manage it himself. So I entered into +correspondence with him, and agreed to come up for a few months to see +how I liked it; and accordingly here I am, just in time to save you +from being knocked to bits by an ostrich.” + +“Yes, indeed,” she answered, laughing; “you’ve had a warm welcome at +any rate. Well, I hope you _will_ like it.” + +Just as he finished his story they reached the top of the rise over +which the ostrich had pursued Bessie Croft, and saw a Kafir coming +towards them, leading the pony with one hand and Captain Niel’s horse +with the other. About twenty yards behind the horses a lady was +walking. + +“Ah,” said Bessie, “they’ve caught the horses, and here is Jess come to +see what is the matter.” + +By this time the lady in question was quite close, so that John was +able to gather a first impression of her. She was small and rather +thin, with quantities of curling brown hair; not by any means a lovely +woman, as her sister undoubtedly was, but possessing two very +remarkable characteristics—a complexion of extraordinary and uniform +pallor, and a pair of the most beautiful dark eyes he had ever looked +on. Altogether, though her size was almost insignificant, she was a +striking-looking person, with a face few men would easily forget. +Before he had time to observe any more the two parties had met. + +“What on earth is the matter, Bessie?” Jess said, with a quick glance +at her sister’s companion, and speaking in a low full voice, with just +a slight South African accent, that is taking enough in a pretty woman. +Thereon Bessie broke out with a history of their adventure, appealing +to Captain Niel for confirmation at intervals. + +Meanwhile Jess Croft stood quite still and silent, and it struck John +that her face was the most singularly impassive one he had ever seen. +It never changed, even when her sister told her how the ostrich rolled +on her and nearly killed her, or how they finally subdued the foe. +“Dear me,” he thought to herself, “what a very strange woman! She can’t +have much heart.” But just as he thought it the girl looked up, and +then he saw where the expression lay. It was in those remarkable eyes. +Immovable as was her face, the dark eyes were alight with life and a +suppressed excitement that made them shine gloriously. The contrast +between the shining eyes and the impassive face beneath them struck him +as so extraordinary as to be almost uncanny. As a matter of fact, it +was doubtless both unusual and remarkable. + +“You have had a wonderful escape, but I am sorry for the bird,” she +said at last. + +“Why?” asked John. + +“Because we were great friends. I was the only person who could manage +him.” + +“Yes,” put in Bessie, “the savage brute would follow her about like a +dog. It was just the oddest thing I ever saw. But come on; we must be +getting home, it’s growing dark. Mouti”—which, being interpreted, means +Medicine—she added, addressing the Kafir in Zulu—“help Captain Niel on +to his horse. Be careful that the saddle does not twist round; the +girths may be loose.” + +Thus adjured, John, with the help of the Zulu, clambered into his +saddle, an example that the lady quickly followed, and they set off +once more through the gathering darkness. Presently he became aware +that they were passing up a drive bordered by tall blue gums, and next +minute the barking of a large dog, which he afterwards knew by the name +of Stomp, and the sudden appearance of lighted windows told him that +they had reached the house. At the door—or rather, opposite to it, for +there was a verandah in front—they halted and got off their horses. As +they dismounted there came a shout of welcome from the house, and +presently in the doorway, showing out clearly against the light, +appeared a striking and, in its way, a most pleasant figure. He—for it +was a man—was very tall, or, rather, he had been very tall. Now he was +much bent with age and rheumatism. His long white hair hung low upon +his neck, and fell back from a prominent brow. The top of the head was +quite bald, like the tonsure of a priest, and shone and glistened in +the lamplight, and round this oasis the thin white locks fell down. The +face was shrivelled like the surface of a well-kept apple, and, like an +apple, rosy red. The features were aquiline and strongly marked; the +eyebrows still black and very bushy, and beneath them shone a pair of +grey eyes, keen and bright as those of a hawk. But for all its +sharpness, there was nothing unpleasant or fierce about the face; on +the contrary, it was pervaded by a remarkable air of good-nature and +pleasant shrewdness. For the rest, the man was dressed in rough tweed +clothes, tall riding-boots, and held a broad-brimmed Boer hunting hat +in his hand. Such, as John Niel first saw him, was the outer person of +old Silas Croft, one of the most remarkable men in the Transvaal. + +“Is that you, Captain Niel?” roared out the stentorian voice. “The +natives said you were coming. A welcome to you! I am glad to see +you—very glad. Why, what is the matter with you?” he went on as the +Zulu Mouti ran to help him off his horse. + +“Matter, Mr. Croft?” answered John; “why, the matter is that your +favourite ostrich has nearly killed me and your niece here, and that I +have killed your favourite ostrich.” + +Then followed explanations from Bessie, during which he was helped off +his horse and into the house. + +“It serves me right,” said the old man. “To think of it now, just to +think of it! Well, Bessie, my love, thank God that you escaped—ay, and +you too, Captain Niel. Here, you boys, take the Scotch cart and a +couple of oxen and go and fetch the brute home. We may as well have the +feathers off him, at any rate, before the _aasvogels_ (vultures) tear +him to bits.” + +After he had washed himself and tended his injuries with arnica and +water, John managed to limp into the principal sitting-room, where +supper was waiting. It was a very pleasant room, furnished in European +style, and carpeted with mats made of springbuck skins. In the corner +stood a piano, and by it a bookcase, filled with the works of standard +authors, the property, as John rightly guessed, of Bessie’s sister +Jess. + +Supper went off pleasantly enough, and after it was over the two girls +sang and played whilst the men smoked. And here a fresh surprise +awaited him, for after Bessie, who apparently had now almost recovered +from her mauling, had played a piece or two creditably enough, Jess, +who so far had been nearly silent, sat down at the piano. She did not +do this willingly, indeed, for it was not until her patriarchal uncle +had insisted in his ringing, cheery voice that she should let Captain +Niel hear how she could sing that she consented. But at last she did +consent, and then, after letting her fingers stray somewhat aimlessly +along the chords, she suddenly broke out into such song as John Niel +had never heard before. Her voice, beautiful as it was, was not what is +known as a cultivated voice, and it was a German song, therefore he did +not understand it, but there was no need of words to translate its +burden. Passion, despairing yet hoping through despair, echoed in its +every line, and love, unending love, hovered over the glorious +notes—nay, possessed them like a spirit, and made them his. Up! up! +rang her wild sweet voice, thrilling his nerves till they answered to +the music as an Aeolian harp answers to the winds. On went the song +with a divine sweep, like the sweep of rushing pinions; higher, yet +higher it soared, lifting up the listener’s heart far above the world +on the trembling wings of sound—ay, even higher, till the music hung at +heaven’s gate, and falling thence, swiftly as an eagle falls, quivered, +and was dead. + +John sighed, and so strongly was he moved, sank back in his chair, +feeling almost faint with the revulsion of feeling that ensued when the +notes had died away. He looked up, and saw Bessie watching him with an +air of curiosity and amusement. Jess was still leaning against the +piano, and gently touching the notes, over which her head was bent low, +showing the coils of curling hair that were twisted round it like a +coronet. + +“Well, Captain Niel,” said the old man, waving his pipe in her +direction, “and what do you say to my singing-bird’s music, eh? Isn’t +it enough to draw the heart out of a man, eh, and turn his marrow to +water, eh?” + +“I never heard anything quite like it,” he answered simply, “and I have +heard most singers. It is beautiful. Certainly, I never expected to +hear such singing in the Transvaal.” + +Jess turned quickly, and he observed that, though her eyes were alight +with excitement, her face was as impassive as ever. + +“There is no need for you to laugh at me, Captain Niel,” she said +quickly, and then, with an abrupt “Good-night,” she left the room. + +The old man smiled, jerked the stem of his pipe over his shoulder after +her, and winked in a way that, no doubt, meant unutterable things, but +which did not convey much to his astonished guest, who sat still and +said nothing. Then Bessie rose and bade him good-night in her pleasant +voice, and with housewifely care inquired as to whether his room was to +his taste, and how many blankets he liked upon his bed, telling him +that if he found the odour of the moonflowers which grew near the +verandah too strong, he had better shut the right-hand window and open +that on the other side of the room. Then at length, with a piquant +little nod of her golden head, she went off, looking, John thought as +he watched her retreating figure, about as healthy, graceful, and +generally satisfactory a young woman as a man could wish to see. + +“Take a glass of grog, Captain Niel,” said the old man, pushing the +square bottle towards him, “you’ll need it after the mauling that brute +gave you. By the way, I haven’t thanked you for saving my Bessie! But I +do thank you, yes, that I do. I must tell you that Bessie is my +favourite niece. Never was there such a girl—never. Moves like a +springbuck, and what an eye and form! Work too—she’ll do as much work +as three. There’s no nonsense about Bessie, none at all. She’s not a +fine lady, for all her fine looks.” + +“The two sisters seem very different,” said John. + +“Ay, you’re right there,” answered the old man. “You’d never think that +the same blood ran in their veins, would you? There’s three years +between them, that’s one thing. Bessie’s the youngest, you see—she’s +just twenty, and Jess is twenty-three. Lord, to think that it is +twenty-three years since that girl was born! And theirs is a queer +story too.” + +“Indeed?” said his listener interrogatively. + +“Ay,” Silas went on absently, knocking out his pipe, and refilling it +from a big brown jar of coarse-cut Boer tobacco, “I’ll tell it to you +if you like: you are going to live in the house, and you may as well +know it. I am sure, Captain Niel, that it will go no further. You see I +was born in England, yes, and well-born too. I come from +Cambridgeshire—from the fat fen-land down round Ely. My father was a +clergyman. Well, he wasn’t rich, and when I was twenty he gave me his +blessing, thirty sovereigns in my pocket, and my passage to the Cape; +and I shook his hand, God bless him, and off I came, and here in the +old colony and this country I have been for fifty years, for I was +seventy yesterday. Well, I’ll tell you more about that another time, +it’s of the girls I’m speaking now. After I left home—some years +after—my dear old father married again, a youngish woman with some +money, but rather beneath him in life, and by her he had one son, and +then died. Well, it was but little I heard of my half-brother, except +that he had turned out very badly, married, and taken to drink, till +one night some twelve years ago, when a strange thing happened. I was +sitting here in this very room, ay, in this very chair—for this part of +the house was up then, though the wings weren’t built—smoking my pipe, +and listening to the lashing of the rain, for it was a very foul night, +when suddenly an old pointer dog I had, named Ben, began to bark. + +“‘Lie down, Ben, it’s only the Kafirs,’ said I. + +“Just then I thought I heard a faint sort of rapping at the door, and +Ben barked again, so I got up and opened it, and in came two little +girls wrapped in old shawls or some such gear. Well, I shut the door, +looking first to see if there were any more outside, and then I turned +and stared at the two little things with my mouth open. There they +stood, hand in hand, the water dripping from both of them; the elder +might have been eleven, and the second about eight years old. They +didn’t say anything, but the elder turned and took the shawl and hat +off the younger—that was Bessie—and there was her sweet little face and +her golden hair, and damp enough both of them were, and she put her +thumb in her mouth, and stood and looked at me till I began to think +that I was dreaming. + +“‘Please, sir,’ said the taller at last, ‘is this Mr. Croft’s house—Mr. +Croft—South African Republic?’ + +“‘Yes, little Miss, this is his house, and this is the South African +Republic, and I am he. And now who might you be, my dears?’ I answered. + +“‘If you please, sir, we are your nieces, and we have come to you from +England.’ + +“‘What!’ I holloaed, startled out of my wits, as well I might be. + +“‘Oh, sir,’ says the poor little thing, clasping her thin wet hands, +‘please don’t send us away. Bessie is so wet, and cold and hungry too, +she isn’t fit to go any farther.’ + +“And she set to work to cry, whereon the little one cried also, from +fright and cold and sympathy. + +“Well, of course, I took them both to the fire, and set them on my +knees, and called for Hebe, the old Hottentot woman who did my cooking, +and between us we undressed them, and wrapped them up in some old +clothes, and fed them with soup and wine, so that in half an hour they +were quite happy and not a bit frightened. + +“‘And now, young ladies,’ I said, ‘come and give me a kiss, both of +you, and tell me how you came here.’ + +“This is the tale they told me—completed, of course, from what I learnt +afterwards—and an odd one it is. It seems that my half-brother married +a Norfolk lady—a sweet young thing—and treated her like a dog. He was a +drunken rascal, was my half-brother, and he beat his poor wife and +shamefully neglected her, and even ill-used the two little girls, till +at last the poor woman, weak as she was from suffering and ill health, +could bear it no longer, and formed the wild idea of escaping to this +country and of throwing herself upon my protection. That shows how +desperate she must have been. She scraped together and borrowed some +money, enough to pay for three second-class passages to Natal and a few +pounds over, and one day, when her brute of a husband was away on the +drink and gamble, she slipped on board a sailing ship in the London +Docks, and before he knew anything about it they were well out to sea. +But it was her last effort, poor dear soul, and the excitement of it +finished her. Before they had been ten days at sea, she sank and died, +and the two little children were left alone. What they must have +suffered, or rather what poor Jess must have suffered, for she was old +enough to feel, God only knows, but I can tell you this, she has never +got over the shock to this hour. It has left its mark on her, sir. +Still, let people say what they will, there is a Power who looks after +the helpless, and that Power took those poor, homeless, wandering +children under its wing. The captain of the vessel befriended them, and +when at last they reached Durban some of the passengers made a +subscription, and paid an old Boer, who was coming up this way with his +wife to the Transvaal, to take them under his charge. The Boer and his +_vrouw_ treated the children fairly well, but they did not do one thing +more than they bargained for. At the turn from the Wakkerstroom road, +that you came along to-day, they put the girls down, for they had no +luggage with them, and told them that if they went along there they +would come to _Meinheer_ Croft’s house. That was in the middle of the +afternoon, and they were till eight o’clock getting here, poor little +dears, for the track was fainter then than it is now, and they wandered +off into the veldt, and would have perished there in the wet and cold +had they not chanced to see the lights of the house. That was how my +nieces came here, Captain Niel, and here they have been ever since, +except for a couple of years when I sent them to the Cape for +schooling, and a lonely man I was when they were away.” + +“And how about the father?” asked John Niel, deeply interested. “Did +you ever hear any more of him?” + +“Hear of him, the villain!” almost shouted the old man, jumping up in +wrath. “Ay, d—n him, I heard of him. What do you think? The two chicks +had been with me some eighteen months, long enough for me to learn to +love them with all my heart, when one fine morning, as I was seeing +about the new kraal wall, I saw a fellow come riding up on an old +raw-boned grey horse. Up he comes to me, and as he came I looked at +him, and said to myself, ‘You are a drunkard you are, and a rogue, it’s +written on your face, and, what’s more, I know your face.’ You see I +did not guess that it was a son of my own father that I was looking at. +How should I? + +“‘Is your name Croft?’ he said. + +“‘Ay,’ I answered. + +“‘So is mine,’ he went on with a sort of drunken leer. ‘I’m your +brother.’ + +“‘Are you?’ I said, beginning to get my back up, for I guessed what his +game was, ‘and what may you be after? I tell you at once, and to your +face, that if you are my brother you are a blackguard, and I don’t want +to know you or have anything to do with you; and if you are not, I beg +your pardon for coupling you with such a scoundrel.’ + +“‘Oh, that’s your tune, is it?’ he said with a sneer. ‘Well, now, my +dear brother Silas, I want my children. They have got a little +half-brother at home—for I have married again, Silas—who is anxious to +have them to play with, so if you will be so good as to hand them over, +I’ll take them away at once.’ + +“‘You’ll take them away, will you?’ said I, all of a tremble with rage +and fear. + +“‘Yes, Silas, I will. They are mine by law, and I am not going to breed +children for you to have the comfort of their society. I’ve taken +advice, Silas, and that’s sound law,’ and he leered at me again. + +“I stood and looked at that man, and thought of how he had treated +those poor children and their young mother, and my blood boiled, and I +grew mad. Without another word I jumped over the half-finished wall, +and caught him by the leg (for I was a strong man ten years ago) and +jerked him off the horse. As he came down he dropped the _sjambock_ +from his hand, and I laid hold of it and then and there gave him the +soundest hiding a man ever had. Lord, how he did holloa! When I was +tired I let him get up. + +“‘Now,’ I said, ‘be off with you, and if you come back here I’ll bid +the Kafirs hunt you to Natal with their sticks. This is the South +African Republic, and we don’t care overmuch about law here.’ Which we +didn’t in those days. + +“‘All right, Silas,’ he said, ‘all right, you shall pay for this. I’ll +have those children, and, for your sake, I’ll make their lives a +hell—you mark my words—South African Republic or no South African +Republic. I’ve got the law on my side.’ + +“Off he rode, cursing and swearing, and I flung his _sjambock_ after +him. This was the first and last time that I saw my brother.” + +“What became of him?” asked John Niel. + +“I’ll tell you, just to show you again that there is a Power which +keeps such men in its eye. He rode back to Newcastle that night, and +went about the canteen there abusing me, and getting drunker and +drunker, till at last the canteen keeper sent for his boys to turn him +out. Well, the boys were rough, as Kafirs are apt to be with a drunken +white man, and he struggled and fought, and in the middle of it the +blood began to run from his mouth, and he dropped down dead of a broken +blood-vessel, and there was an end of him. That is the story of the two +girls, Captain Niel, and now I am off to bed. To-morrow I’ll show you +round the farm, and we will have a talk about business. Good-night to +you, Captain Niel. Good-night!” + + + + +CHAPTER III. +MR. FRANK MULLER + + +John Niel woke early the next morning, feeling as sore and stiff as +though he had been well beaten and then wrapped up tight in +horse-girths. He made shift, however, to dress himself, and then, with +the help of a stick, limped through the French windows that opened from +his room on to the verandah, and surveyed the scene before him. It was +a delightful spot. At the back of the stead was the steep +boulder-strewn face of the flat-topped hill that curved round on each +side, embosoming a great slope of green, in the lap of which the house +was placed. It was very solidly built of brown stone, and, with the +exception of the waggon-shed and other outbuildings which were roofed +with galvanised iron, that shone and glistened in the rays of the +morning sun in a way that would have made an eagle blink, was covered +with rich brown thatch. All along its front ran a wide verandah, up the +trellis-work of which green vines and blooming creepers trailed +pleasantly, and beyond was the broad carriage-drive of red soil, +bordered with bushy orange-trees laden with odorous flowers and green +and golden fruit. On the farther side of the orange-trees were the +gardens, fenced in with low walls of rough stone, and the orchard +planted with standard fruit-trees, and beyond these again the oxen and +ostrich kraals, the latter full of long-necked birds. To the right of +the house grew thriving plantations of blue-gum and black wattle, and +to the left was a broad stretch of cultivated lands, lying so that they +could be irrigated for winter crops by means of water led from the +great spring that gushed out of the mountain-side high above the house, +and gave its name of Mooifontein to the place. + +All these and many more things John Niel saw as he looked out from the +verandah at Mooifontein, but for the moment at any rate they were lost +in the wild and wonderful beauty of the panorama that rolled away for +miles and miles at his feet, till it was bounded by the mighty range of +the Drakensberg to the left, tipped here and there with snow, and by +the dim and vast horizon of the swelling Transvaal plains to the right +and far in front of him. It was a beautiful sight, and one to make the +blood run in a man’s veins, and his heart beat happily because he was +alive to see it. Mile upon mile of grass-clothed veldt beneath, bending +and rippling like a corn-field in the quick breath of the morning, +space upon space of deep-blue sky overhead with ne’er a cloud to dim +it, and the swift rush of the wind between. Then to the left there, +impressive to look on and conducive to solemn thoughts, the mountains +rear their crests against the sky, and, crowned with the gathered snows +of the centuries whose monuments they are, from aeon to aeon gaze +majestically out over the wide plains and the ephemeral ant-like races +who tread them, and while they endure think themselves the masters of +their little world. And over all—mountain, plain, and flashing +stream—the glorious light of the African sun and the Spirit of Life +moving now as it once moved upon the darkling waters. + +John stood and gazed at the untamed beauty of the scene, in his mind +comparing it to many cultivated prospects which he had known, and +coming to the conclusion that, however desirable the presence of +civilised man might be in the world, it could not be said that his +operations really add to its beauty. For the old line, “Nature +unadorned adorned the most,” still remains true in more senses than +one. + +Presently his reflections were interrupted by the step of Silas Croft, +which, notwithstanding his age and bent frame, still rang firm +enough—and he turned to greet him. + +“Well, Captain Niel,” said the old man, “up already! It looks well if +you mean to take to farming. Yes, it’s a pretty view, and a pretty +place too. Well, I made it. Twenty-five years ago I rode up here and +saw this spot. Look, you see that rock there behind the house? I slept +under it and woke at sunrise and looked out at this beautiful scene and +at the great veldt (it was all alive with game then), and I said to +myself, ‘Silas, for five-and-twenty years have you wandered about this +great country, and now you are getting tired of it; you’ve never seen a +fairer spot than this or a healthier; be a wise man and stop here.’ And +so I did. I bought the 3,000 _morgen_ (6,000 acres), more or less, for +10 pounds down and a case of gin, and I set to work to make this place, +and you see I have made it. Ay, it has grown under my hand, every stone +and tree of it, and you know what that means in a new country. But one +way or another I have done it, and now I have grown too old to manage +it, and that’s how I came to give out that I wanted a partner, as Mr. +Snow told you down in Durban. You see, I told Snow it must be a +gentleman; I don’t care much about the money, I’ll take a thousand for +a third share if I can get a gentleman—none of your Boers or mean +whites for me. I tell you I have had enough of Boers and their ways; +the best day of my life was when old Shepstone ran up the Union Jack +there in Pretoria and I could call myself an Englishman once more. +Lord! and to think that there are men who are subjects of the Queen and +want to be subjects of a Republic again—Mad! Captain Niel, I tell you, +quite mad! However, there’s an end of it all now. You know what Sir +Garnet Wolseley told them in the name of the Queen up at the Vaal +River, that this country would remain English until the sun stood still +in the heavens and the waters of the Vaal ran backwards.[*] That’s good +enough for me, for, as I tell these grumbling fellows who want the land +back now that we have paid their debts and defeated their enemies, no +English government is false to its word, or breaks engagements solemnly +entered into by its representatives. We leave that sort of thing to +foreigners. No, no, Captain Niel, I would not ask you to take a share +in this place if I wasn’t sure that it would remain under the British +flag. But we will talk of all this another time, and now come in to +breakfast.” + +[*] A fact.—Author. + +After breakfast, as John was far too lame to walk about the farm, the +fair Bessie suggested that he should come and help her to wash a batch +of ostrich feathers, and, accordingly, off he went. The _locus +operandi_ was in a space of lawn at the rear of a little clump of +_naatche_ orange-trees, of which the fruit is like that of the Maltese +orange, only larger. Here were placed an ordinary washing-tub +half-filled with warm water, and a tin bath full of cold. The ostrich +feathers, many of which were completely coated with red dirt, were +plunged first into the tub of warm water, where John Niel scrubbed them +with soap, and then transferred to the tin bath, where Bessie rinsed +them and laid them on a sheet in the sun to dry. The morning was very +pleasant, and John soon came to the conclusion that there are many more +disagreeable occupations in the world than the washing of ostrich +feathers with a lovely girl to help you. For there was no doubt but +that Bessie was lovely, looking a very type of happy, healthy womanhood +as she sat opposite to him on the little stool, her sleeves rolled up +almost to the shoulder, showing a pair of arms that would not have +disgraced a statue of Venus, and laughed and chatted away as she washed +the feathers. Now, John Niel was not a susceptible man: he had gone +through the fire years before and burnt his fingers like many another +confiding youngster but, all the same, he did wonder as he knelt there +and watched this fair girl, who somehow reminded him of a rich rosebud +bursting into bloom, how long it would be possible to live in the same +house with her without falling under the spell of her charm and beauty. +Then he began to think of Jess, and of what a strange contrast the two +were. + +“Where is your sister?” he asked presently. + +“Jess? Oh, I think that she has gone to the Lion Kloof, reading or +sketching, I don’t know which. You see in this establishment I +represent labour and Jess represents intellect,” and she nodded her +head prettily at him, and added, “There is a mistake somewhere, she got +all the brains.” + +“Ah,” said John quietly, and looking up at her, “I don’t think that you +are entitled to complain of the way in which Nature has treated you.” + +She blushed a little, more at the tone of his voice than the words, and +went on hastily, “Jess is the dearest, best, and cleverest woman in the +whole world—there. I believe that she has only one fault, and it is +that she thinks too much about me. Uncle said that he had told you how +we came here first when I was eight years old. Well, I remember that +when we lost our way on the veldt that night, and it rained so and was +so cold, Jess took off her own shawl and wrapped it round me over my +own. Well, it has been just like that with her always. I am always to +have the shawl—everything is to give way to me. But there, that is Jess +all over; she is very cold, cold as a stone I sometimes think, but when +she does care for anybody it is enough to frighten one. I don’t know a +great number of women, but somehow I do not think that there can be +many in the world like Jess. She is too good for this place; she ought +to go away to England and write books and become a famous woman, +only——” she added reflectively, “I am afraid that Jess’s books would +all be sad ones.” + +Just then Bessie stopped talking and suddenly changed colour, the bunch +of lank wet feathers she held in her hand dropping from it with a +little splash back into the bath. Following her glance, John looked +down the avenue of blue-gum trees and perceived a big man with a broad +hat and mounted on a splendid black horse, cantering leisurely towards +the house. + +“Who is that, Miss Croft?” he asked. + +“It is a man I don’t like,” she said with a little stamp of her foot. +“His name is Frank Muller, and he is half a Boer and half an +Englishman. He is very rich, and very clever, and owns all the land +round this place, so uncle has to be civil to him, though he does not +like him either. I wonder what he wants now.” + +On came the horse, and John thought that its rider was going to pass +without seeing them, when suddenly the movement of Bessie’s dress +between the _naatche_ trees caught his eye, and he pulled up and looked +round. He was a large and exceedingly handsome man, apparently about +forty years old, with clear-cut features, cold, light-blue eyes, and a +remarkable golden beard that hung down over his chest. For a Boer he +was rather smartly dressed in English-made tweed clothes, and tall +riding-boots. + +“Ah, Miss Bessie,” he called out in English, “there you are, with your +pretty arms all bare. I’m in luck to be just in time to see them. Shall +I come and help you to wash the feathers? Only say the word, now——” + +Just then he caught sight of John Niel, checked himself, and added: + +“I have come to look for a black ox, branded with a heart and a ‘W’ +inside of the heart. Do you know if your uncle has seen it on the place +anywhere?” + +“No, _Meinheer_ Muller,” replied Bessie, coldly, “but he is down +there,” pointing at a kraal on the plain some half-mile away, “if you +want to go and ask about it.” + +“_Mr._ Muller,” said he, by way of correction, and with a curious +contraction of the brow. “‘_Meinheer_’ is very well for the Boers, but +we are all Englishmen now. Well, the ox can wait. With your permission, +I’ll stop here till _Oom_ Croft (Uncle Croft) comes back,” and, without +further ado, he jumped off his horse and, slipping the reins over its +head as an indication to it to stand still, advanced towards Bessie +with an outstretched hand. As he came the young lady plunged both her +arms up to the elbow in the bath, and it struck John, who was observing +the scene closely, that she did this in order to avoid the necessity of +shaking hands with her stalwart visitor. + +“Sorry my hands are wet,” she said, giving him a cold little nod. “Let +me introduce you, Mr. (with emphasis) Frank Muller—Captain Niel—who has +come to help my uncle with the place.” + +John stretched out his hand and Muller shook it. + +“Captain,” he said interrogatively—“a ship captain, I suppose?” + +“No,” said John, “a Captain of the English Army.” + +“Oh, a _rooibaatje_ (red jacket). Well, I don’t wonder at your taking +to farming after the Zulu war.” + +“I don’t quite understand you,” said John, rather coldly. + +“Oh, no offence, Captain, no offence. I only meant that you +_rooibaatjes_ did not come very well out of that war. I was there with +Piet Uys, and it was a sight, I can tell you. A Zulu had only to show +himself at night and one would see your regiments _skreck_ (stampede) +like a span of oxen when they wind a lion. And then they’d fire—ah, +they did fire—anyhow, anywhere, but mostly at the clouds, there was no +stopping them; and so, you see, I thought that you would like to turn +your sword into a ploughshare, as the Bible says—but no offence, I’m +sure—no offence.” + +All this while John Niel, being English to his backbone, and cherishing +the reputation of his profession almost as dearly as his own honour, +was boiling with inward wrath, which was all the fiercer because he +knew there was some truth in the Boer’s insults. He had the sense, +however, to keep his temper—outwardly, at any rate. + +“I was not in the Zulu war, Mr. Muller,” he said, and just then old +Silas Croft rode up, and the conversation dropped. + +Mr. Frank Muller stopped to dinner and far on into the afternoon, for +his lost ox seemed to have entirely slipped his memory. There he sat +close to the fair Bessie, smoking and drinking gin-water, and talking +with great volubility in English sprinkled with Boer-Dutch terms that +John Niel did not understand, and gazing at the young lady in a manner +which John somehow found unpleasant. Of course it was no affair of his, +and he had no interest in the matter, but for all that he thought this +remarkable-looking Dutchman exceedingly disagreeable. At last, indeed, +he could bear it no longer, and hobbled out for a little walk with +Jess, who, in her abrupt way, offered to show him the garden. + +“You don’t like that man?” she said to him, as they went slowly down +the slope in front of the house. + +“No; do you?” + +“I think,” replied Jess quietly, but with much emphasis, “that he is +the most odious man I ever saw—and the most curious.” Then she relapsed +into silence, only broken now and again by an occasional remark about +the flowers and trees. + +Half an hour afterwards, when they arrived again at the top of the +slope, Mr. Muller was just riding off down the avenue of blue gums. By +the verandah stood a Hottentot named Jantje, who had been holding the +Dutchman’s horse. He was a curious, wizened-up little fellow, dressed +in rags, and with hair like the worn tags of a black woollen carpet. +His age might have been anything between twenty-five and sixty; it was +impossible to form any opinion on the point. Just now, however, his +yellow monkey face was convulsed with an expression of intense +malignity, and he was standing there in the sunshine cursing rapidly +beneath his breath in Dutch, and shaking his fist after the form of the +retreating Boer—a very epitome of impotent but overmastering passion. + +“What is he doing?” asked John. + +Jess laughed, and answered, “Jantje does not like Frank Muller any more +than I do, but I don’t know why. He will never tell me.” + + + + +CHAPTER IV. +BESSIE IS ASKED IN MARRIAGE + + +In due course John Niel recovered from his sprained ankle and the other +injuries inflicted on him by the infuriated cock ostrich (it is, by the +way, a humiliating thing to be knocked out of time by a feathered +fowl), and set to work to learn the routine of farm life. He did not +find this a disagreeable task, especially when he had so fair an +instructress as Bessie, who knew all about it, to show him the way in +which he should go. Naturally of an energetic and hard-working +temperament, he very soon fell more or less into the swing of the +thing, and at the end of six weeks began to talk quite learnedly of +cattle and ostriches and sweet and sour veldt. About once a week or so +Bessie used to put him through a regular examination as to his +progress; also she gave him lessons in Dutch and Zulu, both of which +tongues she spoke to perfection; so it will be seen that John did not +lack for pleasant and profitable employment. Also, as time went on he +grew much attached to Silas Croft. The old gentleman, with his +handsome, honest face, his large and varied stock of experience and his +sturdy English character, made a great impression on his mind. He had +never met a man quite like him before. Nor was this friendship +unreciprocated, for his host took a wonderful fancy to John Niel. + +“You see, my dear,” he explained to his niece Bessie, “he is quiet, and +he doesn’t know much about farming, but he’s willing to learn, and such +a gentleman. Now, where one has Kafirs to deal with, as on a place like +this, you must have a _gentleman_. Your mean white will never get +anything out of a Kafir; that’s why the Boers kill them and flog them, +because they can’t get anything out of them without. But you see +Captain Niel gets on well enough with the ‘boys.’ I think he’ll do, my +dear, I think he’ll do,” and Bessie quite agreed with him. And so it +came to pass that after this six weeks’ trial the bargain was struck +finally, and John paid over his thousand pounds, becoming the owner of +a third interest in Mooifontein. + +Now it is not possible, in a general way, for a man of John Niel’s age +to live in the same house with a young and lovely woman like Bessie +Croft without running more or less risk of entanglement. Especially is +this so when the two people have little or no outside society or +distraction to divert their attention from each other. Not that there +was, at any rate as yet, the slightest hint of affection between them. +Only they liked one another very much, and found it pleasant to be a +good deal together. In short, they were walking along that easy, +winding road which leads to the mountain paths of love. It is a very +broad road, like another road that runs elsewhere, and, also like this +last, it has a wide gate. Sometimes, too, it leads to destruction. But +for all that it is a most agreeable one to follow hand-in-hand, winding +as it does through the pleasant meadows of companionship. The view is +rather limited, it is true, and homelike—full of familiar things. There +stand the kine, knee-deep in grass; there runs the water; and there +grows the corn. Also you can stop if you like. By-and-by it is +different. By-and-by, when the travellers tread the heights of passion, +precipices will yawn and torrents rush, lightnings will fall and storms +will blind; and who can know that they shall attain at last to that +far-off peak, crowned with the glory of a perfect peace which men call +Happiness? There are those who say it never can be reached, and that +the halo which rests upon its slopes is no earthly light, but rather, +as it were, a promise and a beacon—a glow reflected whence we know not, +and lying on this alien earth as the sun’s light lies on the dead bosom +of the moon. Some declare, again, that they have climbed its topmost +pinnacle and tasted of the fresh breath of heaven which sweeps around +its heights—ay, and heard the quiring of immortal harps and the +swan-like sigh of angels’ wings; and then behold! a mist has fallen +upon them, and they have wandered in it, and when it cleared they were +on the mountain paths once more, and the peak was far away. And a few +there are who tell us that they live there always, listening to the +voice of God; but these are old and worn with journeying—men and women +who have outlived passions and ambitions and the fire heats of love, +and who now, girt about with memories, stand face to face with the +sphinx Eternity. + +But John Niel was no chicken, nor very likely to fall in love with the +first pretty face he met. He had once, years ago, gone through that +melancholy stage, and there, he thought, was an end of it. Moreover, if +Bessie attracted him, so did Jess in a different way. Before he had +been a week in the house he came to the conclusion that Jess was the +strangest woman he had ever met, and in her own fashion one of the most +attractive. Her very impassiveness added to her charm; for who is there +in this world who is not eager to learn a secret? To him Jess was a +riddle of which he did not know the key. That she was clever and +well-informed he soon discovered from her rare remarks; that she could +sing like an angel he also knew; but what was the mainspring of her +mind—round what axis did it revolve—this was the puzzle. Clearly enough +it was not like most women’s, least of all like that of happy, healthy, +plain-sailing Bessie. So curious did he become to fathom these +mysteries that he took every opportunity to associate with her, and, +when he had time, would even go out with her on her sketching, or +rather flower-painting, expeditions. On these occasions she would +sometimes begin to talk, but it was always about books, or England or +some intellectual question. She never spoke of herself. + +Yet it soon became evident to John that she liked his society, and +missed him when he did not come. It never occurred to him what a boon +it was to a girl of considerable intellectual attainments, and still +greater intellectual capacities and aspirations, to be thrown for the +first time into the society of a cultivated and intelligent gentleman. +John Niel was no empty-headed, one-sided individual. He had both read +and thought, and even written a little, and in him Jess found a mind +which, though of an inferior stamp, was more or less kindred to her +own. Although he did not understand her she understood him, and at +last, had he but known it, there rose a far-off dawning light upon the +twilight of her heart that thrilled and changed it as the first faint +rays of morning thrill and change the darkness of the night. What if +she should learn to love this man, and teach him to love her? To most +women such a thought more or less involves the idea of marriage, and +that change of status which for the most part they consider desirable. +But Jess did not think much of that: what she did think of was the +blessed possibility of being able to lay down her life, as it were, in +the life of another—of at last finding somebody who understood her and +whom she could understand, who would cut the shackles that bound down +the wings of her genius, so that she could rise and bear him with her +as, in Bulwer Lytton’s beautiful story, Zoe would have borne her lover. +Here at length was a man who _understood_, who was something more than +an animal, and who possessed the god-like gift of brains, the gift that +had been a curse rather than a blessing to her, lifting her above the +level of her sex and shutting her off as by iron doors from the +comprehension of those around her. Ah! if only this perfect love of +which she had read so much would come to him and her, life might +perhaps grow worth the living. + +It is a curious thing, but in such matters most men never learn wisdom +from experience. A man of John Niel’s age might have guessed that it is +dangerous work playing with explosives, and that the quietest, most +harmless-looking substances are sometimes the most explosive. He might +have known that to set to work to cultivate the society of a woman with +such tell-tale eyes as Jess’s was to run the risk of catching the fire +from them himself, to say nothing of setting her alight: he might have +known that to bring all the weight of his cultivated mind to bear on +her mind, to take the deepest interest in her studies, to implore her +to let him see the poetry Bessie told him she wrote, but which she +would show to no living soul, and to evince the most evident delight in +her singing, were one and all hazardous things to do. Yet he did them +and thought no harm. + +As for Bessie, she was delighted that her sister should have found +anybody to whom she cared to talk or who could understand her. It never +occurred to her that Jess might fall in love. Jess was the last person +to fall in love. Nor did she calculate what the results might be to +John. As yet, at any rate, she had no interest in Captain Niel—of +course not. + +And so things went on pleasantly enough to all concerned in this drama +till one fine day when the storm-clouds began to gather. John had been +about the farm as usual till dinner time, after which he took his gun +and told Jantje to saddle up his shooting pony. He was standing on the +verandah, waiting for the pony to appear, and by him was Bessie, +looking particularly attractive in a white dress, when suddenly he +caught sight of Frank Muller’s great black horse, and upon it that +gentleman himself, cantering up the avenue of blue gums. + +“Hullo, Miss Bessie,” he said, “here comes your friend.” + +“Bother!” said Bessie, stamping her foot; and then, with a quick look, +“Why do you call him my friend?” + +“I imagine that he considers himself so, to judge from the number of +times a week he comes to see you,” John answered with a shrug. “At any +rate, he isn’t mine, so I am off shooting. Good-bye. I hope that you +will enjoy yourself.” + +“You are not kind,” she said in a low voice, turning her back upon him. + +In another moment he was gone, and Frank Muller had arrived. + +“How do you do, Miss Bessie?” he said, jumping from his horse with the +rapidity of a man who had been accustomed to rough riding all his life. +“Where is the _rooibaatje_ off to?” + +“Captain Niel is going out shooting,” she said coldly. + +“So much the better for you and me, Miss Bessie. We can have a pleasant +talk. Where is that black monkey Jantje? Here, Jantje, take my horse, +you ugly devil, and mind you look after him, or I’ll cut the liver out +of you!” + +Jantje took the horse, with a forced grin of appreciation at the joke, +and led him off to the stable. + +“I don’t think that Jantje likes you, _Meinheer_ Muller,” said Bessie, +spitefully, “and I do not wonder at it if you talk to him like that. He +told me the other day that he had known you for twenty years,” and she +looked at him inquiringly. + +This casual remark produced a strange effect on her visitor, who turned +colour beneath his tanned skin. + +“He lies, the black hound,” he said, “and I’ll put a bullet through him +if he says it again! What should I know about him, or he about me? Can +I keep count of every miserable man-monkey I meet?” and he muttered a +string of Dutch oaths into his long beard. + +“Really, _Meinheer!_” said Bessie. + +“Why do you always call me ‘_Meinheer_’?” he asked, turning so fiercely +on her that she started back a step. “I tell you I am not a Boer. I am +an Englishman. My mother was English; and besides, thanks to Lord +Carnarvon, we are all English now.” + +“I don’t see why you should mind being thought a Boer,” she said +coolly: “there are some very good people among the Boers, and besides, +you used to be a great ‘patriot.’” + +“Used to be—yes; and so the trees used to bend to the north when the +wind blew that way, but now they bend to the south, for the wind has +turned. By-and-by it may set to the north again—that is another +matter—then we shall see.” + +Bessie made no answer beyond pursing up her pretty mouth and slowly +picking a leaf from the vine that trailed overhead. + +The big Dutchman took off his hat and stroked his beard perplexedly. +Evidently he was meditating something that he was afraid to say. Twice +he fixed his cold eyes on Bessie’s fair face, and twice looked down +again. The second time she took alarm. + +“Excuse me one minute,” she said, and made as though to enter the +house. + +“_Wacht een beeche_” (wait a bit), he ejaculated, breaking into Dutch +in his agitation, and even catching hold of her white dress with his +big hand. + +Drawing the dress from him with a quick twist of her lithe form, she +turned and faced him. + +“I beg your pardon,” she said, in a tone that could not be called +encouraging: “you were going to say something.” + +“Yes—ah, that is—I was going to say——” and he paused. + +Bessie stood with a polite look of expectation on her face, and waited. + +“I was going to say—that, in short, that I want to marry you!” + +“Oh!” exclaimed Bessie with a start. + +“Listen,” he went on hoarsely, his words gathering force as he spoke, +as is the way even with uncultured people when they speak from the +heart. “Listen! I love you, Bessie; I have loved you for three years. +Every time I have seen you I have loved you more. Don’t say me nay—you +don’t know how I do love you. I dream of you every night; sometimes I +dream that I hear your dress rustling, then you come and kiss me, and +it is like being in heaven.” + +Here Bessie made a gesture of disgust. + +“There, I have offended you, but don’t be angry with me. I am very +rich, Bessie; there is the place here, and then I have four farms in +Lydenburg and ten thousand _morgen_ up in Waterberg, and a thousand +head of cattle, besides sheep and horses and money in the bank. You +shall have everything your own way,” he went on, seeing that the +inventory of his goods did not appear to impress her—“everything—the +house shall be English fashion; I will build a new _sit-kammer_ +(sitting-room) and it shall be furnished from Natal. There, I love you, +I say. You won’t say no, will you?” and he caught her by the hand. + +“I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Muller,” answered Bessie, snatching +away her hand, “but—in short, I cannot marry you. No, it is no use, I +cannot indeed. There, please say no more—here comes my uncle. Forget +all about it, Mr. Muller.” + +Her suitor looked up; there was old Silas Croft sure enough, but he was +some way off, and walking slowly. + +“Do you mean it?” he said beneath his breath. + +“Yes, yes, of course I mean it. Why do you force me to repeat it?” + +“It is that damned _rooibaatje_,” he broke out. “You used not to be +like this before. Curse him, the white-livered Englishman! I will be +even with him yet; and I tell you what it is, Bessie: you shall marry +me, whether you like or no. Look here, do you think I am the sort of +man to play with? You go to Wakkerstroom and ask what sort of a man +Frank Muller is. See! I want you—I must have you. I could not live if I +thought that I should never get you for myself. And I tell you I will +do it. I don’t care of it costs me my life, and your _rooibaatje’s_ +too. I’ll do it if I have to stir up a revolt against the Government. +There, I swear it by God or by the Devil, it’s all one to me!” And +growing inarticulate with passion, he stood before her clinching and +unclinching his great hand, and his lips trembling. + +Bessie was very frightened; but she was a brave woman, and rose to the +emergency. + +“If you go on talking like that,” she said, “I shall call my uncle. I +tell you that I will not marry you, Frank Muller, and that nothing +shall ever make me marry you. I am very sorry for you, but I have not +encouraged you, and I will never marry you—never!” + +He stood for half a minute or so looking at her, and then burst into a +savage laugh. + +“I think that some day or other I shall find a way to make you,” Muller +said, and turning, he went without another word. + +A couple of minutes later Bessie heard the sound of a horse galloping, +and looking up she saw her wooer’s powerful form vanishing down the +vista of blue gums. Also she heard somebody crying out as though in +pain at the back of the house, and, more to relieve her mind than for +any other reason, she went to see what it was. By the stable door she +found the Hottentot Jantje, shrieking, cursing and twisting round and +round, his hand pressed to his side, from which the blood was running. + +“What is it?” she asked. + +“Baas Frank!” he answered—“Baas Frank hit me with his whip!” + +“The brute!” said Bessie, the tears starting to her eyes with anger. + +“Never mind, missie, never mind,” gasped the Hottentot, his ugly face +growing livid with fury, “it is only one more to me. I cut it on this +stick”—and he held up a long thick stick he carried, on which were +several notches, including three deep ones at the top just below the +knob. “Let him look out sharp—let him search the grass—let him creep +round the bush—let him watch as he will, one day he will find Jantje, +and Jantje will find him!” + +“Why did Frank Muller gallop away like that?” asked her uncle of Bessie +when she got back to the verandah. + +“We had some words,” she answered shortly, not seeing the use of +explaining matters to the old man. + +“Ah, indeed, indeed. Well, be careful, my love. It’s ill to quarrel +with a man like Frank Muller. I’ve known him for many years, and he has +a black heart when he is crossed. You see, my love, you can deal with a +Boer and you can deal with an Englishman, but cross-bred dogs are hard +to handle. Take my advice, and make it up with Frank Muller.” + +All of which sage advice did not tend to raise Bessie’s spirits, that +were already sufficiently depressed. + + + + +CHAPTER V. +DREAMS ARE FOOLISHNESS + + +When, at the approach of Frank Muller, John Niel left Bessie on the +verandah, he had taken his gun, and, having whistled to the pointer dog +Pontac, he mounted his shooting pony and started in quest of +partridges. On the warm slopes of the hills round Wakkerstroom a large +species of partridge is very abundant, particularly in the patches of +red grass with which the slopes are sometimes clothed. It is a merry +sound to hear these birds calling from all directions just after +daybreak, and one to make the heart of every true sportsman rejoice +exceedingly. On leaving the house John proceeded up the side of the +hill behind it—his pony picking its way carefully between the stones, +and the dog Pontac ranging about two or three hundred yards off, for in +this sort of country it is necessary to have a dog with a wide range. +Presently seeing him stop under a mimosa thorn and suddenly stiffen out +as if he had been petrified, John made the best of his way towards him. +Pontac stood still for a few seconds, and then slowly and deliberately +veered his head round as though it worked on a hinge to see if his +master was coming. John knew his ways. Three times would that +remarkable old dog look round thus, and if the gun had not then arrived +he would to a certainty run in and flush the birds. This was a rule +that he never broke, for his patience had a fixed limit. On this +occasion, however, John arrived before it was reached, and, jumping off +his pony, cocked his gun and marched slowly up, full of happy +expectation. On drew the dog, his eye cold and fixed, saliva dropping +from his mouth, and his head, on which was frozen an extraordinary +expression of instinctive ferocity, outstretched to its utmost limit. + +Pontac was under the mimosa thorn now and up to his belly in the warm +red grass. Where could the birds be? _Whirr!_ and a great feathered +shell seemed to have burst at his very feet. What a covey! twelve brace +if there was a bird, and they had all been lying beak to beak in a +space no bigger than a cart wheel. Up went John’s gun and off too, a +little sooner than it should have done. + +“Missed him clean! Now then for the left barrel.” Same result. We will +draw a veil over the profanity that ensued. A minute later and it was +all over, and John and Pontac were regarding each other with mutual +contempt and disgust. + +“It was all you, you brute,” said John to Pontac. “I thought you were +going to run in, and you hurried me.” + +“Ugh!” said Pontac to John, or at least he looked it. “Ugh! you +disgusting bad shot. What is the good of pointing for you? It’s enough +to make a dog sick.” + +The covey—or rather the collection of old birds, for this kind of +partridge sometimes “packs” just before the breeding season—had +scattered all about the place. It was not long before Pontac found some +of them, and this time John got one bird—a beautiful great partridge he +was too, with yellow legs—and missed another. Again Pontac pointed, and +a brace rose. Bang! down goes one; bang with the other barrel. Caught +him, by Jove, just as he topped the stone. Hullo! Pontac is still on +the point. Slip in two more cartridges. Oh, a leash this time! bang! +bang! and down come a brace of them—two brace of partridges without +moving a yard. + +Life has joys for all men, but, I verily believe, it has no joy to +compare to that of the moderate shot and earnest sportsman when he has +just killed half a dozen driven partridges without a miss, or ten +rocketing pheasants with eleven cartridges, or, better still, a couple +of woodcock right and left. Sweet to the politician are the cheers that +announce the triumph of his cause and of himself; sweet to the +desponding writer is the unexpected public recognition by reviewers of +talents with which previously nobody had been much impressed; sweet to +all men are the light of women’s eyes and the touch of women’s lips. +But though he have experienced all these things, to the true sportsman +and the _moderate shot_, sweeter far is it to see the arched wings of +the driven bird bent like Cupid’s bow come flashing fast towards him, +to feel the touch of the stock as it fits itself against his shoulder, +and the kindly give of the trigger, and then, oh thrilling sight! to +perceive the wonderful and yet awful change from life to death, the +puff of feathers, and the hurtling passage of the dull mass borne +onward by its own force to fall twenty yards from where the pellets +struck it. Next session the politician will be hooted down, next year +perhaps the reviewers will cut the happy writer to ribbons and decorate +their journals with his fragments, next week you will have wearied of +those dear smiles, or, more likely still, they will be bestowed +elsewhere. Vanity of vanities, my son, each and all of them! But if you +are a true sportsman (yes, even though you be but a moderate shot), it +will always be a glorious thing to go out shooting, and when you chance +to shoot well earth holds no such joy as that which will glow in your +honest breast (for all sportsmen are honest), and it remains to be +proved if heaven does either. It is a grand sport, though the pity of +it is that it should be a cruel one. + +Such was the paean that John sang in his heart as he contemplated those +fine partridges before lovingly transferring them to his bag. But his +luck to-day was not destined to stop at partridges, for hardly had he +ridden over the edge of the boulder-strewn side, and on to the flat +table-top of the great hill which covered some five hundred acres of +land, before he perceived, emerging from the shelter of a tuft of grass +about a hundred and seventy yards away, nothing less than the tall neck +and whiskered head of a large _pauw_ or bustard. + +Now it is quite useless to try and ride straight up to a bustard, and +this he knew. The only thing to do is to excite his curiosity and fix +his attention by moving round and round him in an ever-narrowing +circle. Putting his pony to a canter, John proceeded to do this with a +heart beating with excitement. Round and round he went; the _pauw_ had +vanished now, he was squatting in the tuft of grass. The last circle +brought him to within seventy yards, and he did not dare to ride any +nearer, so jumping off his pony he ran in towards the bird as hard as +he could go. When he had covered ten paces the _pauw_ was rising, but +they are heavy birds, and he was within forty yards before it was +fairly on the wing. Then he pulled up and fired both barrels of No. 4 +into it. Down it came, and, incautious man, he rushed forward in +triumph without reloading his gun. Already was his hand outstretched to +seize the prize, when, behold! the great wings spread themselves out +and the bird was flying away. John stood dancing upon the veldt, but +observing that it settled within a couple of hundred yards, he ran +back, mounted his pony, and pursued it. As he drew near it rose again, +and flew this time a hundred yards only, and so it went on till at last +he got within gun-shot of the king of birds and killed it. + +By this time he was across the mountain-top, and on the brink of the +most remarkable chasm he had ever seen. The place was known as Lion’s +Kloof, or Leeuwen Kloof in Dutch, because three lions had once been +penned up by a party of Boers and shot there. This chasm or gorge was +between a quarter and half a mile long, about six hundred feet in +width, and a hundred and fifty to a hundred and eighty feet deep. +Evidently it owed its origin to the action of running water, for at its +head, just to the right of where John Niel stood, a little stream +welling from hidden springs in the flat mountain-top trickled from +stratum to stratum, forming a series of crystal pools and tiny +waterfalls, till at last it reached the bottom of the mighty gorge, and +pursued its way through it to the plains beyond, half-hidden by the +umbrella-topped mimosa and other thorns that were scattered about. +Without doubt this little stream was the parent of the ravine it +trickled down and through, but, wondered John Niel, how many centuries +of patient, never-ceasing flow must have been necessary to the vast +result before him? First centuries of saturation of the soil piled on +and between the bed rocks that lay beneath it and jutted up through it, +then centuries of floods caused by rain and perhaps by melting snows, +to carry away the loosened mould; then centuries upon centuries more of +flowing and of rainfall to wash the debris clean and complete the +colossal work. + +I say the rocks that jutted up through the soil, for the kloof was not +clean cut. All along its sides, and here and there in its arena, stood +mighty columns or fingers of rock, not solid indeed, but formed by huge +boulders piled mason fashion one upon another, as though the Titans of +some dead age had employed themselves in building them up, overcoming +their tendency to fall by the mere crushing weight above, that kept +them steady even when the wild breath of the storms came howling down +the gorge and tried its strength against them. About a hundred paces +from the near end of the chasm, some ninety or more feet in height, +rose the most remarkable of these giant pillars, to which the remains +at Stonehenge are but as toys. It was formed of seven huge boulders, +the largest, that at the bottom, about the size of a moderate cottage, +and the smallest, that at the top, perhaps some eight or ten feet in +diameter. These boulders were rounded like a cricket-ball—evidently +through the action of water—and yet the hand of Nature had contrived to +balance them, each one smaller than that beneath, the one upon the +other, and to keep them so. But this was not always the case. For +instance, a very similar mass which once stood on the near side of the +perfect pillar had fallen, all except its two foundation stones, and +the rocks that formed it lay scattered about like monstrous petrified +cannon-balls. One of these had split in two, and seated on it, looking +very small and far off at the bottom of that vast gulf, John discovered +Jess Croft, apparently engaged in sketching. + +He dismounted from his shooting pony, and looking about him perceived +that it was possible to descend by following the course of the stream +and clambering down the natural steps it had cut in its rocky bed. +Throwing the reins over the pony’s head, and leaving him with the dog +Pontac to stand and stare about him as South African shooting ponies +are accustomed to do, he laid down his gun and game and proceeded to +descend, pausing every now and again to admire the wild beauty of the +scene and examine the hundred varieties of moss and ferns, the last +mostly of the maiden-hair (_Capillus Veneris_) genus, that clothed +every cranny and every rock where they could find foothold and win +refreshment from the water or the spray of the cascades. As he drew +near the bottom of the gorge he saw that on the borders of the stream, +wherever the soil was moist, grew thousands upon thousands of white +arums, “pig lilies” as they call them in Africa, which were now in full +bloom. He had noticed these lilies from above, but thence, owing to the +distance, they seemed so small that he took them for everlastings or +anemones. John could not see Jess now, for she was hidden by a bush +that grows on the banks of the streams in South Africa in low-lying +land, and which at certain seasons of the year is completely covered +with masses of the most gorgeous scarlet bloom. His footsteps fell very +softly on the moss and flowers, and when he passed round the +glorious-looking bush it was evident that she had not heard him, for +she was asleep. Her hat was off, but the bush shaded her, and her head +had fallen forward over her sketching block and rested upon her hand. A +ray of light that came through the bush played over her curling brown +hair, and threw warm shadows on her white face and the whiter wrist and +hand by which it was supported. + +John stood there and looked at her, and the old curiosity took +possession of him to understand this feminine enigma. Many a man before +him has been the victim of a like desire, and lived to regret that he +did not leave it ungratified. It is not well to try to lift the curtain +of the unseen, it is not well to call to heaven to show its glory, or +to hell to give us touch and knowledge of its yawning fires. Knowledge +comes soon enough; many of us will say that knowledge has come too soon +and left us desolate. There is no bitterness like the bitterness of +wisdom: so cried the great Koheleth, and so hath cried many a son of +man following blindly on his path. Let us be thankful for the dark +places of the earth—places where we may find rest and shadow, and the +heavy sweetness of the night. Seek not after mysteries, O son of man, +be content with the practical and the proved and the broad light of +day; peep not, mutter not the words of awakening. Understand her who +would be understood and is comprehensible to those that run, and for +the others let them be, lest your fate should be as the fate of Eve, +and as the fate of Lucifer, Star of the morning. For here and there +beats a human heart from which it is not wise to draw the veil—a heart +in which many things are dim as half-remembered dreams in the brain of +the sleeper. Draw not the veil, whisper not the word of life in the +silence where all things sleep, lest in that kindling breath of love +and pain pale shapes arise, take form, and fright you! + +A minute or so might have passed when suddenly, and with a little +start, Jess opened her great eyes, wherein the shadow of darkness lay, +and gazed at him. + +“Oh!” she said with a little tremor, “is it you or is it my dream?” + +“Don’t be afraid,” he answered cheerfully, “it is I—in the flesh.” + +She covered her face with her hand for a moment, then withdrew it, and +he noticed that her eyes had changed curiously in that moment. They +were still large and beautiful as they always were, but there was a +change. Just now they had seemed as though her soul were looking +through them. Doubtless it was because the pupils had been enlarged by +sleep. + +“Your dream! What dream?” he asked, laughing. + +“Never mind,” she answered in a quiet way that excited his curiosity +more than ever. “It was about this Kloof—and you—but ‘dreams are +foolishness.’” + + + + +CHAPTER VI. +THE STORM BREAKS + + +“Do you know, you are a very odd person, Miss Jess,” John said +presently, with a little laugh. “I don’t think you can have a happy +mind.” + +She looked up. “A happy mind?” she said. “Who _can_ have a happy mind? +Nobody who feels. Supposing,” she went on after a pause—“supposing one +puts oneself and one’s own little interests and joys and sorrows quite +away, how is it possible to be happy, when one feels the breath of +human misery beating on one’s face, and sees the tide of sorrow and +suffering creeping up to one’s feet? You may be on a rock yourself and +out of the path of it, till the spring floods or the hurricane wave +come to sweep you away, or you may be afloat upon it: whichever it is, +it is quite impossible, if you have any heart, to be indifferent.” + +“Then only the indifferent are happy?” + +“Yes, the indifferent and the selfish; but, after all, it is the same +thing: indifference is the perfection of selfishness.” + +“I am afraid that there must be lots of selfishness in the world, for +certainly there is plenty of happiness, all evil things +notwithstanding. I should have said that happiness springs from +goodness and a sound digestion.” + +Jess shook her head as she answered, “I may be wrong, but I don’t see +how anybody who feels can be quite happy in a world of sickness, +suffering, slaughter, and death. I saw a Kafir woman die yesterday, and +her children crying over her. She was a poor creature and had a rough +lot, but she loved her life, and her children loved her. Who can be +happy and thank God for His creation when he has just seen such a +thing? But there, Captain Niel, my ideas are very crude, and I dare say +very wrong, and everybody has thought them before: at any rate, I am +not going to inflict them on you. What is the use of it?” and she went +on with a laugh: “what is the use of anything? The same old thoughts +passing through the same human minds from year to year and century to +century, just as the same clouds float across the same blue sky. The +clouds are born in the sky, and the thoughts are born in the brain, and +they both end in tears and re-arise in blind, bewildering mist, and +this is the beginning and end of thoughts and clouds. They arise out of +the blue; they overshadow and break into storms and tears, then they +are drawn up into the blue again, and the story begins afresh.” + +“So you don’t think that one can be happy in this world?” he asked. + +“I did not say that—I never said that. I do think that happiness is +possible. It is possible if one can love somebody so hard that one can +quite forget oneself and everything else except that person, and it is +possible if one can sacrifice oneself for others. There is no true +happiness outside of love and self-sacrifice, or rather outside of +love, for it includes the other. This is gold, and all the rest is +gilt.” + +“How do you know that?” he asked quickly. “You have never been in +love.” + +“No,” she answered, “I have never been in love like that, but all the +happiness I have had in my life has come to me from loving. I believe +that love is the secret of the world: it is like the philosopher’s +stone they used to look for, and almost as hard to find, but if you +find it it turns everything to gold. Perhaps,” she went on with a +little laugh, “when the angels departed from the earth they left us +love behind, that by it and through it we may climb up to them again. +It is the one thing that lifts us above the brutes. Without love man is +a brute, and nothing but a brute; with love he draws near to God. When +everything else falls away the love will endure because it cannot die +while there is any life, if it is true love, for it is immortal. Only +it must be true—you see it must be true.” + +He had penetrated her reserve now; the ice of her manner broke up +beneath the warmth of her words, and her face, usually impassive, had +caught life and light from the eyes above, and acquired a certain +beauty of its own. John looked at it, and understood something of the +untaught and ill-regulated intensity and depth of the nature of this +curious girl. He met her eyes and they moved him strangely, though he +was not an emotional man, and was too old to experience spasmodic +thrills at the chance glances of a pretty woman. He moved towards her, +looking at her curiously. + +“It would be worth living to be loved like that,” he said, more to +himself than to her. + +Jess did not answer, but she let her eyes rest on his. Indeed, she did +more, for she put her soul into them and gazed and gazed till John Niel +felt as though he were mesmerised. And as she gazed there rose up in +her breast a knowledge that if she willed it she could gain this man’s +heart and hold it against all the world, for her nature was stronger +than his nature, and her mind, untrained though it be, encompassed his +mind and could pass over it and beat it down as the wind beats down the +tossing seas. All this she learnt in a moment, in the twinkling of an +eye: she could not tell how she knew it, but she did know it as surely +as she knew that the blue sky stretched overhead, and, what is more—for +the moment, at any rate—he knew it too. This strange strong certainty +came on her as a shock and a revelation, like the tidings of some great +joy or grief, and for a moment left her heart empty of all things else. + +Jess dropped her eyes suddenly. + +“I think,” she said quietly, “that we have been talking a great deal of +nonsense, and that I want to finish my sketch.” + +He rose and left her, for he was wanted at home, saying as he went that +he thought there was a storm coming up; the air was so quiet, and the +wind had fallen as it does before an African tempest. Presently on +looking round she saw him slowly climbing the precipitous ascent to the +table-land above the gulf. + +It was one of those glorious afternoons that sometimes come in the +African spring, although it was so intensely still. Everywhere appeared +the proofs of evidences of life. The winter was over, and now, from the +sadness and sterility of its withered age, sprang youth and lovely +summer clad in sunshine, bediamonded with dew, and fragrant with the +breath of flowers. Jess lay back and looked up into the infinite depths +above. How blue they were, and how measureless! She could not see the +angry clouds that lay like visible omens on the horizon. Look, there, +miles above her, was one tiny circling speck. It was a vulture, +watching her from his airy heights and descending a little to see if +she were dead, or only sleeping. + +Involuntarily she shuddered. The bird of death reminded her of Death +himself also hanging high up yonder in the blue and waiting his +opportunity to fall upon the sleeper. Then her eyes fell upon a bough +of the glorious flowering bush under which she rested. It was not more +than four feet above her head, but she lay so still and motionless that +a jewelled honeysucker came and hovered over the flowers, darting from +one to another like a many-coloured flash. Thence her glance travelled +to the great column of boulders that towered above her, and that seemed +to say, “I am very old. I have seen many springs and many winters, and +have looked down on many sleeping maids, and where are they now? All +dead—all dead,” and an old baboon in the rocks with startling +suddenness barked out “_all dead_” in answer. + +Around her were the blooming lilies and the lustiness of springing +life; the heavy air was sweet with the odour of ferns and the mimosa +flowers. The running water splashed and musically fell; the sunlight +shot in golden bars athwart the shade, like the memory of happy days in +the grey vista of a life; away in the cliffs yonder, the rock-doves +were preparing to nest by hundreds, and waking the silence with their +cooing and the flutter of their wings. Even the grim old eagle perched +on the pinnacle of the peak was pruning himself, contentedly happy in +the knowledge that his mate had laid an egg in that dark corner of the +cliff. All things rejoiced and cried aloud that summer was at hand and +that it was time to bloom and love and nest. Soon it would be winter +again, when things died, and next summer other things would live under +the sun, and these perchance would be forgotten. That was what they +seemed to say. + +And as Jess lay and heard, her youthful blood, drawn by Nature’s +magnetic force, as the moon draws the tides, rose in her veins like the +sap in the budding trees, and stirred her virginal serenity. All the +bodily natural part of her caught the tones of Nature’s happy voice +that bade her break her bonds, live and love, and be a woman. And lo! +the spirit within her answered to it, flinging wide her bosom’s doors, +and of a sudden, as it were, something quickened and lived in her heart +that was of her and yet had its own life—a life apart; something that +sprang from her and another, which would always be with her now and +could never die. She rose pale and trembling, as a woman trembles at +the first stirring of the child that she shall bear, and clung to the +flowery bough of the beautiful bush above, then sank down again, +feeling that the spirit of her girlhood had departed from her, and +another angel had entered there; knowing that she loved with heart and +soul and body, and was a very woman. + +She had called to Love as the wretched call to Death, and Love had come +in his strength and possessed her utterly; and now for a little while +she was afraid to pass into the shadow of his wings, as the wretched +who call to Death fear him when they feel his icy fingers. But the fear +passed, and the great joy and the new consciousness of power and of +identity that the inspiration of a true passion gives to some strong +deep natures remained, and after a while Jess prepared to make her way +home across the mountain-top, feeling as though she were another being. +Still she did not go, but lay there with closed eyes and drank of this +new intoxicating wine. So absorbed was she that she did not notice that +the doves had ceased to call, and that the eagle had fled away for +shelter. She was not aware of the great and solemn hush which had taken +the place of the merry voice of beast and bird and preceded the +breaking of the gathered storm. + +At last as she rose to go Jess opened her dark eyes, which, for the +most part, had been shut while this great change was passing over her, +and with a natural impulse turned to look once more on the place where +her happiness had found her, then sank down again with a little +exclamation. Where was the light and the glory and all the happiness of +the life that moved and grew around her? Gone, and in its place +darkness and rising mist and deep and ominous shadows. While she lay +and thought, the sun had sunk behind the hill and left the great gulf +nearly dark, and, as is common in South Africa, the heavy storm-cloud +had crept across the blue sky and sealed the light from above. A drear +wind came moaning up the gorge from the plains beyond; the heavy +rain-drops began to fall one by one; the lightning flickered fitfully +in the belly of the advancing cloud. The storm that John had feared was +upon her. + +Then came a dreadful hush. Jess had recovered herself by now, and, +knowing what to expect, she snatched up her sketching-block and hurried +into the shelter of a little cave hollowed by water in the side of the +cliff. And now with a rush of ice-cold air the tempest burst. Down came +the rain in a sheet; then flash upon flash gleaming fiercely through +the vapour-laden air; and roar upon roar echoing along the rocky +cavities in volumes of fearful sound. Then another pause and space of +utter silence, followed by a blaze of light that dazed and blinded her, +and suddenly one of the piled-up columns to her left swayed to and fro +like a poplar in a breeze, to fall headlong with a crash which almost +mastered the awful crackling of the thunder overhead and the shrieking +of the baboons scared from their crannies in the cliff. Down it rushed +beneath the stroke of that fiery sword, the brave old pillar that had +lasted out so many centuries, sending clouds of dust and fragments high +up into the blinding rain, and carrying awe and wonder to the heart of +the girl who watched its fall. Away rolled the storm as quickly as it +had come, with a sound like the passing of the artillery of an +embattled host; then a grey rain set in, blotting the outlines of +everything, like an endless absorbing grief, dulling the edge and +temper of a life. Through it Jess, scared and wet to the skin, managed +to climb up the natural steps, now made almost impassable by the +prevailing gloom and the rush of water from the table-top of the +mountain, and on across the sodden plain, down the rocky path on the +farther side, past the little walled-in cemetery with the four red gums +planted at its corners, in which a stranger who had died at Mooifontein +lay buried, and so, just as the darkness of the wet night came down +like a cloud, home at last. At the back-door stood her old uncle with a +lantern. + +“Is that you, Jess?” he called out in his stentorian tones. “Lord! what +a sight!” as she emerged, her sodden dress clinging to her slight form, +her hands torn with clambering over the rocks, her curling hair which +had broken loose hanging down her back and half covering her face. + +“Lord! what a sight!” he ejaculated again. “Why, Jess, where have you +been? Captain Niel has gone out to look for you with the Kafirs.” + +“I have been sketching in Leeuwen Kloof, and got caught in the storm. +There, uncle, let me pass, I want to take these wet things off. It is a +bitter night,” and she ran to her room, leaving a long trail of water +behind her as she passed. The old man entered the house, shut the door, +and blew out the lantern. + +“Now, what is it she reminds me of?” he said aloud as he groped his way +down the passage to the sitting-room. “Ah, I know, that night when she +first came here out of the rain leading Bessie by the hand. What can +the girl have been thinking of, not to see the thunder coming up? She +ought to know the signs of the weather here by now. Dreaming, I +suppose, dreaming. She’s an odd woman, Jess, very.” Perhaps he did not +quite know how accurate his guess was, and how true the conclusion he +drew from it. Certainly she had been dreaming, and she was an odd +woman. + +Meanwhile Jess was rapidly changing her clothes and removing the traces +of her struggle with the elements. But of that other struggle she had +gone through she could not remove the traces. They and the love that +arose out of it would endure as long as she endured. It was her former +self that had been cast off in it and which now lay behind her, an +empty and unmeaning thing like the shapeless heap of garments. It was +all very strange. So John had gone to look for her and had not found +her. She was glad that he had gone. It made her happy to think of him +searching and calling in the wet and the night. She was only a woman, +and it was natural that she should feel thus. By-and-by he would come +back and find her clothed and in her right mind and ready to greet him. +She was glad that he had not seen her wet and dishevelled. A girl looks +so unpleasant like that. It might have set him against her. Men like +women to look nice and clean and pretty. That gave her an idea. She +turned to her glass and, holding the light above her head, studied her +own face attentively. She was a woman with as little vanity in her +composition as it is possible for a woman to have, and till now she had +not given her personal looks much consideration. They had not been of +great importance to her in the Wakkerstroom district of the Transvaal. +But to-night all of a sudden they became very important; and so she +stood and looked at her own wonderful eyes, at the masses of curling +brown hair still damp and shining from the rain, at the curious pallid +face and clear-cut determined mouth. + +“If it were not for my eyes and hair, I should be very ugly,” she said +to herself aloud. “If only I were beautiful like Bessie, now.” The +thought of her sister gave her another idea. What if John were to +prefer Bessie? Now she remembered that he had been very attentive to +Bessie. A feeling of dreadful doubt and jealousy passed through her, +for women like Jess know what jealousy is in its bitterness. Supposing +that it was in vain, supposing that what she had given to-day—given +utterly once and for all, so that she could not take it back—had been +given to a man who loved another woman, and that woman her own dear +sister! Supposing that the fate of her love was to be like water +falling unalteringly on the hard rock that heeds it not and retains it +not! True, the water wears the rock away; but could she be satisfied +with that? She could master him, she knew; even if things were so, she +could win him to herself, she had read it in his eyes that afternoon; +but could she, who had promised to her dead mother to cherish and +protect her sister, whom till this day she had loved better than +anything in the world, and whom she still loved more dearly than her +life—could she, if it should happen to be thus, rob that sister of her +lover? And if it should be so, what would her life be like? It would be +like the great pillar after the lightning had smitten it, a pile of +shattered smoking fragments, a very heaped-up debris of a life. She +could feel it even now. No wonder, then, that Jess sat there upon the +little white bed holding her hand against her heart and feeling +terribly afraid. + +Just then she heard John’s footsteps in the hall. + +“I can’t find her,” he said in an anxious tone to some one as she rose, +taking her candle with her, and left the room. The light of it fell +full upon his face and dripping clothes. It was white and anxious, and +she was glad to see the anxiety. + +“Oh, thank God! here you are!” he said, catching her hand. “I began to +think you were quite lost. I have been right down the Kloof after you, +and got a nasty fall over it.” + +“It is very good of you,” she said in a low voice, and again their eyes +met, and again her glance thrilled him. There was such a wonderful +light in Jess’s eyes that night. + +Half an hour afterwards they sat down as usual to supper. Bessie did +not put in an appearance till it was a quarter over, and then sat very +silent through it. Jess narrated her adventure in the Kloof, and +everybody listened, but nobody said much. There seemed to be a shadow +over the house that evening, or perhaps it was that each party was +thinking of his own affairs. After supper old Silas Croft began talking +about the political state of the country, which gave him uneasiness. He +said that he believed the Boers really meant to rebel against the +Government this time. Frank Muller had told him so, and he always knew +what was going on. This announcement did not tend to raise anybody’s +spirits, and the evening passed as silently as the meal had done. At +last Bessie got up, stretched her rounded arms, and said that she was +tired and going to bed. + +“Come into my room,” she whispered to her sister as she passed. “I want +to speak to you.” + + + + +CHAPTER VII. +LOVE’S YOUNG DREAM + + +After waiting a few minutes, Jess said “Good-night,” and went straight +to Bessie’s room. Her sister had undressed, and was sitting on her bed, +wrapped in a blue dressing-gown that suited her fair complexion +admirably, and with a very desponding expression on her beautiful face. +Bessie was one of those people who are easily elated and easily cast +down. + +Jess came up to her and kissed her. + +“What is it, love?” she said. And Bessie could never have divined the +gnawing anxiety that was eating at her heart as she said it. + +“Oh, Jess, I’m so glad that you have come. I do so want you to advise +me—that is, to tell me what you think,” and she paused. + +“You must tell _me_ what it is all about first, Bessie dear,” she said, +sitting down opposite to her in such a position that her face was +shaded from the light. Bessie tapped her naked foot against the matting +with which the little room was carpeted. It was an exceedingly pretty +foot. + +“Well, dear old girl, it is just this—Frank Muller has been here to ask +me to marry him.” + +“Oh,” said Jess, with a sigh of relief. So that was all? She felt as +though a ton-weight had been lifted from her heart. She had expected +this bit of news for some time. + +“He wanted me to marry him, and when I said I would not, he behaved +like—like——” + +“Like a Boer,” suggested Jess. + +“Like a _brute_,” went on Bessie with emphasis. + +“So you don’t care for Frank Muller?” + +“Care for him! I loathe the man. You don’t know how I loathe him, with +his handsome bad face and his cruel eyes. I always loathed him, and now +I hate him too. But I will tell you all about it;” and she did, with +many feminine comments and interpolations. + +Jess sat quite still, and waited till she had finished. + +“Well, dear,” she said at last, “you are not going to marry him, and so +there is an end of it. You can’t detest the man more than I do. I have +watched him for years,” she went on, with rising anger, “and I tell you +that Frank Muller is a liar and a traitor. That man would betray his +own father if he thought it to his interest to do so. He hates uncle—I +am sure he does, although he pretends to be so fond of him. I am +certain that he has tried often and often to stir up the Boers against +him. Old Hans Coetzee told me that he denounced him to the Veld-Cornet +as an _uitlander_ and a _verdomde Engelsmann_ about two years before +the annexation, and tried to get him to persuade the Landrost to report +him as a law-breaker to the Raad; while all the time he was pretending +to be so friendly. Then in the Sikukuni war it was Frank Muller who +caused them to commandeer uncle’s two best waggons and spans. He gave +none himself, nothing but a couple of bags of meal. He is a wicked +fellow, Bessie, and a dangerous fellow; but he has more brains and more +power about him than any man in the Transvaal, and you will have to be +very careful, or he will do us all a bad turn.” + +“Ah!” said Bessie; “well, he can’t do much now that the country is +English.” + +“I am not so sure of that. I am not so sure that the country is going +to stop English. You laugh at me for reading the home papers, but I see +things there that make me doubtful. The other party is in power now in +England, and one does not know what they may do; you heard what uncle +said to-night. They might give us up to the Boers. You must remember +that we far-away people are only the counters with which they play +their game.” + +“Nonsense, Jess,” said Bessie indignantly. “Englishmen are not like +that. When they say a thing, they stick to it.” + +“They used to, you mean,” answered Jess with a shrug, and got up from +her chair to go to bed. + +Bessie began to fidget her white feet over one another. + +“Stop a bit, Jess dear,” she said. “I want to speak to you about +something else.” + +Jess sat or rather dropped back into her chair, and her pale face +turned paler than ever; but Bessie blushed very red and hesitated. + +“It’s about Captain Niel,” she said at length. + +“Oh,” answered Jess with a little laugh, and her voice sounded cold and +strange in her own ears. “Has he been following Frank Muller’s example, +and proposing to you too?” + +“No-o,” said Bessie, “but”—and here she rose, and, sitting on a stool +by her elder sister’s chair, rested her forehead against her knee—“but +I love him, and I _believe_ that he loves me. This morning he told me +that I was the prettiest woman he had seen at home or abroad, and the +sweetest too; and do you know,” she said, looking up and giving a happy +little laugh, “I think he meant it.” + +“Are you joking, Bessie, or are you really in earnest?” + +“In earnest! ah, but that I am, and I am not ashamed to say it. I fell +in love with John Niel when he killed that cock ostrich. He looked so +strong and savage as he fought with it. It is a fine thing to see a man +put out all his strength. And then he is such a gentleman!—so different +from the men we meet round here. Oh yes, I fell in love with him at +once, and I have got deeper and deeper in love with him ever since, and +if he does not marry me I think that it will break my heart. There, +that’s the truth, Jess dear,” and she dropped her golden head on to her +sister’s knees and began to cry softly at the thought. + +But the sister sat there on the chair, her hand hanging idly by her +side, her white face set and impassive as that of an Egyptian Sphinx, +and the large eyes gazing far away through the window, against which +the rain was beating—far away out into the night and the storm. She +heard the surging of the storm, she heard her sister’s weeping, her +eyes perceived the dark square of the window through which they +appeared to look, she could feel Bessie’s head upon her knee—yes, she +could see and hear and feel, and yet it seemed to her that she was +_dead_. The lightning had fallen on her soul as it fell on the pillar +of rock, and it was as the pillar is. And it had fallen so soon! there +had been such a little span of happiness and hope! And so she sat, like +a stony Sphinx, and Bessie wept softly before her, like a beautiful, +breathing, loving human suppliant, and the two formed a picture and a +contrast such as the student of human nature does not often get the +chance of studying. + +It was the eldest sister who spoke first after all. + +“Well, dear,” she said, “what are you crying about? You love Captain +Niel, and you believe that he loves you. Surely there is nothing to cry +about.” + +“Well, I don’t know that there is,” said Bessie, more cheerfully; “but +I was thinking how dreadful it would be if I lost him.” + +“I do not think that you need be afraid,” said Jess; “and now, dear, I +really must go to bed, I am so tired. Good-night, my dear; God bless +you! I think that you have made a very wise choice. Captain Niel is a +man whom any woman might love, and be proud of loving.” + +In another minute she was in her room, and there her composure left +her, for she was but a loving woman after all. She flung herself upon +her bed, and, hiding her face in the pillow, burst into a paroxysm of +weeping—a very different thing from Bessie’s gentle tears. Her grief +absolutely convulsed her, and she pushed the bedclothes against her +mouth to prevent the sound of it penetrating the partition wall and +reaching John Niel’s ears, for his room was next to hers. Even in the +midst of her suffering the thought of the irony of the thing forced +itself into her mind. There, separated from her only by a few inches of +lath and plaster and some four or five feet of space, was the man for +whom she mourned thus, and yet he was as ignorant of it as though he +were thousands of miles away. Sometimes at such acute crises in our +lives the limitations of our physical nature do strike us after this +fashion. It is strange to be so near and yet so far, and it brings the +absolute and utter loneliness of every created being home to the mind +in a manner that is forcible and at times almost terrible. John Niel +sinking composedly to sleep, his mind happy with the recollection of +those two right and left shots, and Jess, lying on her bed, six feet +away, and sobbing out her stormy heart over him, are indeed but types +of what is continually happening in this remarkable world. How often do +we understand one another’s grief? And, when we do, by what standard +can we measure it? More especially is comprehension rare, if we chance +to be the original cause of the trouble. Do we think of the feelings of +the beetles it is our painful duty to crush into nothingness? Not at +all. If we have any compunctions, they are quickly absorbed in the +pride of our capture. And more often still, as in the present case, we +set our foot upon the poor victim by pure accident or venial +carelessness. + +Presently John was fast asleep, and Jess, her paroxysm past, was +walking up and down, down and up, her little room, her bare feet +falling noiselessly on the carpeting as she strove to wear out the +first bitterness of her woe. Oh that it lay in her power to recall the +past few days! Oh that she had never seen his face, which must now be +ever before her eyes! But for her there was no such possibility, and +she felt it. She knew her own nature well. Her heart had spoken, and +the word it said must roll on continually through the spaces of her +mind. Who can recall the spoken word, and who can set a limit on its +echoes? It is not so with most women, but here and there may be found a +nature where it is so. Spirits like this poor girl’s are too deep, and +partake too much of a divine immutability, to shift and suit themselves +to the changing circumstances of a fickle world. They have no middle +course; they cannot halt half-way; they set all their fortune on a +throw. And when the throw is lost their hearts are broken, and their +happiness passes away like a swallow. + +For in such a nature love rises like the wind on the quiet breast of +some far sea. None can say whence it comes or whither it blows; but +there it is, lashing the waters to a storm, so that they roll in +thunder all the long day through, throwing their white arms on high, as +they clasp at the evasive air, till the darkness that is death comes +down and covers them. + +What is the interpretation of it? Why does the great wind stir the deep +waters? It does but ripple the shallow pool as it passes, for +shallowness can but ripple and throw up shadows. We cannot tell, but +this we know—that deep things only can be deeply moved. It is the +penalty of depth and greatness; it is the price they pay for the divine +privilege of suffering and sympathy. The shallow pools, the +looking-glasses of our little life, know nought, feel nought. Poor +things! they can but ripple and reflect. But the deep sea, in its +torture, may perchance catch some echo of God’s voice sounding down the +driven gale; and, as it lifts itself and tosses its waves in agony, may +perceive a glow, flowing from a celestial sky that is set beyond the +horizon that bounds its being. + +Suffering, or rather mental suffering, is a prerogative of greatness, +and even here there lies an exquisite joy at its core. For everything +has its compensations. Nerves such as these can thrill with a high +happiness, that will sweep unfelt over the mass of men. Thus he who is +stricken with grief at the sight of the world’s misery—as all great and +good men must be—is at times lifted up with joy by catching some faint +gleam of the almighty purpose that underlies it. So it was with the Son +of Man in His darkest hours; the Spirit that enabled Him to compass out +the measure of the world’s suffering and sin enabled Him also, knowing +their purposes, to gaze beyond them; and thus it is, too, with those +deep-hearted children of His race, who partake, however dimly, of His +divinity. + +Thus, even in this hour of her darkest bitterness and grief, a gleam of +comfort struggled to Jess’s breast just as the first ray of dawn was +struggling through the stormy night. She would sacrifice herself to her +sister—that she had determined on; and hence came that cold gleam of +happiness, for there is happiness in self-sacrifice, whatever the +cynical may say. At first her woman’s nature had risen in rebellion +against the thought. Why should she throw her life away? She had as +good a right to this man as Bessie, and she knew that by the strength +of her own hand she could hold him against Bessie in all her beauty, +however far things had gone between them; and she believed, as a +jealous woman is prone to do, that they had gone much farther than was +the case. + +But by-and-by, as she pursued that weary march, her better self rose +up, and mastered the promptings of her heart. Bessie loved him, and +Bessie was weaker than she, and less suited to bear pain, and she had +sworn to her dying mother—for Bessie had been her mother’s darling—to +promote her happiness, and, come what would, to comfort and protect her +by every means in her power. It was a wide oath, and she was only a +child when she took it, but it bound her conscience none the less, and +surely it covered this. Besides, she dearly loved her—far, far more +than she loved herself. No, Bessie should have her lover, and she +should never know what it had cost her to give him up; and as for +herself, well, she must go away like a wounded buck, and hide till she +got well—or died. + +She laughed a drear little laugh, and stayed to brush her hair just as +the broad lights of the dawn came streaming across the misty veldt. But +she did not look at her face again in the glass; she cared no more +about it now. Then she threw herself down to sleep the sleep of utter +exhaustion before it was time to go out again and face the world and +her new sorrow. + +Poor Jess! Love’s young dream had not overshadowed her for long. It had +tarried just three hours. But it had left other dreams behind. + +“Uncle,” said Jess that morning to old Silas Croft as he stood by the +kraal-gate, where he had been counting out the sheep—an operation +requiring much quickness of eye, and on the accurate performance of +which he greatly prided himself. + +“Yes, yes, my dear, I know what you are going to say. It was very +neatly done; it isn’t everybody who can count out six hundred running +hungry sheep without a mistake. But then, I oughtn’t to say too much, +for you see I have been at it for fifty years, in the old colony and +here. Now, many a man would get fifty sheep wrong. There’s Niel for +instance——” + +“Uncle,” said she, wincing a little at the name, as a horse with a sore +back winces at the touch of the saddle, “it wasn’t about the sheep that +I was going to speak to you. I want you to do me a favour.” + +“A favour? Why, God bless the girl, how pale you look!—not but what you +are always pale. Well, what is it now?” + +“I want to go up to Pretoria by the post-cart that leaves Wakkerstroom +to-morrow afternoon, and to stop for a couple of months with my +schoolfellow, Jane Neville. I have often promised to go, and I have +never gone.” + +“Well, I never!” said the old man. “My stay-at-home Jess wanting to go +away, and without Bessie too! What is the matter with you?” + +“I want a change, uncle—I do indeed. I hope you won’t thwart me in +this.” + +Silas looked at her steadily with his keen grey eyes. + +“Humph!” he said; “you want to go away, and there’s an end of it. Best +not ask too many questions where a maid is concerned. Very well, my +dear, go if you like, though I shall miss you.” + +“Thank you, uncle,” she said, and kissed him; then turned and went. + +Old Croft took off his broad hat and polished his bald head with a red +pocket-handkerchief. + +“There’s something up with that girl,” he said aloud to a lizard that +had crept out of the crevices of the stone wall to bask in the sun. “I +am not such a fool as I look, and I say that there is something wrong +with her. She is odder than ever,” and he hit viciously at the lizard +with his stick, whereon it promptly bolted into its crack, returning +presently to see if the irate “human” had departed. + +“However,” he soliloquised, as he made his way to the house, “I am glad +that it was not Bessie. I couldn’t bear, at my time of life, to part +with Bessie, even for a couple of months.” + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. +JESS GOES TO PRETORIA + + +That day, at dinner, Jess suddenly announced that she was going on the +morrow to Pretoria to see Jane Neville. + +“To see Jane Neville!” said Bessie, opening her blue eyes wide. “Why, +it was only last month you said that you did not care about Jane +Neville now, because she had grown so vulgar. Don’t you remember when +she stopped here on her way down to Natal last year, and held up her +fat hands, and said, ‘Ah, Jess—Jess is a _genius!_ It is a privilege to +know her’? And then she asked you to quote Shakespeare to that lump of +a brother of hers, and you told her that if she did not hold her tongue +she would not enjoy the privilege much longer. And now you want to go +and stop with her for two months! Well, Jess, you are odd. And, what’s +more, I think it is very unkind of you to run away for so long.” + +To all of which prattle Jess said nothing, but merely reiterated her +determination to go. + +John, too, was astonished, and, to tell the truth, not a little +disgusted. Since the previous day, when he had that talk with her in +Lion Kloof, Jess had assumed a clearer and more definite interest in +his eyes. Before that she was an enigma; now he had guessed enough +about her to make him anxious to know more. Indeed, he had not perhaps +realised how strong and definite his interest was till he heard that +she was going away for a long period. Suddenly it struck him that the +farm would be very dull without this very fascinating woman moving +about the place in her silent, resolute way. Bessie was, no doubt, +delightful and charming to look on, but she had not her sister’s brains +and originality; and John Niel was sufficiently above the ordinary run +to thoroughly appreciate intellect and originality in a woman, instead +of standing aghast at it. She interested him intensely, to say the +least of it, and, man-like, he felt exceedingly annoyed, and even +sulky, at the idea of her departure. He looked at her in protest, and, +with an awkwardness begotten of his irritation, knocked down the +vinegar cruet and made a mess upon the table; but she evaded his eyes +and took no notice of the vinegar. Then, feeling that he had done all +that in him lay, he went to see about the ostriches; first of all +hanging about a little in case Jess should come out, which she did not +do. Indeed, he saw nothing more of her till supper time. Bessie told +him that she said she was busy packing; but, as one can only take +twenty pounds weight of luggage in a post-cart, this did not quite +convince him that it was so in fact. + +At supper Jess was, if possible, even more quiet than she had been at +dinner. After it was over, he asked her to sing, but she declined, +saying that she had given up singing for the present, and persisting in +her statement in spite of the chorus of remonstrance it aroused. The +birds only sing whilst they are mating; and it is, by the way, a +curious thing, and suggestive of the theory that the same great +principles pervade all nature, that now when her trouble had overtaken +her, and that she had lost the love which had suddenly sprung from her +heart—full-grown and clad in power as Athena sprang from the head of +Jove—Jess had no further inclination to use her divine gift of song. +Probably it was nothing more than a coincidence, although a strange +one. + +The arrangement was, that on the morrow Jess was to be driven in the +Cape cart to Martinus-Wesselstroom, more commonly called Wakkerstroom, +there to catch the post-cart, which was timed to leave the town at +mid-day, though when it would leave was quite another matter. +Post-carts are not particular to a day or so in the Transvaal. + +Old Silas Croft was to drive her with Bessie, who wished to do some +shopping in Wakkerstroom, as ladies sometimes will; but at the last +moment the old man felt a premonitory twinge of the rheumatism to which +he was a martyr, and could not go. So, of course, John volunteered, +and, though Jess raised some difficulties, Bessie furthered the idea, +and in the end his offer was accepted. + +Accordingly, at half-past eight on a beautiful morning up came the +tented cart, with its two massive wheels, stout stinkwood disselboom, +and four spirited young horses; to the heads of which the Hottentot +Jantje, assisted by the Zulu Mouti, clad in the sweet simplicity of a +moocha, a few feathers in his wool, and a horn snuffbox stuck through +the fleshy part of the ear, hung on grimly. In they got—John first, +then Bessie next to him, then Jess. Next Jantje scrambled up behind; +and after some preliminary backing and plunging, and showing a +disposition to twine themselves affectionately round the orange-trees, +off went the horses at a hand gallop, and away swung the cart after +them, in a fashion that would have frightened anybody, not accustomed +to that mode of progression, pretty well out of his wits. As it was, +John had as much as he could do to keep the four horses together, and +to prevent them from bolting, and this alone, to say nothing of the +rattling and jolting of the vehicle over the uneven track, was +sufficient to put a stop to any attempt at conversation. + +Wakkerstroom is about eighteen miles from Mooifontein, a distance that +they covered well within the two hours. Here the horses were outspanned +at the hotel, and John went into the house whence the post-cart was to +start and booked Jess’s seat, and then joined the ladies at the +_Kantoor_ or store where they were shopping. When their purchases were +made, they went back to the inn together and ate some dinner; by which +time the Hottentot driver of the cart began to tune up lustily, but +unmelodiously, on a bugle to inform intending passengers that it was +time to start. Bessie was out of the room at the moment, and, with the +exception of a peculiarly dirty-looking coolie waiter, there was nobody +about. + +“How long are you going to be away, Miss Jess?” asked John. + +“Two months, more or less, Captain Niel.” + +“I am very sorry that you are going,” he said earnestly. “It will be +dull at the farm without you.” + +“You will have Bessie to talk to,” she answered, turning her face to +the window, and affecting to watch the inspanning of the post-cart in +the yard on to which it looked. + +“Captain Niel!” she said suddenly. + +“Yes?” + +“Mind you look after Bessie while I am away. Listen! I am going to tell +you something. You know Frank Muller?” + +“Yes, I know him, and a very disagreeable fellow he is.” + +“Well, he threatened Bessie the other day, and he is a man who is quite +capable of carrying out a threat. I can’t tell you anything more about +it, but I want you to promise me to protect Bessie if any occasion for +it should arise. I do not know that it will, but it might. Will you +promise?” + +“Of course I will; I would do a great deal more than that if you asked +me to, Jess,” he answered tenderly, for now that she was going away he +felt curiously drawn towards her, and was anxious to show it. + +“Never mind me,” she said, with an impatient little movement. “Bessie +is sweet enough and lovely enough to be looked after for her own sake, +I should think.” + +Before he could say any more, in came Bessie herself, saying that the +driver was waiting, and they went out to see her sister off. + +“Don’t forget your promise,” Jess whispered to him, bending down as he +helped her into the cart, so low that her lips almost touched him, and +her breath rested for a second on his cheek like the ghost of a kiss. + +In another moment the sisters had embraced each other, tenderly enough; +the driver had sounded once more on his awful bugle, and away went the +cart at full gallop, bearing with it Jess, two other passengers, and +her Majesty’s mails. John and Bessie stood for a moment watching its +mad career, as it fled splashing and banging down the straggling street +towards the wide plains beyond; then they turned to enter the inn again +and prepare for their homeward drive. At that moment, an old Boer, +named Hans Coetzee, with whom John was already slightly acquainted, +came up, and, extending an enormously big and thick hand, bid them +“_Gooden daag._” Hans Coetzee was a very favourable specimen of the +better sort of Boer, and really came more or less up to the ideal +picture that is so often drawn of that “simple pastoral people.” He was +a very large, stout man, with a fine open face and a pair of kindly +eyes. John, looking at him, guessed that he could not weigh less than +seventeen stone, and that estimate was well within the mark. + +“How are you, Captain?” he said in English, for he could talk English +well, “and how do you like the Transvaal?—must not call it South +African Republic now, you know, for that’s treason,” and his eye +twinkled merrily. + +“I like it very much, _Meinheer_,” said John. + +“Ah, yes, it’s a beautiful veldt, especially about here—no horse +sickness, no ‘blue tongue,’ [*] and a good strong grass for the cattle. +And you must find yourself very snug at _Oom_ Croft’s there; it’s the +nicest place in the district, with the ostriches and all. Not that I +hold with ostriches in this veldt; they are well enough in the old +colony, but they won’t breed here—at least, not as they should do. I +tried them once and I know; oh, yes, I know.” + +[*] A disease that is very fatal to sheep. + +“Yes, it’s a very fine country, _Meinheer_. I have been all over the +world almost, and I never saw a finer.” + +“You don’t say so, now! Almighty, what a thing it is to have travelled! +Not that I should like to travel myself. I think that the Lord meant us +to stop in the place He has made for us. But it is a fine country, and” +(dropping his voice) “I think it is a finer country than it used to +be.” + +“You mean that the veldt has got ‘tame’, _Meinheer_?” + +“Nay, nay. I mean that the land is English now,” he answered +mysteriously, “and though I dare not say so among my _volk_, I hope +that it will keep English. When I was Republican, I was Republican, and +it was good in some ways, the Republic. There was so little to pay in +taxes, and we knew how to manage the black folk; but now I am English, +I am English. I know the English Government means good money and +safety, and if there isn’t a _Raad_ (assembly) now, well, what does it +matter? Almighty, how they used to talk there!—clack, clack, clack! +just like an old black _koran_ (species of bustard) at sunset. And +where did they run the waggon of the Republic to—Burghers and those +damned Hollanders of his, and the rest of them? Why, into the +_sluit_—into a _sluit_ with peaty banks; and there it would have +stopped till now, or till the flood came down and swept it away, if old +Shepstone—ah! what a tongue that man has, and how fond he is of the +_kinderchies!_ (little children)—had not come and pulled it out again. +But look here, Captain, the _volk_ round here don’t think like that. +It’s the ‘_verdomde Britische Gouvernment_’ here and the ‘_verdomde +Britische Gouvernment_’ there, and _bymakaars_ (meetings) here and +_bymakaars_ there. Silly folk, they all run one after the other like +sheep. But there it is, Captain, and I tell you there will be fighting +before long, and then our people will shoot those poor _rooibaatjes_ of +yours like buck, and take the land back. Poor things! I could weep when +I think of it.” + +John smiled at this melancholy prognostication, and was about to +explain what a poor show all the Boers in the Transvaal would make in +front of a few British regiments, when he was astonished by a sudden +change in his friend’s manner. Dropping his enormous paw on to his +shoulder, Coetzee broke into a burst of somewhat forced merriment, the +cause of which, though John did not guess it at the moment, was that he +had just perceived Frank Muller, who was in Wakkerstroom with a +waggon-load of corn to grind at the mill, standing within five yards, +and apparently intensely interested in flipping at the flies with a +cowrie made of the tail of a vilderbeeste, but in reality listening to +Coetzee’s talk with all his ears. + +“Ha, ha! _nef_ (nephew),” said old Coetzee to the astonished John, “no +wonder you like Mooifontein—there are other _mooi_ (pretty) things +there beside the water. How often do you _opsit_ (sit up at night) with +Uncle Croft’s pretty girl, eh? I’m not quite as blind as an ant-bear +yet. I saw her blush when you spoke to her just now. I saw her. Well, +well, it is a pretty game for a young man, isn’t it, _nef_ Frank?” +(this was addressed to Muller). “I’ll be bound the Captain here ‘burns +a long candle’ with pretty Bessie every night, eh, Frank? I hope you +ain’t jealous, _nef_? My _vrouw_ told me some time ago that you were +sweet in that direction yourself;” and he stopped at last, out of +breath, looking anxiously towards Muller for an answer, while John, who +had been somewhat overwhelmed at this flood of bucolic chaff, gave a +sigh of relief. As for Muller, he behaved in a curious manner. Instead +of laughing, as the jolly old Boer had intended that he should, +although Coetzee could not see it, his face had been growing blacker +and blacker; and now that the flow of language ceased, with a savage +ejaculation which John could not catch, but which he appeared to throw +at his (John’s) head, he turned on his heel and went off towards the +courtyard of the inn. + +“Almighty!” said old Hans, wiping his face with a red cotton +pocket-handkerchief; “I have put my foot into a big hole. That +stink-cat Muller heard all that I was saying to you, and I tell you he +will save it up and save it up, and one day he will bring it all out to +the _volk_, and call me a traitor to the ‘land’ and ruin me. I know +him. He knows how to balance a long stick on his little finger so that +the ends keep even. Oh, yes, he can ride two horses at once, and blow +hot and blow cold. He is a devil of a man, a devil of a man! And what +did he mean by swearing at you like that? Is it about the _missie_ +(girl), I wonder? Almighty! who can say? Ah! that reminds me—though I’m +sure I don’t know why it should—the Kafirs tell me that there is a big +herd of buck—vilderbeeste and blesbok—on my outlying place about an +hour and a half (ten miles) from Mooifontein. Can you hold a rifle, +Captain? You look like a bit of a hunter.” + +“Oh, yes, Meinheer!” said John, delighted at the prospect of some +shooting. + +“Ah, I thought so. All you English are sportsmen, though you don’t know +how to kill buck. Well now, you take _Oom_ Croft’s light Scotch cart +and two good horses, and come over to my place—not to-morrow, for my +wife’s cousin is coming to see us, and an old cat she is, but rich; she +has a thousand pounds in gold in the waggon-box under her bed—nor the +next day, for it is the Lord’s day, and one can’t shoot creatures on +the Lord’s day—but Monday, yes, Monday. You will be there by eight +o’clock, and you shall see how to kill vilderbeeste. Almighty! now what +can that jackal Frank Muller have meant? Ah! he is the devil of a man,” +and, shaking his head ponderously, the jolly old Boer departed, and +presently John saw him riding away upon a fat little shooting-pony +which cannot have weighed much more than himself, but that cantered off +with him on his fifteen-mile journey as though he were a +feather-weight. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. +JANTJE’S STORY + + +Shortly after the old Boer had gone, John went into the yard of the +hotel to see to the inspanning of the Cape cart, where his attention +was at once arrested by the sight of a row in active progress—at least, +from the crowd of Kafirs and idlers and the angry sounds and curses +which proceeded from them, he judged that it was a row. Nor was he +wrong in his conclusion. In the corner of the yard, close by the +stable-door, surrounded by the aforesaid crowd, stood Frank Muller; a +heavy _sjambock_ in his raised hand, as though in the act to strike. +Before him, a very picture of drunken fury, his lips drawn up like a +snarling dog’s, so that the two lines of white teeth gleamed like +polished ivory in the sunlight, his small eyes all shot with blood and +his face working convulsively, was the Hottentot Jantje. Nor was this +all. Across his face was a blue wheal where the whip had fallen, and in +his hand a heavy white-handled knife which he always carried. + +“Hullo! what is all this?” said John, shouldering his way through the +crowd. + +“The _swartsel_ (black creature) has stolen my horse’s forage, and +given it to yours!” shouted Muller, who was evidently almost off his +head with rage, making an attempt to hit Jantje with the whip as he +spoke. The latter avoided the blow by jumping behind John, with the +result that the tip of the _sjambock_ caught the Englishman on the leg. + +“Be careful, sir, with that whip,” said John to Muller, restraining his +temper with difficulty. “Now, how do you know that the man stole your +horse’s forage; and what business have you to touch him? If there was +anything wrong, you should have reported it to me.” + +“He lies, Baas, he lies!” yelled out the Hottentot in tremulous, +high-pitched tones. “He lies; he has always been a liar, and worse than +a liar. Yah! yah! I can tell things about him. The land is English now, +and Boers can’t kill the black people as they like. That man—that Boer, +Muller, he shot my father and my mother—my father first, then my +mother; he gave her two bullets—she did not die the first time.” + +“You yellow devil!—You black-skinned, black-hearted, lying son of +Satan!” roared the great Boer, his very beard curling with fury. “Is +that the way you talk to your masters? Out of the light, +_rooibaatje_”—this was to John—“and I will cut his tongue out of him. +I’ll show him how we deal with a yellow liar;” and without further ado +he made a rush for the Hottentot. + +As he came, John, whose blood was now thoroughly up, put out his open +hand, and, bending forward, pushed with all his strength on Muller’s +advancing chest. John was a very powerfully made man, though not a +large one, and the push sent Muller staggering back. + +“What do you mean by that, _rooibaatje?_” shouted Muller, his face +livid with fury. “Get out of my road or I will mark that pretty face of +yours. I owe you for some goods as it is, Englishman, and I always pay +my debts. Out of the path, curse you!” and he again rushed for the +Hottentot. + +This time John, who was now almost as angry as his assailant, did not +wait for the man to reach him, but, springing forward, hooked his arm +around Muller’s throat and, before he could close with him, with one +tremendous jerk managed not only to stop his wild career, but to +reverse the motion, and then, by interposing his foot with considerable +neatness, to land him—powerful as he was—on his back in a pool of +drainage that had collected from the stable in a hollow of the +inn-yard. Down he went with a splash, amid a shout of delight from the +crowd, who always like to see an aggressor laid low, his head bumping +with considerable force against the lintel of the door. For a moment he +lay still, and John was afraid that the man was really hurt. Presently, +however, he rose, and, without attempting any further hostile +demonstration or saying a single word, tramped off towards the house, +leaving his enemy to compose his ruffled nerves as best he could. Now +John, like most gentlemen, hated a row with all his heart, though he +had the Anglo-Saxon tendency to go through with it unflinchingly when +once it began. Indeed, the incident irritated him almost beyond +bearing, for he knew that the story with additions would go the round +of the countryside, and what is more, that he had made a powerful and +implacable enemy. + +“This is all your fault, you drunken little blackguard!” he said, +turning savagely on the Tottie, who, now that his excitement had left +him, was snivelling and drivelling in an intoxicated fashion, and +calling him his preserver and his Baas in maudlin accents. + +“He hit me, Baas; he hit me, and I did not take the forage. He is a bad +man, Baas Muller.” + +“Be off with you and get the horses inspanned; you are half-drunk,” +John growled, and, having seen that operation advancing to a +conclusion, he went to the sitting-room of the hotel, where Bessie was +waiting in happy ignorance of the disturbance. It was not till they +were well on their homeward way that he told her what had passed, +whereat, remembering the scene she had herself gone through with Frank +Muller, and the threats that he had then made use of, she looked very +grave. Her old uncle, too, was very much put out when he heard the +story on their arrival home that evening. + +“You have made an enemy, Niel,” he said, as they sat upon the verandah +after breakfast on the following morning, “and a bad one. Not but what +you were right to stand up for the Hottentot. I would have done as much +myself had I been there and ten years younger, but Frank Muller is not +the man to forget being put upon his back before a lot of Kafirs and +white folk too. Perhaps that Jantje is sober by now. I will go and call +him, and we will hear what this story is about his father and his +mother.” + +Presently he returned followed by the ragged, dirty-faced little +Hottentot, who, looking very miserable and ashamed of himself, took off +his hat and squatted down on the drive, in the full glare of the +African sun, to the effects of which he appeared to be totally +impervious. + +“Now, Jantje, listen to me,” said the old man. “Yesterday you got drunk +again. Well, I’m not going to talk about that now, except to say that +if I hear of your being drunk once more—you leave this place.” + +“Yes, Baas,” said the Hottentot meekly. “I was drunk, though not very; +I only had half a bottle of Cape smoke.” + +“By getting drunk you made a quarrel with Baas Muller, so that blows +passed between Baas Muller and the Baas here on your account, which was +more than you are worth. Now when Baas Muller had struck you, you said +that he had shot your father and your mother. Was that a lie, or what +did you mean by saying it?” + +“It was no lie, Baas,” answered the Hottentot excitedly. “I have said +it once, and I will say it again. Listen, Baas, and I will tell you the +story. When I was young—so tall”—and he held his hand high enough to +indicate a Tottie of about fourteen years of age—“we, that is, my +father, my mother, my uncle—a very old man, older than the Baas” +(pointing to Silas Croft)—“were _bijwoners_ (authorised squatters) on a +place belonging to old Jacob Muller, Baas Frank’s father, down in +Lydenburg yonder. It was a bush-veldt farm, and old Jacob used to come +down there with his cattle from the High veldt in the winter when there +was no grass in the High veldt, and with him came the Englishwoman, his +wife, and the young Baas Frank—the Baas we saw yesterday.” + +“How long was all this ago?” asked Mr. Croft. + +Jantje counted on his fingers for some seconds, and then held up his +hand and opened it four times in succession. “So,” he said, “twenty +years last winter. Baas Frank was young then, he had only a little down +upon his chin. One year when _Oom_ Jacob went away, after the first +rains, he left six oxen that were too _poor_ (thin) to go, with my +father, and told him to look after them as though they were his +children. But the oxen were bewitched. Three of them took the lung-sick +and died, a lion got one, a snake got one, and one ate ‘tulip’ and died +too. So when _Oom_ Jacob came back the next year all the oxen were +gone. He was very angry with my father, and beat him with a yoke-strap +till he was all blood, and though we showed him the bones of the oxen, +he said that we had stolen them and sold them. + +“Now _Oom_ Jacob had a beautiful span of black oxen that he loved like +children. Sixteen of them there were, and they would come up to the +yoke when he called them and put down their heads of themselves. They +were tame as dogs. These oxen were thin when they came down, but in two +months they grew fat and began to want to trek about as oxen do. At +this time there was a Basutu, one of Sequati’s people, resting in our +hut, for he had hurt his foot with a thorn. When _Oom_ Jacob found that +the Basutu was there he was very angry, for he said that all Basutus +were thieves. So my father told the Basutu that the Baas said that he +must go away, and he went that night. Next morning the span of black +oxen were gone too. The kraal-gate was down, and they had gone. We +hunted all day, but we could not find them. Then _Oom_ Jacob went mad +with rage, and the young Baas Frank told him that one of the Kafir boys +had said to him that he had heard my father sell them to the Basutu for +sheep which he was to pay to us in the summer. It was a lie, but Baas +Frank hated my father because of something about a woman—a Zulu girl. + +“Next morning when we were asleep, just at daybreak, _Oom_ Jacob Muller +and Baas Frank and two Kafirs came into the hut and pulled us out, the +old man my uncle, my father, my mother, and myself, and tied us up to +four mimosa-trees with buffalo-hide reims. Then the Kafirs went away, +and _Oom_ Jacob asked my father where the cattle were, and my father +told him that he did not know. Then _Oom_ Jacob took off his hat and +said a prayer to the Big Man in the sky, and when he had done Baas +Frank came up with a gun and stood quite close and shot my father dead, +and he fell forward and hung quiet over the reim, his head touching his +feet. Then he loaded the gun again and shot the old man my uncle, and +he slipped down dead, and his hands stuck up in the air against the +reim. Next he shot my mother, but the bullet did not kill her, and cut +the reim, and she ran away, and he ran after her and killed her. When +that was done he came back to shoot me; but I was young then, and did +not know that it is better to be dead than to live like a dog, and I +cried and prayed for mercy while he was loading the gun. + +“But the Baas only laughed, and said he would teach Hottentots how to +steal cattle, and old _Oom_ Jacob prayed out loud to the Big Man and +said he was very sorry for me, but it was the dear Lord’s will. And +then, just as Baas Frank lifted the gun, he dropped it again, for +there, coming softly, softly over the brow of the hill, in and out +between the bushes, were all the sixteen oxen! They had got out in the +night and strayed away into some kloof for a change of pasture, and +came back when they were full and tired of being alone. _Oom_ Jacob +turned quite white and scratched his head, and then fell upon his knees +and thanked the dear Lord for saving my life; and just then the +Englishwoman, Baas Frank’s mother, came down from the waggon to see +what the firing was at, and when she saw all the people dead and me +weeping, tied to the tree, and learnt what it was about, she went quite +mad, for sometimes she had a kind heart when she was not drunk, and +said that a curse would fall on them, and that they would all die in +blood. And she took a knife and cut me loose, though Baas Frank wanted +to kill me, so that I might tell no tales; and I ran away, travelling +by night and hiding by day, for I was very much frightened, till I +reached Natal, and there I stopped, working in Natal till this land +became English, when Baas Croft hired me to drive his cart up from +Maritzburg; and living by here I found Baas Frank, looking bigger but +just the same except for his beard. + +“There, Baas, that is the truth, and all the truth, and that is why I +hate Baas Frank, because he shot my father and mother, and why Baas +Frank hates me, because he cannot forget that he did it and because I +saw him do it, for, as our people say, ‘one always hates a man one has +wounded with a spear.’” + +Having finished his narrative, the miserable-looking little man picked +up his greasy old felt hat that had a leather strap fixed round the +crown, in which were stuck a couple of frayed ostrich feathers, and +jammed it down over his ears. Then he fell to drawing circles on the +soil with his long toes. His auditors only looked at one another. Such +a ghastly tale seemed to be beyond comment. They never doubted its +truth; the man’s way of telling it carried conviction with it; indeed, +two of them at any rate had heard such stories before. Most people have +who live in the wilder parts of South Africa, though they are not all +to be taken for gospel. + +“You say,” remarked old Silas at last, “that the Englishwoman said that +a curse would fall on them, and that they would die in blood? She was +right. Twelve years ago _Oom_ Jacob and his wife were murdered by a +party of Mapoch’s Kafirs down on the edge of that very Lydenburg veldt. +There was a great noise about it at the time, I remember, but nothing +came of it. Baas Frank was not there. He was away shooting buck, so he +escaped, and inherited all his father’s farms and cattle, and came to +live here.” + +“So!” said the Hottentot, without showing the slightest interest or +surprise. “I knew it would be so, but I wish I had been there to see +it. I saw that there was a devil in the woman, and that they would die +as she said. When there is a devil in people they always speak the +truth, because they can’t help it. Look, Baas, I draw a circle in the +sand with my foot, and I say some words so, and at last the ends touch. +There, that is the circle of _Oom_ Jacob and his wife the Englishwoman. +The ends have touched and they are dead. An old witch-doctor taught me +how to draw the circle of a man’s life and what words to say. And now I +draw another of Baas Frank. Ah! there is a stone sticking up in the +way. The ends will not touch. But now I work and work and work with my +foot, and say the words and say the words, and so—the stone comes up +and the ends touch now. Thus it is with Baas Frank. One day the stone +will come up and the ends will touch, and he too will die in blood. The +devil in the Englishwoman said so, and devils cannot lie or speak half +the truth only. And now, look, I rub my foot over the circles and they +are gone, and there is only the path again. That means that when they +have died in blood they will be quite forgotten and stamped out. Even +their graves will be flat,” and Jantje wrinkled up his yellow face into +a smile, or rather a grin, and then added in a matter-of-fact way: + +“Does the Baas wish the grey mare to have one bundle of green forage or +two?” + + + + +CHAPTER X. +JOHN HAS AN ESCAPE + + +On the following Monday, John, taking Jantje to drive him, departed in +a rough Scotch cart, to which were harnessed two of the best horses at +Mooifontein, to shoot buck at Hans Coetzee’s. + +He reached the place at about half-past eight, and concluded, from the +fact of the presence of several carts and horses, that he was not the +only guest. Indeed, the first person whom he saw as the cart pulled up +was his late enemy, Frank Muller. + +“_Kek_ (look), Baas,” said Jantje, “there is Baas Frank talking to his +servant Hendrik, that ugly Basutu with one eye.” + +John, as may be imagined, was not best pleased at this meeting. He had +always disliked the man, and since Muller’s conduct on the previous +Friday, and Jantje’s story of the dark deed of blood in which he had +been the principal actor, positively he loathed the sight of him. He +jumped out of the cart, and was going to walk round to the back of the +house in order to avoid him, when Muller, suddenly seeming to become +aware of his presence, advanced to meet him with the utmost cordiality. + +“How do you do, Captain?” he said, holding out his hand, which John +just touched. “So you have come to shoot buck with _Oom_ Coetzee; going +to show us Transvaalers how do to it, eh? There, Captain, don’t look as +stiff as a rifle barrel. I know what you are thinking of; that little +business at Wakkerstroom on Friday, is it not? Well, now, I tell you +what it is, I was in the wrong, and I am not afraid to say so as +between man and man. I had had a glass, that was the fact, and did not +quite know what I was about. We have got to live as neighbours here, so +let us forget all about it and be brothers again. I never bear malice, +not I. It is not the Lord’s will that we should bear malice. Hit out +from the shoulder, I say, and then forget all about it. If it hadn’t +been for that little monkey,” he added, jerking his thumb in the +direction of Jantje, who was holding the horses’ heads, “it would never +have happened, and it is not nice that two Christians should quarrel +about such as he.” + +Muller jerked out this long speech in a succession of sentences, +something as a schoolboy repeats a hardly learnt lesson, fidgeting his +feet and letting his restless eyes travel about the ground as he spoke. +It was evident to John, who stood quite still and listened to it in icy +silence, that his address was by no means extemporary; clearly it had +been composed for the occasion. + +“I do not wish to quarrel with anybody, _Meinheer_ Muller,” he answered +at length. “I never do quarrel unless it is forced on me, and then,” he +added grimly, “I do my best to make it unpleasant for my enemy. The +other day you attacked first my servant and then myself. I am glad that +you now see that this was an improper thing to do, and, so far as I am +concerned, there is an end of the matter,” and he turned to enter the +house. + +Muller accompanied him as far as where Jantje was standing at the +horses’ heads. Here he stopped, and, putting his hand in his pocket, +took out a two-shilling piece and threw it to the Hottentot, calling to +him to catch it. + +Jantje was holding the horses with one hand. In the other he held his +stick—a long walking kerrie that he always carried, the same on which +he had shown Bessie the notches. In order to secure the piece of money +he dropped the stick, and Muller’s quick eye catching sight of the +notches beneath the knob, he stooped down, picked it up, and examined +it. + +“What do these mean, boy?” he asked, pointing to the line of big and +little notches, some of which had evidently been cut years ago. + +Jantje touched his hat, spat upon the “Scotchman,” as the natives of +that part of Africa call a two-shilling piece,[*] and pocketed it +before he answered. The fact that the giver had murdered all his near +relations did not make the gift less desirable in his eyes. Hottentot +moral sense is not very elevated. + +[*] Because once upon a time a Scotchman made a great impression on the +simple native mind in Natal by palming off some thousands of florins +among them at the nominal value of half a crown. + + +“No, Baas,” he said with a curious grin, “that is how I reckon. If +anybody beats Jantje, Jantje cuts a notch upon the stick, and every +night before he goes to sleep he looks at it and says, ‘One day you +will strike that man twice who struck you once,’ and so on, Baas. Look, +what a line of them there are, Baas. One day I shall pay them all back +again, Baas Frank.” + +Muller abruptly dropped the stick, and followed John towards the house. +It was a much better building than the Boers generally indulge in, and +the sitting-room, though innocent of flooring—unless clay and cowdung +mixed can be called a floor—was more or less covered with mats made of +springbuck skins. In the centre of the room stood a table made of the +pretty _buckenhout_ wood, which has the appearance of having been +industriously pricked all over with a darning-needle, and round it were +chairs and couches of stinkwood, and seated with rimpis or strips of +hide. + +In one big chair at the end of the room, busily employed in doing +nothing, sat _Tanta_ (Aunt) Coetzee, the wife of Old Hans, a large and +weighty woman, who evidently had once been rather handsome; and on the +couches were some half-dozen Boers, their rifles in their hands or +between their knees. + +It struck John as he entered that some of these did not seem best +pleased to see him, and he thought he heard one young fellow, with a +hang-dog expression of face, mutter something about the “damned +Englishman” to his neighbour rather more loudly than was necessary to +convey his sentiments. However, old Coetzee came forward to greet him +heartily enough, and called to his daughters—two fine girls, very +smartly dressed for Dutch women—to give the Captain a cup of coffee. +Then John made the rounds after the Boer fashion, and beginning with +the old lady in the chair, received a lymphatic shake of the hand from +every single soul in the room. They did not rise—it is not customary to +do so—they merely extended their paws, all of them more or less damp, +and muttered the mystic monosyllable “_Daag_,” short for good-day. It +is a very trying ceremony till one gets used to it, and John pulled up +panting, to be presented with a cup of hot coffee that he did not want, +but which it would be rude not to drink. + +“The Captain is the _rooibaatje?_” said the old lady “Aunt” Coetzee +interrogatively, and yet with the certainty of one who states a fact. + +John signified that he was. + +“What does the Captain come to the ‘land’ for? Is it to spy?” + +The whole audience listened attentively to their hostess’s question, +then turned their heads to listen for the answer. + +“No. I have come to farm with Silas Croft.” + +There was a general smile of incredulity. Could a _rooibaatje_ farm? +Certainly not. + +“There are three thousand men in the British army,” announced the old +_vrouw_ oracularly, and casting a severe glance at the wolf in sheep’s +clothing, the man of blood who pretended to farm. + +Everybody looked at John again, and awaited his answer in dead silence. + +“There are more than a hundred thousand men in the regular British +army, and as many more in the Indian army, and twice as many more +volunteers,” he said, in a rather irritated voice. + +This statement also was received with the most discouraging +incredulity. + +“There are three thousand men in the British army,” repeated the old +lady, in a tone of certainty that was positively crushing. + +“Yah, yah!” chimed in some of the younger men in chorus. + +“There are three thousand men in the British army,” she repeated for +the third time in triumph. “If the Captain says that there are more he +lies. It is natural that he should lie about his own army. My +grandfather’s brother was at Cape Town in the time of Governor Smith, +and he saw the whole British army. He counted them; there were exactly +three thousand. I say that there are three thousand men in the British +army.” + +“Yah, yah!” said the chorus; and John gazed at this terrible person in +bland exasperation. + +“How many men do you command in the British army?” she interrogated +after a solemn pause. + +“A hundred,” said John sharply. + +“Girl,” said the old woman, addressing one of her daughters, “you have +been to school and can reckon. How many times does one hundred go into +three thousand?” + +The young lady addressed giggled confusedly, and looked for assistance +to a sardonic Boer whom she was going to marry, who shook his head +sadly, indicating thereby that these were mysteries into which it was +not well to pry. Thrown on her own resources, she plunged into the +recesses of an intricate calculation, in which her fingers played a +considerable part, and finally, with an air of triumph, announced that +it went twenty-six times exactly. + +“Yah, yah!” said the chorus, “it goes twenty-six times exactly.” + +“The Captain,” said the oracular old lady, who was rapidly driving John +mad, “commands a twenty-sixth part of the British army, and he says +that he comes here to farm with Uncle Silas Croft. He says,” she went +on, with withering contempt, “that he comes here to farm when he +commands a twenty-sixth part of the British army. It is evident that he +lies.” + +“Yah, yah!” said the chorus. + +“It is natural that he should lie!” she continued; “all Englishmen lie, +especially the _rooibaatje_ Englishmen, but he should not lie so badly. +It must vex the dear Lord to hear a man lie so badly, even though he be +an Englishman and a _rooibaatje_.” + +At this point John burst from the house, and swore frantically to +himself as soon as he was outside. It is to be hoped that he was +forgiven, for the provocation was not small. It is not pleasant to be +universally set down not only as a _leugenaar_ (liar), but as one of +the very feeblest order. + +In another minute old Hans Coetzee came out and patted him warmly on +the shoulder, in a way that seemed to say that, whatever others might +think of the insufficiency of his powers of falsehood, he, for one, +quite appreciated them, and announced that it was time to be moving. + +Accordingly the party climbed into their carts or on to their +shooting-horses, as the case might be, and started. Frank Muller, John +noticed, was mounted as usual on his fine black horse. After driving +for more than half an hour along an indefinite kind of waggon track, +the leading cart, in which were old Hans Coetzee himself, a Malay +driver, and a coloured Cape boy, turned to the left across the open +veldt, and the others followed in turn. This went on for some time, +till at last they reached the crest of a rise that commanded a large +sweep of open country, and here Hans halted and held up his hand, +whereon the others halted too. On looking out over the vast plain +before him John discovered the reason. About half a mile beneath them +was a great herd of blesbuck feeding, three hundred or more of them, +and beyond them another herd of some sixty or seventy much larger and +wilder-looking animals with white tails, which John at once recognised +as vilderbeeste. Nearer to them again, dotted about here and there on +the plain, were a couple of dozen or so of graceful yellow springbuck. + +Now a council of war was held, which resulted in the men on +horseback—among whom was Frank Muller—being despatched to circumvent +the herds and drive them towards the carts, that took up their stations +at various points, towards which the buck were likely to run. + +Then came a pause of a quarter of an hour or so, till suddenly, from +the far ridge of the opposite slope, John saw a couple of puffs of +white smoke float up into the air, and one of the vilderbeeste below +rolled over on his back, kicking and plunging furiously. Thereon the +whole herd of buck turned and came thundering towards them, stretched +in a long line across the wide veldt; the springbuck first, then the +blesbuck, looking for all the world like a herd of great bearded goats, +owing to their peculiar habit of holding their long heads down as they +galloped. Behind and mixed up with them were the vilderbeeste, who +twisted and turned, and jumped into the air as though they had gone +clean off their heads and were next second going clean on to them. It +is very difficult, owing to his extraordinary method of progression, to +distinguish one part of a galloping vilderbeeste from another; now it +is his horns, now his tail, and now his hoofs that present themselves +to the watcher’s bewildered vision, and now again they all seem to be +mixed up together. On came the great herd, making the ground shake +beneath their footfall: and after them galloped the mounted Boers, from +time to time jumping off their horses to fire a shot into the line of +game, which generally resulted in some poor animal being left sprawling +on the ground, whereon the sportsmen would remount and continue the +chase. + +Presently the buck were within range of some of the guns in the carts, +and a regular fusillade began. About twenty blesbuck turned and came +straight past John, at a distance of forty yards. Springing to the +ground he fired both barrels of his “Express” at them as they tore +along—alas and alas! without touching them. The first bullet struck +under their bellies, the second must have shaved their backs. Reloading +rapidly, he fired again at about two hundred yards’ range, and this +time one fell to his second barrel. But he knew that it was a chance +shot: he had fired at the last buck, and he had killed one ten paces in +front of it. In fact this sort of shooting is extremely difficult till +the sportsman understands it. The inexperienced hand firing across a +line of buck will not kill once in twenty shots, as an infinitesimal +difference in elevation, or the slightest error in judging distance—in +itself no easy art on those great plains—will spoil his aim. A Boer +almost invariably gets immediately behind a herd of running buck, and +fires at one about half-way down the line. Consequently if his +elevation is a little wrong, or if he has misjudged his sighting, the +odds are that he will hit one either in front of or behind the +particular animal fired at. All that is necessary is that the line of +fire should be good. This John soon learnt, and when he had mastered +the fact he became as good a game shot as the majority of Boers, but it +being his first attempt, much to his vexation, he did not particularly +distinguish himself that day, with the result that his friends the +Dutchmen went home firmly convinced that the English _rooibaatje_ shot +as indifferently as he lied. + +Jumping into the cart again, and leaving the dead blesbuck to look +after itself for the present—not a very safe thing to do in a country +where there are so many vultures—John, or rather Jantje, put the horses +into a gallop, and away they went at full tear. It was a most exciting +mode of progression, bumping along furiously with a loaded rifle in his +hands over a plain on which antheaps as large as an armchair were +scattered like burnt almonds on a cake. Then there were the antbear +holes to reckon with, and the little swamps in the hollows, and other +agreeable surprises. But the rush and exhilaration of the thing were +too great to allow him much time to think of his neck, so away they +flew, hanging on to the cart as best they could, and trusting to +Providence to save them from complete disaster. Now they were bounding +over an antheap, now one of the horses was on his nose, but somehow +they always escaped the last dire catastrophe, thanks chiefly to the +little Hottentot’s skilful driving. + +Whenever the game was within range they pulled up, and John would +spring from the cart and let drive, then jump in and follow on again. +This went on for nearly an hour, in which time he had fired +twenty-seven cartridges and killed three blesbuck and wounded a +vilderbeeste, which they proceeded to chase. But the vilderbeeste was +struck in the rump, and an antelope so wounded will travel far, and go +very fast also, so that some miles of ground had been covered before it +began to rest, only to start on again as they drew near. At last, on +crossing the crest of a little rise, John saw what at first he took to +be his vilderbeeste, dead. A second look, however, showed him that, +although it was a dead vilderbeeste, most undoubtedly it was not the +one which he had wounded, for that animal was standing, its head +hanging, about one hundred and twenty yards beyond the other buck, +which, no doubt, had fallen to somebody else’s rifle, or else had been +hit farther back and come here to die. Now this vilderbeeste lay within +a hundred yards of them, and Jantje pointed out to John that his best +plan would be to get out of the cart and creep on his hands and knees +up to the dead animal, from the cover of which he would get a good shot +at his own wounded bull. + +Accordingly Jantje having withdrawn with the cart and horses out of +sight under the shelter of the rise, John crouched upon his hands and +knees and proceeded to carry out his stalk. All went well till he was +quite close to the dead cow, and was congratulating himself on the +prospect of an excellent shot at the wounded bull, when suddenly +something struck the ground violently just beneath his body, throwing +up a cloud of earth and dust. He stopped amazed, and at that instant +heard the report of a rifle somewhat to his right and knew that a +bullet had passed beneath him. Scarcely had he realised this when there +was a sudden commotion in his hair, and the soft black felt hat that he +was wearing started from his head, apparently of its own accord, and, +after twirling round twice or thrice in the air, fell gently to the +earth, just as the sound of a second report reached his ears. It was +now evident that somebody was firing at him; so, jumping up from his +crouching position, John tossed his arms into the air and sprang and +shouted in a way that left no mistake as to his whereabouts. In another +minute he saw a man on horseback, cantering easily towards him, in whom +he had little difficulty in recognising Frank Muller. He picked up his +hat; there was a bullet-hole right through it. Then, full of wrath, he +advanced to meet Frank Muller. + +“What the devil do you mean by firing at me?” he asked. + +“_Allemachter, carle!_” (Almighty, my dear fellow) was the cool answer, +“I thought that you were a vilderbeeste calf. I galloped the cow and +killed her, and she had a calf with her, and when I got the cartridges +out of my rifle—for one stuck and took me some time—and the new ones +in, I looked up, and there, as I thought, was the calf. So I got my +rifle on and let drive, first with one barrel and then with the other, +and when I saw you jump up like that and shout, and that I had been +firing at a man, I nearly fainted. Thank the Almighty I did not hit +you.” + +John listened coldly. “I suppose that I am bound to believe you, +_Meinheer_ Muller,” he said. “But I have been told that you have the +most wonderful sight of any man in these parts, which makes it odd that +at three hundred yards you should mistake a man upon his hands and +knees for a vilderbeeste calf.” + +“Does the Captain think, then, that I wished to murder him; +especially,” he added, “after I shook his hand this morning?” + +“I don’t know what I think,” answered John, looking straight into +Muller’s eyes, which fell before his own. “All I know is that your +curious mistake very nearly cost me my life. Look here!” and he took a +lock of his brown hair out of the crown of his perforated hat and +showed it to the other. + +“Ay, it was very close. Let us thank God that you escaped.” + +“It could not well have been closer, _Meinheer_. I hope that, for your +own sake and for the sake of the people who go out shooting with you, +you will not make such a mistake again. Good-morning!” + +The handsome Boer, or Anglo-Boer, sat on his horse stroking his +beautiful beard and gazing curiously after John Niel’s sturdy +English-looking figure as he marched towards the cart, for, of course, +the wounded vilderbeeste had long ago vanished. + +“I wonder,” he said to himself aloud, as he turned his horse’s head and +rode leisurely away, “if the old _volk_ are right after all, and if +there is a God.” Frank Muller was sufficiently impregnated with modern +ideas to be a free-thinker. “It almost seems like it,” he went on, +“else how did it come that the one bullet passed under his belly and +the other just touched his head without harming him? I aimed carefully +enough too, and I could make the shot nineteen times out of twenty and +not miss. Bah, a God! I snap my fingers at Him. Chance is the only god. +Chance blows men about like the dead grass, till death comes down like +the veldt fire and devours them. But there are men who ride chance as +one rides a young colt—ay, who turn its headlong rushing and rearing to +their own ends—who let it fly hither and thither till it is weary, and +then canter it along the road that leads to triumph. I, Frank Muller, +am one of those men. I never fail in the end. I will kill that +Englishman. Perhaps I will kill old Silas Croft and the Hottentot too. +Bah! they do not know what is coming. I know; I have helped to lay the +mine; and unless they bend to my will I shall be the one to fire it. I +will kill them all, and I will take Mooifontein, and then I will marry +Bessie. She will fight against it, but that will make it all the +sweeter. She loves that _rooibaatje_; I know it; and I will kiss her +over his dead body. Ah! there are the carts. I don’t see the Captain. +Driven home, I suppose, on account of the shock to his nerves. Well, I +must talk to those fools. Lord, what fools they are with their chatter +about the ‘land,’ and the ‘_verdomde Britische Gouvernment_.’ They +don’t know what is good for them. Silly sheep, with Frank Muller for a +shepherd! Ay, and they shall have Frank Muller for a president one day, +and I will rule them too. Bah! I hate the English; but I am glad that I +am half English for all that, for that is where I get the brains! But +these people—fools, fools! Well, I shall pipe and they shall dance!” + +“Baas,” said Jantje to John, as they were driving homewards, “Baas +Frank shot at you.” + +“How do you know that?” asked John. + +“I saw him. He was stalking the wounded bull, and not looking for a +calf at all. There was no calf. He was just going to fire at the +wounded bull when he turned and saw you, and he knelt down on one knee +and covered you, and before I could do anything he fired, and then when +he saw that he had missed you he fired again, and I don’t know how it +was that he did not kill you, for he is a wonderful shot with a +rifle—he never misses.” + +“I will have the man tried for attempted murder,” said John, bringing +the butt-end of his rifle down with a bang on to the bottom of the +cart. “A villain like that shall not go scot-free.” + +Jantje grinned. “It is no use, Baas. He would get off, for I am the +only witness. A jury won’t believe a black man in this country, and +they would never punish a Boer for shooting at an Englishman. No, Baas! +you should lie up one day in the veldt where he is going to pass and +shoot _him_. That is what I would do if I dared.” + + + + +CHAPTER XI. +ON THE BRINK + + +For a few weeks after John Niel’s adventure at the shooting-party no +event of any importance occurred at Mooifontein. Day followed day in +charming monotony, for, whatever “gay worldlings” may think, monotony +is as full of charm as a dreamy summer afternoon. “Happy is the country +that has no history,” says the voice of wisdom, and the same remark may +be made with even more truth of the individual. To get up in the +morning conscious of health and strength, to pursue the common round +and daily task till evening comes, and finally to go to bed pleasantly +tired and sleep the sleep of the just, is the true secret of happiness. +Fierce excitements, excursions, and alarms do not conduce either to +mental or physical well-being, and it is for this reason that we find +that those whose lives have been chiefly concerned with them crave the +most after the quiet round of domestic life. When they get it, often, +it is true, they pant for the ardours of the fray whereof the dim and +distant sounds are echoing through the spaces of their heart, in the +same way that the countries without a history are sometimes anxious to +write one in their own blood. But that is a principle of Nature, who +will allow of no standing still among her subjects, and who has +ordained that strife of one sort or another shall be the absolute +condition of existence. + +On the whole, John found that the life of a South African farmer came +well up to his expectations. He had ample occupation; indeed, what +between ostriches, horses, cattle, sheep, and crops, he was rather over +than under occupied. Nor was he much troubled by the lack of civilised +society, for he was a man who read a great deal, and books could be +ordered from Durban and Cape Town, while the weekly mail brought with +it a sufficient supply of papers. On Sundays he always read the +political articles in the “Saturday Review” aloud to Silas Croft, who, +as he grew older, found that the print tried his eyes, an attention +which the old man greatly appreciated. Silas was a well-informed man, +and notwithstanding his long life spent in a half-civilised country, +had never lost his hold of affairs or his interest in the wide and +rushing life of the world in one of whose side eddies he lived apart. +This task of reading the “Saturday Review” aloud had formerly been a +part of Bessie’s Sunday service, but her uncle was very glad to effect +an exchange. Bessie’s mind was not quite in tune with the profundities +of that learned journal, and her attention was apt to wander at the +most pointed passages. + +Thus it came about, what between the “Saturday Review” and other +things, that a very warm and deep attachment sprang up twixt the old +man and his younger partner. John was a taking man, especially to the +aged, for whom he was never tired of performing little services. One of +his favourite sayings was that old people should be “let down easy,” +and he acted up to it. Moreover, there was a quiet jollity and a bluff +honesty about him which was undoubtedly attractive both to men and +women. Above all, he was a well-informed, experienced man, and a +gentleman, in a country in which both were rare. Each week Silas Croft +came to rely more and more on him, and allowed things to pass more and +more into his hands. + +“I’m getting old, Niel,” he said to him one night; “I’m getting very +old; the grasshopper is becoming a burden to me: and I’ll tell you what +it is, my boy,” laying his hand affectionately upon John’s shoulder, “I +have no son of my own, and you must be a son to me, as my dear Bessie +has been a daughter.” + +John looked up into the kindly, handsome face, crowned with its fringe +of snowy hair, and at the keen eyes set deep in it beneath the +overhanging brows, and thought of his old father who was long since +dead; and somehow he was moved, and his own eyes filled with tears. + +“Ay, Mr. Croft,” he said, taking the old man’s hand, “that I will to +the best of my ability.” + +“Thank you, my boy, thank you. I don’t like talking much about these +things, but, as I said, I am getting old, and the Almighty may require +my account any hour, and if He does I rely on you to look after these +two girls. It is a wild country this, and one never knows what will +happen in it from day to day, and they may want help. Sometimes I wish +I were clear of the place. And now I’m going to bed. I am beginning to +feel as though I had done my day’s work in the world. I’m getting +feeble John, this is the fact of it.” + +After that he always called him John. + +Of Jess they heard but little. She wrote every week, it is true, and +gave an accurate account of all that was going on at Pretoria and of +her daily doings, but she was one of those people whose letters tell +one absolutely nothing of themselves and of what is passing in their +minds. They ought to have been headed “Our Pretoria Letter,” as Bessie +said disgustedly after reading through three sheets in Jess’s curious, +upright handwriting. “Once you lose sight of Jess,” she went on, “she +might as well be dead for all you learn about her. Not that one learns +very much when she is here,” she added reflectively. + +“She is a peculiar woman,” said John thoughtfully. At first he had +missed her very much, for, strange as she undoubtedly was, she had +touched a new string in him, of the existence of which he had not till +then been himself aware. And what is more, it had answered strongly +enough for some time; but now it was slowly vibrating itself into +silence again, much as a harp does when the striker takes his fingers +from the strings. Had she stayed on another week or so the effect might +have been more enduring. + +But although Jess had gone away Bessie had not. On the contrary, she +was always about him, surrounding him with that tender care a woman, +however involuntarily, cannot prevent herself from lavishing on the man +she loves. Her beauty moved about the place like a beam of light about +a garden, for she was indeed a lovely woman, and as pure and good as +she was lovely. Nor could John long remain in ignorance of her liking +for himself. He was not a vain man—very much the reverse, indeed—but +neither was he a fool. And it must be said that, though Bessie never +overstepped the bounds of maidenly reserve, neither did she take +particular pains to hide her preference. Indeed, it was too strong to +permit her so to do. Not that she was animated by the half-divine, +soul-searing breath of passion, such as animated her sister, which is a +very rare thing, and, take it altogether, as undesirable and unsuitable +to the ordinary conditions of this prosaic and work-a-day life as it is +rare. But she was tenderly and truly in love after the usual +young-womanly fashion; indeed, her passion, measured by the everyday +standard, would have proved to be a deep one. However this might be, +she was undoubtedly prepared to make John Niel a faithful and loving +wife if he chose to ask her to marry him. + +And as the weeks went on—though, of course, he knew nothing of all +this—it became a very serious question to John whether he should not +ask her. It is not good for a man to live alone, especially in the +Transvaal, and it was not possible for him to pass day by day at the +side of so much beauty and so much grace without thinking that it would +be well to draw the bond of union closer. Indeed, had John been a +younger man of less experience, he would have succumbed to the +temptation much sooner than he did. But he was neither very young nor +very inexperienced. Ten years or more ago, in his green and gushing +youth, as has been said, he had burnt his fingers to the bone, and a +lively recollection of this incident in his career heretofore had +proved a very efficient warning. Also, he had reached that period of +life when men think a great many times before they commit themselves +wildly to the deep matrimonial waters. At three-and-twenty, for the +sake of a pretty face, most of us are willing to undertake the serious +and in many cases overwhelming burdens, risks, and cares of family +life, and the responsibility of the parentage of a large and healthy +brood, but at three-and-thirty we take a different view of the matter. +The temptation may be great, but the per contra list is so very +alarming, and we never know even then if we see all the liabilities. +Such are the black thoughts that move in the breasts of selfish men, to +the great disadvantage of the marriage market; and however it may lower +John Niel in the eyes of those who take the trouble to follow this +portion of his life’s history, in the interests of truth it must be +confessed that he was not free from them. + +In short, sweet and pretty as Bessie might be, he was not violently in +love with her; and at thirty-four a man must be violently in love to +rush into the near risk of matrimony. But, however commendably cautious +that man may be, he is always liable to fall into temptation +sufficiently strong to sweep away his caution and make a mockery of his +plans. However strong the rope, it has its breaking strain; and in the +same way our power of resistance to any given course depends entirely +upon the power of the temptation to draw us into it. Thus it was +destined to be with our friend John Niel. + +It was about a week after his conversation with old Silas Croft that it +occurred to John that Bessie’s manner had grown rather strange of late. +It seemed to him that she had avoided his society instead of showing a +certain partiality for it, if not of courting it. Also, she had looked +pale and worried, and evinced a tendency to irritation that was quite +foreign to her natural sweetness of character. Now, when a person on +whom one is accustomed to depend for most of that social intercourse +and those pleasant little amenities which members of one sex value from +another, suddenly cuts off the supply without any apparent rhyme or +reason, it is enough to induce a feeling of wonder, not to say of +vexation, in the breast. It never occurred to John that the reason +might be that Bessie was truly fond of him, and perhaps unconsciously +disappointed that he did not show a warmer interest in her. If, +however, we were to examine into the facts of the case we should +probably discover that here was the real explanation of this change. +Bessie was a straightforward young person, whose mind and purposes were +as clear as running water. She was vexed with John—though she would +probably not have owned it even to herself in so many words—and her +manner reflected the condition of her mind. + +“Bessie,” said John one lovely day, just as the afternoon was merging +into evening, “Bessie”—he always called her Bessie now—“I am going down +to the black wattle plantation by the big mealie patch. I want to see +how those young trees are doing. If you have done your cooking”—for she +had been engaged in making a cake, as young ladies, to their souls’ +health, often have to do in the Colonies—“I wish you would put on your +hat and come with me. I don’t believe that you have been out to-day.” + +“Thank you, Captain Niel, I don’t think that I want to come out.” + +“Why not?” he said. + +“Oh, I don’t know—because there is too much to do. If I go out that +stupid girl will burn the cake,” and she pointed to a Kafir _intombi_ +(young girl), who, arrayed in a blue smock, a sweet smile, and a +feather stuck in her wool, was vigorously employed in staring at the +flies on the ceiling and sucking her black fingers. “Really,” she added +with a little stamp, “one needs the patience of an angel to put up with +that idiot’s stupidity. Yesterday she smashed the biggest dinner-dish +and then brought me the pieces with a broad grin on her face and asked +me to ‘make them one’ again. The white people were so clever, she said, +it would be no trouble to me. If they could make the china plate once, +and could cause flowers to grow on it, it would surely be easy to make +it whole again. I did not know whether to laugh or cry or throw the +pieces at her.” + +“Look here, young woman,” said John, taking the sinning girl by the arm +and leading her solemnly to the oven, which was opened to receive the +cake; “look here, if you let that cake burn while the _inkosikaas_ +(lady chieftain) is away, when I come back I will cram you into the +oven to burn with it. I cooked a girl like that in Natal last year, and +when she came out she was quite white!” + +Bessie translated this fiendish threat, whereat the girl grinned from +ear to ear and murmured “_Koos_” (chief) in cheerful acquiescence. A +Kafir maid on a pleasant afternoon is not troubled by the prospect of +being baked at nightfall, which is a long way off, especially when it +is John Niel who threatened the baking. The natives about Mooifontein +had taken the measure of John’s foot by this time with accuracy. His +threats were awful, but his performances were not great. Once, indeed, +he was forced to engage in a stand-up fight with a great fellow who +thought that he could be taken advantage of on this account, but after +he had succeeded in administering a sound hiding to that champion he +was never again troubled in this respect. + +“Now,” he said, “I think we have provided for the safety of your cake, +so come on.” + +“Thank you, Captain Niel,” answered Bessie, looking at him in a +bewitching little way she well knew how to assume, “thank you, but I +think I had rather not go out walking.” This was what she said, but her +eyes added, “I am offended with you; I want to have nothing to do with +you.” + +“Very well,” said John; “then I suppose I must go alone,” and he took +up his hat with the air of a martyr. + +Bessie looked through the open kitchen door at the lights and shadows +that chased each other across the swelling bosom of the hill behind the +house. + +“It certainly is very fine,” she said; “are you going far?” + +“No, only round the plantation.” + +“There are so many puff-adders down there, and I hate snakes,” +suggested Bessie, by way of finding another excuse for not coming. + +“Oh, I’ll look after the puff-adders—come along.” + +“Well,” she said at last, as she slowly unrolled her sleeves, which had +been tucked up during the cake-making, and hid her beautiful white +arms, “I will come, not because I want to come, but because you have +over-persuaded me. I don’t know what is happening to me,” she added, +with a little stamp and a sudden filling of her eyes with tears, “I do +not seem to have any will of my own left. When I want to do one thing +and you want me to do another it is I who have to do what you want; and +I tell you I don’t like it, Captain Niel, and I shall be very cross out +walking;” and sweeping past him, on her way to fetch her hat, in that +peculiarly graceful fashion which angry women can sometimes assume, she +left John to reflect that he never saw a more charming or taking lady +in Europe or out of it. + +He had half a mind to risk it and ask her to marry him. But then, +perhaps, she might refuse him, and that was a contingency which he did +not quite appreciate. After their first youth few men altogether relish +the idea of putting themselves in a position that gives a capricious +woman an opportunity of first figuratively “jumping” on them, and then +perhaps holding them up to the scorn and obloquy of her friends, +relations, and other admirers. For, unfortunately, until the opposite +is clearly demonstrated, many men are apt to believe that not a few +women are by nature capricious, shallow, and unreliable; and John Niel, +owing, possibly, to that unhappy little experience of his youth, must +be reckoned among their misguided ranks. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. +OVER IT + + +On leaving the house Bessie and John took their way down the long +avenue of blue gums. This avenue was old Silas Croft’s particular +pride, since although it had only been planted for about twenty years, +the trees, which in the divine climate and virgin soil of the Transvaal +grow at the most extraordinary rate, were for the most part very lofty, +and as thick in the stem as English oaks of a hundred and fifty years’ +standing. The avenue was not over wide, and the trees were planted +quite close one to another, with the result that their brown, +pillar-like stems shot up for many feet without a branch, whilst high +overhead the boughs crossed and intermingled in such a way as to form a +leafy tunnel, through which the landscape beyond appeared as though +through a telescope. + +Down this charming avenue John and Bessie walked, and on reaching its +limit they turned to the right and followed a little footpath winding +in and out of the rocks that built up the plateau on the hillside +whereon the house stood. Presently this led them through the orchard; +then came a bare strip of veldt, a very dangerous spot in a +thunderstorm, but a great safeguard to the stead and trees round it, +for the ironstone cropped up here, and from the house one might often +see flash after flash striking down on to it, and even running and +zigzagging about its surface. To the left of this ironstone were some +cultivated lands, and in front of them the plantation, in which John +was anxious to inspect the recently planted wattles. + +They walked up to the copse without saying a word. It was surrounded by +a ditch and a low sod wall, whereon Bessie seated herself, remarking +that she would wait there till he had looked at the trees, as she was +afraid of the puff-adders, whereof a large and thriving family were +known to live in this plantation. + +John assented, observing that the puff-adders were brutes, and that he +must have some pigs turned in to destroy them, which the pigs effect by +munching them up, apparently without unpleasant consequences to +themselves. Then he departed on his errand, wending his way gingerly +through the feathery black wattles. It did not take long, and he saw no +puff-adders. When he had finished looking at the young trees, he +returned, still walking delicately like Agag. On reaching the border of +the plantation, he paused to look at Bessie, who was some twenty paces +from him, perched sideways on the low sod wall, and framed, as it were, +in the full rich light of the setting sun. Her hat was off, for the sun +had lost its burning force, and the hand that held it hung idly by her, +while her eyes were fixed on the horizon flaming with all the varied +glories of an African sunset. He gazed at her sweet face and lissom +form, and some lines that he had read years before floated into his +mind— + +The little curls about her head +Were all her crown of gold, +Her delicate arms drooped downwards +In slender mould, +As white-veined leaves of lilies +Curve and fold. +She moved to measures of music, +As a swan sails the stream— + + +He had got thus far when she turned and saw him, and he abandoned +poetry in the presence of one who might well have inspired it. + +“What are you looking at?” she said with a smile; “the sunset?” + +“No; I was looking at you.” + +“Then you might have been better employed with the sky,” she answered, +turning her head quickly. “Look at it! Did you ever see such a sunset? +We sometimes get them like that at this time of year when the +thunderstorms are about.” + +She was right; it was glorious. The heavy clouds which a couple of +hours before had been rolling like celestial hearses across the azure +deeps were now aflame with glory. Some of them glowed like huge castles +wrapped in fire, others with the dull red heat of burning coal. The +eastern heaven was one sheet of burnished gold that slowly grew to red, +and higher yet to orange and the faintest rose. To the left departing +sunbeams rested lovingly on grey Quathlamba’s crests, even firing the +eternal snows that lay upon his highest peak, and writing once more +upon their whiteness the record of another day fulfilled. Lower down +the sky floated little clouds, flame-flakes fallen from the burning +mass above, and on the earth beneath lay great depths of shadow barred +with the brightness of the dying light. + +John stood and gazed at it, and its living, glowing beauty seemed to +fire his imagination, as it fired earth and heaven, in such sort that +the torch of love lit upon his heart like the sunbeams on the mountain +tops. Then from the celestial beauty of the skies he turned to look at +the earthly beauty of the woman who sat there before him, and found +that also fair. Whether it was the contemplation of the glories of +Nature—for there is always a suspicion of melancholy in beautiful +things—or whatever it was, her face had a touch of sadness on it that +he had never seen before, and which certainly added to its charm as a +shadow adds to the charm of the light. + +“What are you thinking of, Bessie?” he asked. + +She looked up, and he saw that her lips were quivering a little. “Well, +do you know,” she said, “oddly enough, I was thinking of my mother. I +can only just recall her, a woman with a thin, sweet face. I remember +one evening she was sitting in front of a house while the sun was +setting as it is now, and I was playing by her, when suddenly she +called me to her and kissed me, then pointed to the red clouds that +were gathered in the sky, and said, ‘I wonder if you will ever think of +me, dear, when I have passed through those golden gates?’ I did not +understand what she meant, but somehow I have remembered the words, and +though she died so long ago, I do often think of her;” and two large +tears rolled down her face as she spoke. + +Few men can bear to see a sweet and pretty woman in tears, and this +little incident was too much for John, whose caution and doubts all +went to the winds together. + +“Bessie,” he said, “don’t cry, dear; please, don’t! I can’t bear to see +you cry.” + +She looked up as though to remonstrate at his words, then she looked +down again. + +“Listen, Bessie,” he went on awkwardly enough, “I have something to say +to you. I want to ask you if—if, in short, you will marry me. Wait a +bit, don’t say anything yet; you know me pretty well by now. I am no +chicken, dear, and I have knocked about the world a good deal, and had +one or two love affairs like other people. But, Bessie, I never met +such a sweet woman, or, if you will let me say it, such a lovely woman +as you are, and if you will have me, dear, I think that I shall be the +luckiest man in South Africa;” and he stopped, not knowing exactly what +else to say, and feeling that the time had not come for action, if +indeed it was to come at all. + +When first she understood the drift of his talk Bessie had flushed up +to the eyes, then the blood sank back to her breast, and left her as +pale as a lily. She loved the man, and they were happy words to her, +and she was satisfied with them, though perhaps some women might have +thought that they left a good deal to be desired. But Bessie was not of +an exacting nature. + +At last she spoke. + +“Are you sure,” she asked, “that you mean all this? You know sometimes +people say things of a sudden, upon an impulse, and afterwards they +wish they never had been said. Then it would be rather awkward +supposing I were to say ‘yes,’ would it not?” + +“Of course I am sure,” he said indignantly. + +“You see,” went on Bessie, poking at the sod wall with the stick she +held in her hand, “perhaps in this place you might be putting an +exaggerated value on me. You think I am pretty because you see nobody +but Kafir and Boer women, and it would be the same with everything. I’m +not fit to marry such a man as you,” she went on, with a sudden burst +of distress; “I have never seen anything or anybody. I am nothing but +an ignorant, half-educated farmer girl, with nothing to recommend me, +and no fortune except my looks. You are different to me; you are a man +of the world, and if ever you went back to England I should be a drag +on you, and you would be ashamed of me and my colonial ways. If it had +been Jess now, it would have been different, for she has more brains in +her little finger than I have in my whole body.” + +Somehow this mention of Jess jarred upon John’s nerves, and chilled him +like a breath of cold wind on a hot day. He wanted to put Jess out of +his mind just now. + +“My dear Bessie,” he broke in, “why do you suppose such things? I can +assure you that, if you appeared in a London drawing-room, you would +put most of the women into the shade. Not that there is much chance of +my frequenting London drawing-rooms again,” he added. + +“Oh, yes! I may be good-looking; I don’t say that I am not; but can’t +you understand, I do not want you to marry me just because I am a +pretty woman, as the Kafirs marry their wives? If you marry me at all I +want you to marry me because you care for _me_, the real _me_, not my +eyes and my hair. Oh, I don’t know what to answer you! I don’t indeed!” +and she began to cry softly. + +“Bessie, dear Bessie!” said John, who was pretty well beside himself by +this time, “just tell me honestly—do you care about me? I am not worth +much, I know, but if you do all this goes for nothing,” and he took her +hand and drew her towards him, so that she half slipped, half rose from +the sod wall and stood face to face with him, for she was a tall woman, +and they were very nearly of a height. + +Twice she raised her beautiful eyes to his to answer and twice her +courage failed her; then at last the truth broke from her almost with a +cry: + +“Oh, John, I love you with all my heart!” + +And now it will be well to drop a veil over the rest of these +proceedings, for there are some things that should be sacred, even from +the pen of the historian, and the first transport of the love of a good +woman is one of them. + +Suffice it to say that they sat there side by side on the sod wall, and +were happy as people ought to be under such circumstances, till the +glory departed from the western sky and the world grew cold and pale, +till the night came down and hid the mountains, and only the stars and +they were left to look out across the dusky distances of the wilderness +of plain. + +Meanwhile a very different scene was being enacted up at the house half +a mile away. + +Not more than ten minutes after John and his lady-love had departed on +that fateful walk to look at the young trees, Frank Muller’s stalwart +form, mounted on his great black horse, was to be seen leisurely +advancing towards the blue-gum avenue. Jantje was lurking about between +the stems of the trees in the peculiar fashion that is characteristic +of the Hottentot, and which doubtless is bred into him after tens of +centuries of tracking animals and hiding from enemies. There he was, +slipping from trunk to trunk, and gazing round him as though he +expected each instant to discover the assegai of an ambushed foe or to +hear the footfall of some savage beast of prey. Absolutely there was no +reason why he should behave in this fashion; he was simply indulging +his natural instincts where he thought nobody would observe him. Life +at Mooifontein was altogether too tame and civilised for Jantje’s +taste, and he needed periodical recreations of this sort. Like a +civilised child he longed for wild beasts and enemies, and if there +were none at hand he found a reflected satisfaction in making a +pretence of their presence. + +Presently, however, whilst they were yet a long way off, his quick ear +caught the sound of the horse’s footfalls, and he straightened himself +and listened. Not satisfied with the results, he laid himself down, put +his ear to the earth, and gave a guttural sound of satisfaction. + +“Baas Frank’s black horse,” Jantje muttered to himself. “The black +horse has a cracked heel, and one foot hits the ground more softly than +the others. What is Baas Frank coming here for? After Missie I think. +He would be mad if he knew that Missie went down to the plantation with +Baas Niel just now. People go into plantations to kiss each other” +(Jantje was not far out there), “and it would make Baas Frank mad if he +knew that. He would strike me if I told him, or I would tell him.” + +The horse’s hoofs were drawing near by now, so Jantje slipped as easily +and naturally as a snake into a thick tuft of rank grass which grew +between the blue gums, and waited. Nobody would have guessed that this +tuft of grass hid a human being; not even a Boer would have guessed it, +unless he had happened to walk right on to the spy, and then it would +have been a chance but that the Hottentot managed to avoid being +trodden on and escaped detection. Again there was no reason why he +should hide himself in this fashion, except that it pleased him to do +so. + +Presently the big horse approached, and the snakelike Hottentot raised +his head ever so little and peered out with his beady black eyes +through the straw-like grass stems. They fell on Muller’s cold face. It +was evident that he was in a reflective mood—in an angrily reflective +mood. So absorbed was he that he nearly let his horse, which was also +absorbed by the near prospect of a comfortable stall, put his foot in a +big hole that a wandering antbear had amused himself on the previous +night by digging exactly in the centre of the road. + +“What is Baas Frank thinking of, I wonder?” said Jantje to himself as +horse and man passed within four feet of him. Then rising, he crossed +the road, and slipping round by a back way like a fox from a covert, +was standing at the stable-door with a vacant and utterly unobservant +expression of face some seconds before the black horse and its rider +had reached the house. + +“I will give them one more chance, just one more,” thought the handsome +Boer, or rather half-breed—for it will be remembered that his mother +was English—“and if they won’t take it, then let their fate be upon +their own heads. To-morrow I go to the _bymakaar_ at Paarde Kraal to +take counsel with Paul Krüger and Pretorius, and the other ‘fathers of +the land,’ as they call themselves. If I throw in my weight against +rebellion there will be no rebellion; if I urge it there will be, and +if _Oom_ Silas will not give me Bessie, and Bessie will not marry me, I +will urge it even if it plunge the whole country in war from the Cape +to Waterberg. Patriotism! Independence! Taxes!—that is what they will +cry till they begin to believe it themselves. Bah! those are not the +things that I would go to war for; but ambition and revenge, ah! that +is another matter. I would kill them all if they stood in my way, all +except Bessie. If war breaks out, who will hold up a hand to help the +‘_verdomde Engelsmann_’? They would all be afraid. And it is not my +fault. Can I help if it I love that woman? Can I help it if my blood +dries up with longing for her, and if I lie awake hour by hour of +nights, ay, and weep—I, Frank Muller, who saw the murdered bodies of my +father and my mother and shed no tear—because she hates me and will not +look favourably upon me? + +“Oh, woman! woman! They talk of ambition and of avarice and of +self-preservation as the keys of character and action, but what force +is there to move us like a woman? A little thing, a weak fragile +thing—a toy from which the rain will wash the paint and of which the +rust will stop the working, and yet a thing that can shake the world +and pour out blood like water, and bring down sorrow like the rain. So! +I stand by the boulder. A touch and it will go crashing down the +mountain-side so that the world hears it. Shall I send it? It is all +one to me. Let Bessie and _Oom_ Silas judge. I would slaughter every +Englishman in the Transvaal to gain Bessie—ay! and every Boer too, and +throw all the natives in;” and he laughed aloud, and struck the great +black horse, making it plunge and caper gallantly. + +“And then,” he went on, giving his ambition wing, “when I have won +Bessie, and we have kicked all these Englishmen out of the land, in a +very few years I shall rule this country, and what next? Why, then I +will stir up the Dutch feeling in Natal and in the old Colony, and we +will push the Englishmen back into the sea, make a clean sweep of the +natives, only keeping enough for servants, and have a united South +Africa, like that poor silly man Burgers used to prate of, but did not +know how to bring about. A united Dutch South Africa, and Frank Muller +to rule it! Well, such things have been, and may be again. Give me +forty years of life and strength, and we shall see——” + +Just then he reached the verandah of the house, and, dismissing his +secret ambitions from his mind, Frank Muller dismounted and entered. In +the sitting-room he found Silas Croft reading a newspaper. + +“Good-day, _Oom_ Silas,” he said, extending his hand. + +“Good-day, _Meinheer_ Frank Muller,” replied the old man very coldly, +for John had told him of the incident at the shooting-party which so +nearly ended fatally, and though he made no remark he had formed his +own conclusions. + +“What are you reading about in the _Volkstem_, _Oom_ Silas—about the +Bezuidenhout affair?” + +“No; what was that?” + +“It was that the _volk_ are rising against you English, that is all. +The sheriff seized Bezuidenhout’s waggon in execution of taxes, and put +it up to sale at Potchefstroom. But the _volk_ kicked the auctioneer +off the waggon and hunted him round the town; and now Governor Lanyon +is sending Raaf down with power to swear in special constables and +enforce the law at Potchefstroom. He might as well try to stop a river +by throwing stones. Let me see, the big meeting at Paarde Kraal was to +have been on the fifteenth of December, now it is to be on the eighth, +and then we shall know if it will be peace or war.” + +“Peace or war?” answered the old man testily. “That has been the cry +for years. How many big meetings have there been since Shepstone +annexed the country? Six, I think. And what has come of it all? Just +nothing but talk. And what can come of it? Suppose the Boers did fight, +what would the end of it be? They would be beaten, and a lot of people +would be killed, and that would be the end of it. You don’t suppose +that England would give in to a handful of Boers, do you? What did +General Wolseley say the other day at the dinner in Potchefstroom? Why, +that the country would never be given up, because no Government, +Conservative, Liberal, or Radical, would dare to do it. And now this +new Gladstone Government has telegraphed the same thing, so what is the +use of all the talk and childishness? Tell me that, Frank Muller.” + +Muller laughed as he answered, “You are all very simple people, you +English. Don’t you know that a government is like a woman who cries +‘No, no, no,’ and kisses you all the time? If there is noise enough +your British Government will eat its words and give Wolseley, and +Shepstone, and Bartle Frere, and Lanyon, and all of them the lie. This +is a bigger business than you think for, _Oom_ Silas. Of course all +these meetings and talk are got up. The people are angry because of the +English way of dealing with the natives, and because they have to pay +taxes; and they think, now that you British have paid their debts and +smashed up Sikukuni and Cetewayo, that they would like to have the land +back. They were glad enough for you to take it at first; now it is +another matter. But still that is not much. If they were left to +themselves nothing would come of it except talk, for many of them are +very glad that the land should be English. But the men who pull the +strings are down in the Cape. They want to drive every Englishman out +of South Africa. When Shepstone annexed the Transvaal he turned the +scale against the Dutch element and broke up the plans they have been +laying for years to make a big anti-English republic of the whole +country. If the Transvaal remains British there is an end of their +hopes, for only the Free State is left, and it is hemmed in. That is +why they are so angry, and that is why their tools are stirring up the +people. They mean to make them fight now, and I think that they will +succeed. If the Boers win the day, they will declare themselves; if +not, you will hear nothing of them, and the Boers will bear the brunt +of it. They are very cunning people the Cape ‘patriots,’ but they look +well after themselves.” + +Silas Croft looked troubled, but made no answer, and Frank Muller rose +and stared out of the window. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. +FRANK MULLER SHOWS HIS HAND + + +Presently Muller turned round. “Do you know why I have told you all +this, _Oom_ Silas?” he asked. + +“No.” + +“Because I want you to understand that you and all the Englishmen in +this country are in a very dangerous position. The war is coming, and +whether it goes for you or against you, you must suffer. You Englishmen +have many enemies. You have got all the trade and own nearly half the +land, and you are always standing up for the black people, whom the +Boers hate. It will go hard with you if there is a war. You will be +shot and your houses will be burnt, and if you lose the day those who +escape will be driven out of the country. It will be the Transvaal for +the Transvaalers, then, and Africa for the Africanders.” + +“Well, Frank Muller, and if all this should come to pass, what of it? +What are you driving at, Frank Muller? You don’t show me your hand like +this for nothing.” + +The Boer laughed. “Of course I don’t, _Oom_ Silas. Well, if you want to +know, I will tell you what I mean. I mean that I alone can protect you +and your place and people in the bad times which are coming. I have +more influence in the land than you know of. Perhaps even, I could +stave off the war, and if it suited me to do so I would do it. At the +least I could keep you from being harmed, that I know. But I have my +price, _Oom_ Silas, as we all have, and it must be money down and no +credit.” + +“I don’t understand you and your dark sayings,” said the old man +coldly. “I am a straightforward man, and if you will tell me what you +mean I will give you my answer; if not, I don’t see the good of our +going on talking.” + +“Very well; I will tell you what I mean. I mean _Bessie_. I mean that I +love your niece and want to marry her—ay, I mean to marry her by fair +means or foul—and that she will have nothing to say to me.” + +“And what have I to do with that, Frank Muller? The girl is her own +mistress. I cannot dispose of her in marriage, even if I wished it, as +though she were a colt or an ox. You must plead your own suit and take +your own answer.” + +“I have pleaded my suit and I have got my answer,” replied the Boer +with passion. “Don’t you understand, she will have nothing to say to +me? She is in love with that damned _rooibaatje_ Niel whom you have +brought up here. She is in love with him, I say, and will not look at +me.” + +“Ah,” replied Silas Croft calmly, “is it so? Then she shows very good +taste, for John Niel is an honest man, Frank Muller, and you are not. +Listen to me,” he went on, with a sudden outburst of passion; “I tell +you that you are a dishonourable man and a villain. I tell you that you +murdered the Hottentot Jantje’s father, mother, and uncle in cold blood +when you were yet a lad. I tell you that the other day you tried to +murder John Niel, pretending to mistake him for a buck! And now you, +who petitioned for this country to be taken over by the Queen, and have +gone round singing out your loyalty at the top of your voice, come and +tell me that you are plotting to bring about an insurrection, and to +plunge the land into war, and ask me for Bessie as the price of your +protection! But I will tell you something in answer, Frank Muller,” and +the old man rose up, his keen eyes flashing in wrath, and, +straightening his bent frame, he pointed towards the door. “Go out of +that door and never come through it again. I rely upon God and the +English nation to protect me, and not on such as you, and I would +rather see my dear Bessie dead in her coffin than married to a knave +and traitor and a murderer like Frank Muller. Go!” + +The Boer turned white with fury as he listened. Twice he tried to speak +and failed, and when the words did come they were so choked and laden +with passion as to be scarcely audible. When thwarted he was liable to +these accesses to rage, and, speaking figuratively, they spoilt his +character. Could he have kept his head, he would have been a perfect +and triumphant villain, but as it was, the carefully planned and +audacious rascality of years was always apt to be swept away by the +sudden gale of his furious passion. It was in such an outburst of rage +that he had assaulted John in the inn yard at Wakkerstroom, and thereby +put him on his guard against him, and now it mastered him once more. + +“Very well, Silas Croft,” he said at last, “I will go; but mark this, I +will come back, and when I come it shall be with men armed with rifles. +I will burn this pretty place of yours, that you are so proud of, over +your head, and I will kill you and your friend the Englishman, and take +Bessie away, and very soon she shall be glad enough to marry Frank +Muller; but then I will not marry her—no, not if she goes on her knees +to me—and she shall go on her knees often enough. We will see then what +God and the English nation will do to protect you. God and the English +nation! Call on the sheep and the horses; call on the rocks and the +trees, and you will get a better answer.” + +“Go!” thundered the old man, “or by the God you blaspheme I will put a +bullet through you,” and he reached towards a rifle that hung over the +mantelpiece, “or my Kafirs shall whip you off the place.” + +Frank Muller waited no more. He turned and went. It was dark now, but +there was still some light in the sky at the end of the blue-gum +avenue, and against it, as he rode away, he discovered Bessie’s tall +and graceful form softly outlined upon the darkening night. John had +left her to see about some pressing matter connected with the farm, and +there she stood, filled with the great joy of a woman who has found her +love, and loth as yet to break its spell by entering again into the +daily round of common life. + +There she stood, a type and symbol of all that is beautiful and +gracious in this rough world, the lovelights shining in her blue eyes +and thoughts of happy gratitude to the Giver of all good rising from +her heart to Heaven, drawn up thither, as it were, by the warmth of her +pure passion, as the dew mists of the morning are drawn upward by the +sun. There she was, so good, so happy, and so sweet; an answer to the +world’s evil, a symbol of the world’s joy, and an incarnation of the +world’s beauty! Who but a merciful and almighty Father can create +children such as she, so lovely, so lovable, and set them on the world +as He sets the stars upon the sky to light it and make beholders think +of holy things, and who but man could have the heart to turn such as +she to the base uses whereto they are daily turned? + +Presently she heard the horse’s hoofs, and looked up, so that the faint +light fell full upon her face, idealising it, and making its +passion-breathing beauty seem more of Heaven than of earth. There was +some look upon it, some indefinable light that day—such is the power +that Love has to infuse all human things with the tint of his own +splendour—that it went even to the heart of the wild and evil man who +adored her with the deep and savage force of his dark nature. Was it +well to meddle with her, and to build up plans for her overthrow and +that of all to whom she clung? Would it not be better to let her be, to +go his way and leave her to go hers in peace? She did not look quite +like a woman standing there, but more like something belonging to +another world, some subject of a higher rule. Men of powerful but +undisciplined intellect like Frank Muller are never entirely free from +superstition, however free they may be from religion, and he grew +superstitious as he was apt to do. Might there not be an unknown +penalty for treading such a flower as that into the mire—into mire +mixed perchance with the blood of those she loved? + +For a few seconds he hesitated. Should he throw up the whole affair, +leave the rebellion to look after itself, marry one of Hans Coetzee’s +daughters, and trek to the old colony, or Bechuanaland, or anywhere? +His hand began to tighten on his bridle-rein and the horse to answer to +the pressure. As a first step towards it he would turn away to the left +and avoid her, when suddenly the thought of his successful rival +flashed into his mind. What, leave her with that man? Never! He had +rather kill her with his own hand. In another second he had sprung from +his horse, and, before she guessed who it was, he was standing face to +face with her. The strength of his jealous desire overpowered him. + +“Ah, I thought he had come after missie,” said Jantje, who, pursuing +his former tactics, was once more indulging his passion for slinking +about behind trees and in tufts of grass. “Now what will missie say?” + +“How are you, Bessie?” said Muller in a quiet voice, but she, looking +into his face, saw that it belied the voice. It was alive with evil +passions that seemed to make it positively lurid, an effect that its +undoubted beauty only intensified. + +“I am quite well, thank you, Mr. Muller,” she answered as she began to +move homewards, commanding her voice as well as she could, but feeling +dreadfully frightened and lonely. She knew something of her admirer’s +character, and feared to be left alone with him so far from any help, +for nobody was about now, and they were more than three hundred yards +from the house. + +He stood before her so that she could not pass without actually pushing +by him. “Why are you in such a hurry?” he said. “You were standing +still enough just now.” + +“It is time for me to be going in. I want to see about the supper.” + +“The supper can wait awhile, Bessie, and I cannot wait. I am starting +for Paarde Kraal to-morrow at day-break, and I want to say good-bye to +you first.” + +“Good-bye,” she said, more frightened than ever at his curious +constrained manner, and she held out her hand. + +He took it and retained it. + +“Please let me go,” she said. + +“Not till you have heard what I have to say. Look here, Bessie, I love +you with all my heart. I know you think I am only a Boer, but I am more +than that. I have been to the Cape and seen the world. I have brains, +and can see and understand things, and if you will marry me I will lift +you up. You shall be one of the first ladies in Africa, though I am +only plain Frank Muller now. Great things are going to happen in the +country, and I shall be at the head of them, or near it. No, don’t try +to get away. I tell you I love you, you don’t know how. I am dying for +you. Oh! can’t you believe me? my darling! my darling! Yes, I _will_ +kiss you,” and in an agony of passion, that her resistance only fired +the more, he flung his strong arms round her and drew her to his +breast, fight as she would. + +But at this opportune moment an unexpected diversion occurred, of which +the hidden Jantje was the cause. Seeing that matters were becoming +serious, and being afraid to show himself lest Frank Muller should kill +him then and there, as indeed he would have been quite capable of +doing, he hit upon another expedient, to the service of which he +brought a ventriloquistic power that is not uncommon among natives. +Suddenly the silence was broken by a frightful and prolonged wail that +seemed to shape itself into the word “Frank,” and to proceed from the +air just above the struggling Bessie’s head. The effect produced upon +Muller was something wonderful. + +“_Allemachter!_” he cried, looking up, “it is my mother’s voice!” + +“_Frank!_” wailed the voice again, and he let go of Bessie in his +perplexity and fear, and turned round to try and discover whence the +sound proceeded—a circumstance of which that young lady took advantage +to beat a rapid if not very dignified retreat. + +“_Frank! Frank! Frank!_” wailed and howled the voice, now overhead, now +on this side, now on that, till at last Muller, thoroughly mystified +and feeling his superstitious fears rising apace as the moaning sound +flitted about beneath the dark arch of the gum-trees, made a rush for +his horse, which was snorting and trembling in every limb. It is almost +as easy to work upon the superstitious fears of a dog or a horse as +upon those of a man, but Muller, not being aware of this, took the +animal’s alarm as a clear indication of the uncanny nature of the +voice. With a single bound he sprang into his saddle, and as he did so +the woman’s voice wailed out once more— + +“_Frank_, thou shalt die in blood as I did, Frank!” + +Muller turned livid with fear, and the cold perspiration streamed from +his face. He was a bold man enough physically, but this was too much +for his nerves. + +“It is my mother’s voice, they are her very words!” he called out +aloud, then, dashing his spurs into his horse’s flanks, he went like a +flash far from the accursed spot; nor did he draw rein till he came to +his own place ten miles away. Twice the horse fell in the darkness, for +there was no moon, the second time throwing him heavily, but he only +dragged it up with an oath, and springing into the saddle again fled on +as before. + +Thus the man who did not hesitate to plot and to execute the cruel +slaughter of unoffending men cowered beneath the fancied echo of a dead +woman’s voice! Truly human nature is full of contradictions. + +When the thunder of the horse’s hoofs grew faint Jantje emerged from +one of his hiding-places, and, throwing himself down in the centre of +the dusty road, kicked and rolled with delight, shaking all the while +with an inward joy to which his habits of caution would not permit him +to give audible vent. “His mother’s voice, his mother’s words,” he +quoted to himself. “How should he know that Jantje remembers the old +woman’s voice—ay, and the words that the devil in her spoke too? Hee! +hee! hee!” + +Finally he departed to eat his supper of beef, which he had cut off an +unfortunate ox which that morning had expired of a mysterious +complication of diseases, filled with a happy sense that he had not +lived that day in vain. + +Bessie fled without stopping till she reached the orange-trees in front +of the verandah, where, reassured by the lights from the windows, she +paused to consider. Not that she was troubled by Jantje’s mysterious +howling; indeed, she was too preoccupied to give it a second thought. +What she debated was whether she should say anything about her +encounter with Frank Muller. Young ladies are not, as a rule, too fond +of informing their husbands or lovers that somebody has kissed them; +first, because they know it will force them to make a disturbance and +possibly to place themselves in a ridiculous position; and, secondly, +because they fear lest suspicious man might take the story with a grain +of salt, and suggest even that they, the kissed, were themselves to +blame. Both these reasons presented themselves to Bessie’s practical +mind, also a further one, namely, that he had not kissed her after all. +So on a rapid review of the whole case she came to the decision to say +nothing to John about it, and only enough to her uncle to make him +forbid Frank Muller the house—an unnecessary precaution, as the reader +will remember. Then, after pausing for a few seconds to pick a branch +of orange blossom and to recover herself generally, which, not being +hysterically inclined, she very soon did, she entered the house quietly +as though nothing had happened. The very first person she met was John +himself, who had come in by the back way. He laughed at her +orange-blossom bouquet, and said that it was most appropriate, then +proceeded to embrace her tenderly in the passage; and indeed he would +have been a poor sort of lover if he had not. It was exactly at this +juncture that old Silas Croft happened to open the sitting-room door +and became the spectator of this surprising and attractive tableau. + +“Well, I never!” said the old gentleman. “What is the meaning of all +this, Bessie?” + +Of course there was nothing for it but to advance and explain the facts +of the case, which John did with much humming and ha-ing and a general +awkwardness of manner that baffles description, while Bessie stood by, +her hand upon her lover’s shoulder, blushing as red as any rose. + +Mr. Croft listened in silence till John had finished, a smile upon his +face and a kindly twinkle in his keen eyes. + +“So,” he said, “that is what you young people have been after, is it? I +suppose that you want to enlarge your interests in the farm, eh, John? +Well, upon my word, I don’t blame you; you might have gone farther and +fared worse. These sort of things never come singly, it seems. I had +another request for your hand, my dear, only this afternoon, from that +scoundrel Frank Muller, of all men in the world,” and his face darkened +as he said the name. “I sent him off with a flea in his ear, I can tell +you. Had I known then what I know now, I should have referred him to +John. There, there! He is a bad man, and a dangerous man, but let him +be. He is taking plenty of rope, and he will hang himself one of these +days. Well, my dears, this is the best bit of news that I have heard +for many a long year. It’s time you got married, both of you, for it is +not right for man to live alone, or woman either. I have done it all my +life, and that is the conclusion I have come to after thinking the +matter over for somewhere about fifty years. Yes, you have my consent +and my blessing too, and you will have something more one day before so +very long. Take her, John, take her. I have led a rough life, but I +have seen somewhat of women for all that, and I tell you that there is +not a sweeter or a prettier girl in South Africa than Bessie Croft, and +in wanting to marry her you have shown your sense. God bless you both, +my dears; and now, Bessie, come and give your old uncle a kiss. I hope +that you won’t let John quite drive me out of your head, that’s all, +for you see, my dear, having no children of my own, I have managed to +grow very fond of you in the last twelve years or so.” + +Bessie kissed the old man tenderly. + +“No, uncle,” she answered, “neither John nor anybody nor anything in +the world can do that,” and it was evident from her manner that she +meant what she said. Bessie had a large heart, and was not at all the +person to let her lover drive her uncle and benefactor out of his share +thereof. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. +JOHN TO THE RESCUE + + +The important domestic events described in the last chapter took place +on December 7, 1880, and for the next twelve days or so everything went +as happily at Mooifontein as things should go under the circumstances. +Every day Silas Croft beamed with an enlarged geniality in his +satisfaction at the turn that matters had taken, and every day John +found cause to congratulate himself more and more on the issue of his +bold venture towards matrimony. Now that he came to be on such intimate +terms with his betrothed, he perceived a hundred charms and graces in +her nature which before he had never suspected. Bessie was like a +flower: the more she basked in the light and warmth of her love the +more her character opened and unfolded, shedding perfumed sweetness +around her and revealing unguessed charms. It is so with all women, and +more especially with a woman of her stamp, whom Nature has made to love +and be loved as maid and wife and mother. Her undoubted personal beauty +shared also in this development, her fair face taking a richer hue and +her eyes an added depth and meaning. She was in every respect, save +one, all that a man could desire in his wife, and even the exception +would have stood to her credit with many men. It was this: she was not +an intellectual person, although certainly she possessed more than the +ordinary share of intelligence and work-a-day common sense. Now John +was a decidedly intellectual man, and, what is more, he highly +appreciated that rare quality in the other sex. But, after all, when +one is just engaged to a sweet and lovely woman, one does not think +much about her intellect. Those reflections come afterwards. + +And so they sauntered hand in hand through the sunny days and were +happy exceedingly. Least of all did they allow the rumours which +reached them from the great Boer gathering at Paarde Kraal to disturb +their serenity. There had been so many of these reports of rebellion +that folk were beginning to regard them as a chronic state of affairs. + +“Oh, the Boers!” said Bessie, with a pretty toss of her golden head, as +they were sitting one morning on the verandah. “I am sick to death of +hearing about the Boers and all their got-up talk. I know what it is; +it is just an excuse for them to go away from their farms and wives and +children and idle about at these great meetings, and drink +‘square-face’ with their mouths full of big words. You see what Jess +says in her last letter. People in Pretoria believe that it is all +nonsense from beginning to end, and I think they are perfectly right.” + +“By the way, Bessie,” asked John, “have you written to Jess telling her +of our engagement?” + +“Oh yes, I wrote some days ago, but the letter only went yesterday. She +will be pleased to hear about it. Dear old Jess, I wonder when she +means to come home again. She has been away long enough.” + +John made no answer, but went on smoking his pipe in silence, wondering +if Jess would be pleased. He did not understand her yet. She had gone +away just as he was beginning to understand her. + +Presently he observed Jantje sneaking about between the orange-trees as +though he wished to call attention to himself. Had he not wanted to do +so he would have moved from one to the other in such a way that nobody +could have seen him. His partial and desultory appearances indicated +that he was on view. + +“Come out of those trees, you little rascal, and stop slipping about +like a snake in a stone wall!” shouted John. “What is it you +want—wages?” + +Thus adjured, Jantje advanced and sat down on the path, as usual in the +full glare of the sun. + +“No, Baas,” he said, “it is not wages. They are not due yet.” + +“What is it, then?” + +“No, Baas, it is this. The Boers have declared war on the English +Government, and they have eaten up the _rooibaatjes_ at Bronker’s +Spruit, near Middleburg. Joubert shot them all there the day before +yesterday.” + +“What!” shouted John, letting his pipe fall in his astonishment. “Stop, +though, that must be a lie. You say near Middleburg, the day before +yesterday: that would be December 20. When did you hear this?” + +“At daybreak, Baas. A Basutu told me.” + +“Then there is an end of it. The news could not have reached here in +thirty-eight hours. What do you mean by coming to me with such a tale?” + +The Hottentot smiled. “It is quite true, Baas. Bad news flies like a +bird,” and he picked himself up and slipped off to his work. + +Notwithstanding the apparent impossibility of the thing, John was +considerably disturbed, knowing the extraordinary speed with which +tidings do travel among Kafirs, more swiftly, indeed, than the fleetest +mounted messenger can bear them. Leaving Bessie, who was also somewhat +alarmed, he went in search of Silas Croft, and, finding him in the +garden, told him what Jantje had said. The old man did not know what to +make of the tale, but, remembering Frank Muller’s threats, he shook his +head. + +“If there is any truth in it, that villain Muller has a hand in it,” he +said. “I’ll go to the house and see Jantje. Give me your arm, John.” + +He obeyed, and, on arriving at the top of the steep path, they +perceived the stout figure of old Hans Coetzee, who had been John’s +host at the shooting-party, ambling along on his fat little pony. + +“Ah,” said Silas, “here is the man who will tell us if there is +anything in it all.” + +“Good-day, _Oom_ Coetzee, good-day!” he shouted out in his stentorian +tones. “What news do you bring with you?” + +The jolly-looking Boer rolled awkwardly off his pony before answering, +and, throwing the reins over its head, came to meet them. + +“_Allemachter_, _Oom_ Silas, it is bad news. You have heard of the +_bymakaar_ at Paarde Kraal. Frank Muller wanted me to go, but I would +not, and now they have declared war on the British Government and sent +a proclamation to Lanyon. There will be fighting, _Oom_ Silas, the land +will run with blood, and the poor _rooibaatjes_ will be shot down like +buck.” + +“The poor Boers, you mean,” growled John, who did not like to hear her +Majesty’s army talked of in terms of regretful pity. + +_Oom_ Coetzee shook his head with the air of one who knew all about it, +and then turned an attentive ear to Silas Croft’s version of Jantje’s +story. + +“_Allemachter!_” groaned Coetzee, “what did I tell you? The poor +_rooibaatjes_ shot down like buck, and the land running with blood! And +now that Frank Muller will draw me into it, and I shall have to go and +shoot the poor _rooibaatjes_; and I can’t miss, try as hard as I will, +I _can’t_ miss. And when we have shot them all I suppose that Burgers +will come back, and he is _kransick_ (mad). Yes, yes; Lanyon is bad, +but Burgers is worse,” and the comfortable old gentleman groaned aloud +at the troubles in which he foresaw he would be involved, and finally +took his departure by a bridle-path over the mountain, saying that, as +things had turned out, he would not like it to be known that he had +been calling on an Englishman. “They might think that I was not loyal +to the ‘land,’” he added in explanation; “the land which we Boers +bought with our blood, and which we shall win back with our blood, +whatever the poor ‘pack oxen’ of _rooibaatjes_ try to do. Ah, those +poor, poor _rooibaatjes_, one Boer will drive away twenty of them and +make them run across the veldt, if they can run in those great +knapsacks of theirs, with the tin things hanging round them like the +pots and kettles to the bed-plank of a waggon. What says the Holy Book? +‘One thousand shall flee at the rebuke of one, and at the rebuke of +five shall ye flee,’ at least I think that is it. The dear Lord knew +what was coming when He wrote it. He was thinking of the Boers and the +poor _rooibaatjes_,” and Coetzee departed, shaking his head sadly. + +“I am glad that the old gentleman has made tracks,” said John, “for if +he had gone on much longer about the poor English soldiers he would +have fled ‘at the rebuke of one,’ I can tell him.” + +“John,” said Silas Croft suddenly, “you must go up to Pretoria and +fetch Jess. Mark my words, the Boers will besiege Pretoria, and if we +don’t get her down at once she will be shut up there.” + +“Oh no,” cried Bessie, in sudden alarm, “I cannot let John go.” + +“I am sorry to hear you talk like that, Bessie, when your sister is in +danger,” answered her uncle rather sternly; “but there, I dare say that +it is natural. I will go myself. Where is Jantje? I shall want the Cape +cart and the four grey horses.” + +“No, uncle dear, John shall go. I was not thinking what I was saying. +It seemed—a little hard at first.” + +“Of course I must go,” said John. “Don’t fret, dear, I shall be back in +five days. Those four horses can go sixty miles a day for that time, +and more. They are fat as butter, and there is lots of grass along the +road if I can’t get forage for them. Besides, the cart will be nearly +empty, so I can carry a muid of mealies and fifty bundles of forage. I +will take that Zulu boy, Mouti, with me. He does not know very much +about horses, but he is a plucky fellow, and would stick by one at a +pinch. One can’t rely on Jantje; he is always sneaking off somewhere, +and would be sure to get drunk just as one wanted him.” + +“Yes, yes, John, that’s right, that’s right,” said the old man. “I will +go and see about having the horses got up and the wheels greased. Where +is the castor-oil, Bessie? There is nothing like castor-oil for these +patent axles. You ought to be off in an hour. You had better sleep at +Luck’s to-night; you might get farther, but Luck’s is a good place to +stop, and they will look after you well there, and you can be off by +three in the morning, reaching Heidelberg by ten o’clock to-morrow +night, and Pretoria by the next afternoon,” and he bustled away to make +the necessary preparations. + +“Oh, John,” said Bessie, beginning to cry, “I don’t like your going at +all among all those wild Boers. You are an English officer, and if they +find you out they will shoot you. You don’t know what brutes some of +them are when they think it safe to be so. Oh, John, John, I can’t +endure your going.” + +“Cheer up, my dear,” said John, “and for Heaven’s sake stop crying, for +I cannot bear it. I must go. Your uncle would never forgive me if I did +not, and, what is more, I should never forgive myself. There is nobody +else to send, and we can’t leave Jess to be shut up there in +Pretoria—for months perhaps. As for the risk, of course there is a +little risk, but I must take it. I am not afraid of risks—at least I +used not to be, but you have made a bit of a coward of me, Bessie dear. +There, give me a kiss, old girl, and come and help me to pack my +things. Please God I shall get back all right, and Jess with me, in a +week from now.” + +Whereon Bessie, being a sensible and eminently practical young woman, +dried her tears, and with a cheerful face, albeit her heart was heavy +enough, set to work with a will to make every possible preparation. + +The few clothes John was to take with him were packed in a Gladstone +bag, the box fitted underneath the movable seat in the Cape cart was +filled with the tinned provisions which are so much used in South +Africa, and all the other little arrangements, small in themselves, but +of such infinite importance to the traveller in a wild country, were +duly attended to by her careful hands. Then came a hurried meal, and +before it was swallowed the cart was at the door, with Jantje hanging +as usual on to the heads of the two front horses, and the stalwart +Zulu, or rather Swazi boy, Mouti, whose sole luggage appeared to +consist of a bundle of assegais and sticks wrapped up in a grass mat, +and who, hot as it was, was enveloped in a vast military great-coat, +lounging placidly alongside. + +“Good-bye, John, dear John,” said Bessie, kissing him again and again, +and striving to keep back the tears that, do what she could, would +gather in her blue eyes. “Good-bye, my love.” + +“God bless you, dearest,” he said simply, kissing her in answer; +“good-bye, Mr. Croft. I hope to see you again in a week,” and he was in +the cart and had gathered up the long and intricate-looking reins. +Jantje let go the horses’ heads and uttered a whoop. Mouti, giving up +star-gazing, suddenly became an animated being and scrambled into the +cart with surprising alacrity; the horses sprang forward at a hand +gallop, and were soon hidden from Bessie’s dim sight in a cloud of +dust. Poor Bessie, it was a hard trial, and now that John had gone and +her tears could not distress him, she went into her room and gave way +to them freely enough. + +John reached Luck’s, a curious establishment on the Pretoria road, such +as are to be met with in sparsely populated countries, combining the +characteristics of an inn, a shop, and a farm-house. It was not an inn +and not a farm-house, strictly speaking, nor was it altogether a shop, +although there was a “store” attached. If the traveller is anxious to +obtain accommodation for man and beast at a place of this stamp he has +to proceed warily, so to say, lest he should be requested to move on. +He must advance, hat in hand, and ask to be taken in as a favour, as +many a stiff-necked wanderer, accustomed to the obsequious attentions +of “mine host,” has learnt to his cost. There is no such dreadful +autocrat as your half-and-half innkeeper in South Africa, and then he +is so completely master of the situation. “If you don’t like it, go and +be d—d to you,” is his simple answer to the remonstrances of the +infuriated voyager. Then you must either knock under and look as though +you liked it, or trek on into the “unhostelled” wilderness. But on this +occasion John fared well enough. To begin with, he knew the owners of +the place, who were very civil people if approached in a humble spirit, +and, furthermore, he found everybody in such a state of unpleasurable +excitement that they were only too glad to get another Englishman with +whom to talk over matters. Not that their information amounted to much, +however. There was a rumour of the Bronker’s Spruit disaster and other +rumours of the investment of Pretoria, and of the advance of large +bodies of Boers to take possession of the pass over the Drakensberg, +known as Laing’s Nek, but there was no definite intelligence. + +“You won’t get into Pretoria,” said one melancholy man, “so it’s no use +trying. The Boers will just catch you and kill you, and there will be +an end of it. You had better leave the girl to look after herself and +go back to Mooifontein.” + +But this was not John’s view of the matter. “Well,” he answered, “at +any rate I’ll have a try.” Indeed, he had a sort of bull-dog nature +about him which led him to believe that if he made up his mind to do a +thing, he would do it somehow, unless he should be physically +incapacitated by circumstances beyond his own control. It is wonderful +how far a mood of the kind will take a man. Indeed, it is the +widespread possession of this sentiment that has made England what she +is. Now it is beginning to die down and to be legislated out of our +national character, and the results are already commencing to appear in +the incipient decay of our power. We cannot govern Ireland. It is +beyond us; let Ireland have Home Rule! We cannot cope with our Imperial +responsibilities; let them be cast off: and so on. The Englishmen of +fifty years ago did not talk in this “weary Titan” strain. + +Well, every nation becomes emasculated sooner or later, that seems to +be the universal fate; and it appears that it is our lot to be +emasculated, not by the want of law but by a plethora thereof. This +country was made, not by Governments, but for the most part in despite +of them by the independent efforts of generations of individuals. The +tendency nowadays is to merge the individual in the Government, and to +limit or even forcibly to destroy personal enterprise and +responsibility. Everything is to be legislated for or legislated +against. As yet the system is only in its bud. When it blooms, if it is +ever allowed to bloom, the Empire will lose touch of its constituent +atoms and become a vast soulless machine, which will first get out of +order, then break down, and, last of all, break up. We owe more to +sturdy, determined, unconvinceable Englishmen like John Niel than we +know, or, perhaps, should be willing to acknowledge in these +enlightened days. “Long live the Caucus!” that is the cry of the +nineteenth century. But what will Englishmen cry in the twentieth?[*] + +[*] These words were written some ten years ago; but since then, with +all gratitude be it said, a change has come over the spirit of the +nation, or rather, the spirit of the nation has re-asserted itself. +Though the “Little England” party still lingers, it exists upon the +edge of its own grave. The dominance and responsibilities of our Empire +are no longer a question of party politics, and among the Radicals of +to-day we find some of the most ardent Imperialists. So may it ever +be!—H. R. H. 1896. + + +John resumed his perilous journey more than an hour before dawn on the +following morning. Nobody was stirring, and as it was practically +impossible to arouse the slumbering Kafirs from the various holes and +corners where they were taking their rest—for a native hates the cold +of the dawning—Mouti and he were obliged to harness the horses and +inspan them without assistance—an awkward job in the dark. At last, +however, everything was ready, and, as the bill had been paid +overnight, there was nothing to wait for, so they clambered into the +cart and made a start. But before they had proceeded forty yards, +however, John heard a voice calling to him to stop. He did so, and +presently, holding a lighted candle which burnt without a flicker in +the still damp air, and draped from head to foot in a dingy-looking +blanket, appeared the male Cassandra of the previous evening. + +He advanced slowly and with dignity, as became a prophet, and at length +reached the side of the cart, where the sight of his illuminated figure +and of the dirty blanket over his head nearly made the horses run away. + +“What is it?” said John testily, for he was in no mood for delay. + +“I thought I’d just get up to tell you,” replied the draped form, “that +I am quite sure that I was right, and that the Boers will shoot you. I +should not like you to say afterwards that I have not warned you,” and +he held up the candle so that the light fell on John’s face, and gazed +at it in fond farewell. + +“Curse it all,” said John in a fury, “if that was all you had to say +you might have kept in bed,” and he brought down his lash on the +wheelers and away they went with a bound, putting out the prophet’s +candle and nearly knocking the prophet himself backwards into the +_sluit_. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. +A ROUGH JOURNEY + + +The four greys were fresh horses, in good condition and with a light +load behind them, so, notwithstanding the bad state of the tracks which +they call roads in South Africa, John made good progress. + +By eleven o’clock that day he had reached Standerton, a little town +upon the Vaal, not far from which, had he but known it, he was destined +to meet with a sufficiently striking experience. Here he obtained +confirmation of the Bronker’s Spruit disaster, and listened with set +face and blazing eyes to the tale of treachery and death which was, as +he said, without a parallel in the annals of civilised war. But, after +all, what does it matter?—a little square of graves at Bronker’s +Spruit, a few more widows and a hundred or so of orphans. England, by +her Government, answered the question plainly—it matters very little. + +At Standerton John was again warned that it would be impossible for him +to make his way through the Boers at Heidelberg, a town about sixty +miles from Pretoria, where the Triumvirate, Krüger, Pretorious, and +Joubert, had proclaimed the Republic. But he answered as before, that +he must go on till he was stopped, and inspanning his horses set +forward again, a little comforted by the news that the Bishop of +Pretoria, who was hurrying up to rejoin his family, had passed through +a few hours before, also intent upon running the blockade, and that if +he drove fast he might overtake him. + +On he went, hour after hour, over the great deserted plain, but he did +not succeed in catching up the Bishop. About forty miles from +Standerton he saw a waggon standing by the roadside, and halted to try +if he could obtain any information from its driver. But on +investigation it became clear that the waggon had been looted of the +provisions and goods with which it was loaded and the oxen driven off. +Nor was this the only evidence of violence. Across the disselboom of +the waggon, its hands still clasping a long bamboo whip, as though he +had been trying to defend himself with it, lay the dead body of the +native driver. His face, John noticed, was so composed and peaceful, +that had it not been for the attitude and a neat little blue hole in +the forehead, one might have thought he was asleep, not dead. + +At sunset John outspanned his now flagging horses by the roadside, and +gave them each a couple of bundles of forage from the store that he had +brought with him. Whilst they were eating it, leaving Mouti to keep an +eye to them, he strolled away and sat down on a big ant-heap to think. +It was a wild and melancholy scene that stretched before and behind +him. Miles upon miles of plain, rolling east and west and north and +south like the billows of a frozen sea, only broken, far along the +Heidelberg road, by some hills, known as Rooi Koppies. Nor was this +all. Overhead was blazing and burning one of those remarkable sunsets +which are sometimes seen in the South African summer time. The sky was +full of lowering clouds, and the sullen orb of the setting sun had +stained them perfectly blood-red. Blood-red they floated through the +ominous sky, and blood-red their shadows lay upon the grass. Even the +air seemed red. It looked as though earth and heaven had been steeped +in blood; and, fresh as John was from the sight of the dead driver, his +ears yet tingling with the tale of Bronker’s Spruit, it is not to be +wondered at that the suggestive sight oppressed him, seated in that +lonely waste, with no company except the melancholy “_kakara-kakara_” +of an old black _koran_ hidden away somewhere in the grass. He was not +much given to such reflections, but he did begin to wonder whether this +was the last journey of all the many he had made during the past twenty +years, and if for him a Boer bullet was about to solve the mystery of +life and death. + +Then he sank to the stage of depression that most people have made +acquaintance with at some time or another, when a man begins to ask, +“What is the use of it? Why were we born? What good do we do here? Why +should we—as the majority of mankind doubtless are—mere animals be +laden up with sorrows till at last our poor backs break? Is God +powerful or powerless? If powerful, why did He not let us sleep in +peace, without setting us here to taste of every pain and +mortification, to become acquainted with every grief, and then to +perish miserably?” Old questions these, which the sprightly critic +justly condemns as morbid and futile, and not to be dangled before a +merry world of make-believe. Perhaps he is right. It is better to play +at marbles on a sepulchre than to lift the lid and peep inside. But, +for all that, they _will_ arise when we sit alone at even in our +individual wildernesses, surrounded, perhaps, by mementoes of our +broken hopes and tokens of our beloved dead, strewn about us like the +bleaching bones of the wild game on the veldt, and in spirit watch the +red sun of our existence sinking towards its vapoury horizon. They +_will_ come even to the sanguine, successful man. One cannot always +play at marbles; the lid of the sepulchre will sometimes slip aside of +itself, and we _must_ see. True, it depends upon individual +disposition. Some people can, metaphorically, smoke cigarettes and make +puns by the death-beds of their dearest friends, or even on their own. +We should pray for a disposition like that—it makes life more pleasant. + +By the time that the horses had eaten their forage and Mouti had forced +the bits into their reluctant mouths, the angry splendour of the sunset +faded, and the quiet night was falling over the glowing veldt like the +pall on one scarce dead. Fortunately for the travellers, there was a +bright half moon, and by its light John managed to direct the cart over +many a weary mile. On he went for hour after hour, keeping his tired +horses to the collar as best he could, till at last, about eleven +o’clock, he saw the lights of Heidelberg before him, and knew that the +question of whether or no his journey was at an end would speedily be +decided for him. However, there was nothing for it but to go on and +take his chance of slipping through. Presently he crossed a little +stream, and distinguished the shape of a cart just ahead, around which +men and a couple of lanterns were moving. No doubt, John thought to +himself, it was the Bishop, who had been stopped by the Boers. He was +quite close to the cart when it moved on, and in another second he was +greeted by the rough challenge of a sentry, and caught sight of the +cold gleam of a rifle barrel. + +“_Wie da?_” (Who’s there?) + +“Friend!” he answered cheerfully, though feeling far from cheerful. + +There was a pause, during which the sentry called to another man, who +came up yawning, and saying something in Dutch. Straining his ears he +caught the words, “Bishop’s man,” and this gave him an idea. + +“Who are you, Englishman?” asked the second man gruffly, holding up a +lantern to look at John, and speaking in English. + +“I am the Bishop’s chaplain, sir,” he answered mildly, trying +desperately to look like an unoffending clergyman, “and I want to get +on to Pretoria with him.” + +The man with the lantern inspected him closely. Fortunately John wore a +dark coat and a clerical-looking black felt hat; the same that Frank +Muller had put a bullet through. + +“He is a preacher fast enough,” said the one man to the other. “Look, +he is dressed like an old crow! What did _Oom_ Krüger’s pass say, Jan? +Was it two carts or one that we were to let through? I think it was +one.” + +The other man scratched his head. + +“I think it was two,” he said. He did not like to confess to his +comrade that he could not read. “No, I am sure that it was two.” + +“Perhaps we had better send up to _Oom_ Krüger and ask?” suggested the +first man. + +“_Oom_ Krüger will be in bed, and he puts up his quills like a +porcupine if one wakes him,” was the answer. + +“Then let us keep the damned preaching Englishman till to-morrow.” + +“Pray let me go on, gentlemen,” said John, still in his mildest voice. +“I am wanted to preach the Word at Pretoria, and to watch by the +wounded and dying.” + +“Yes, yes,” said the first man, “there will soon be plenty of wounded +and dying there. They will all be like the _rooibaatjes_ at Bronker’s +Spruit. Lord, what a sight that was! But they will get the Bishop, so +they won’t want you. You can stop and look after our wounded if the +_rooibaatjes_ manage to hit any of us.” And he beckoned to him to come +out of the cart. + +“Hullo!” said the other man, “here is a bag of mealies. We will +commandeer that, anyhow.” And he took his knife and cut the line with +which the sack was fastened to the back of the cart, so that it fell to +the ground. “That will feed our horses for a week,” he said with a +chuckle, in which the other man joined. It was pleasant to become so +easily possessed of an unearned increment in the shape of a bag of +mealies. + +“Well, are we to let the old crow go?” said the first man. + +“If we don’t let him go we shall have to take him up to headquarters, +and I want to sleep.” And he yawned. + +“Well, let him go,” said the other. “I think you are right. The pass +said two carts. Be off, you damned preaching Englishman!” + +John did not wait for any more, but laid the whip across the horses’ +backs with a will. + +“I hope we did right,” said the man with the lantern to the other as +the cart bumped off. “I am not sure he was a preacher after all. I have +half a mind to send a bullet after him.” But his companion, who was +very sleepy, gave no encouragement to the idea, so it dropped. + +On the following morning when Commandant Frank Muller—having heard that +his enemy John Niel was on his way up with the Cape cart and four grey +horses—ascertained that a vehicle answering to that description had +been allowed to pass through Heidelberg in the dead of night, his state +of mind may better be imagined than described. + +As for the two sentries, he tried them by court-martial and sent them +to make fortifications for the rest of the rebellion. Now they can +neither of them hear the name of a clergyman mentioned without breaking +out into a perfect flood of blasphemy. + +Luckily for John, although he had been delayed for five minutes or +more, he managed to overtake the cart in which he presumed the Bishop +was ensconced. His lordship had been providentially delayed by the +breaking of a trace; otherwise, it is clear that his self-nominated +chaplain would never have got through the steep streets of Heidelberg +that night. The town was choked up with Boer waggons, full of sleeping +Boers. Over one batch of waggons and tents John saw the Transvaal flag +fluttering idly in the night breeze, marking, no doubt, the +headquarters of the Triumvirate, and emblazoned with the appropriate +emblem of an ox-waggon and an armed Boer. Once the cart ahead of him +was stopped by a sentry and some conversation ensued. Then it went on +again; and so did John, unmolested. It was weary work, that journey +through Heidelberg, and full of terrors for John, who every moment +expected to be stopped and dragged off ignominiously to gaol. The +horses, too, were dead beat, and made frantic attempts to turn and stop +at every house. But, somehow, they won through the little place, and +then were halted once more. Again the first cart passed on, but this +time John was not so lucky. + +“The pass said one cart,” said a voice. + +“Yah, yah, one cart,” answered another. + +John again put on his clerical air and told his artless tale; but +neither of the men could understand English, so they went to a waggon +that was standing about fifty yards away, to fetch somebody who could. + +“Now, _Inkoos_,” whispered the Zulu Mouti, “drive on! drive on!” + +John took the hint and lashed the horses with his long whip; while +Mouti, bending forward over the splashboard, thrashed the wheelers with +a _sjambock_. Off went the team in a spasmodic gallop, and it had +covered a hundred yards of ground before the two sentries realised what +had happened. Then they began to run after the cart shouting, but were +soon lost in the darkness. + +John and Mouti did not spare the whip, but pressed on up the stony +hills on the Pretoria side of Heidelberg without a halt. They were, +however, unable to keep up with the cart ahead of them, which was +evidently more freshly horsed. About midnight, too, the moon vanished +altogether, and they must creep on as best they could through the +darkness. Indeed, so dark was it, that Mouti was obliged to get out and +lead the exhausted horses, one of which would now and again fall down, +to be cruelly flogged before it rose. Once, too, the cart very nearly +upset; and on another occasion it was within an inch of rolling down a +precipice. + +This went on till two in the morning, when John found that it was +impossible to force the wearied beasts a yard farther. So, having +luckily come to some water about fifteen miles out of Heidelberg, he +halted, and after the horses had drunk, gave them as much forage as +they could eat. One lay down at once, and refused to touch anything—a +sure sign of great exhaustion; a second ate lying down; but the other +two filled themselves in a satisfactory way. Then came a weary wait for +the dawn. Mouti slept a little, but John did not dare to do so. All he +could do was to swallow a little _biltong_ (dried game flesh) and +bread, drink some square-face and water, and then sit down in the cart, +his rifle between his knees, and wait for the light. At last it came, +lying on the eastern sky like a promise, and he once more fed the +horses. And now a new difficulty arose. The animal that would not eat +was clearly too weak to pull, so the harness had to be altered, and the +three sound animals arranged unicorn fashion, while the sick one was +fastened to the rear of the cart. Then they started again. + +By eleven o’clock they reached an hotel, or wayside house, known as +Ferguson’s, situate about twenty miles from Pretoria. It was empty, +except for a couple of cats and a stray dog. The inhabitants had +evidently fled from the Boers. Here John stabled and fed his horses, +giving them all that remained of the forage; and then, once more, +inspanned for the last stage. The road was dreadful; and he knew that +the country must be full of hostile Boers, but fortunately he met none. +It took him four hours to cover the twenty miles of ground; but it was +not until he reached the _Poort_, or neck running into Pretoria, that +he saw a vestige of a Boer. Then he perceived two mounted men riding +along the top of a precipitous stone-strewn ridge, six hundred yards or +so from him. At first he thought that they were going to descend it, +but presently they changed their minds and got off their horses. + +While he was still wondering what this might portend, he saw a puff of +white smoke float up from where the men were, and then another. Next +came the sharp unmistakable “ping” of a bullet passing, as far as he +could judge, within some three feet of his head, followed by a second +“ping,” and a cloud of dust beneath the belly of the first horse. The +two Boers were firing at him. + +John did not wait for any more target practice, but, thrashing the +horses to a canter, drove the cart round a projecting bank before they +could load and fire again. After that, they troubled him no more. + +At last he reached the mouth of the _Poort_, and saw the prettiest of +the South African towns, with its red and white houses, its tall clumps +of trees, and pink lines of blooming rose hedges lying on the plain +before him, all set in the green veldt, made beautiful by the golden +light of the afternoon, and he thanked God for the sight. John knew +that he was safe now, and let his tired horses walk slowly down the +hillside and across the space of plain beyond. To his left were the +gaol and the barrack-sheds, and gathered about them stood hundreds of +waggons and tents, towards which he drove. Evidently the town was +deserted and its inhabitants were in laager. When he was within half a +mile or so, a picket of mounted men rode out to meet him, followed by a +miscellaneous crowd on horseback and on foot. + +“Who goes there?” shouted a voice in honest English. + +“A friend who is uncommonly glad to see you,” John answered, with that +feeble jocosity in which we are all apt to indulge when at length a +great weight is lifted from our nerves. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. +PRETORIA + + +Jess was not very happy at Pretoria previous to the unexpected outbreak +of hostilities. Most people who have made a great moral effort, and +after some severe mental struggle have entered on the drear path from +self-sacrifice, experience the reaction that will follow as certainly +as the night follows the day. It is one thing to renounce the light, to +stand in the full glow of the setting beams of our imperial joy and +chant out our farewell, and quite another to live alone in the +darkness. For a little while memory may support us, but memory grows +faint. On every side is the thick, cheerless pall and that stillness +through which no sound comes. We are alone, quite alone, cut off from +the fellowship of the day, unseeing and unseen. More especially is this +so when the dungeon is of our own making, and we ourselves have shot +its bolts. There is a natural night that comes to all, and in its +unwavering course swallows every mortal hope and fear, for ever and for +ever. To this we can more easily resign ourselves, for we recognise the +universal lot and bow ourselves beneath the all-effacing hand. The +earth does not pine when the daylight passes from its peaks; it only +sleeps. + +But Jess had buried herself and she knew it. There was no absolute need +for her to have sacrificed her affection to her sister’s: she had done +so of her own will, and at times not unnaturally she was regretful. +Self-denial is a stern-faced angel. If only we hold him fast and +wrestle with him long enough he will speak us soft words of happy +sound, just as, if we wait long enough in the darkness of the night, +stars will come to share our loneliness. Still this is one of those +things that Time hides from us and only reveals at his own pleasure; +and, so far as Jess was concerned, his pleasure was not yet. Outwardly, +however, she showed no sign of her distress and of the passion which +was eating at her heart. She was pale and silent, it is true, but then +she had always been remarkable for her pallor and silence. Only she +gave up her singing. + +So the weeks passed very drearily for the poor girl, who was doing what +other people did—eating and drinking, riding, and going to parties like +the rest of the Pretoria world, till at last she began to think that +she had better be returning home again, lest she should wear out her +welcome. And yet she dreaded to do so, mindful of her daily prayer to +be delivered from temptation. As to what was happening at Mooifontein +she was in almost complete ignorance. Bessie wrote to her, of course, +and so did her uncle once or twice, but they did not tell her much of +what she wanted to know. Bessie’s letters were, it is true, full of +allusions to what Captain Niel was doing, but she did not go beyond +that. Her reticence, however, told her observant sister more than her +words. Why was she so reticent? No doubt because things still hung in +the balance. Then Jess would think of what it all meant for her, and +now and again give way to an outburst of passionate jealousy which +would have been painful enough to witness if anybody had been there to +see it. + +Thus the time went on towards Christmas, for Jess, having been warmly +pressed to do so, had settled to stay over Christmas and return to the +farm with the new year. There had been a great deal of talk in the town +about the Boers, but she was too much preoccupied with her own affairs +to pay much attention to it. Nor, indeed, was the public mind greatly +moved; they were so much accustomed to Boer scares at Pretoria, and +hitherto these had invariably ended in smoke. But all of a sudden, on +the morning of the eighteenth of December, came the news of the +proclamation of the Republic. The town was thrown into a ferment, and +there arose a talk of going into laager, so that, anxious as she was to +get away, Jess could see no hope of returning to the farm till the +excitement was over. Then, a day or two later, Conductor Egerton came +limping into Pretoria from the scene of the disaster at Bronker’s +Spruit, with the colours of the 94th Regiment tied round his middle, +and such a tale to tell that the blood went to her heart and seemed to +stagnate there as she listened. + +After that there was confusion worse confounded. Martial law having +been proclaimed, the town, which was large, straggling, and incapable +of defence, was abandoned, the inhabitants being ordered into laager on +the high ground overlooking the city. There they were, young and old, +sick and well, delicate women and little children, all crowded together +in the open under the cover of the fort, with nothing but canvas tents, +waggons, and sheds to shelter them from the fierce summer suns and +rains. Jess shared a waggon with her friend and her friend’s sister and +mother, and found it rather a tight fit even to lie down. Sleep with +all the noises of the camp going on round her was almost impossible. + +It was about three o’clock on the day following that first miserable +night in the laager when, by the last mail that passed into Pretoria, +she received Bessie’s letter, announcing her engagement to John. She +took her letter and went some way from the camp to the side of Signal +Hill, where she was not likely to be disturbed, and, finding a nook +shaded by mimosa-trees, sat down and broke the envelope. Before she had +reached the foot of the first page she saw what was coming and set her +teeth. Then she read the long epistle through from beginning to end +without flinching, though the words of affection seemed to burn her. So +it had come at last. Well, she expected it, and had plotted to bring it +about, so really there was no reason in the world why she should feel +disappointed. On the contrary, she ought to rejoice, and for a little +while she really did rejoice in her sister’s happiness. It made her +glad to think that Bessie, whom she so dearly loved, was happy. + +And yet she felt angry with John with that sort of anger which we feel +against those who have blindly injured us. Why should it be in his +power to hurt her so cruelly? Still she hoped that he would be happy +with Bessie, and then she hoped that these wretched Boers would take +Pretoria, and that she would be shot or otherwise put out of the way. +She had no heart for life; all the colour had faded from her sky. What +was she to do with her future? Marry somebody and busy herself with +rearing a pack of children? It would be a physical impossibility to +her. No, she would go away to Europe and mix in the great stream of +life and struggle with it, and see if she could win a place for herself +among the people of her day. She had it in her, she knew that; and now +that she had put herself out of the reach of passion she would be more +likely to succeed, for success is to the impassive, who are also the +strong. She would not stop on the farm after John and Bessie were +married; she was quite determined as to that; nor, if she could avoid +it, would she return there before they were married. She would see him +no more, no more! Alas, that she had ever seen him. + +Feeling somewhat happier, or at any rate calmer, in this decision, she +rose to return to the noisy camp, extending her walk, however, by a +detour towards the Heidelberg road, for she was anxious to be alone as +long as she could. She had been walking some ten minutes when she +caught sight of a cart that seemed familiar to her, with three horses +harnessed in front of it and one tied behind, which were also familiar. +There were many men walking alongside the cart all talking eagerly. + +Jess halted to let the little procession go by, when suddenly she +perceived John Niel among these men and recognised the Zulu Mouti on +the box. _There_ was the man whom she had just vowed never to see +again, and the sight of him seemed to take all her strength out of her, +so that she felt inclined to sink down upon the veldt. His sudden +appearance was almost uncanny in the sharpness of its illustration of +her impotence in the hands of Fate. She felt it then; all in an instant +it seemed to be borne in upon her mind that she could not help herself, +but was only the instrument in the hands of a superior power whose will +she was fulfilling through the workings of her passion, and to whom her +individual fate was a matter of little moment. It was inconclusive +reasoning and perilous doctrine, but it must be allowed that the +circumstances gave it a colour of truth. And, after all, the +border-line between fatalism and free-will has never been quite +authoritatively settled, even by St. Paul, so perhaps she was right. +Mankind does not like to admit it, but it is, at the least, a question +whether we can oppose our little wills against the forces of a +universal law, or derange the details of an unvarying plan to suit the +petty wants and hopes of individual mortality. Jess was a clever woman, +but it would take a wiser head than hers to know where or when to draw +that red line across the writings of our lives. + +On came the cart and the knot of men, then suddenly John looked up and +saw her gazing at him with those dark eyes that at times did indeed +seem as though they were the windows of her soul. He turned and said +something to his companions and to the Zulu Mouti, who went on with the +cart, then he came towards her smiling and with outstretched hand. + +“How do you do, Jess?” he said. “So I have found you all right?” + +She took his hand and answered, almost angrily, “Why have you come? Why +did you leave Bessie and my uncle?” + +“I came because I was sent, also because I wished it. I wanted to bring +you back home before Pretoria was besieged.” + +“You must have been mad! How could you expect to get back? We shall +both be shut up here together now.” + +“So it appears. Well, things might be worse,” he added cheerfully. + +“I do not think that anything could be worse,” she answered with a +stamp of her foot, then, quite thrown off her balance, she burst +incontinently into a flood of tears. + +John Niel was a very simple-minded man, and it never struck him to +attribute her grief to any other cause than anxiety at the state of +affairs and at her incarceration for an indefinite period in a besieged +town that ran the daily risk of being taken _vi et armis_. Still he was +a little hurt at the manner of his reception after his long and most +perilous journey, which is not, perhaps, to be wondered at. + +“Well, Jess,” he said, “I think that you might speak a little more +kindly to me, considering—considering all things. There, don’t cry, +they are all right at Mooifontein, and I dare say that we shall win +back there somehow some time or other. I had a nice business to get +here at all, I can tell you.” + +Suddenly she stopped weeping and smiled, her tears passing away like a +summer storm. “How did you get through?” she asked. “Tell me all about +it, Captain Niel,” and accordingly he did. + +She listened in silence while he sketched the chief events of his +journey, and when he had done she spoke in quite a changed tone. + +“It is very good and kind of you to have risked your life like this for +me. Only I wonder that you did not all of you see that it would be of +no use. We shall both be shut up here together now, that is all, and +that will be very sad for you and Bessie.” + +“Oh! So you have heard of our engagement?” he said. + +“Yes, I read Bessie’s letter about a couple of hours ago, and I +congratulate you both very much. I think that you will have the +sweetest and loveliest wife in South Africa, Captain Niel; and I think +that Bessie will have a husband any woman might be proud of;” and she +half bowed and half curtseyed to him as she said it, with a graceful +little air of dignity that was very taking. + +“Thank you,” he answered simply; “yes, I think I am a very lucky +fellow.” + +“And now,” she said, “we had better go and see about the cart. You will +have to find a stand for it in that wretched laager. You must be very +tired and hungry.” + +A few minutes’ walk brought them to the cart, which Mouti had +outspanned close to Mrs. Neville’s waggon, where Jess and her friends +were living, and the first person they saw was Mrs. Neville herself. +She was a good, motherly colonial woman, accustomed to a rough life, +and one not easily disturbed by emergencies. + +“My goodness, Captain Niel!” she cried, as soon as Jess had introduced +him. “Well, you are plucky to have forced your way through all those +horrid Boers! I am sure I wonder that they did not shoot you or beat +you to death with _sjambocks_, the brutes. Not that there is much use +in your coming, for you will never be able to take Jess back till Sir +George Colley relieves us, and that can’t be for two months, they say. +Well, there is one thing; Jess will be able to sleep in the cart now, +and you can have one of the patrol-tents and camp alongside. It won’t +be quite proper, perhaps, but in these times we can’t stop to consider +propriety. There, there, you go off to the Governor. He will be glad +enough to see you, I’ll be bound; I saw him at the other end of the +camp five minutes ago. We will have the cart unpacked and arrange about +the horses.” + +Thus adjured, John departed, and when he returned half an hour +afterwards, having told his eventful tale, which did not, however, +convey any information of general value, he was rejoiced to find that +the process of “getting things straight” was almost complete. What was +better still, Jess had fried him a beefsteak over the camp fire, and +was now employed in serving it on a little table by the waggon. He sat +down on a stool and ate his meal heartily enough, while Jess waited on +him and Mrs. Neville chattered incessantly. + +“By the way,” she said, “Jess tells me that you are going to marry her +sister. Well, I wish you joy. A man wants a wife in this country. It +isn’t like England, where in five cases out of six he might as well go +and cut his throat as get married. It saves him money here, and +children are a blessing, as Nature meant them to be, and not a burden, +as civilisation has made them. Lord, how my tongue does run on! It +isn’t delicate to talk about children when you have only been engaged a +couple of weeks; but, you see, that’s what it comes to after all. She’s +a pretty girl, Bessie, and a good one too—I don’t know her much—though +she hasn’t got the brains of Jess here. That reminds me; as you are +engaged to Bessie, of course you can look after Jess, and nobody will +think anything of it. Ah! if you only knew what a place this is for +talk, though their talk is pretty well scared out of them now, I’m +thinking. My husband is coming round presently to the cart to help to +get Jess’s bed into it. Lucky it’s big. We are such a tight fit in that +waggon that I shall be downright glad to see the last of the dear girl; +though, of course, you’ll both come and take your meals with us.” + +Jess heard all this in silence. She could not well insist upon stopping +in the crowded waggon; it would be asking too much; and, besides, she +had passed one night there, and that was quite enough for her. Once she +suggested that she should try to persuade the nuns to take her in at +the convent, but Mrs. Neville suppressed the notion instantly. + +“Nuns!” she said; “nonsense. When your own brother-in-law—at least he +will be your brother-in-law if the Boers don’t make an end of us all—is +here to take care of you, don’t talk about going to a parcel of nuns. +It will be as much as they can do to look after themselves, I’ll be +bound.” + +As for John, he ate his steak and said nothing. The arrangement seemed +a very proper one to him. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. +THE TWELFTH OF FEBRUARY + + +John soon settled down into the routine of camp life in Pretoria, +which, after one became accustomed to it, was not so disagreeable as +might have been expected, and possessed, at any rate, the merit of +novelty. Although he was an officer of the army, having several horses +to ride and his services not being otherwise required, John preferred, +on the whole, to enrol himself in the corps of mounted volunteers, +known as the Pretoria Carbineers. This, in the humble capacity of a +sergeant, he obtained leave to do from the officer commanding the +troops. He was an active man, and his duties in connection with the +corps kept him fully employed during most of the day, and sometimes, +when there was outpost duty to be done, during a good part of the night +too. For the rest, whenever he returned to the cart—by which he had +stipulated he should be allowed to sleep in order to protect Jess in +case of any danger—he always found her ready to greet him, and every +little preparation made for his comfort that was possible under the +circumstances. Indeed, as time went on, they thought it more convenient +to set up their own little mess instead of sharing that of their +friends. So every day they used to sit down to breakfast and dine +together at a little table contrived out of a packing-case, and placed +under an extemporised tent, for all the world like a young couple +picnicking on their honeymoon. Of course, the situation was very +irksome in a way, but it is not to be denied that it had a charm of its +own. + +To begin with, once thoroughly known, Jess was one of the most +delightful companions possible to a man like John Niel. Never, till +this long _tete-a-tete_ at Pretoria, had he guessed how powerful and +original was her mind, or how witty she could be when she liked. There +was a fund of dry and suggestive humour about her, which, although it +would no more bear being written down than champagne will bear standing +in a tumbler, was very pleasant to listen to, more especially as John +soon discovered that he was the only person so privileged. Her friends +and relations had never suspected that Jess was humorous. Another thing +which struck him as time went on, was that she was growing quite +handsome. She had been very pale and thin when he reached Pretoria, but +before a month was over she had become, comparatively speaking, stout, +which was an enormous gain to her appearance. Her pale face, too, +gathered a faint tinge of colour that came and went capriciously, like +star-light on the water, and her beautiful eyes grew deeper and more +beautiful than ever. + +“Who would ever have thought that it was the same girl!” said Mrs. +Neville to him, holding up her hands as she watched Jess solemnly +surveying a half-cooked mutton chop. “Why, she used to be such a poor +creature, and now she’s quite a fine woman. And that with this life, +too, which is wearing me to a shadow and has half-killed my dear +daughter.” + +“I suppose it is being in the open air,” said John, it having never +occurred to him that the medicine that was doing Jess so much good +might be happiness. But so it was. After her first struggles came a +lull, and then an idea. Why should she not enjoy his society while she +could? He had been thrown into her way through no wish of hers. She had +no desire to wean him from Bessie; or, if she had the desire, it was +one which she was far too honourable a woman to entertain. He was +perfectly innocent of the whole story; to him she was the young lady +who happened to be the sister of the woman he was going to marry, that +was all. Why should she not pluck her innocent roses whilst she might? +Jess forgot that the rose is a flower with a dangerous perfume, and one +that is apt to confuse the senses and turn the head. So she gave +herself full swing, and for some weeks went nearer to knowing what +happiness really meant than she ever had before. What a wonderful thing +is the love of a woman in its simplicity and strength, and how it gilds +all the poor and common things of life and even finds a joy in service! +The prouder the woman the more delight does she extract from her +self-abasement before her idol. Only not many women can love like Jess, +and when they do almost invariably they make some fatal mistake, +whereby the wealth of their affection is wasted, or, worse still, +becomes a source of misery or shame to themselves and others. + +It was after they had been incarcerated in Pretoria for a month that a +bright idea occurred to John. About a quarter of a mile from the +outskirts of the camp stood a little house known, probably on account +of its diminutive size, as “The Palatial.” This cottage, like almost +every other house in Pretoria, had been abandoned to its fate, its +owner, as it happened, being away from the town. One day, in the course +of a walk, John and Jess crossed the little bridge that spanned the +_sluit_ and went in to inspect the place. Passing down a path lined on +either side with young blue gums, they reached the little tin-roofed +cottage. It consisted of two rooms—a bedroom and a good-sized +sitting-room, in which still stood a table and a few chairs, with a +stable and a kitchen at the back. They went in, sat down by the open +door and looked out. The garden of the cottage sloped down towards a +valley, on the farther side of which rose a wooded hill. To the right, +too, was a hill clothed in deep green bush. The grounds themselves were +planted with vines, just now loaded with bunches of ripening grapes, +and surrounded by a beautiful hedge of monthly roses that formed a +blaze of bloom. Near the house, too, was a bed of double roses, some of +them exceedingly lovely, and all flowering with a profusion unknown in +this country. Altogether it was a delightful spot, and, after the noise +and glare of the camp, seemed a perfect heaven. So they sat there and +talked a great deal about the farm and old Silas Croft and a little +about Bessie. + +“This _is_ nice,” said Jess presently, putting her hands behind her +head and looking out at the bush beyond. + +“Yes,” said John. “I say, I’ve got a notion. I vote we take up our +quarters here—during the day, I mean. Of course we shall have to sleep +in camp, but we might eat here, you know, and you could sit here all +day; it would be as safe as a church, for those Boers will never try to +storm the town, I am sure of that.” + +Jess reflected, and soon came to the conclusion that it would be a +charming plan. Accordingly, next day she set to work and made the place +as clean and tidy as circumstances would allow, and they commenced +house-keeping. + +The upshot of this arrangement was that they were thrown more together +even than before. Meanwhile the siege dragged its slow length along. No +news whatever reached the town from outside, but this did not trouble +the inhabitants very much, as they were sure that Colley was advancing +to their relief, and even got up sweep-stakes as to the date of his +arrival. Now and then a sortie took place, but, as the results attained +were very small, and were not, on the whole, creditable to our arms, +perhaps the less said about them the better. John, of course, went out +on these occasions, and then Jess would endure agonies that were all +the worse because she was forced to conceal them. She lived in constant +terror lest he should be among the killed. However, nothing happened to +him, and things went on as usual till the twelfth of February, when an +attack was made on a place called the Red House Kraal, which was +occupied by Boers near a spot known as the Six-mile Spruit. + +The force, which was a mixed one, left Pretoria before daybreak, and +John went with it. He was rather surprised when, on going to the cart +in which Jess slept, to get some little thing before saddling up, he +found her sitting on the box in the night dews, a cup of hot coffee +which she had prepared for him in her hand. + +“What do you mean by this, Jess?” he asked sharply. “I will not have +you getting up in the middle of the night to make coffee for me.” + +“I have not got up,” she answered quietly; “I have not been to bed.” + +“That makes matters worse,” he exclaimed; but, nevertheless, he drank +the coffee and was glad of it, while she sat on the box and watched +him. + +“Put on your shawl and wrap something over your head,” he said, “the +dew will soak you through. Look, your hair is all wet.” + +Presently she spoke. “I wish you would do something for me, John,” for +she called him John now. “Will you promise?” + +“How like a woman,” he said, “to ask one to promise a thing without +saying what it is.” + +“I want you to promise for Bessie’s sake, John.” + +“Well, what is it, Jess?” + +“Not to go on this sortie. You know you can easily get out of it if you +like.” + +He laughed. “You little silly, why not?” + +“Oh, I don’t know. Don’t laugh at me because I am nervous. I am afraid +that—that something might happen to you.” + +“Well,” he remarked consolingly, “every bullet has its billet, and if +it does I don’t see that it can be helped.” + +“Think of Bessie,” she said again. + +“Look here, Jess,” he answered testily, “what is the good of trying to +take the heart out of a fellow like this? If I am going to be shot I +can’t help it, and I am not going to show the white feather, even for +Bessie’s sake; so there you are, and now I must be off.” + +“You are quite right, John,” she said quietly. “I should not have liked +to hear you say anything different, but I could not help speaking. +Good-bye, John; God bless you!” and she stretched out her hand, which +he took, and went. + +“Upon my word, she has given me quite a turn,” reflected John to +himself, as the troop crept on through the white mists of dawn. “I +suppose she thinks that I am going to be plugged. Perhaps I am! I +wonder how Bessie would take it. She would be awfully cut up, but I +expect that she would get over it pretty soon. Now I don’t think that +Jess would shake off a thing of that sort in a hurry. That is just the +difference between the two; the one is all flower and the other is all +root.” + +Then he fell to wondering how Bessie was, and what she was doing, and +if she missed him as much as he missed her, and so on, till his mind +came back to Jess, and he reflected what a charming companion she was, +and how thoughtful and kind, and breathed a secret hope that she would +continue to live with them after they were married. Unconsciously they +had arrived at that point of intimacy, innocent in itself, when two +people become absolutely necessary to each other’s daily life. Indeed, +Jess had travelled a long way farther, but of this John was of course +ignorant. He was still at the former stage, and was not himself aware +how large a proportion of his daily thoughts were occupied by this +dark-eyed girl or how completely her personality overshadowed him. He +only knew that she had the knack of making him feel thoroughly happy in +her company. When he was talking to her, or even sitting silently by +her, he became aware of a sensation of restfulness and reliance that he +had never before experienced in the society of a woman. Of course to a +large extent this was the natural homage of the weaker nature to the +stronger, but it was also something more. It was a shadow of the utter +sympathy and complete accord that is the surest sign of the presence of +the highest forms of affection, which, when it accompanies the passion +of men and women, as it sometimes though rarely does, being more often +to be found in perfection in those relations from which the element of +sexuality is excluded, raises it almost above the level of the earth. +For the love where that sympathy exists, whether it is between mother +and son, husband and wife, or those who, whilst desiring it, have no +hope of that relationship, is an undying love, and will endure till the +night of Time has swallowed all things. + +Meanwhile, as John reflected, the force to which he was attached was +moving into action, and soon he found it necessary to come down to the +unpleasantly practical details of Boer warfare. More particularly did +this come home to his mind when, shortly afterwards, the man next to +him was shot dead, and a little later he himself was slightly wounded +by a bullet which passed between the saddle and his thigh. Into the +details of the fight that ensued it is not necessary to enter here. +They were, if anything, more discreditable than most of the episodes of +that unhappy war in which the holding of Potchefstroom, Lydenburg, +Rustenburg, and Wakkerstroom are the only bright spots. Suffice it to +say that they ended in something very like an utter rout of the English +at the hands of a much inferior force, and that, a few hours after he +had started, the ambulance being left in the hands of the Boers, John +found himself on the return road to Pretoria, with a severely wounded +man behind his saddle, who, as they went painfully along, mingled +curses of shame and fury with his own. Meanwhile exaggerated accounts +of the English defeat had reached the town, and, amongst other things, +it was said that Captain Niel had been shot dead. One man who came in +stated that he saw him fall, and that he was shot through the head. +This Mrs. Neville heard with her own ears, and, greatly shocked, +started to communicate the intelligence to Jess. + +As soon as it was daylight, as was customary with her, Jess had gone +over to the little house which she and John occupied, “The Palatial,” +as it was called ironically, and settled herself there for the day. +First she tried to work and could not, so she took a book that she had +brought with her and began to read, but it was a failure also. Her eyes +would wander from the page and her ears strain to catch the distant +booming of the big guns that came from time to time floating across the +hills. The fact of the matter was that the poor girl was the victim of +a presentiment that something was going to happen to John. Most people +of imaginative mind have suffered from this kind of thing at one time +or other in their lives, and have lived to see the folly of it; and +there was more in the circumstances of the present case to excuse +indulgence in the luxury of presentiments than as usual. Indeed, as it +happened, she was not far out—only a sixteenth of an inch or so—for +John was very _nearly_ killed. + +Not finding Jess in camp, Mrs. Neville made her way across to “The +Palatial,” where she knew the girl sat, crying as she went, at the +thought of the news that she had to communicate, for the good soul had +grown very fond of John Niel. Jess, with that acute sense of hearing +which often accompanies nervous excitement, caught the sound of the +little gate at the bottom of the garden almost before her visitor had +passed through it, and ran round the corner of the house to see who was +there. + +One glance at Mrs. Neville’s tear-stained face was enough for her. She +knew what was coming, and clasped at one of the young blue gum trees +that grew along the path to prevent herself from falling. + +“What is it?” she said faintly. “Is he dead?” + +“Yes, my dear, yes; shot through the head, they say.” + +Jess made no answer, but clung to the sapling, feeling as though she +were going to die herself, and faintly hoping that she might do so. Her +eyes wandered vaguely from the face of the messenger of evil, first up +to the sky, then down to the cropped and trodden veldt. Past the gate +of “The Palatial” garden ran a road, which, as it happened, was a short +cut from the scene of the fight, and down this road came four Kafirs +and half-castes, bearing something on a stretcher, behind which rode +three or four carbineers. A coat was thrown over the face of the form +on the stretcher, but its legs were visible. They were booted and +spurred, and the feet fell apart in that peculiarly lax and helpless +way of which there is no possibility of mistaking the meaning. + +“_Look!_” she said, pointing. + +“Ah, poor man, poor man!” said Mrs. Neville, “they are bringing him +here to lay him out.” + +Then Jess’s beautiful eyes closed, and down she went with the bending +tree. Presently the sapling snapped, and she fell senseless with a +little cry, and as she fell the men with the corpse passed on. + +Two minutes afterwards, John Niel, having heard the rumour of his own +death on arrival at the camp, and greatly fearing lest it should have +reached Jess’s ears, cantered up hurriedly, and, dismounting as well as +his wound would allow, limped up the garden path. + +“Great heavens, Captain Niel!” exclaimed Mrs. Neville, looking up; +“why—we thought that you were dead!” + +“And that is what you have been telling her, I suppose,” he said +sternly, glancing at the pale and deathlike face; “you might have +waited till you were sure. Poor girl! it must have given her a turn!” +and, stooping down, he placed his arms under Jess, and, lifting her +with some difficulty, staggered to the house, where he laid her down +upon the table and, assisted by Mrs. Neville, began to do all in his +power to revive her. So obstinate was her faint, however, that their +efforts were unavailing, and at last Mrs. Neville started for the camp +to get some brandy, leaving him to go on rubbing her hands and +sprinkling water on her face. + +The good lady had not been gone more than two or three minutes when +Jess suddenly opened her eyes and sat up, slipping her feet to the +ground. Her eyes fell upon John and dilated with wonder; he thought +that she was about to faint again, for even her lips blanched, and she +began to shake and tremble all over in the extremity of her agitation. + +“Jess, Jess,” he said, “for God’s sake don’t look like that, you +frighten me!” + +“I thought you were—I thought you were——” she said slowly, then +suddenly burst into a passion of tears and fell forward upon his breast +and lay there sobbing her heart out, her brown curls resting against +his face. + +It was an awkward and a most moving position. John was only a man, and +the spectacle of this strange woman, to whom he had lately grown so +much attached, plunged into intense emotion, awakened, apparently, by +anxiety about his fate, stirred him very deeply—as it would have +stirred anybody. Indeed, it struck some chord in him for which he could +not quite account, and its echoes charmed and yet frightened him. What +did it mean? + +“Jess, dear Jess, pray stop; I can’t bear to see you cry so,” he said +at last. + +She lifted her head from his shoulder and stood looking at him, her +hand resting on the edge of the table behind her. Her face was wet with +tears and looked like a dew-washed lily, and her beautiful eyes were +alight with a flame that he had never seen in the eyes of woman before. +She said nothing, but her whole face was more eloquent than any words, +for there are times when the features can convey a message in that +language of their own which is more suitable than any tongue we talk. +There she stood, her breast heaving with emotion as the sea heaves when +the fierceness of the storm has passed—a very incarnation of the +intensest love of woman. And as she stood something seemed to pass +before her eyes and blind her; a spirit took possession of her that +absorbed all her doubts and fears, and she gave way to a force that was +of her and yet compelled her, as, when the wind blows, the sails compel +a ship. Then, for the first time, where her love was concerned, she put +out all her strength. She knew, and had always known, that she could +master him, and force him to regard her as she regarded him, did she +but choose. How she knew it she could not say, but it was so. Now she +yielded to an unconquerable impulse and chose. She said nothing, she +did not even move, she only looked at him. + +“Why were you in such a fright about me?” he stammered. + +She did not answer, but kept her eyes upon his face, and it seemed to +John as though power flowed from them; for, while she looked, he felt +the change come. Everything melted away before the almost spiritual +intensity of her gaze. Bessie, honour, his engagement—all were +forgotten; the smouldering embers broke into flame, and he knew that he +loved this woman as he had never loved any living creature before—that +he loved her even as she loved him. Strong man as he was, he shook like +a leaf before her. + +“Jess,” he said hoarsely, “God forgive me! I love you!” and he bent +forward to kiss her. + +She lifted her face towards him, then suddenly changed her mind, and +laid her hand upon his breast. + +“You forget,” she said almost solemnly, “you are going to marry +Bessie.” + +Crushed by a deep sense of shame, and by a knowledge of the calamity +that had overtaken him, John turned and limped from the house. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. +AND AFTER + + +In front of the door of “The Palatial” was a garden-bed filled with +weeds and flowers mixed up together like the good and evil in the heart +of a man, and to the right-hand side of this bed stood an old and +backless wooden chair. No sooner had John limped outside the door of +the cottage than he became sensible that, what between one thing and +another—weariness, loss of blood from his wound, and intense mental +emotion—if he did not sit down somewhere quickly, he should follow the +example set by Jess and faint away. Accordingly he steered for the old +chair and sank into it with gratitude. Presently he saw Mrs. Neville +running up the path with a bottle of brandy in her hand. + +“Ah!” he thought to himself, “that will just come in handy for me. If I +don’t have a glass of brandy soon I shall roll off this infernal +chair—I am sure of it.” + +“Where is Jess?” panted Mrs. Neville. + +“In there,” he said; “she has recovered. It would have been better for +us both if she hadn’t,” he added to himself. + +“Why, bless me, Captain Niel, how queer you look!” said Mrs. Neville, +fanning herself with her hat; “and there is such a row going on at the +camp there; the volunteers swear that they will attack the military for +deserting them, and I don’t know what all; and they simply wouldn’t +believe me when I said you were not shot. Why, I never! Look! your boot +is full of blood! So you were hit after all.” + +“Might I trouble you to give me some brandy, Mrs. Neville?” said John +faintly. + +She filled a glass she had brought with her half full of water from a +little irrigation furrow that ran down from the main _sluit_ by the +road, and then topped it up with brandy. He drank it, and felt +decidedly better. + +“Dear me!” said Mrs. Neville, “there are a pair of you now. You should +just have seen that girl go down when she saw the body coming along the +road! I made sure that it was you; but it wasn’t. They say that it was +poor Jim Smith, son of old Smith of Rustenburg. I tell you what it is, +Captain Niel, you had better be careful; if that girl isn’t in love +with you she is something very like it. A girl does not pop over like +that for Dick, Tom, or Harry. You must forgive an old woman like me for +speaking out plain, but she is an odd girl is Jess, just like ten women +rolled into one so far as her mind goes, and if you don’t take care you +will get into trouble, which will be rather awkward, as you are going +to marry her sister. Jess isn’t the one to have a bit of a flirt to +pass away the time and have done with it, I can tell you;” and she +shook her head solemnly, as though she suspected him of trifling with +his future sister-in-law’s young affections, then, without waiting for +an answer, she turned and went into the cottage. + +As for John, he only groaned. What could he do but groan? The thing was +self-evident, and if ever a man felt ashamed of himself that man was +John Niel. He was a strictly honourable individual, and it cut him to +the heart to think that he had entered on a course which, considering +his engagement to Bessie, was not honourable. When a few minutes before +he had told Jess he loved her he had said a disgraceful thing, however +true it might be. And that was the worst of it; it was true; he did +love her. He felt the change come sweeping over him like a wave as she +stood looking at him in the room, utterly drowning and overpowering his +affection for Bessie, to whom he was bound by every tie of honour. It +was a new and a wonderful experience this passion that had arisen +within him, as a strong man armed, driving every other affection away +into the waste places of his mind; and, unfortunately, as he already +guessed, it was overmastering and enduring. He cursed himself in his +shame and anger as he sat recovering his equilibrium on the broken +chair and tying a handkerchief tightly round his wounded leg. What a +fool he had been! Why had he not waited to see which of the two he +really loved? Why had Jess gone away like that and thrown him into +temptation with her pretty sister? He was sure now that she had cared +for him all along. Well, there it was, and a bad business too! One +thing he was clear about; it should go no farther. He would not break +his engagement to Bessie; it was not to be thought of. But, all the +same, he felt sorry for himself, and sorry for Jess too. + +Just then, however, the bandage on his leg slipped, and the wound began +to bleed so fast that he was fain to hobble into the house for +assistance. + +Jess, who had apparently quite recovered from her agitation, was +standing by the table talking to Mrs. Neville, who was persuading her +to swallow some of the brandy she had been at such pains to fetch. The +moment she caught sight of John’s face, which had now turned ghastly +white, and saw the red line trickling down his boot, she took up her +hat that was lying on the table. + +“You had better lie down on the old bedstead in the little room,” she +said; “I am going for the doctor.” + +Assisted by Mrs. Neville he was only too glad to take this advice, but +long before the doctor arrived John had followed Jess’s example, and +gone off into a dead faint, to the intense alarm of Mrs. Neville, who +was vainly endeavouring to check the flow of blood, which had now +become copious. On the arrival of the doctor it appeared that the +bullet had grazed the walls of one of the arteries on the inside of his +thigh without actually cutting them, which had now given way, rendering +it necessary to tie the artery. This operation, with the assistance of +chloroform, he proceeded to carry out successfully, announcing +afterwards that a great deal of blood had already been lost. + +When at last it was over Mrs. Neville asked about John being moved up +to the hospital, but the doctor declared that he must lie where he was, +and that Jess must stop and help to nurse him, with the assistance of a +soldier’s wife whom he would send to her. + +“Dear me,” said Mrs. Neville, “that is very awkward.” + +“It will be more awkward if you try to move him at present,” was the +grim reply, “for the silk may slip, in which case the artery will +probably break out again, and he will bleed to death.” + +As for Jess, she said nothing, but set to work to make preparations for +her task of nursing. As Fate had once more thrown them together she +accepted the position gladly, though it is fair to say that she would +not have sought it. + +In about an hour’s time, just as John was beginning to recover from the +painful effects of the chloroform, the soldier’s wife who was to assist +her in nursing arrived. As Jess soon discovered, she was not only a low +stamp of woman, but both careless and ignorant into the bargain, and +all that she could be relied on to do was to carry out some of the +rougher work of the sick-room. When John woke up and learned whose was +the presence that was bending over him, and whose the cool hand that +lay upon his forehead, he groaned again and went to sleep. But Jess did +not go to sleep. She sat by him there throughout the night, till at +last the cold lights of the dawn came gleaming through the window and +fell upon the white face of the man she loved. He was still sleeping +soundly, and, as the night was exceedingly hot and oppressive, she had +left nothing but a sheet over him. Before she went to rest a little +herself she turned to look at him once more, and as she looked she saw +the sheet grow suddenly red with blood. The artery had broken out +fresh. + +Calling to the soldier’s wife to run across to the doctor, Jess shook +her patient till he awoke, for he was sleeping quite soundly, and +would, no doubt, have continued to do so till he glided away into a +still deeper sleep; and then between them they did what they could to +quench that dreadful pumping flow, Jess knotting her handkerchief round +his leg and twisting it with a stick, while he pressed his thumb upon +the severed artery. But, strive as they would, they were only partially +successful, and Jess began to think that he would die in her arms from +loss of blood. It was agonising to wait there minute after minute and +see his life ebbing away. + +“I don’t think I shall last much longer, Jess. God bless you, dear!” he +said. “The place is beginning to go round and round.” + +Poor soul! she could only set her teeth and wait for the end. + +Presently John’s pressure on the wounded artery relaxed, and he fainted +off, and, oddly enough, just then the flow of blood diminished +considerably. Another five minutes, and she heard the quick step of the +doctor coming up the path. + +“Thank God you have come! He has bled dreadfully.” + +“I was out attending a poor fellow who was shot through the lung, and +that fool of a woman waited for me to come back instead of following +me. I have brought you an orderly in place of her. By Jove, he has +bled! I suppose the silk has slipped. Well, there is only one thing for +it. Orderly, the chloroform.” + +Then followed another long half-hour of slashing and tying and horror, +and when at last the unfortunate John opened his eyes again he was too +weak to speak, and could only smile feebly. For three days after this +he lay in a dangerous state, for if the artery had broken out for the +third time the chances were that, having so little blood left in his +veins, he would die before anything could be done for him. At times he +was very delirious from weakness, and these were the critical hours, +for it was almost impossible to keep him still, and every moment threw +Jess into an agony of terror lest the silk fastenings of the artery +should break away. Indeed there was only one fashion in which she could +quiet him, and that was by placing her slim white hand upon his +forehead or giving it to him to hold. Oddly enough, this had more +effect upon his fevered mind than anything else. For hour after hour +she would sit thus, though her arm ached, and her back felt as if it +were about to break in two, till at last she was rewarded by seeing his +wild eyes cease their wanderings and close in peaceful sleep. + +Yet with it all that week was perhaps the happiest time in her life. +There he lay: the man she loved with all the intensity of her deep +nature, and she ministered to him, and felt that he loved her, and +depended on her as a babe upon its mother. Even in his delirium her +name was continually on his lips, and generally with some endearing +term before it. She felt in those dark hours of doubt and sickness as +though they two were growing life to life, knit up in a divine identity +she could not analyse or understand. She felt that it was so, and she +believed that, once being so, whatever her future might be, that +communion could never be dissolved, and therefore was she happy, though +she knew that his recovery meant their lifelong separation. For though +Jess, when thrown utterly off her balance, had once given her passion +way, it was not a thing she meant to repeat. She had, she knew, injured +Bessie enough already in taking her future husband’s heart. That she +could not help now, but she would take no more. John should go back to +her sister. + +And so she sat and gazed at that sleeping man through the long watches +of the night, and was happy. There lay her joy. Soon they must part and +she would be left desolate; but whilst he lay there he was hers. It was +passing sweet to her woman’s nature to place her hand upon him and see +him sleep, for this desire to watch the sleep of a beloved object is +one of the highest and strangest manifestations of passion. Truly, and +with a keen insight into the human heart, has the poet said that there +is no joy like the joy of a woman watching what she loves asleep. As +Jess sat and gazed those beautiful and tender lines came floating to +her mind, and she thought how true they were: + +For there it lies, so tranquil, so beloved, +All that it hath of life with us is living; +So gentle, stirless, helpless, and unmoved, +And all unconscious of the joy ‘tis giving; +All it hath felt, inflicted, passed and proved, +Hushed into depths beyond the watcher’s diving; +There lies the thing we love with all its errors +And all its charms, like death without its terrors. + + +Ay! there lay the thing she loved. + +The time went on, and the artery broke out no more. Then at last came a +morning when John opened his eyes and watched the pale earnest face +bending over him as though he were trying to remember something. +Presently he shut them again. He had remembered. + +“I have been very ill, Jess,” he said after a pause. + +“Yes, John.” + +“And you have nursed me?” + +“Yes, John.” + +“Am I going to recover?” + +“Of course you are.” + +He closed his eyes again. + +“I suppose there is no news from outside?” + +“No more; things are just the same.” + +“Nor from Bessie?” + +“None: we are quite cut off.” + +Then came a pause. + +“John,” said Jess, “I want to say something to you. When people are +delirious, or when delirium is coming on, they sometimes say things +that they are not responsible for, and which had better be forgotten.” + +“Yes,” he said, “I understand.” + +“So,” she went on, in the same measured tone, “we will forget +everything you may fancy that you said, or that I did, since the time +when you came in wounded and found that I had fainted.” + +“Quite so,” said John. “I renounce them all.” + +“_We_ renounce them all,” she corrected, and gave a solemn little nod +of her head and sighed, and thus they ratified that audacious compact +of oblivion. + +But it was a lie, and they both knew that it was a lie. If love had +existed before, was there anything in his helplessness and her long and +tender care to make it less? Alas! no; rather was their companionship +the more perfect and their sympathy the more complete. “Propinquity, +sir, propinquity,” as the wise man said;—we all know the evils of it. + +It was a lie, and a very common and everyday sort of lie. Who, being +behind the scenes, has not laughed in his sleeve to see it acted?—Who +has not admired and wondered at the cold and formal bow and shake of +the hand, the tender inquiries after the health of the maiden aunt and +the baby, the carelessly expressed wish that we may meet somewhere—all +so palpably overdone? _That_ the heroine of the impassioned scene at +which we had unfortunately to assist an hour ago! Where are the tears, +the convulsive sobs, the heartbroken grief? And _that_ the young +gentleman who saw nothing for it but flight or a pistol bullet! There, +all the world’s a stage, and fortunately most of us can act at a pinch. + +Yes, we can act; we can paint the face and powder the hair, and summon +up the set smile and the regulation joke and make pretense that things +are as things were, when they are as different as the North Pole from +the Torrid Zone. But unfortunately, or fortunately—I do not know +which—we cannot bedeck our inner selves and make them mime as the +occasion pleases, and sing the old song when their lips are set to a +strange new chant. Of a surety there is within us a spark of the +Eternal Truth, for in our own hearts we cannot lie. And so it was with +these two. From that day forward they forgot that scene in the +sitting-room of “The Palatial,” when Jess put out her strength and John +bent and broke before it like a reed before the wind. Surely it was a +part of the delirium! They forgot that now, alas! they loved each other +with a love which did but gather force from its despair. They talked of +Bessie, and of John’s marriage, and discussed Jess’s plans to go to +Europe, just as though these were not matters of spiritual life and +death to each of them. In short, however for one brief moment they +might have gone astray, now, to their honour be it said, they followed +the path of duty with unflinching feet, nor did they complain when the +stones cut them. + +But it was a living lie, and they knew it. For behind them stood the +irrevocable Past, who for good or evil had bound them together in his +unchanging bonds, and with cords that never can be broken. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. +HANS COETZEE COMES TO PRETORIA + + +Once he had turned the corner, John’s recovery was rapid. Naturally of +a vigorous constitution, when the artery had reunited, he soon made up +for the great loss of blood which he had undergone, and in a little +more than a month from the date of his wound physically, was almost as +good a man as ever. + +One morning—it was the 20th of March—Jess and he were sitting in “The +Palatial” garden. John was lying in a lone cane deck chair that Jess +had borrowed or stolen out of one of the deserted houses, and smoking a +pipe. By his side, in a hole in the flat arm of the chair, fashioned +originally to receive a soda-water tumbler, was a great bunch of purple +grapes which she had gathered for him; and on his knees lay a copy of +that journalistic curiosity, the “News of the Camp,” which was chiefly +remarkable for its utter dearth of news. It was not easy to run a +journal in a beleaguered town. + +They sat in silence: John puffing away at his pipe, and Jess, her +work—one of his socks—lying idly upon her knees, her hands clasped over +it, and her eyes fixed upon the lights and shadows that played with +broad fingers upon the wooded slopes beyond. + +So silently did they sit that a great green lizard came and basked +himself in the sun within a yard of them, and a beautiful striped +butterfly perched deliberately upon the purple grapes! It was a +delightful day and a delightful spot. They were too far from the camp +to be disturbed by its rude noise, and the only sounds that reached +their ears were the rippling of running water and the whispers of the +wind, odorous with the breath of mimosa blooms, as it stirred the stiff +grey leaves on the blue gums. + +They were seated in the shade of the little house that Jess had learned +to love as she had never loved a spot before, but around them lay the +flood of sunshine shimmering like golden water; and beyond the red line +of the fence at the end of the garden, where the rich pomegranate bloom +tried to blush the roses down, the hot air danced merrily above the +rough stone wall like a million microscopic elves at play. Peace! +everywhere was peace! and in it the full heart of Nature beat out in +radiant life. Peace in the voice of the turtle-doves among the willows! +peace in the play of the sunshine and the murmur of the wind! peace in +the growing flowers and hovering butterfly! Jess looked out at the +wealth and glory which were spread before her, and thought that it was +like heaven; then, giving way to the melancholy strain in her nature, +she began to wonder idly how many human beings had sat and thought the +same things, and had been gathered up into the azure of the past and +forgotten; and how many would sit and think there when she in her turn +had been utterly swept away into that gulf whence no echo ever comes! +But what did it matter? The sunshine would still flood the earth with +gold, the water would ripple, and the butterflies hover; and there +would be other women to sit and fold their hands and consider them, +thinking the same identical thoughts, beyond which our human +intelligence cannot travel. And so on for thousands upon thousands of +centuries, till at last the old world reaches its journey’s appointed +end, and, passing from the starry spaces, is swallowed up with those it +bore. + +And she—where would she be? Would she still live on, and love and +suffer elsewhere, or was it all a cruel myth? Was she merely a creature +bred of the teeming earth, or had she an individuality beyond the +earth? What awaited her after sunset?—Sleep. She had often hoped that +it was sleep, and nothing but sleep. But now she did not hope that. Her +life had centred itself around a new interest, and one that she felt +could never die while that life lasted. She hoped for a future now; for +if there was a future for her, there would be one for _him_, and then +her day would come, and where he was there she would be also. Oh, sweet +mockery, old and unsubstantial thought, bright dream set halowise about +the dull head of life! Who has not dreamt it, but who can believe in +it? And yet, who shall say that it is not true? Though philosophers and +scientists smile and point in derision to the gross facts and freaks +that mark our passions, is it not possible that there may be a place +where the love shall live when the lust has died; and where Jess will +find that she has not sat in vain in the sunshine, throwing out her +pure heart towards the light of a happiness and a visioned glory +whereof, for some few minutes, the shadow seemed to lie within her? + +John had finished his pipe, and, although she did not know it, was +watching her face, which, now when she was off her guard, was no longer +impassive, but seemed to mirror the tender and glorious hope that was +floating through her mind. Her lips were slightly parted, and her wide +eyes were full of a soft strange light, while on the whole countenance +was stamped a look of eager thought and spiritualised desire such as he +had known portrayed in ancient masterpieces upon the face of the Virgin +Mother. Except as regards her eyes and hair, Jess was not even a +good-looking person. But, at that moment, John thought that her face +was touched with a diviner beauty than he had yet seen on the face of +woman. It thrilled him and appealed to him, not as Bessie’s beauty had +appealed, but to that other side of his nature, of which Jess alone +could turn the key. It was more like the face of a spirit than that of +a human being, and it almost frightened him to see it. + +“Jess,” he said at last, “what are you thinking of?” + +She started, and her face resumed its normal expression. It was as +though a mask had been suddenly set upon it. + +“Why do you ask?” she said. + +“Because I want to know. I never saw you look like that before.” + +She laughed a little. + +“You would call me foolish if I told you what I was thinking about. +Never mind, it has gone wherever thoughts go. I will tell you what I am +thinking about now, which is—that it is about time we got out of this +place. My uncle and Bessie must be half distracted.” + +“We’ve had more than two months of it now. The relieving column can’t +be far off,” suggested John; for these foolish people in Pretoria +laboured under a firm belief that one fine morning they would be +gratified with a vision of the light dancing down a long line of +British bayonets, and of Boers evaporating in every direction like +storm clouds before the sun. + +Jess shook her head. She was beginning to lose faith in relieving +columns that never came. + +“If we don’t help ourselves, my opinion is that we may stop here till +we are starved out, which in fact we are. However, it’s no use talking +about it, so I’m off to fetch our rations. Let’s see, have you +everything you want?” + +“Everything, thanks.” + +“Well, then, mind you stop quiet till I come back.” + +“Why,” laughed John, “I am as strong as a horse.” + +“Possibly; but that is what the doctor said, you know. Good-bye!” and +Jess took her big basket and started on what John used feebly to call +her “rational undertaking.” + +She had not gone fifty paces from the door before she suddenly caught +sight of a familiar form seated on a familiar pony. The form was fat +and jovial-looking, and the pony was small but also fat. It was Hans +Coetzee—none other! + +Jess could hardly believe her eyes. Old Hans in Pretoria! What could it +mean? + +“_Oom_ Coetzee! _Oom_ Coetzee!” she called, as he came ambling past +her, evidently heading for the Heidelberg road. + +The old Boer pulled up his pony, and gazed around him in a mystified +fashion. + +“Here, _Oom_ Coetzee! Here!” + +“_Allemachter!_” he said, jerking his pony round. “It’s you, Missie +Jess, is it? Now who would have thought of seeing you here?” + +“Who would have thought of seeing _you_ here?” she answered. + +“Yes, yes; it seems strange; I dare say that it seems strange. But I am +a messenger of peace, like Uncle Noah’s dove in the ark, you know. The +fact is,” and he glanced round to see if anybody was listening, “I have +been sent by the Government to arrange about an exchange of prisoners.” + +“The Government! What Government?” + +“What Government? Why, the Triumvirate, of course—whom may the Lord +bless and prosper, as He did Jonah when he walked on the wall of the +city.” + +“Joshua, when he walked round the wall of the city,” suggested Jess. +“Jonah walked down the whale’s throat.” + +“Ah! to be sure, so he did, and blew a trumpet inside. I remember now; +though I am sure I don’t know how he did it. The fact is that our +glorious victories have quite confused me. Ah! what a thing it is to be +a patriot! The dear Lord makes strong the arm of the patriot, and takes +care that he hits his man well in the middle.” + +“You have turned wonderfully patriotic all of a sudden, _Oom_ Coetzee,” +said Jess tartly. + +“Yes, missie, yes; I am a patriot to the bone of my back! I hate the +English Government; damn the English Government! Let us have our land +back and our _Volksraad_. Almighty! I saw who was in the right at +Laing’s Nek there. Ah, those poor _rooibaatjes!_ I killed four of them +myself; two as they came up, and two as they ran away, and the last one +went head-over-heels like a buck. Poor man! I cried for him afterwards. +I did not like going to fight at all, but Frank Muller sent to me and +said that if I did not go he would have me shot. Ah, he is a devil of a +man, that Frank Muller! So I went, and when I saw how the dear Lord had +put it into the heart of the English general to be a bigger fool even +that day than he is every day, and to try and drive us out of Laing’s +Nek with a thousand of his poor _rooibaatjes_, then, I tell you, I saw +where the right lay, and I said, ‘Damn the English Government! What is +the English Government doing here?’ and after Ingogo I said it again.” + +“Never mind all that, _Oom_ Coetzee,” broke in Jess. “I have heard you +tell a different tale before, and perhaps you will again. How are my +uncle and my sister? Are they at the farm?” + +“Almighty! you don’t suppose that I have been there to see, do you? +But, yes, I have heard they are there. It is a nice place, that +Mooifontein, and I think that I shall buy it when we have turned all +you English people out of the land. Frank Muller told me that they were +there. And now I must be getting on, or that devil of a man, Frank +Muller, will want to know what I have been about.” + +“_Oom_ Coetzee,” said Jess, “will you do something for me? We are old +friends, you know, and once I persuaded my uncle to lend you five +hundred pounds when all your oxen died of the lungsick.” + +“Yes, yes, it shall be paid back one day—when we have hunted the damned +Englishmen out of the country.” And he began to gather up his reins +preparatory to riding off. + +“Will you do me a favour?” said Jess, catching the pony by the bridle. + +“What is it? What is it, missie? I must be getting on. That devil of a +man, Frank Muller, is waiting for me with the prisoners at the Rooihuis +Kraal.” + +“I want a pass for myself and Captain Niel, and an escort. We wish to +go home.” + +The old Boer held up his fat hands in amazement. + +“Almighty!” he said, “it is impossible. A pass!—who ever heard of such +a thing? Come, I must be going.” + +“It is not impossible, Uncle Coetzee, as you know,” said Jess. “Listen! +If I get that pass I will speak to my uncle about the five hundred +pounds. Perhaps he would not want it all back again.” + +“Ah!” said the Boer. “Well, we are old friends, missie, and ‘never +desert a friend,’ that is my saying. Almighty! I must ride a hundred +miles—I will swim through blood for a friend. Well, well, I must see. +It depends upon that devil of a man, Frank Muller. Where are you to be +found—in the white house yonder? Good. To-morrow the escort will come +in with the prisoners, and if I can get it they will bring the pass. +But, missie, remember the five hundred pounds. If you do not speak to +your uncle about that I shall be even with him. Almighty! what a thing +it is to have a good heart, and to love to help your friends! Well, +good-day, good-day,” and off he cantered on his fat pony, his broad +face shining with a look of unutterable benevolence. + +Jess cast a look of contempt after him, and then went on towards the +camp to fetch the rations. + +When she returned to “The Palatial,” she told John what had taken +place, and suggested that it would be as well, in case there should be +a favourable reply to her request, to have everything prepared for a +start. Accordingly, the cart was brought down and stood outside “The +Palatial,” where John unscrewed the patent caps and filled them with +castor-oil, and ordered Mouti to keep the horses, which were all in +health, though “poor” from want of proper food, well within hail. + +Meanwhile, old Hans pursued the jerky tenour of his way for an hour or +so, till he came in sight of a small red house. + +Presently, from the shadow in front of the red house emerged a rider, +mounted on a powerful black horse. The horseman—a stern, handsome, +bearded man—put his hand above his eyes to shade them from the sun, and +gazed up the road. Then he seemed suddenly to strike his spurs into the +horse, for the animal bounded forward swiftly, and came sweeping +towards Hans at a hand gallop. + +“Ah! it is that devil of a man, Frank Muller!” ejaculated Coetzee. “Now +I wonder what he wants? I always feel cold down the back when he comes +near me.” + +By this time the plunging black horse was being reined up alongside of +his pony so sharply that it reared till its great hoofs were pawing the +air within a few inches of Hans’ head. + +“Almighty!” said the old man, tugging his pony round. “Be careful, +nephew, be careful; I do not wish to be crushed like a beetle.” + +Frank Muller—for it was he—smiled. He had made his horse rear +purposely, in order to frighten the old man, whom he knew to be an +arrant coward. + +“Why have you been so long? and what have you done with the Englishmen? +You should have been back half an hour ago.” + +“And so I should, nephew, and so I should, if I had not been detained. +Surely you do not suppose that I would linger in the accursed place? +Bah,” and he spat upon the ground, “it stinks of Englishmen. I cannot +get the taste of them out of my mouth.” + +“You are a liar, Uncle Coetzee,” was the cool answer. “English with the +English, Boer with the Boer. You blow neither hot nor cold. Be careful +lest I show you up. I know you and your talk. Do you remember what you +were saying to the Englishman Niel in the inn-yard at Wakkerstroom when +you turned and saw me? I heard, and I do not forget. You know what +happens to a ‘land betrayer’?” + +Hans’ teeth positively chattered, and his florid face blanched with +fear. + +“What do you mean, nephew?” he asked. + +“I—ah!—I mean nothing. I was only speaking a word of warning to you as +a friend. I have heard things said about you by——” and he dropped his +voice and whispered a name, at the sound of which poor Hans turned +whiter than ever. + +“Well,” went on his tormentor, when he had sufficiently enjoyed his +terror, “what sort of terms did you make in Pretoria?” + +“Oh, good, nephew, good,” he gabbled, delighted to find a fresh +subject. “I found the Englishmen supple as a tanned skin. They will +give up their twelve prisoners for our four. The men are to be in by +ten to-morrow. I told their commandant about Laing’s Nek and Ingogo, +and he would not believe me. He thought I lied like himself. They are +getting hungry there now. I saw a Hottentot I knew, and he told me that +their bones were beginning to show.” + +“They will be through the skin before long,” muttered Frank. “Well, +here we are at the house. The General is there. He has just come up +from Heidelberg, and you can make your report to him. Did you find out +about the Englishman—Captain Niel? Is it true that he is dead?” + +“No, he is not dead. By the way, I met _Oom_ Croft’s niece—the dark +one. She is shut up there with the Captain, and she begged me to try +and get them a pass to go home. Of course I told her that it was +nonsense, and that they must stop and starve with the others.” + +Muller, who had been listening to this last piece of information with +intense interest, suddenly checked his horse and answered: + +“Did you? Then you are a bigger fool than I thought you. Who gave you +authority to decide whether they should have a pass or not?” + + + + +CHAPTER XX. +THE GREAT MAN + + +Completely overcome by this last remark, Hans collapsed like a +jelly-fish out of water, and reflected in his worthless old heart that +Frank Muller was indeed “a devil of a man.” By this time they had +reached the door of the little house, and were dismounting, and in +another minute Hans found himself in the presence of one of the leaders +of the rebellion. + +He was a short, ugly person of about fifty-five, with a big nose, small +eyes, straight hair, and a stoop. The forehead, however, was good, and +the whole face betrayed a keenness and ability far beyond the average. +The great man was seated at a plain deal table, writing something with +evident difficulty upon a dirty sheet of paper, and smoking a very +large pipe. + +“Sit, _Heeren_, sit,” he said, when they entered, waving the stem of +his pipe towards a deal bench. Accordingly they sat down without even +removing their hats, and, pulling out their pipes, proceeded to light +them. + +“How, in the name of God, do you spell ‘Excellency’?” asked the General +presently. “I have spelt it in four different ways, and each one looks +worse than the last.” + +Frank Muller gave the required information. Hans in his heart thought +he spelt it wrong, but he did not dare to say so. Then came another +pause, only interrupted by the slow scratching of a quill across the +dirty paper, during which Hans nearly went to sleep; for the weather +was very hot, and he was tired with his ride. + +“There!” said the writer presently, gazing at his handwriting with an +almost childish air of satisfaction, “that is done. A curse on the man +who invented writing! Our fathers did very well without it; why should +not we? Though, to be sure, it is useful for treaties with the Kafirs. +I don’t believe you have told me right now about that ‘Excellency,’ +nephew. Well, it will have to serve. When a man writes such a letter as +that to the representative of the English Queen he needn’t mind his +spelling; it will be swallowed with the rest,” and he leaned back in +his chair and laughed softly. + +“Now, _Meinheer_ Coetzee, what is it? Ah, I know; the prisoners. Well, +what did you do?” + +Hans told his story, and was rambling on when the General cut him +short. + +“So, cousin, so! You talk like an ox-waggon—rumble and creak and jolt, +a devil of a noise and turning of wheels, but very little progress. +They will give up their twelve prisoners for our four, will they? That +is about a fair proportion. No, it is not, though: four Boers are +better than twelve Englishmen any day—ay, better than forty!” and he +laughed again. “Well, the men shall be sent in as you arranged; they +will help to eat up their last biscuits. Good-day, cousin. Stop, +though; one word before you go. I have heard about you at times, +cousin. I have heard it said that you cannot be trusted. Now, I don’t +know if that is so. I don’t believe it myself. Only, listen; if it +should be true, and I should find you out, by God! I will have you cut +into rimpis with afterox _sjambocks_, and then shoot you and send in +your carcase as a present to the English.” As he spoke thus he leaned +forward, brought down his fist upon the deal table with a bang that +produced a most unpleasant effect upon poor Hans’s nerves, and a cold +gleam of sudden ferocity flickered in the small eyes, very +discomforting for a timid man to behold, however innocent he knew +himself to be. + +“I swear——” he began to babble. + +“Swear not at all, cousin; you are an elder of the church. There is no +need for it, besides. I told you I did not believe it of you; only I +have had one or two cases of this sort of thing lately. No, never mind +who they were. You will not meet them about again. Good-day, cousin, +good-day. Forget not to thank the Almighty God for our glorious +victories. He will expect it from an elder of the church.” + +Poor Hans departed crestfallen, feeling that the days of him who tries, +however skilfully and impartially, to sit upon two stools at once are +not happy days, and sometimes threaten to be short ones. And supposing +that the Englishmen should win after all—as in his heart he hoped they +might—how should he then prove that he had hoped it? The General +watched him waddle through the door from under his pent brows, a +half-humourous, half-menacing expression on his face. + +“A windbag; a coward; a man without a heart for good or for evil. Bah! +nephew, that is Hans Coetzee. I have known him for years. Well, let him +go. He would sell us if he could, but I have frightened him now, and, +what is more, if I see reason, he shall find I never bark unless I mean +to bite. Well, enough of him. Let me see, have I thanked you yet for +your share in Majuba? Ah! that was a glorious victory! How many were +there of you when you started up the mountain?” + +“Eighty men.” + +“And how many at the end?” + +“One hundred and seventy—perhaps a few more.” + +“And how many of you were hit?” + +“Three—one killed, two wounded, and a few scratches.” + +“Wonderful, wonderful! It was a brave deed, and because it was so brave +it was successful. He must have been mad, that English general. Who +shot him?” + +“Breytenbach. Colley held up a white handkerchief in his hand, and +Breytenbach fired, and down went the general of a heap, and then they +all ran helter-skelter down the hill. Yes, it was a wonderful thing! +They could have beat us back with their left hand. That is what comes +of having a righteous cause, uncle.” + +The general smiled grimly. “That is what comes of having men who can +shoot, and who understand the country, and are not afraid. Well, it is +done, and well done. The stars in their courses have fought for us, +Frank Muller, and so far we have conquered. But how is it to end? You +are no fool; tell me, how will it end?” + +Frank Muller rose and walked twice up and down the room before he +answered. “Shall I tell you?” he asked, and then, without waiting for a +reply, went on: “It will end in our getting the country back. That is +what this armistice means. There are thousands of _rooibaatjes_ there +at the Nek; they cannot therefore be waiting for soldiers. They are +waiting for an opportunity to yield, uncle. We shall get the country +back, and you will be President of the Republic.” + +The old man took a pull at his pipe. “You have a long head, Frank, and +it has not run away with you. The English Government is going to give +in. The stars in their courses continue to fight for us. The English +Government is as mad as its officers. They will give in. But it means +more than that, Frank; I will tell you what it means. It means”—and +again he let his heavy hand fall upon the deal table—“the triumph of +the Boer throughout South Africa. Bah! Burgers was not such a fool +after all when he talked of his great Dutch Republic. I have been twice +to England now and I know the Englishman. I could measure him for his +_veldtschoens_ (shoes). He knows nothing—nothing. He understands his +shop; he is buried in his shop, and can think of nothing else. +Sometimes he goes away and starts a shop in other places, and buries +himself in it, and makes it a big shop, because he understands shops. +But it is all a question of shops, and if the shops abroad interfere +with the shops at home, or if it is thought that they do, which comes +to the same thing, then the shops at home put an end to the shops +abroad. Bah! they talk a great deal there in England, but, at the +bottom of it, it is shop, shop, shop. They talk of honour, and +patriotism too, but they both give way to the shop. And I tell you +this, Frank Muller: it is the shop that has made the English, and it is +the shop that will destroy them. Well, so be it. We shall have our +slice: Africa for the Africanders. The Transvaal for the Transvaalers +first, then the rest. Shepstone was a clever man; he would have made it +all into an English shop, with the black men for shop-boys. We have +changed all that, but we ought to be grateful to Shepstone. The English +have paid our debts, they have eaten up the Zulus, who would otherwise +have destroyed us, and they have let us beat them, and now we are going +to have our turn again, and, as you say, I shall be the first +President.” + +“Yes, uncle,” replied the younger man calmly, “and I shall be the +second.” + +The General looked at him. “You are a bold man,” he said; “but boldness +makes the man and the country. I dare say you will. You have the head; +and one clear head can turn many fools, as the rudder does the ship, +and guide them when they are turned. I dare say that you will be +President one day.” + +“Yes, I shall be President, and when I am I will drive the Englishmen +out of South Africa. This I will do with the help of the Natal Zulus. +Then I will destroy the natives, as T’Chaka destroyed, keeping only +enough for slaves. That is my plan, uncle; it is a good one.” + +“It is a big one; I am not certain that it is a good one. But good or +bad, who shall say? You may carry it out, nephew, if you live. A man +with brains and wealth may carry out anything if he lives. But there is +a God. I believe, Frank Muller, that there is a God, and I believe that +God sets a limit to a man’s doings. If he is going too far, God kills +him. _If you live_, Frank Muller, you will do these things, but perhaps +God will kill you. Who can say? You will do what God wills, not what +_you_ will.” + +The elder man was speaking seriously now. Muller felt that this was +none of the whining cant people in authority among the Boers find it +desirable to adopt. It was what he thought, and it chilled Muller in +spite of his pretended scepticism, as the sincere belief of an +intellectual man, however opposite to our own, is apt to chill us into +doubt of ourselves and our opinions. For a moment his slumbering +superstition awoke, and he felt half afraid. Between him and that +bright future of blood and power lay a dark gulf. Suppose that gulf +should be death, and the future nothing but a dream—or worse! His face +fell as the idea occurred to him, and the General noticed it. + +“Well,” he went on, “he who lives will see. Meanwhile you have done +good service to the State, and you shall have your reward, cousin. If I +am President”—he laid emphasis on this, the meaning of which his +listener did not miss—“if by the support of my followers I become +President, I will not forget you. And now I must up-saddle and ride +back. I want to be at Laing’s Nek in sixty hours, to wait for General +Wood’s answer. You will see about the sending in of those prisoners;” +and he knocked out his pipe and rose. + +“By the way, _Meinheer_,” said Muller, suddenly adopting a tone of +respect, “I have a favour to ask.” + +“What is it, nephew?” + +“I want a pass for two friends of mine—English people—in Pretoria to go +down to their relations in Wakkerstroom district. They sent a message +to me by Hans Coetzee.” + +“I don’t like giving passes,” answered the General with some +irritation. “You know what it means, letting out messengers. I wonder +you ask me.” + +“It is a small favour, _Meinheer_, and I do not think that it will +matter. Pretoria will not be besieged much longer; I am under an +obligation to the people.” + +“Well, well, as you like; but if any harm comes of it, you will be held +responsible. Write the pass; I will sign it.” + +Frank Muller sat down and wrote and dated the paper. Its contents were +simple: “Pass the bearers unharmed.” + +“That is big enough to drive a waggon along,” said the General, when it +was handed to him to sign. “It might mean all Pretoria.” + +“I am not certain if there are two or three of them,” answered Muller +carelessly. + +“Well, well, you are responsible. Give me the pen,” and he scrawled his +big coarse signature on the paper. + +“I propose, with your permission, to escort the cart down with two +other men. As you are aware, I go to take over the command of the +Wakkerstroom district to-morrow.” + +“Very good. It is your affair; you are responsible. I shall ask no +questions, provided your friends do no harm to the cause;” and he left +the room without another word. + +When the great man had gone, Frank Muller sat down again on the bench +and looked at the pass, and communed with himself, for he was far too +wise to commune with anybody else. “The Lord hath delivered mine enemy +into mine hand,” he said with a smile, and stroked his golden beard. +“Well, well, I will not waste His merciful opportunities as I did that +day out buck-shooting. And then for Bessie. I suppose I shall have to +kill old Croft too. I am sorry for that, but it can’t be helped; +besides, if anything should happen to Jess, Bessie will take +Mooifontein, and that is worth having. Not that I want more land; I +have enough. Yes, I will marry her. It would serve her right if I +didn’t; but, after all, marriage is more respectable; also one has more +hold of a wife. Nobody will interfere for her. Then, she will be of use +to me by-and-by, for a beautiful woman is a power even among these +fellow-countrymen of mine, if only a man knows how to bait his lines +with her. Yes, I shall marry her. Bah! that is the way to win a +woman—by capture; and, what is more, they like it. It makes her worth +winning too. It will be a courtship of blood. Well, the kisses will be +the sweeter, and in the end she will love me the more for what I have +dared for her. + +“So, Frank Muller, so! Ten years ago you said to yourself: ‘There are +three things worth having in the world—first, wealth; secondly, women, +if they take your fancy, or, better still, one woman, if you desire her +above all others; thirdly, power.’ Now, you have got the wealth, for +one way or another you are the richest man in the Transvaal. In a week +you will have the woman you love, and who is sweeter to you than all +the world besides. In five years’ time you will have the power—absolute +power. That old man is clever; he will be President. But I am cleverer. +I shall soon take his seat, thus”—and he rose and seated himself in the +General’s chair—“and he will go down a step and take mine. Ay, and then +I will reign. My tongue shall be honey and my hand iron. I will pass +over the land like a storm. I will drive these English out with the +help of the Kafirs, and then I will kill the Kafirs and take their +country. Ah!”—and his eyes flashed and his nostrils dilated as he said +it to himself—“then life will be worth living! What a thing is power! +What a thing it is to be able to destroy! Take that Englishman, my +rival: to-day he is well and strong; in three days he will be gone +utterly, and I—I shall have sent him away. That is power. But when the +time comes that I have only to stretch out my hand to send thousands +after him!—that will be absolute power; and then with Bessie I shall be +happy.” + +And so he dreamed on for an hour or more, till at last the fumes of his +untutored imagination actually drowned his reason in a spiritual +drunkenness. Picture after picture rose and unrolled itself before his +mind’s eye. He saw himself as President addressing the _Volksraad_, and +compelling it to his will. He saw himself, the supreme general of a +great host, defeating the forces of England with awful carnage, and +driving them before him; ay, he even selected the battle-ground on the +slopes of the Biggarsberg in Natal. Then he saw himself again, sweeping +the natives out of South Africa with the relentless besom of his might, +and ruling unquestioned over a submissive people. And, last of all, he +saw something glittering at his feet—it was a crown! + +This was the climax of his dream. Then there came an anticlimax. The +rich imagination which had been leading him on as a gaudy butterfly +does a child, suddenly changed colour and dropped to earth; and there +rose up in his mind the memory of the General’s words: “God sets a +limit to a man’s doings. If he is going too far, _God kills him_.” + +The butterfly had settled on a coffin! + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. +JESS GETS A PASS + + +About half-past ten on the morning following her interview with Hans +Coetzee, Jess was at “The Palatial” as usual, and John was just +finishing packing the cart with such few goods as they possessed. There +was little chance of his labour proving of material use, for he did not +in the slightest degree expect that they would get the pass; but, as he +said cheerfully, it was as good an amusement as any other. + +“I say, Jess,” he called out presently, “come here.” + +“What for?” asked Jess, who was seated on the doorstep mending +something, and looking at her favourite view. + +“Because I want to speak to you.” + +She rose and went, feeling rather angry with herself for going. + +“Well,” she said tartly, “here I am. What is it?” + +“I have finished packing the cart, that’s all.” + +“And you mean to tell me that you have brought me round here to say +that?” + +“Yes, of course I have; exercise is good for the young.” Then he +laughed, and she laughed too. + +It was all nothing—nothing at all—but somehow it was very delightful. +Certainly mutual affection, even when unexpressed, has a way of making +things go happily, and can find entertainment anywhere. + +Just then, who should arrive but Mrs. Neville, in a great state of +excitement, and, as usual, fanning herself with her hat. + +“What do you think, Captain Niel? The prisoners have come in, and I +heard one of the Boers in charge say that he had a pass signed by the +Boer general for some English people, and that he was coming over to +see about them presently. Who can it be?” + +“It is for us,” said Jess quickly. “We are going home. I saw Hans +Coetzee yesterday, and begged him to try and get us a pass, and I +suppose he has.” + +“My word! going to get out: well, you are lucky! Let me sit down and +write a letter to my great-uncle at the Cape. You must post it when you +can. He is ninety-four, and rather soft, but I dare say he will like to +hear from me,” and she hurried into the house to give her aged +relative—who, by the way, laboured under the impression that she was +still a little girl of four years of age—as minute an account of the +siege of Pretoria as time would allow. + +“Well, John, you had better tell Mouti to put the horses in. We shall +have to start presently,” said Jess. + +“Ay,” he said, pulling his beard thoughtfully, “I suppose that we +shall;” adding, by way of an afterthought, “Are you glad to go?” + +“No,” she said, with a sudden flash of passion and a stamp of the foot. +Then she turned and entered the house again. + +“Mouti,” said John to the Zulu, who was lounging about in a way +characteristic of that intelligent but unindustrious race, “inspan the +horses. We are going back to Mooifontein.” + +“_Koos!_” said the Zulu unconcernedly, and started on the errand as +though it were the most everyday occurrence to drive off home out of a +closely beleaguered town. That is another beauty of the Zulu race: you +cannot astonish them. No doubt they consider that extraordinary mixture +of wisdom and insanity, the white man, to be _capable du tout_, as the +agnostic French critic said in despair of the prophet Zerubbabel. + +John stood and watched the inspanning absently. In truth, he, too, was +conscious of a sensation of regret. He felt ashamed of himself for it, +but there it was; he was sorry to leave the place. For the last week or +so he had been living in a dream, and everything outside that dream was +blurred, indistinct as a landscape in a fog. He knew the objects were +there, but he could not quite appreciate their relative size and +position. The only real thing was his dream; all else was as vague as +those far-off people and events that we lose in infancy and find again +in old age. + +Now there would be an end of dreaming; the fog would lift, and he must +face the facts. Jess, with whom he had dreamed, would go away to Europe +and he would marry Bessie, and all this Pretoria business would glide +away into the past like a watch in the night. Well, it must be so; it +was right and proper that it should be so, and he for one would not +flinch from his duty; but he must have been more than human had he not +felt the pang of awakening. It was all so very unfortunate. + +By this time Mouti had got up the horses, and asked if he was to +inspan. + +“No; wait a bit,” said John. “Very likely it is all nonsense,” he added +to himself. + +Scarcely were the words out of his mouth when he caught sight of two +armed Boers of a peculiarly unpleasant type and rough appearance, +riding across the veldt towards “The Palatial” gate. With them was an +escort of four carbineers. At the gate they all stopped, and one of the +Boers dismounted and walked to where John was standing by the +stable-door. + +“Captain Niel?” he said interrogatively, in English. + +“That is my name.” + +“Then here is a letter for you;” and he handed him a folded paper. + +John opened it—it had no envelope—and read as follows: + +“Sir,—The bearer of this has with him a pass which it is understood +that you desire, giving you and Miss Jess Croft a safe-conduct to +Mooifontein, in the Wakkerstroom district of the Republic. The only +condition attached to the pass, which is signed by one of the +honourable Triumvirate, is that you must carry no despatches out of +Pretoria. Upon your giving your word of honour to the bearer that you +will not do this he will hand you the pass.” + +This letter, which was fairly written and in good English, had no +signature. + +“Who wrote this?” asked John of the Boer. + +“That is no affair of yours,” was the curt reply. “Will you pass your +word about the despatches?” + +“Yes.” + +“Good. Here is the pass;” and he handed over that document to John. It +was in the same handwriting as the letter, but signed by the Boer +general. + +John examined it, and then called to Jess to come to translate it, who, +having heard the voice of the Boer, was on her way round the corner of +the house. + +“It means, ‘Pass the bearers unharmed,’” she said, “and the signature +is genuine. I have seen Paul Krüger’s signature before.” + +“When must we start?” asked John of the Boer. + +“At once, or not at all.” + +“I must drive round by the headquarter camp to explain my departure. +They will think that I have run away.” + +To this the Boer demurred, but finally, after going to the gate to +consult his companion, he consented and the two rode back to the +headquarter camp, saying that they would wait for the cart there, +whereupon the horses were inspanned. + +In five minutes everything was ready, and the cart was standing on the +roadway in front of the little gate. After he had looked to all the +straps and buckles, and seen that the baggage was properly packed, John +went to call Jess. He found her by the doorstep, looking out at her +favourite view. Her hand was placed sideways against her forehead, as +though to shade her eyes from the sun. But where she was standing there +was no sun, and John could not help guessing why she was shading her +eyes. She was crying at leaving the place in that quiet and harrowing +way which some women indulge in; that is to say, a few big tears were +rolling down her face. John felt a lump rise in his own throat at the +sight, and not unnaturally relieved his feelings by rough language. + +“What the deuce are you after?” he asked. “Are you going to keep the +horses standing all day?” + +Jess did not resent this. The probability is that she guessed its +reason. Besides, it is a melancholy fact that women rather like being +sworn at than otherwise, provided that the swearer is the man whom they +are attached to. But he must only swear on state occasions. At this +moment, too, Mrs. Neville plunged out of the house, licking an envelope +as she ran. + +“There,” she said, “I hope you weren’t waiting for me. I haven’t told +the old gentleman half the news; in fact, I’ve only taken him down to +the time when the communications were cut, and I dare say he has seen +all that in the papers. But he won’t understand anything about it, and +if he does he will guess the rest; besides, for all I know, he may be +dead and buried by now. I shall have to owe you for the stamp. I think +it’s threepence. I’ll pay you when we meet again—that is, if we ever do +meet again. I’m beginning to think that this siege will go on for all +eternity. There, good-bye, my dear! God bless you! When you get out of +it, mind you write to the _Times_, in London, you know. There, don’t +cry. I am sure I should not cry if I were going to get out of this +place;” for at this point Jess took the opportunity of Mrs. Neville’s +fervent embrace to burst out into a sob or two. + +In another minute they were in the cart, and Mouti was scrambling up +behind. + +“Don’t cry, old girl,” said John, laying his hand upon her shoulder. +“What can’t be cured must be endured.” + +“Yes, John,” she answered, and dried her tears. + +At the headquarter camp John went in and explained the circumstances of +his departure. At first the officer who was temporarily in command—the +Commandant having been wounded at the same time that John was +hit—rather demurred to his going, especially when he learned that he +had passed his word not to carry despatches. Presently, however, he +thought better of it, and said he supposed that it was all right, as he +could not see that their departure could do the garrison any harm: +“rather the reverse, in fact, because you can tell people how we are +getting on in this God-forsaken hole. I only wish that somebody would +give me a pass, that’s all.” So John shook hands with him and left, to +find an eager crowd gathered outside. + +The news of their good luck had gone abroad, and everybody was running +down to hear the truth of it. Such an event as a departure out of +Pretoria had not happened for a couple of months and more, and the +excitement was proportionate to its novelty. + +“I say, Niel, is it true you are going?” halloed a burly farmer. + +“How the deuce did you get a pass?” put in another man with a face like +a weasel. He was what is known as a _Boer vernuker_ (literally a “Boer +cheater”), that is, a travelling trader whose business it is to beguile +the simple-minded Dutchman by selling him worthless goods at five times +their value. “I have loads of friends among the Boers. There is hardly +a Boer in the Transvaal who does not know me”—(“To his cost,” put in a +bystander with a grunt)—“and yet I have tried all I know”—(“And you +know a good deal,” said the same rude man)—“and _I_ can’t get a pass.” + +“You don’t suppose those poor Boers are going to let you out once they +have got you in?” went on the tormentor. “Why, man, it’s against human +nature. You’ve got all their wool: now do you think they want you to +have their skin too?” + +Whereupon the weasel-faced individual uttered a howl of wrath, and +pretended to make a rush at the author of these random gibes, waiting +halfway for somebody to stop him and prevent a breach of the peace. + +“Oh, Miss Croft!” cried out a woman in the crowd, who, like Jess, had +been trapped in Pretoria while on a flying visit, “if you can, do send +a line to my husband at Maritzburg, to tell him that I am well, except +for the rheumatism from sleeping on the wet ground; and tell him to +kiss the twins for me.” + +“I say, Niel, tell those Boers that we will give them a d—d good hiding +yet, when Colley relieves us,” sang out a jolly young Englishman in the +uniform of the Pretoria Carbineers. He little knew that poor +Colley—kind-hearted English gentleman that he was—lay sleeping +peacefully under six feet of ground with a Boer bullet in his brain. + +“Now, Captain Niel, if you are ready, we must trek,” said one of the +Boers in Dutch, suiting the action to the word by giving the near +wheeler a sharp cut with his riding _sjambock_ that made him jump +nearly out of the traces. + +Away started the horses with a plunge, scattering the crowd to the +right and left, and, amid a volley of farewells, they were off upon +their homeward journey. + +For more than an hour nothing particular happened. John drove at a fair +pace, and the two Boers cantered along behind. At the end of this time, +however, just as they were approaching the Red House, where Frank +Muller had obtained the pass from the General on the previous day, one +of the Boers rode up and told them, roughly enough, that they were to +outspan at the house, where they would find some food. As it was past +one o’clock, they were by no means sorry to hear this, and John drew up +the cart about fifty yards from the place, where they outspanned the +horses, and, having watched them roll and drink, they went up to the +house. + +The two Boers, who had also off-saddled, were already sitting on the +verandah, and when Jess looked inquiringly towards them one of them +pointed with his pipe towards the little room. Taking the hint, they +entered, and found a Hottentot woman just setting some food upon the +table. + +“Here is dinner; let us eat it,” said John; “goodness knows when we +will get any more;” and accordingly he sat down. + +As he did so the two Boers came in, and one of them made some sneering +remark that caused the other to look at them and laugh insultingly. + +John flushed, but took no notice. Indeed he thought it safest not, for, +to tell the truth, he did not much like the appearance of these two +worthies. One of them was a big, smooth, pasty-faced man, with a +peculiarly villainous expression of countenance and a prominent tooth +that projected in ghastly isolation over his lower lip. The other was a +small man, with a sardonic smile, a profusion of black beard and +whiskers on his face, and long hair hanging on to his shoulders. +Indeed, when he smiled more vigorously than usual, his eyebrows came +down and his whiskers advanced, and his moustache went up till there +was scarcely any face left, and he looked more like a great bearded +monkey than a human being. This man was a Boer of the wildest type from +the far borders of Zoutpansberg, and did not understand a word of +English. Jess nicknamed him the Vilderbeeste, from his likeness to that +ferocious-looking and hairy animal. His companion, on the other hand, +understood English perfectly, for he had passed many years of his life +in Natal, having left that colony on account of some little +indiscretion about thrashing Kafirs which had brought him into +collision with the penal laws. Jess named him the Unicorn, on account +of his one gleaming tusk. + +The Unicorn was an unusually pious person, and on arriving at the +table, to John’s astonishment, gently but firmly he grasped the knife +with which he was about to cut the meat. + +“What’s the matter?” said John. + +The Boer shook his head sadly. “No wonder, you English are an accursed +race, and have been given over into our hands as the great king Agag +was given into the hands of the Israelites, so that we have hewed you +to pieces. You sit down to meat and give no thanks to the dear Lord,” +and he threw back his head and sang out a portentously long Dutch grace +through his nose. Not content with this, he set to work to translate it +to English, which took a good time; nor was the rendering a very +finished one in the result. + +The Vilderbeeste grinned sardonically and put in a pious “Amen,” and +then at last they were allowed to proceed with their dinner, which, on +the whole, was not a pleasant meal. But they could not expect much +pleasure under the circumstances, so they ate their food and made the +best of a bad business. After all, it might have been worse: they might +have had no dinner to eat. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. +ON THE ROAD + + +John and Jess had finished their meal, and were about to leave the +table, when suddenly the door opened, and who should appear at it but +Frank Muller himself! Mistake was impossible; there he stood, stroking +his long golden beard, as big, as handsome, and, to Jess’s mind, as +evil-looking as ever. The cold eyes fell upon John with a glance of +recognition, and something like a smile began to play around the +corners of the finely cut cruel mouth. Suddenly, however, his gaze lit +upon the two Boers, one of whom was picking his teeth with a steel fork +and the other lighting his pipe within a few inches of Jess’s head, and +instantly his face grew stern and angry. + +“Did I not tell you two men,” he said, “that you were not to eat with +the prisoners?”—this word struck awkwardly on Jess’s ear. “I told you +that they were to be treated with all respect, and here I find you +sprawling over the table and smoking in their faces. Be off with you!” + +The smooth-faced man with the tusk rose at once with a sigh, put down +the steel fork with which he had been operating, and departed, +recognising that _Meinheer_ Muller was not a commanding officer to be +trifled with, but his companion, the Vilderbeeste, demurred. “What,” he +said, tossing his head so as to throw the long black hair out of his +eyes, “am I not fit to sit at meat with a couple of accursed English—a +_rooibaatje_ and a woman? If I had my way he should clean my boots and +she should cut up my tobacco;” and he grinned at the notion till +eyebrows, whiskers, and moustache nearly met round his nose, causing +him to look for all the world like a hairy-faced baboon. + +Frank Muller made no answer in words. He simply took one step forward, +pounced upon his insubordinate follower, and with a single swing of his +athletic frame sent him flying headlong through the door, so that this +free and independent burgher lit upon his head in the passage, smashing +his pipe and considerably damaging his best feature—his nose. “There,” +said Muller, shutting the door after him, “that is the only way to deal +with such a fellow. And now let me bid you good-day, Miss Jess,” and he +extended his hand, which Jess took, rather coldly it must be owned. + +“It has given me great pleasure to be able to do you this little +service,” he added politely. “I had considerable difficulty in +obtaining the pass from the General—indeed I was obliged to urge my +personal services before he would give it to me. But never mind that, I +got it, as you know, and it will be my care to escort you safely to +Mooifontein.” + +Jess bowed, and Muller turned to John, who had risen from his chair and +was standing some two paces away, and addressed him. “Captain Niel,” he +said, “you and I have had some differences in the past. I hope that the +service I am doing you will prove that I, for one, bear no malice. I +will go farther. As I told you before, I was to blame in that affair in +the inn-yard at Wakkerstroom. Let us shake hands and end what we cannot +mend,” and he stepped forward and extended his hand. + +Jess turned to see what would happen. She knew the whole story, and +hoped he would not take the man’s hand; next, remembering their +position, she hoped that he would. + +John turned colour a little, then he drew himself up deliberately and +put his hand behind his back. + +“I am very sorry, Mr. Muller,” he said, “but even in our present +position I cannot shake hands with you; you will know why.” + +Jess saw a flush, bred of the furious passion which was his weak point, +spread itself over the Boer’s face. + +“I do _not_ know, Captain Niel. Be so good as to explain.” + +“Very well, I will,” said John calmly. “You tried to assassinate me.” + +“What do you mean?” thundered Muller. + +“What I say. You shot at me twice under pretence of firing at a buck. +Look here!”—and he took up his soft black hat, which he still +wore—“here is the mark of one of your bullets! I did not know about it +then; I do now, and I decline to shake hands with you.” + +By this time Muller’s fury had got the better of him. “You shall answer +for that, you English liar!” he said, at the same time clapping his +hand to his belt, in which his hunting-knife was placed. Thus for a few +seconds they stood face to face. John never flinched or moved. There he +stood, quiet and strong as some old stubby tree, his plain honest face +and watchful eye affording a strange contrast to the beautiful but +demoniacal countenance of the great Dutchman. Presently he spoke in +measured tones. + +“I have proved myself a better man than yourself once, Frank Muller, +and if necessary I will again, notwithstanding that knife of yours. +But, in the meantime, I wish to remind you that I have a pass signed by +your own General guaranteeing our safety. And now, Mr. Muller,” with a +flash of the blue eyes, “I am ready.” The Dutchman drew the knife, but +replaced it in its sheath. For a moment he was minded to end the matter +then and there, but suddenly, even in his rage, he remembered that +there was a witness. + +“A pass from the General!” he said, forgetting his caution in his fury. +“Much good a pass from the General is likely to be to you. You are in +my power, man! If I choose to close my hand I can crush you. But +there—there,” he added, checking himself, “perhaps I ought to make +allowances. You are one of a defeated people, and no doubt are sore, +and say what you do not mean. Anyhow, there is an end of it, especially +in the presence of a lady. Some day we may be able to settle our +trouble like men, Captain Niel; till then, with your permission, we +will let it drop.” + +“Quite so, Mr. Muller,” said John, “only you must not ask me to shake +hands with you.” + +“Very good, Captain Niel; and now, if you will allow me, I will tell +the boy to get your horses in; we must be getting on if we are to reach +Heidelberg to-night.” And he bowed himself out, feeling that once more +his temper had endangered the success of his plans. “Curse the fellow!” +he said to himself: “he is what those English call a gentleman. It was +brave of him to refuse to take my hand when he is in my power.” + +“John,” said Jess, as soon as the door had closed, “I am afraid of that +man. If I had understood that he had anything to do with the pass I +would not have taken it. I thought that the writing was familiar to me. +Oh dear! I wish we had stopped at Pretoria.” + +“What can’t be cured must be endured,” said John again. “The only thing +to do is to make the best of it, and get on as we can. You will be all +right anyhow, but he hates me like poison. I suppose that it is on +account of Bessie.” + +“Yes, that’s it,” said Jess: “he is, or was, madly in love with +Bessie.” + +“It is curious to think that a man like that can be in love,” remarked +John as he lit his pipe, “but it only shows what queer mixtures people +are. I say, Jess, if this fellow hates me so much, what made him give +me the pass, eh? What’s his game?” + +Jess shook her head as she answered, “I don’t know, John; I don’t like +it.” + +“I suppose he can’t mean to murder me; he did try it on once, you +know.” + +“Oh no, John,” she answered with a sort of cry, “not that.” + +“Well, I don’t know that it would matter much,” he said, with an +approach to cheerfulness which was rather a failure. “It would save one +a deal of worry, and only anticipate things a bit. But there, I +frightened you, and I dare say that, for the present at any rate, he is +an honest man, and has no intentions on my person. Look! there is Mouti +calling us. I wonder if those brutes have given him anything to eat! +We’ll secure the rest of this leg of mutton on chance. At any rate, Mr. +Frank Muller sha’n’t starve me to death,” and with a cheerful laugh he +left the room. + +In a few minutes they were on their road again. As they started Frank +Muller came up, took off his hat, and informed them that probably he +would join them on the morrow below Heidelberg, in which town they +would find every preparation to enable them to spend the night +comfortably. If he did not join them it would be because he was +detained on duty. In that case the two men had his orders to escort +them safely to Mooifontein, and, he added significantly, “I do not +think that you will be troubled with any further impoliteness.” + +In another moment he had galloped off on his great black horse, leaving +the pair considerably mystified and not a little relieved. + +“Well,” said John, “at any rate that does not look like foul play, +unless, indeed, he has gone on to prepare a warm reception for us.” + +Jess shrugged her shoulders, she could not understand it; and then they +settled themselves down to their long lonely drive. They had forty odd +miles to cover, but the guides, or rather the guard, would only consent +to their outspanning once, which they did on the open veldt a little +before sunset. At sundown they inspanned again, and started across the +darkening veldt. The road was in a shocking state, and until the moon +rose, which it did about nine o’clock, the journey was both difficult +and dangerous. After that things were a little better; and at last, +about eleven o’clock, they reached Heidelberg. The town seemed almost +deserted. Evidently the great body of the Boers were at the front, and +had only left a guard at their seat of government. + +“Where are we to outspan?” asked John of the Unicorn, who was jogging +on alongside, apparently half asleep. + +“At the hotel,” was the short reply, and thither they went. Thankful +enough they were to reach it, and to find, from the lights in the +windows, that people were still about. + +Notwithstanding the awful jolting of the cart, Jess had been asleep for +the last two hours. Her arm was hooked round the back of the seat, and +her head rested against John’s great-coat, which he had fixed up in +such a way as to make a pillow. “Where are we?” she asked, waking up +with a start as the cart stopped. “I have had such a bad dream! I +dreamt that I was travelling through life, and that suddenly everything +stopped, and I was dead.” + +“I don’t wonder at it,” laughed John; “the road for the last ten miles +has been as rough as anybody’s life. We are at the hotel. Here are the +boys to take the horses,” and he clambered stiffly out of the cart and +helped or rather lifted her down, for she was almost too cramped to +move. + +Standing at the inn-door, holding a light above her head, they found a +pleasant-looking Englishwoman, who welcomed them heartily. + +“Frank Muller was here three hours ago, and told me to expect you,” she +said; “and very glad I am to see an English face again, I can tell you. +My name is Gooch. Tell me, is my husband all right in Pretoria? He went +up there with his waggon just before the siege began, and I have not +heard a word from him since.” + +“Yes,” said John, “he is all right. He was slightly wounded in the +shoulder a month ago, but he has quite recovered.” + +“Oh, thank God!” said the poor woman, beginning to cry; “those devils +told me that he was dead—to torment me, I suppose. Come in, miss: there +is some hot supper ready when you have washed your hands. The boys will +see to the horses.” + +Accordingly they entered, and were made as happy as a good supper, a +hearty welcome, and comfortable beds could make people in their +condition. + +In the early morning one of their estimable escort sent in a message to +say that they were not to start before half-past ten, as the horses +required more rest, so they enjoyed some hours longer in bed than they +had expected, and anybody who has ever made a journey in a post-cart in +South Africa can understand the blessing thereof. At nine they +breakfasted, and as the clock struck half-past ten Mouti brought the +cart round, and with it came the two Boers. + +“Well, Mrs. Gooch,” said John, “what do we owe you?” + +“Nothing, Captain Niel, nothing. If you only knew what a weight you +have taken off my mind! Besides, we are quite ruined; the Boers have +looted all my husband’s cattle and horses, and until last week six of +them were quartered on me without paying a farthing, so it makes no +odds to me.” + +“Never mind, Mrs. Gooch,” said John cheerfully, “the Government will +compensate you when this business is over, no doubt.” + +Mrs. Gooch shook her head prophetically. “Never a halfpenny do I expect +to see,” she said. “If only I can get my husband back, and we can +escape out of this wicked place with our lives, I shall be thankful. +And look here, Captain Niel, I have put up a basketful of food—bread, +meat, and hard-boiled eggs, with a bottle of three-star brandy. It may +be useful to you and the young lady before you reach home. I don’t know +where you will sleep to-night, for the English are still holding +Standerton, so you won’t be able to stop there, and you can’t drive +right through. No, don’t thank me, I could not do less. +Good-bye—good-bye, miss; I hope you will get through all right. You had +better look out, though. Those two men you have with you are very bad +lots. I heard say, rightly or wrongly, that that fat-faced man with the +tooth shot two wounded soldiers through the head after the fight at +Bronker’s Spruit, and I know no good of the other. They were laughing +and talking together about you in the kitchen this morning; one of my +boys overheard them, and the Boer with the long hair said that, at any +rate, they would not be troubled with you after to-night. I don’t know +what he meant; perhaps they are going to change the escort; but I +thought that I had better tell you.” + +John looked grave, and his suspicions re-arose, but at that moment one +of the men in question rode up and told him that he must start at once, +and so off they went. + +This second day’s journey was in many respects a counterpart of the +first. The road was utterly deserted, and they saw neither Boer, +Englishman, nor Kafir upon it; nothing, indeed, except a few herds of +game grazing on the ridges. About two o’clock, however, just as they +had started after a short outspan, a little incident occurred. Suddenly +the Vilderbeeste’s horse put his foot into an ant-bear hole and fell +heavily, throwing his rider on to his head. He was up in a minute, but +his forehead had struck against the jawbone of a dead buck, and the +blood was pouring from it down his hairy face. His companion laughed +brutally at the accident, for there are some natures in the world to +which the sight of pain is irresistibly comical, but the injured man +cursed aloud, trying to staunch the flow with the lappet of his coat. + +“_Waacht een beeche_,” said Jess, “there is some water in that pool,” +and telling John to pull up she sprang from the trap and led the man, +who was half-blinded with blood, to the spring. Here she made him kneel +down and bathed the wound, which was not a very deep one, till it +stopped bleeding, and then, having first placed a pad of cotton-wool, +some of which she happened to have in the cart, upon it, she bound her +handkerchief tightly round his head. The man, brute as he was, appeared +to be much touched at her kindness. + +“Almighty,” he said, “but you have a kind heart and soft fingers; my +own wife could not have done it better; it is a pity that you are a +damned Englishwoman.” + +Jess climbed back into the cart, making no reply, and they started on, +the Vilderbeeste looking more savage and unhuman than ever with the +discoloured handkerchief round his head, and his dense black beard and +hair mattered with gore which he would not take the trouble to wash out +of them. + +After this nothing further occurred till, by the orders of their +escort, they outspanned, an hour or so before sunset, at a spot in the +veldt where a faint track forked from the Standerton road. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. +IN THE DRIFT OF THE VAAL + + +The day had been intensely hot, and our travellers sat in the shade of +the cart overpowered and gasping. During the afternoon a faint breeze +blew, but this had now died away, and the stifling air felt as thick as +though they were breathing cream. Even the two Boers seemed to feel the +heat, for they lay outstretched on the grass a few paces to the left, +to all appearance fast asleep. As for the horses, they were thoroughly +done up—too much so to eat—and hobbled along as well as their +knee-halters would allow, daintily picking a mouthful here and a +mouthful there. The only person who did not seem to mind was the Zulu +Mouti, who sat on an ant-heap near the horses, in full glare of the +setting sun, and comfortably droned out a little song of his own +invention, for Zulus seem as clever at improvising as are the Italians. + +“Have another egg, Jess?” said John. “It will do you good.” + +“No, thank you; the last one stuck in my throat. It is impossible to +eat in this heat.” + +“You had better. Goodness knows when and where we shall stop again. I +can get nothing out of our delightful escort; either they don’t know or +they won’t say.” + +“I can’t, John. There is a thunderstorm coming up. I feel it in my +head, and I can never eat before a thunderstorm—and when I am tired,” +she added by an afterthought. + +After that the conversation flagged for a while. + +“John,” said Jess at last, “where do you suppose we are going to camp +to-night? If we follow the main road we shall reach Standerton in an +hour.” + +“I don’t think that they will go near Standerton,” he answered, “I +suppose that we shall cross the Vaal by another drift and have to +‘veldt’ it.” + +Just then the two Boers woke up and began to talk earnestly together, +as though they were debating something hotly. + +Slowly the huge red ball of the sun sank towards the horizon, steeping +the earth and sky in blood. About a hundred yards from where they sat +the little bridle path that branched from the main road crossed the +crest of one of the great landwaves which rolled away in every +direction towards the far horizon. John watched the sun sinking behind +it till something called off his attention for a minute. When he looked +up again there was a figure on horseback, standing quite still upon the +crest of the ridge, and in full glow of the now disappearing sun. It +was Frank Muller. John recognised him in a moment. His horse was halted +sideways, so that even at that distance every line of his features, and +even the trigger-guard of the rifle which rested on his knee, showed +distinctly against the background of smoky red. Nor was that all. Both +he and his horse had the appearance of being absolutely on fire. The +effect produced was so wild and extraordinary that John called his +companion’s attention to it. Jess looked and shuddered involuntarily. + +“He looks like a devil in hell,” she said; “the fire seems to be +running all up and down him.” + +“Well,” said John, “he is certainly a devil, but I am sorry to say that +he has not yet reached his destination. Here he comes, like a +whirlwind.” + +In another twenty seconds Muller had reined the great black horse on to +his haunches alongside of them, and was smiling sweetly and taking off +his hat. + +“You see I have managed to keep my word,” he said. “I can tell you that +I had great difficulty in doing so; indeed I was nearly obliged to give +the thing up at the last moment. However, here I am.” + +“Where are we to outspan to-night?” asked Jess. “At Standerton?” + +“No,” he said; “I am afraid that is more than I could manage for you, +unless you can persuade the English officers there to surrender. What I +have arranged is, that we should cross the Vaal at a drift I know of +about two hours (twelve miles) from here, and outspan at a farm on the +other side. Do not trouble, I assure you you shall both sleep well +to-night,” and he smiled, a somewhat terrifying smile, as Jess thought. + +“But how about this drift, Mr. Muller?” said John. “Is it safe? I +should have thought the Vaal would have been in flood after all the +rain that we have had.” + +“The drift is perfectly safe, Captain Niel. I crossed it myself about +two hours ago. I know you have a bad opinion of me, but I suppose you +do not think that I would guide you to an unsafe drift?” Then with +another bow he rode on to speak to the two Boers, saying, as he went, +“Will you tell the Kafir to put the horses in?” + +With a shrug of the shoulders John rose and went to Mouti, to help him +to drive up the four greys, which were now standing limply together, +biting at the flies, that, before a storm, sting more sharply than at +any other time. The two horses belonging to the escort were some fifty +paces to the left. It was as though they appreciated the position of +affairs, and declined to mix with the animals of the discredited +Englishman. + +The Boers rose as Muller came and walked towards their horses, Muller +slowly following them. As they drew near, the horses hobbled away for +twenty or thirty yards. Then they lifted up their heads, and, as a +consequence, their forelegs, to which the heads were tied, and stood +looking defiantly at their captors, just as though they were trying to +make up their minds whether or not to shake hands with them. + +Frank Muller was alongside the two men now, and they were alongside the +horses. + +“Listen!” he said sternly. + +The men looked up. + +“Go on loosening the reims, and listen.” + +They obeyed, and slowly began to fumble at the knee-halters. + +“You understand what our orders are. Repeat them—you!” + +The man with the tooth, who was addressed, still handling the reim, +began as follows: “To take the two prisoners to the Vaal, to force them +into the water where there is no drift, at night, so that they drown: +if they do not drown, to shoot them.” + +“Those are the orders,” said the Vilderbeeste, grinning. + +“You understand them?” + +“We understand, _Meinheer_; but, forgive us, the matter is a big one. +You have the orders—we wish to see the authority.” + +“Yah, yah,” said the other, “show us the authority. These are two +harmless people enough. Show us the authority for killing them. People +must not be killed so, even if they are English folk, without proper +authority, especially when one is a pretty girl who would do for a +man’s wife.” + +Frank Muller set his teeth. “Nice fellows you are to have under one!” +he said. “I am your officer; what other authority do you want? But I +thought of this. See here!” and he drew a paper from his pocket. “Here, +you—read it! Careful now—do not let them see from the waggon.” + +The big flabby-faced man took the paper and, still bending down over +the horse’s knee, read aloud: + +“The two prisoners and their servant (an Englishman, an English girl, +and a Zulu Kafir) to be executed in pursuance of our decree, as your +commanding officer shall order, as enemies to the Republic. For so +doing this shall be your warrant.” + +“You see the signature,” said Muller, “and you do not dispute it?” + +“Yah, we see it, and we do not dispute it.” + +“Good. Give me back the warrant.” + +The man with the tooth was about to obey when his companion interposed. + +“No,” he said, “the warrant must remain with us. I do not like the job. +If it were only the man and the Kafir now—but the girl, the girl! If we +give you back the warrant, what shall we have to show for the deed of +blood? The warrant must remain with us.” + +“Yah, yah, he is right,” said the Unicorn; “the warrant must remain +with us. Put it in your pocket, Jan.” + +“Curse you, give it me!” said Muller between his teeth. + +“No, Frank Muller, no!” answered the Vilderbeeste, patting his pocket, +while the two or three square inches of skin round his nose wrinkled up +in a hairy grin that, owing to the cut on his head, was even more +curious than usual. “If you wish to have the warrant you shall have it, +but then we shall up-saddle and go, and you can do your murdering +yourself. There, there! take your choice; we shall be glad enough to +get home, for we do not care for the job. If I go out shooting I like +to shoot buck or Kafirs, not white people.” + +Frank Muller reflected a moment, then he laughed a little. + +“You are funny folk, you home-bred Boers,” he said; “but perhaps you +are right. After all, what does it matter who keeps the warrant, +provided that the thing is well done? Mind that there is no bungling, +that is all.” + +“Yah, yah,” said the fat-faced man, “you can trust us for that. It +won’t be the first that we have toppled over. If I have my warrant I +ask nothing better than to go on shooting Englishmen all night, one +down the other come on. I know no prettier sight than an Englishman +toppling over.” + +“Stop that talk and saddle up, the cart is waiting. You fools can never +understand the difference between killing when it is necessary to kill +and killing for killing’s sake. These people must die because they have +betrayed the land.” + +“Yah, yah,” said the Vilderbeeste, “betrayed the land; we have heard +that before. Those who betray the land must manure it; that is a good +rule!” and he laughed and passed on. + +Frank Muller watched his retreating form with a smile of peculiar +malignity on his handsome face. “Ah, my friend,” he said to himself in +Dutch, “you and that warrant will part company before you are many +hours older. Why, it would be enough to hang me, even in this happy +land of patriots. Old —— would never forgive even me for taking that +little liberty with his name. Dear me, what a lot of trouble it is to +be rid of a single enemy! Well, it must be done, and Bessie is well +worth the pains; but if it had not been for this war I could never have +managed it. Yes! I did well to give my voice for war. I am sorry for +the girl Jess, but it is necessary; there must be no living witnesses +left. Ah! we are going to have a storm. So much the better. Such deeds +are best done in a storm.” + +Muller was right; the storm was coming up fast, throwing a veil of inky +cloud across the star-spangled sky. In South Africa there is but little +twilight, and the darkness follows hard upon the heels of the day. No +sooner had the angry ball of the setting sun disappeared than the night +swept with all her stars across the sky. And now after her came the +great storm, covering up her beauty with his blackness. The air was +stiflingly hot. Above was a starry space, to the east the black bosom +of the storm, in which the lightnings were already playing with an +incessant flickering movement, and to the west a deep red glow, +reflected from the sunken sun, yet lingered on the horizon. + +On toiled the horses through the gathering gloom. Fortunately, the road +was almost level and free from mud-holes, and Frank Muller rode just +ahead to show the way, his strong athletic form standing out clearly +against the departing western glow. Silent was the earth, silent as +death. No bird or beast, no blade of grass or breath of air stirred +upon its surface. The only sign of life was the continual flickering of +those awful tongues of light as they licked the lips of the storm. On +for mile after mile, on through the desolation! They were not far from +the river now, and could hear the distant growling of the thunder, +echoing down it solemnly. + +It was an awful night. Great pillars of mud-coloured cloud came +creeping across the surface of the veldt towards them, seemingly blown +along without a wind. Now, too, a ghastly-looking ringed moon arose +throwing an unholy and distorted light upon the blackness that seemed +to shudder in her rays as though with a prescience of the advancing +terror. On crept the mud-coloured columns, and on above them, and +resting on them, came the muttering storm. The cart was quite close to +the river now, and they could distinguish the murmur of its waters. To +their left stood a koppie, covered with white, slab-like stones, on +which the sickly moonbeams danced. + +“Look, John, look!” cried Jess with an hysterical laugh; “it is like a +huge graveyard, and the dark shadows between are the ghosts of the +buried.” + +“Nonsense,” said John sternly; “why do you talk such rubbish?” + +He felt that her mind had lost its balance, and, what is more, his own +nerves were shaken. Therefore he was naturally the angrier with her, +and the more determined to be perfectly matter-of-fact. + +Jess made no answer, but she was frightened, she could not tell why. +The scene resembled that of some awful dream, or of one of Doré’s +pictures come to life. No doubt, also, the near presence of the tempest +exercised a physical effect upon her. Even the wearied horses snorted +and shook themselves uneasily. + +They crept over the ridge of a wave of land, and the wheels rolled +softly on the grass. + +“Why, we are off the road!” shouted John to Muller, who was still +guiding them, fifteen or twenty paces ahead. + +“All right! all right! it is a short cut to the ford!” he called in +answer, and his voice rang strange and hollow through the great depths +of the silence. + +Below them, a hundred yards away, the light, such as it was, gleamed +faintly upon the wide surface of the river. Another five minutes and +they were on the bank, but in the gathering gloom they could not see +the opposite shore. + +“Turn to the left!” shouted Muller; “the ford is a few yards up. It is +too deep here for the horses.” + +John turned accordingly, and followed Muller’s horse some three hundred +yards up the bank till they came to a spot where the water ran with an +angry music, and there was a great swirl of eddies. + +“Here is the place,” said Muller; “you must make haste through. The +house is just the other side, and it will be better to get there before +the tempest breaks.” + +“It is all very well,” said John, “but I cannot see an inch before me; +I don’t know where to drive.” + +“Drive straight ahead; the water is not more than three feet deep, and +there are no rocks.” + +“I am not going, and that is all about it.” + +“You must go, Captain Niel. You cannot stop here, and if you can we +will not. Look there, man!” and he pointed to the east, which now +presented a truly awful and magnificent sight. + +Down, right on to them, its centre bowed out like the belly of a sail +by the weight of the wind behind, swept the great storm-cloud, while +over all its surface the lightning played unceasingly, appearing and +disappearing in needles of fire, and twisting and writhing serpentwise +round and about its outer edges. So brilliant was the intermittent +light that it appeared to fire the revolving pillars of mud-coloured +cloud beneath, and gave ghastly peeps of river and bank and plain, +miles upon miles away. But perhaps its most awful circumstance was the +preternatural silence. The distant boom and muttering of thunder had +died away, and now the great storm swept on in voiceless majesty, like +the passage of a ghostly host, from which there arose no sound of feet +or of rolling wheels. Only before it sped the swift angels of the wind, +and behind it swung the curtain of the rain. + +Even as Muller spoke a gust of icy air caught the cart and tilted it, +and the lightning needles began to ply more dreadfully than ever. The +tempest was breaking upon them. + +“Come, drive on, drive on!” he shouted, “you will be killed here; the +lightning always strikes along the water;” and as he said it he struck +one of the wheelers sharply with his whip. + +“Climb over the back of the seat, Mouti, and stand by to help me with +the reins!” called out John to the Zulu, who obeyed, scrambling between +him and Jess. + +“Now, Jess, hold on and say your prayers, for it strikes me that we +shall have need of them. So, horses, so!” + +The horses backed and plunged, but Muller on the one side and the +smooth-faced Boer on the other lashed them without mercy, and at last +they went into the river with a rush. The gust had passed now, and for +a few moments the heavy quiet was renewed, except for the whirl of the +water and the snake-like hiss of the coming rain. + +For some yards, ten or fifteen perhaps, all went well, and then John +discovered suddenly that they were driving into deep water; the two +leaders were evidently almost off their legs, and could scarcely stand +against the current of the flooded river. + +“Damn you!” he shouted back, “there is no drift here.” + +“Go on, go on, it is quite safe!” came Muller’s voice in answer. + +John said no more, but, putting out all his strength, he tried to drag +the horses round. Jess turned herself on the seat to look, and just +then a blaze of lightning flamed which revealed Muller and his two +companions standing dismounted on the bank, the muzzles of their rifles +pointing straight at the cart. + +“O God!” she screamed, “they are going to shoot us.” + +Even as the words passed her lips three tongues of fire flared from the +rifles’ mouths, and the Zulu Mouti, sitting by her side, pitched +heavily forward on to his head into the bottom of the cart, while one +of the wheelers reared straight up into the air with a shriek of agony, +and fell with a splash into the river. + +Then followed a scene of horror indescribable. Overhead the storm burst +in fury, and flash after flash of fork, or rather chain lightning, +leapt into the river. The thunder, too, began to crack like the trump +of doom; the wind rushed down, tearing the surface of the water into +foam, and, catching under the tent of the cart, lifted it quite off the +wheels, so that it began to float. Then the two leaders, made mad with +fear by the fury of the storm and the dying struggles of the +off-wheeler, plunged and tore at the traces till at last they rent +themselves loose and vanished between the darkness overhead and the +boiling water beneath. Away floated the cart, now touching the bottom +and now riding on the river like a boat, oscillating this way and that, +and slowly turning round and round. With it floated the dead horse, +dragging down the other wheeler beneath the water. It was awful to see +his struggles in the glare of the lightning, but at last he sank and +choked. + +Meanwhile, sounding sharply and clearly through the din and hubbub of +the storm, came the cracking of the three rifles whenever the flashes +showed the position of the cart to the murderers on the bank. Mouti was +lying still in the bottom of it on the bed-plank, a bullet between his +broad shoulders and another in his skull: but John felt that his life +was yet whole in him, though something had hissed past his face and +stung it. Instinctively he reached across the cart and drew Jess on to +his knee, and cowered over her, thinking dimly that perhaps his body +would protect her from the bullets. + +_Rip! rip!_ through the wood and canvas; _phut! phut!_ through the air; +but some merciful power protected them, and though one cut John’s coat +and two passed through the skirt of Jess’s dress, not a bullet struck +them. Very soon the shooting began to grow wild, then that dense veil +of rain came down and wrapped them so closely that even the lightning +could not reveal their whereabouts to the assassins on the bank. + +“Stop shooting,” said Frank Muller; “the cart has sunk, and there is an +end of them. No human being can have lived through that fire and the +Vaal in flood.” + +The two Boers ceased firing, and the Unicorn shook his head softly and +remarked to his companion that the damned English people in the water +could not be much wetter than they were on the bank. It was a curious +thing to say at such a moment, but probably the spirit which caused the +remark was not so much callousness as that which animated Cromwell, who +flipped the ink in his neighbour’s face when he signed the +death-warrant of his king. + +The Vilderbeeste made no reply. His conscience was oppressed; he had a +touch of imagination. He thought of the soft fingers which had bound up +his head that morning: the handkerchief—her handkerchief!—was still +around it. Now those fingers would be gripping at the slippery stones +of the Vaal in a struggle for life, or more probably they were already +limp in death, with little grains of gravel sticking beneath the nails. +It was a painful thought, but he consoled himself by remembering the +warrant, also by the reflection that whoever had shot the people he had +not, for he had been careful to fire wide of the cart every time. + +Muller was also thinking of the warrant which he had forged. He must +get it back somehow, even if—— + +“Let us take shelter under the shore. There is a flat place, about +fifty yards up, where the bank hangs down. This rain is drowning us. We +can’t up-saddle till it clears. I must have a nip of brandy, too. +Almighty! I can see that girl’s face still! the lightning shone on it +just as I shot. Well, she will be in heaven now, poor thing, if English +people ever go to heaven.” + +It was the Unicorn who spoke, and the Vilderbeeste made no reply, but +advanced with him to where the horses stood. They caught the patient +brutes that were waiting for their masters, their heads well down and +the water streaming from their flanks, and led them along with them. +Frank Muller stood by his own horse still thinking, and watched them +vanish into the gloom. How was he to win that warrant back without +dyeing his hands even redder than they were? + +As he thought an answer came. For at that moment, accompanied by a +fearful thunderclap, there shot from the storm overhead, which had now +nearly passed away, one of those awful flashes that sometimes end an +African tempest. It lit up the scene with a light vivid as that of day, +and in the white heart of it Muller saw his two companions in crime and +their horses as the great king saw the men in the furnace. They were +about forty paces from him on the crest of the bank. He saw them, one +moment erect; the next—men and horses falling this way and that prone +to the earth. Then it was dark again. + +Muller staggered with the shock, and when it had passed he rushed to +the spot, calling the men by name; but no answer came except the echo +of his voice. He was there alone now, and the moonlight began to +struggle faintly through the rain. Its pale beams lit upon two +outstretched forms—one lying on its back, its distorted features gazing +up to heaven, the other on its face. By them, the legs of the nearer +sticking straight into the air, lay the horses. They had all gone to +their account. The lightning had killed them, as it kills many a man in +Africa. + +Frank Muller looked; then, forgetting about the warrant and everything +else in the horror of what he took to be a visible judgment, he rushed +to his horse and galloped wildly away, pursued by all the terrors of +hell. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. +THE SHADOW OF DEATH + + +The firing from the bank had ceased, and John, who still kept his head, +being a rather phlegmatic specimen of the Anglo-Saxon race, knew that, +for the moment at any rate, all danger from this source was ended. Jess +lay perfectly still in his arms, her head upon his breast. A horrible +idea struck him that she might be shot, perhaps already dead! + +“Jess, Jess,” he shouted, through the turmoil of the storm, “are you +hit?” + +She lifted her head an inch or two—“I think not,” she said. “What is +going on?” + +“God only knows, I don’t. Sit still, it will be all right.” + +But in his heart he knew it was not “all right,” and that they stood in +imminent danger of death by drowning. They were whirling down a raging +river in a cart. In a few moments it was probable that the cart would +upset, and then—— + +Presently the wheel bumped against something, the cart gave a great +lurch, and scraped along a little. + +“Now for it,” thought John, for the water was pouring over the +flooring. Then came a check, and the cart leant still farther to one +side. + +_Crack!_ The pole had gone, and the cart swung round bows, or rather +box, on to the stream. What had happened was this: they had drifted +across a rock that projected from the bed of the river, the force of +the current having washed the dead horses to the one side of it and the +cart to the other. Consequently they were anchored to the rock, as it +were, the anchor being the dead horses, and the cable the stout traces +of untanned leather. So long as these traces and the rest of the +harness held, they were safe from drowning; but of course they did not +know this. + +Indeed, they knew nothing. Above them rolled the storm; about them the +river seethed and the rain hissed. They knew nothing except that they +were helpless living atoms tossing between the wild waters and the +wilder night, with imminent death staring them in the face, around, +above, and below. To and fro they rocked, locked fast in each other’s +arms, and as they swung came that awful flash that, though they guessed +it not, sent two of the murderers to their account, and for an instant, +even through the sheet of rain, illumined the space of boiling water +and the long lines of the banks on either side. It showed the point of +rock to which they were fixed, it glared upon the head of one of the +poor horses tossed up by the driving current as though it were still +trying to escape its watery doom, and revealed the form of the dead +Zulu, Mouti, lying on his face, one arm hanging over the edge of the +cart and dabbling in the water that ran level with it, in ghastly +similarity to some idle passenger in a pleasure boat, who lets his +fingers slip softly through the stream. + +In a second it was gone, and once more they were in darkness. Then by +degrees the storm passed off and the moon began to shine, feebly +indeed, for the sky was not clear washed of clouds, which still trailed +along in the tracks of the tempest, sucked after it by its mighty +draught. Still it was lighter and the rain thinned gradually till at +last it stopped. The storm had rolled in majesty down the ways of +night, and there was no sound round them save the sound of rushing +water. + +“John,” said Jess presently, “can we do anything?” + +“Nothing, dear.” + +“Shall we escape, John?” + +He hesitated. “It is in God’s hands, dear. We are in great danger. If +the cart upsets we shall be drowned. Can you swim?” + +“No, John.” + +“If we can hang on here till daylight we may get ashore, if those +devils are not there to shoot us. I do not think that our chance is a +good one.” + +“John, are you afraid to die?” + +He hesitated. “I don’t know, dear. I hope to meet it like a man.” + +“Tell me what you truly think. Is there any hope for us at all?” + +Once more he paused, reflecting whether or no he should speak the +truth. Finally he decided to do so. + +“I can see none, Jess. If we are not drowned we are sure to be shot. +They will wait about the bank till morning, and for their own sakes +they will not dare to let us live.” + +He did not know that all which was left of two of them would indeed +wait for many a long year, while the third had fled aghast. + +“Jess, dear,” he went on, “it is of no good to tell lies. Our lives may +end any minute. Humanly speaking, they must end before the sun is up.” + +The words were awful enough—if the reader can by an effort of +imagination throw himself for a moment into the position of these two, +he will understand how awful. + +It is a dreadful thing, when in the flow of health and youth, suddenly +to be placed face to face with the certainty of violent death, and to +know that in a few more minutes your course will have been run, and +that you will have commenced to explore a future, which may prove to be +even worse, because more enduring, than the life you are now quitting +in agony. It is a dreadful thing, as any who have ever stood in such a +peril can testify, and John felt his heart sink within him at the +thought of it—for Death is very strong. But there is one thing +stronger, a woman’s perfect love, against which Death himself cannot +prevail. And so it came to pass that now as he fixed his cold gaze upon +Jess’s eyes they answered him with a strange unearthly light. She +feared not Death, so that she might meet him with her beloved. Death +was her hope and opportunity. Here she had nothing; there she might +have all. The fetters had fallen from her, struck off by an +overmastering hand. Her duty was satisfied, her trust fulfilled, and +she was free—free to die with her beloved. Ay! her love was indeed a +love deeper than the grave; and now it rose in eager strength, standing +expectant upon the earth, ready, when dissolution had lent it wings, to +soar to its own predestined star. + +“You are sure, John?” she asked again. + +“Yes, dear, yes. Why do you force me to repeat it? I can see no hope.” + +Her arms were round his neck, her soft curls rested on his cheek, and +the breath from her lips played upon his brow. Indeed it was only by +speaking into each other’s ears that conversation was possible, owing +to the rushing sound of the waters. + +“Because I have something to tell you which I cannot tell unless we are +going to die. You know it, but I want to say it with my own lips before +I die. I love you, John, _I love you, I love you_; and I am glad to die +because I can die with you, and go away with you.” + +He heard, and such was the power of her love, that his, which had been +put out of mind in the terror of that hour, reawoke and took the colour +of her own. He too forgot the imminence of death in the warm presence +of his down-trodden passion. She was in his arms as he had taken her +during the firing, and he bent his head to look at her. The moonlight +played upon her pallid, quivering face, and showed that in her eyes +which no man could look upon and turn away. Once more—yes, even +then—there came over him that feeling of utter surrender to the sweet +mastery of her will which had possessed him in the sitting-room of “The +Palatial.” Only all earthly considerations having faded into +nothingness now, he no longer hesitated, but pressed his lips to hers +and kissed her again and yet again. It was perhaps as wild and pathetic +a love scene as ever the old moon above has witnessed. There they +clung, those two, in the actual shadow of death experiencing the +fullest and acutest joy that our life has to offer. Nay, death was +present with them, for, beneath their very feet, half-hidden by the +water, lay the stiffening corpse of the Zulu. + +To and fro swung the cart in the rush of the swollen river, up and down +beside them the carcases of the horses rose and fell with the surge of +the water, on whose surface the broken moonbeams played and quivered. +Overhead was the blue star-sown depth through which they were waiting +presently to pass, and to the right and left the long broken outlines +of the banks stretched away till at last they appeared to grow together +in the gloom. + +But they heeded none of these things; they remembered nothing except +that they had found each other’s hearts, and were happy with a wild joy +it is not often given to us to feel. The past was forgotten, the future +loomed at hand, and between the one and the other was spanned a bridge +of passion made perfect and sanctified by its approaching earthly end. +Bessie was forgotten, all things were forgotten, for they were alone +with Love and Death. + +Let those who would blame them pause awhile. Why not? They had kept the +faith. They had denied themselves and run straightly down the path of +duty. But the compacts of life end with life. No man may bargain for +the beyond; even the marriage service shrinks from it. And now that +hope had gone and life was at its extremest ebb, why should they not +take their joy before they passed to the land where, perchance, such +things will be forgotten? So it seemed to them; if indeed they were any +longer capable of reason. + +He looked into her eyes and she laid her head upon his heart in that +mute abandonment of worship which is sometimes to be met with in the +world, and is redeemed from vulgar passion by an indefinable quality of +its own. He looked into her eyes and was glad to have lived, ay, even +to have reached this hour of death. And she, lost in the abyss of her +deep nature, sobbed out her love-laden heart upon his breast, and +called him her own, her own, her very own! + +Thus the long hours passed unheeded, till at last a new-born freshness +in the air told them that they were not far from dawn. The death they +were awaiting had not found them. It must now be very near at hand. + +“John,” she whispered in his ear, “do you think that they will shoot +us?” + +“Yes,” he answered hoarsely; “they must for their own sakes.” + +“I wish it were over,” she said. + +Suddenly she started back from his arms with a little cry, causing the +cart to rock violently. + +“I forgot,” she said; “you can swim, though I cannot. Why should you +not swim to the bank, and escape under cover of the darkness? It is +only fifty yards, and the current is not so very swift.” + +The idea of flight without Jess had never occurred to John, and now +that she suggested it, it struck him as so absurd that he broke into +the ghost of a laugh. + +“Don’t be foolish, Jess,” he said. + +“Yes, yes, I will. Go! You _must_ go! It does not matter about me now. +I know that you love me, and I can die happy. I will wait for you. Oh, +John! wherever I am, if I have any individual life and any remembrance +I will wait for you. Never forget that all your days. However far I may +seem away, if I live at all, I shall be waiting for you. And now go; +you _shall_ go, I say. No, I will not be disobeyed. If you will not go +I will throw myself into the water. Oh, the cart is turning over!” + +“Hold on, for God’s sake!” shouted John. “The traces have broken.” + +He was right; the tough leather was at length worn through by constant +rubbing against the rock, and the strain and sway of the dead horses on +the one side, and of the cart upon the other. Round it spun, broadside +on to the current, and immediately began to heave over, till at last +the angle was so sharp that the dead body of poor Mouti slid out with a +splash and vanished into the darkness. This relieved the cart, and it +righted for a moment, but now being no longer held up by the bodies of +the horses or by the sustaining power of the wind it began to fill and +sink, and at the same time to revolve swiftly. John understood that all +was finished, and that to stop in the cart would only mean certain +death, because they would be held under water by the canvas tent. So +with a devout aspiration for assistance he seized Jess round the waist +with one arm and sprang off into the river. As he leapt the cart filled +and sank. + +“Lie still, for Heaven’s sake!” he shouted, when they rose to the +surface. + +In the dim light of the dawn which was now creeping over the earth he +could discover the line of the left bank of the Vaal, the same from +which they had been driven into the river on the previous night. It +appeared to be about forty yards away, but the current was running +quite six knots, and he saw that, burdened as he was, it would be quite +impracticable for him to reach it. The only thing to do was to keep +afloat. Luckily the water was warm and he was a strong swimmer. In a +minute or so he saw that about fifty paces ahead some rocks jutted out +twenty yards into the bed of the stream. Then catching Jess by the hair +with his left hand he made his effort, and a desperate one it was. The +broken water boiled furiously round the rocks. Presently he was in it, +and, better still, his feet touched the ground. Next second he was +swept off them and rolled over and over at the bottom of the river, to +be sadly knocked about against the boulders. Somehow he struggled to +his legs, still retaining his hold of Jess. Twice he fell, and twice he +struggled up again. One more effort—so. The water was only up to his +thighs now, and he was obliged to half carry his companion. + +As he lifted her he felt a deadly sickness come over him, but still he +staggered on, till at last they both fell of a heap upon a big flat +rock, and for a while he remembered no more. + +When he came to himself again it was to see Jess, who had recovered +sooner than he had, standing over him and chafing his hands. Indeed, as +the sun was up he guessed that he must have lost his senses for some +time. He rose with difficulty and shook himself. Except for some +bruises he was sound enough. + +“Are you hurt?” he asked of Jess, who, pale, faint and bruised, her hat +gone, her dress torn by bullets and the rocks, and dripping water at +every step, looked an exceedingly forlorn object. + +“No,” she said feebly, “not very much.” + +He sat down on the rock in the sun, for they were both shivering with +cold. “What is to be done?” he asked. + +“Die,” she said fiercely; “I meant to die—why did you not let me die? +Ours is a position that only death can set straight.” + +“Don’t be alarmed,” he said, “your desire will soon be gratified: those +murderous villains will hunt us up presently.” + +The bed and banks of the river were clothed with thin layers of mist, +but as the sun gathered power these lifted. The spot at which they had +climbed ashore was about three hundred yards below that where the two +Boers and their horses had been destroyed by the lightning on the +previous night. Seeing the mist thin, John insisted upon Jess crouching +with him behind a rock so that they could look up and down the river +without being seen themselves. Presently he made out the forms of two +horses grazing about a hundred yards away. + +“Ah,” he said, “I thought so; the devils have off-saddled there. Thank +Heaven I have still got my revolver, and the cartridges are watertight. +I mean to sell our lives as dearly as I can.” + +“Why, John,” cried Jess, following the line of his out-stretched hand, +“those are not the Boers’ horses, they are our two leaders that broke +loose in the water. Look, their collars are still on.” + +“By Jove! so they are. Now if only we can catch them without being +caught ourselves we have a chance of getting out of this.” + +“Well, there is no cover about, and I can’t see any signs of Boers. +They must have been sure of having killed us, and gone away,” Jess +answered. + +John looked round, and for the first time a sense of hope began to +creep into his heart. Perhaps they would survive after all. + +“Let’s go up and look. It is no good stopping here; we must get food +somewhere, or we shall faint.” + +She rose without a word, and taking his hand they advanced together +along the bank. They had not gone twenty yards before John uttered an +exclamation of joy and rushed at something white that had lodged in the +reeds. It was the basket of food which was given to them by the +innkeeper’s wife at Heidelberg that had been washed out of the cart, +and as the lid was fastened nothing was lost out of it. He undid it. +There was the bottle of three-star brandy untouched, also most of the +eggs, meat, and bread, the last, of course, sodden and worthless. It +did not take long to draw the cork, and then John filled a broken +wineglass there was in the basket half full of water and half of +brandy, and made Jess drink it, with the result that she began to look +a little less like a corpse. Next, he repeated the process twice on his +own account, and instantly felt as though new life were flowing into +him. Then they went on cautiously. + +The horses allowed themselves to be caught without trouble, and did not +appear to be any the worse for the adventure, although the flank of one +was grazed by a bullet. + +“There is a tree yonder where the bank shelves over; we had better tie +the horses up, dress, and eat some breakfast,” said John, almost +cheerfully; and accordingly they proceeded towards it. Suddenly John, +who was ahead, started back with an exclamation of fear, and the horses +began to snort, for there, stark and stiff in death, already swollen +and discoloured by decomposition—as is sometimes the case with people +killed by lightning—the rifles in their hands twisted and fused, their +clothes cut and blown from their bandoliers—lay the two Boer murderers. +It was a terrifying sight, and, taken in conjunction with their own +remarkable escape, one to make the most careless and sceptical reflect. + +“And yet there are people who say that there is no God, and no +punishment for wickedness,” said John aloud. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. +MEANWHILE + + +John, it will be remembered, left Mooifontein for Pretoria towards the +end of December, and with him went all the life and light of the place. + +“Dear me, Bessie,” said old Silas Croft on the evening after he had +started, “the house seems very dull without John”—a remark in which +Bessie, who was weeping secretly in the corner, heartily concurred. + +Then, a few days afterwards, came the news of the investment of +Pretoria, but no news of John. They ascertained that he had passed +Standerton in safety, but beyond that nothing could be heard of him. +Day after day passed, but without tidings, and at last, one evening, +Bessie broke into a passion of hysterical tears. + +“What did you send him for?” she asked of her uncle. “It was +ridiculous—I knew that it was ridiculous. He could not help Jess or +bring her back; the most that could happen was that they would be both +shut up together. Now he is dead—I know that those Boers have shot +him—and it is all your fault! And if he is dead I will never speak to +you again.” + +The old man retreated, somewhat dismayed at this outburst, which was +not at all in Bessie’s style. + +“Ah, well,” he said to himself, “that is the way of women; they turn +into tigers about a man!” + +There may have been truth in this reflection, but a tiger is not a +pleasant domestic pet, as poor old Silas discovered during the next two +months. The more Bessie thought about the matter the more incensed she +grew because he had sent her lover away. Indeed, in a little while she +quite forgot that she had herself acquiesced in his going. In short, +her temper gave way completely under the strain, so that at last her +uncle scarcely dared to mention John’s name. + +Meanwhile, things had been going as ill without as within. First of +all—that was the day after John’s departure—two or three loyal Boers +and an English store-keeper from Lake Chrissie, in New Scotland, +outspanned on the place and implored Silas Croft to fly for his life +into Natal while there was yet time. They said that the Boers would +certainly shoot any Englishman who might be sufficiently defenceless. +But the old man would not listen. + +“I am an Englishman—_civis Romanus sum_,” he said in his sturdy +fashion, “and I do not believe that they will touch me, who have lived +among them for twenty years. At any rate, I am not going to run away +and leave my place at the mercy of a pack of thieves. If they shoot me +they will have to reckon with England for the deed, so I expect that +they will leave me alone. Bessie can go if she likes, but I shall stop +here and see the row through, and there’s an end of it.” + +Whereon, Bessie having flatly declined to budge an inch, the loyalists +departed in a hurry, metaphorically wringing their hands at such an +exhibition of ill-placed confidence and insular pride. This little +scene occurred at dinner-time, and after dinner old Silas proceeded to +hurl defiance at his foes in another fashion. Going to a cupboard in +his bedroom, he extracted an exceedingly large Union Jack, and promptly +advanced with it to an open spot between two of the orange-trees in +front of the house, where in such a position that it could be seen for +miles around a flagstaff was planted, formed of a very tall young blue +gum. Upon this flagstaff it was Silas’s habit to hoist the large Union +Jack on the Queen’s birthday, Christmas Day, and other State occasions. + +“Now, Jantje,” he said, when he had bent on the bunting, “run her up, +and I’ll cheer!” and accordingly, as the broad flag floated out on the +breeze, he took off his hat and waved it, and gave such a “hip, hip, +hoorah!” in his stentorian tones that Bessie ran out from the house to +see what was the matter. Nor was he satisfied with this, but, having +obtained a ladder, he placed it against the post and sent Jantje up it, +instructing him to fasten the rope on which the flag was bent at a +height of about fifteen feet from the ground, so that nobody should get +at it to haul it down. + +“There,” he said, “I’ve nailed my colours to the mast. That will show +these gentry that an Englishman lives here. + +“Confound their politics, +Frustrate their knavish tricks, +God save the Queen.” + + +“Amen,” said Bessie, but she had her doubts about the wisdom of that +Union Jack, which, whenever the wind blew, streamed out, a visible +defiance not calculated to soothe the breasts of excited patriots. + +Indeed, two days after that, a patrol of three Boers, spying the ensign +whilst yet a long way off, galloped up in hot haste to see what it +meant. Silas saw them coming, and, taking his rifle in his hand, went +and stood beneath the flag, for which he had an almost superstitious +veneration, feeling sure that they would not dare to meddle either with +him or it. + +“What is the meaning of this, _Oom_ Silas?” asked the leader of the +three men, with all of whom he was perfectly acquainted. + +“It means that an Englishman lives here, Jan,” was the answer. + +“Haul the dirty rag down!” said the man. + +“I will see you damned first!” replied old Silas. + +Thereon the Boer dismounted and made for the flagstaff, only to find +“Uncle Croft’s” rifle in a direct line with his chest. + +“You will have to shoot me first, Jan,” he said, and thereon, after +some consultation, they left him and went away. + +In truth, his British nationality notwithstanding, Silas Croft was very +popular with the Boers, most of whom had known him since they were +children, and to whose _Volksraad_ he had twice been elected. It was to +this personal popularity he owed the fact that he was not turned out of +his house, and forced to choose between serving against his countrymen +or being imprisoned and otherwise maltreated at the very commencement +of the rebellion. + +For a fortnight or more after this flag episode nothing of any +importance happened, and then came the tidings of the crushing defeat +at Laing’s Nek. At first, Silas Croft would not believe it. “No general +could have been so mad,” he said; but soon the report was amply +confirmed from native sources. + +Another week passed, and with it came the news of the British defeat at +Ingogo. The first they heard of it was on the morning of February 8, +when Jantje brought a Kafir up to the verandah at breakfast-time. This +Kafir said that he had been watching the fight from a mountain; that +the English were completely hemmed in and fighting well, but that +“their arms were tired,” and they would all be killed at night-time. +The Boers, he said, were not suffering at all—the English could not +“shoot straight.” After hearing this they passed a sufficiently +miserable day and evening. About twelve o’clock that night, however, a +native spy despatched by Mr. Croft returned with the report that the +English general had won safely back to camp, having suffered heavily +and abandoned his wounded, many of whom had died in the rain, for the +night after the battle was wet. + +Then came another long pause, during which no reliable news reached +them, though the air was thick with rumours, and old Silas was made +happy by hearing that large reinforcements were on their way from +England. + +“Ah, Bessie, my dear, they will soon sing another song now,” he said in +great glee; “and what’s more, it’s about time they did. I can’t +understand what the soldiers have been about—I can’t indeed.” + +And so the time wore heavily along till at last there came a dreadful +day, which Bessie will never forget so long as she lives. It was the +20th of February—just a week before the final disaster at Majuba Hill. +Bessie was standing idly on the verandah, looking down the long avenue +of blue gums, where the shadows formed a dark network to catch the +wandering rays of light. The place looked very peaceful, and certainly +no one could have known from its appearance that a bloody war was being +waged within a few miles. The Kafirs came and went about their work as +usual, or made pretence to; but now and then a close observer might see +them stop, look towards the Drakensberg, and then say a few words to +their neighbour about the wonderful thing which had come to pass, that +the Boers were beating the great white people, who came out of the sea +and shook the earth with their tread. Whereon the neighbour would take +the opportunity to relax from toil, squat down, have a pinch of snuff, +and relate in what particular collection of rocks on the hillside he +and his wives slept the last night—for when the Boers are out on +commando the Kafirs will not sleep in their huts for fear of being +surprised and shot down. Then the pair would spend half an hour or so +in speculating on what would be their fate when the Boer had eaten up +the Englishman and taken back the country, and finally come to the +conclusion that they had better emigrate to Natal. + +Bessie, on the verandah, noted all this going on, every now and again +catching snatches of the lazy rascals’ talk, which chimed in but too +sadly with her own thoughts. Turning from them impatiently, she began +to watch the hens marching solemnly about the drive, followed by their +broods. This picture, also, had a sanguinary background, for under an +orange-tree two rival cocks were fighting furiously. They always did +this about once a week, nor did they cease from troubling till each +retired, temporarily blinded, to the shade of a separate orange-tree, +where they spent the rest of the week in recovering, only to emerge +when the cure was effected and fight their battle over again. +Meanwhile, a third cock, young in years but old in wisdom, who steadily +refused to retaliate when attacked, looked after the hens in dispute. +To-day the fray was particularly ferocious, and, fearing that the +combatants would have no eyes left at all if she did not interfere, +Bessie called to the old Boer hound who was lying in the sun on the +verandah. + +“Hi, Stomp, Stomp—hunt them, Stomp!” + +Up jumped Stomp and made a prodigious show of furiously attacking the +embattled cocks; it was an operation to which he was used, and which +afforded him constant amusement. Suddenly, however, as he dashed +towards the trees, the dog stopped midway, his simulated wrath ceased, +and instead of it, an expression of real disgust grew upon his honest +face. Then the hair along his backbone stood up like the quills upon +the fretful porcupine, and he growled. + +“A strange Kafir, I expect,” said Bessie to herself. + +Stomp hated strange Kafirs. She had scarcely uttered the words before +they were justified by the appearance of a native. He was a +villainous-looking fellow, with one eye, and nothing on but a ragged +pair of trousers fastened round the middle with a greasy leather strap. +In his wool, however, were stuck several small distended bladders such +as are generally worn by medicine-men and witch-doctors. With his left +hand he held a long stick, cleft at one end, and in the cleft was a +letter. + +“Come here, Stomp,” said Bessie, and as she spoke a wild hope shot +across her heart like a meteor across the night: perhaps the letter was +from John. + +The dog obeyed her unwillingly enough, for evidently he did not like +that Kafir; and when he saw that Stomp was well out of the way the +Kafir himself followed. He was an insolent fellow, and took no notice +of Bessie before squatting himself down upon the drive in front of her. + +“What is it?” said Bessie in Dutch, her lips trembling as she spoke. + +“A letter,” answered the man. + +“Give it to me.” + +“No, missie, not till I have looked at you to see if it is right. Light +yellow hair that curls—_one_,” checking it on his fingers, “yes, that +is right; large blue eyes—_two_, that is right; big and tall, and fair +as a star—yes, the letter is for you, take it,” and he poked the long +stick almost into her face. + +“Where is it from?” asked Bessie, with sudden suspicion and recoiling a +step. + +“Wakkerstroom last.” + +“Who is it from?” + +“Read it, and you will see.” + +Bessie took the letter, which was wrapped in a piece of old newspaper, +from the cleft of the stick and turned it over and over doubtfully. +Most of us have a mistrust of strange-looking letters, and this letter +was unusually strange. To begin with, it had no address whatever on the +dirty envelope, which seemed curious. In the second place, that +envelope was sealed, apparently with a threepenny bit. + +“Are you sure it is for me?” asked Bessie. + +“Yah, yah—sure, sure,” answered the native, with a rude laugh. “There +are not many such white girls in the Transvaal. I have made no mistake. +I have ‘smelt you out.’” And he began to go through his +catalogue—“Yellow hair that curls,” &c.—again. + +Then Bessie opened the letter. Inside was an ordinary sheet of paper +written over in a bold, firm, yet slightly unpractised writing that she +knew well enough, and the sight of which filled her with a presentiment +of evil. It was Frank Muller’s. + +She turned sick and cold, but could not choose but read as follows: + +“Camp, near Pretoria. 15 February. + +“Dear Miss Bessie,—I am sorry to have to write to you, but though we +have quarrelled lately, and also your good uncle, I think it my duty to +do so, and send this to your hand by a special runner. Yesterday was a +sortie made by the poor folk in Pretoria, who are now as thin with +hunger as the high veldt oxen just before spring. Our arms were again +victorious; the redcoats ran away and left their ambulance in our +hands, carrying with them many dead and wounded. Among the dead was the +Captain Niel——” + +Here Bessie uttered a sort of choking cry, and let the letter fall over +the verandah, to one of the posts of which she clung with both her +hands. + +The ill-favoured native below grinned, and, picking the paper up, +handed it to her. + +She took it, feeling that she must know all, and read on like one reads +in some ghastly dream: + +“who has been staying on your uncle’s farm. I did not see him killed +myself, but Jan Vanzyl shot him, and Roi Dirk Oosthuizen, and Carolus, +a Hottentot, saw them pick him up and carry him away. They say that he +was quite dead. For this I fear you will be sorry, as I am, but it is +the chance of war, and he died fighting bravely. Make my obedient +compliments to your uncle. We parted in anger, but I hope in the new +circumstances that have arisen in the land to show him that I, for one, +bear no anger.—Believe me, dear Miss Bessie, your humble and devoted +servant, + +“Frank Muller.” + +Bessie thrust the letter into the pocket of her dress, then again she +caught hold of the verandah post, and supported herself by it, while +the light of the sun appeared to fade visibly out of the day before her +eyes and to replace itself by a cold blackness in which there was no +break. He was dead!—her lover was dead! The glow had gone from her life +as it seemed to be going from the day, and she was left desolate. She +had no knowledge of how long she stood thus, staring with wide eyes at +the sunshine she could not see. She had lost her count of time; things +were phantasmagorical and unreal; all that she could realise was this +one overpowering, crushing fact—John was dead! + +“Missie,” said the ill-favoured messenger below, fixing his one eye +upon her poor sorrow-stricken face, and yawning. + +There was no answer. + +“Missie,” he said again, “is there any answer? I must be going. I want +to get back in time to see the Boers take Pretoria.” + +Bessie looked at him vaguely. “Yours is a message that needs no +answer,” she said. “What is, is.” + +The brute laughed. “No, I can’t take a letter to the Captain,” he said; +“I saw Jan Vanzyl shoot him. He fell _so_,” and suddenly he collapsed +all in a heap on the path, in imitation of a man struck dead by a +bullet. “I can’t take _him_ a message, missie,” he went on, rising, +“but one day you will be able to go and look for him yourself. I did +not mean that; what I meant was that I could take a letter to Frank +Muller. A live Boer is better than a dead Englishman; and Frank Muller +will make a fine husband for any girl. If you shut your eyes you won’t +know the difference.” + +“Go!” said Bessie, in a choked voice, and pointing her hands towards +the avenue. + +Such was the suppressed energy in her tone that the man sprang to his +feet, and while he rose, interpreting her gesture as an encouragement +to action, the old dog, Stomp, who had been watching him all the time, +and occasionally giving utterance to a low growl of animosity, flew +straight at his throat from the verandah. The dog, which was a heavy +one, struck the man full in the chest and knocked him backwards. Down +came dog and man on the drive together, and then ensued a terrible +scene, the man cursing and shrieking and striking out at the dog, and +the dog worrying the man in a fashion that he was not liable to forget +for the remainder of his life. + +Bessie, whose energy seemed again to be exhausted, took absolutely no +notice of the fray, and it was at this juncture that her old uncle +arrived upon the scene, together with two Kafirs—the same whom Bessie +had seen idling. + +“Hullo! hullo!” he halloed in his stentorian tones, “what is all this +about? Get off, you brute!” and what between his voice and the blows of +the Kafirs the dog was persuaded to let go his hold of the man, who +staggered to his feet, severely mauled, and bleeding from half a dozen +bites. + +For a moment he did not say anything, but picked up his sticks. Then, +however, having first made sure that the dog was being held by the +Kafirs, he turned, his face streaming with blood, his one eye blazing +with fury, and, shaking both his clenched fists at poor Bessie, broke +into a scream of cursing. + +“You shall pay for this—Frank Muller shall make you pay for it. I am +his servant. I——” + +“Get out of this, however you are,” thundered old Silas, “or by Heaven +I will let the dog on you again!” and he pointed to Stomp, who was +struggling wildly with the two Kafirs. + +The man paused and looked at the dog, then, with a final shake of the +fist, he departed at a run down the avenue, turning once only to look +if the dog were coming. + +With empty eyes Bessie watched him go, taking no more notice of him +than she had of the noise of the fighting. Then, as though struck by a +thought, she turned and went into the sitting-room. + +“What is all this, Bessie?” said her uncle, following her. “What does +the man mean about Frank Muller?” + +“It means, uncle dear,” she said at last, in a voice that was something +between a sob and a laugh, “that I am a widow before I am married. John +is dead!” + +“Dead! dead!” said the old man, putting his hand to his forehead and +turning round in a dazed sort of fashion, “John dead!” + +“Read the letter,” said Bessie, handing him Frank Muller’s missive. + +The old man took and read it. His hand shook so much that he was a long +while in mastering its contents. + +“Good God!” he said at last, “what a blow! My poor Bessie,” and he drew +her into his arms and kissed her. Suddenly a thought struck him. +“Perhaps it is all one of Frank Muller’s lies,” he said, “or perhaps he +made a mistake.” + +But Bessie did not answer. For the time, at any rate, hope had left +her. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. +FRANK MULLER’S FAMILIAR + + +The study of the conflicting elements which go to make up a character +like that of Frank Muller, however fascinating it might prove, is not +one which can be attempted in detail here. Such a character in its +developed form is fortunately well-nigh impossible in a highly +civilised country, for the dead weight of the law would crush it back +to the level of the human mass around it. But those who have lived in +the wild places of the earth will be acquainted with its prototypes, +more especially in the countries where a handful of a superior race +rule over the dense thousands of an inferior. Solitudes are favourable +to the production of strongly marked individualities. The companionship +of highly developed men, on the contrary, whittles individualities +away; the difference between their growth being the difference between +the growth of a tree on a plain and a tree in the forest. On the plain +the tree takes the innate bend of its nature. It springs in majesty +towards the skies; it spreads itself around, or it slants along the +earth, just as Nature intended that it should, and in accordance with +the power of the providential breath which bends it. In the forest it +is different. There the tree grows towards the light wherever the light +may be. Forced to modify its natural habit in obedience to the pressure +of circumstances over which it has no command, it takes such form and +height as its neighbours will allow it to, all its energies being +directed to the preservation of its life in any shape and at any +sacrifice. + +Thus is it with us all. Left to ourselves, or surrounded only by the +scrub of humanity, we become outwardly that which the spirit within +would fashion us to, but, placed among our fellows, shackled by custom, +restrained by law, pruned and bent by the force of public opinion, we +grow as like one to another as the fruit bushes on a garden wall. The +sharp angles of our characters are fretted away by the friction of the +crowd, and we become round, polished, and, superficially, at any rate, +identical. We no longer resemble a solitary boulder on a plain, but are +as a worked stone built into the great edifice of civilised society. + +The place of a man like Frank Muller is at the junction of the waters +of civilisation and barbarism. Too civilised to possess those savage +virtues which, such as they are, represent the quantum of innate good +Nature has thought fit to allow in the mixture, Man; and too barbarous +to be subject to the tenderer constraints of cultivated society, he is +at once strong in the strength of both and weak in their weaknesses. +Animated by the spirit of barbarism, Superstition; and almost entirely +destitute of the spirit of civilisation, Mercy, he stands on the edge +of both and an affront to both, as terrific a moral spectacle as the +world can afford. + +Had he been a little more civilised, with his power of evil trained by +education and cynical reflection to defy the attacks of those spasms of +unreasoning spiritual terror and unrestrainable passion that have their +natural dwelling-place in the raw strong mind of uncultivated man, +Frank Muller might have broken upon the world as a Napoleon. Had he +been a little more savage, a little farther removed from the +unconscious but present influence of a progressive race, he might have +ground his fellows down and ruthlessly destroyed them in the madness of +his rage and lust, like an Attila or a T’Chaka. As it was he was +buffeted between two forces he did not realise, even when they swayed +him, and thus at every step in his path towards a supremacy of evil an +unseen power made stumbling-blocks of weaknesses which, if that path +had been laid along a little higher or a little lower level in the +scale of circumstances, would themselves have been deadly weapons of +overmastering force. + +See him as, with his dark heart filled up with fears, he thunders along +from that scene of midnight death and murder which his brain had not +feared to plan and his hand to execute. Onward his black horse strides, +companioned by the storm, like a dark thought travelling on the wings +of Night. He does not believe in any God, and yet the terrible fears +that spring up in his soul, born fungus-like from a few drops of blood, +take shape and form, and seem to cry aloud, “_We are the messengers of +the avenging God_.” He glances up. High on the black bosom of the storm +the finger of the lightning is writing that awful name, and again and +again the voice of the thunder reads it aloud in spirit-shaking +accents. He shuts his dazed eyes, and even the falling rhythm of his +horse’s hoofs beats out, “_There is a God! there is a God!_” from the +silent earth on which they strike. + +And so, on through the tempest and the night, flying from that which no +man can leave behind. + +It was near midnight when Frank Muller drew rein at a wretched and +lonely mud hut built on the banks of the Vaal, and flanked by an +equally miserable shed. The place was silent as the grave; not even a +dog barked. + +“That beast of a Kafir is not here,” he said aloud, “I will have him +flogged to death. Hendrik! Hendrik!” + +As he called, a form rose up at his very feet, causing the weary horse +to start back so violently that he almost threw his rider to the +ground. + +“What in the name of the devil are you?” almost shrieked Frank Muller, +whose nerves, indeed, were in no condition to bear fresh shocks. + +“It is I, Baas,” said the form, at the same time throwing off a grey +blanket in which it was enveloped, and revealing the villainous +countenance of the one-eyed witch-doctor, who had taken the letter to +Bessie. For years this man had been Muller’s body-servant, who followed +him about like a shadow. + +“Curse you, you dog! What do you mean by hiding up like that? It is one +of your infernal tricks; be careful”—tapping his pistol case—“or I +shall one day put an end to you and your witchcraft together.” + +“I am very sorry, Baas,” said the man in a whine, “but half an hour ago +I heard you coming. I don’t know what is the matter with the air +to-night, but it sounded as though twenty people were galloping after +you. I could hear them all quite clearly; first the big black horse, +and then all those that followed, just as though they were hunting you. +So I came out and lay down to listen, and it was not till you were +quite close that one by one the others stopped. Perhaps it was the +devils who galloped.” + +“Damn you, stop that wizard’s talk,” said Muller, his teeth chattering +with fear and agitation. “Take the horse, groom and feed him well; he +has galloped far, and we start at dawn. Stop, tell me, where are the +lights and the brandy? If you have drunk the brandy I will flog you.” + +“They are on the shelf to the left as you go in, Baas, and there is +flesh too, and bread.” + +Muller swung himself from the saddle and entered the hut, pushing open +the cranky, broken-hinged door with a kick. He found the box of +Tandstickor matches, and, after one or two attempts—due chiefly to his +shaking hand—succeeded in striking fire and lighting a coarse dip such +as the Boers make out of mutton fat. Near the candle were a bottle of +peach brandy two thirds full, a tin pannikin and a jug of river water. +Seizing the pannikin, he half filled it with spirit, added a little +water, and drank off the mixture. Then he took the meat and bread from +the same shelf, and, cutting some of each with his clasp-knife, tried +to eat. But he could not swallow much, and soon gave up the attempt, +consoling himself instead with the brandy. + +“Bah!” he said, “the stuff tastes like hell fire;” and he filled his +pipe and sat smoking. + +Presently Hendrik came in to say that the horse was eating well, and +turned to go out again, when his master beckoned him to stop. The man +was surprised, for generally his master was not fond of his society, +except when he wanted to consult him or persuade him to exercise his +pretended art of divination. The truth was, however, that at the moment +Frank Muller would have been glad to consort with a dog. The events of +the night had brought this terrible man, steeped in iniquity from his +youth up, down to the level of a child frightened at the dark. For a +while he sat in silence, the Kafir squatting on the ground at his feet. +Presently, however, the doses of powerful spirit took effect on him, +and he began to talk more unguardedly than was his custom, even with +his black “familiar” Hendrik. + +“How long have you been here?” he asked of his retainer. + +“About four days, Baas.” + +“Did you take my letter to _Oom_ Croft’s?” + +“Yah, Baas. I gave it to the missie.” + +“What did she do?” + +“She read it, and then stood like this, holding on to the verandah +pole;” and he opened his mouth and one eye, twisting up his hideous +countenance into a ghastly imitation of Bessie’s sorrow-stricken face, +and gripping the post that supported the hut to give verisimilitude to +his performance. + +“So she believed it?” + +“Surely.” + +“What did she do, then?” + +“She set the dog on me. Look here! and here! and here!” and he pointed +to the half-healed scars left by Stomp’s sharp fangs. + +Muller laughed a little. “I should like to have seen him worry you, you +black cheat; it shows her spirit, too. I suppose you are angry, and +want to have a revenge?” + +“Surely.” + +“Well, who knows? Perhaps you shall; we are going there to-morrow.” + +“So, Baas! I knew that before you told me.” + +“We are going there, and we are going to take the place; and we are +going to try Uncle Silas by court-martial for flying an English flag, +and if he is found guilty we are going to shoot him, Hendrik.” + +“So, Baas,” said the Kafir, rubbing his hands in glee, “but will he be +found guilty?” + +“I don’t know,” murmured the white man, stroking his golden beard; +“that will depend upon what missie has to say; and upon the verdict of +the court,” he added, by way of an afterthought. + +“On the verdict of the court, ha! ha!” chuckled his wicked satellite; +“on the verdict of the court, yes! yes! and the Baas will be president, +ha! ha! One needs no witchcraft to guess that verdict. And if the court +finds Uncle Silas guilty, who will do the shooting, Baas?” + +“I have not thought of that; the time has not come to think of it. It +does not matter; anybody can carry out the sentence of the law.” + +“Baas,” said the Kafir, “I have done much for you, and had little pay. +I have done ugly things. I have read omens and made medicines and +‘smelt out’ your enemies. Will you grant me a favour? Will you let me +shoot _Oom_ Croft if the court finds him guilty? It is not much to ask, +Baas. I am a clever wizard and deserve my pay.” + +“Why do you want to shoot him?” + +“Because he flogged me once, years ago, for being a witch-doctor, and +the other day he hunted me off the place. Beside, it is nice to shoot a +white man. I should like it better,” he went on, with a smack of the +lips, “if it were missie, who set the dog on me. I would——” + +In a moment Muller had seized the astonished ruffian by the throat, and +was kicking and shaking him as though he were a toy. His brutal talk of +Bessie appealed to such manliness as he had in him, and, whatever his +own wickedness may have been, he was too madly in love with the woman +to let her name be taken in vain by a man whom, though he held his +“magic” in superstitious reverence, he yet ranked lower than a dog. +With his nerves strung to the highest possible state of tension, and +half drunk as he was, Frank Muller was no more to be played with or +irritated than is a mad bull. + +“You black beast!” he yelled, “if ever you dare to mention her name +again like that I will kill you, for all your witchcraft;” and he +hurled him with such force against the wall of the hut that the whole +place shook. The man fell and lay for a moment groaning; then he crept +from the hut on his hands and knees. + +Muller sat scowling from under his bent brows, and watched him go. When +he was gone, he rose and fastened the door behind him, then suddenly he +burst into tears, the result, no doubt, of the mingled effects of +drink, mental and physical exhaustion, and the never-resting +passion—one can scarcely call it love—which ate at his heart, like the +worm that dieth not. + +“Oh, Bessie, Bessie!” he groaned, “I have done it all for you. Surely +you cannot be angry when I have killed them all for you? Oh, my +darling, my darling! If you only knew how I love you! Oh, my darling, +my darling!” and in an agony of passion he flung himself on to the +rough pallet in the corner of the hut and sobbed himself to sleep. + +It would seem that Frank Muller’s evil-doing did not make him happy, +the truth being that to enjoy wickedness a man must be not only without +conscience, but also without passion. Now Frank Muller was tormented +with a very effective substitute for the first—superstition, and by the +latter his life was overshadowed, since the beauty of a girl possessed +the power to dominate his wildest moods and to inflict upon him +torments that she herself was incapable even of imagining. + +At the first light of dawn Hendrik crept humbly into the hut to wake +his master, and within half an hour they were across the Vaal and on +the road to Wakkerstroom. + +As the light increased so did Muller’s spirits rise, till at last, when +the red sun came up in glory and swept away the shadows, he felt as +though all the load of guilt and fear that lay upon his heart had +departed with them. He could see now that the death of the two Boers by +lightning was a mere accident—a happy accident, indeed; for, had it not +so chanced, he would have been forced to kill them himself, if he could +not have obtained possession of the warrant by other means. As it was, +he had forgotten about this document; but it did not matter much, he +reflected. Nobody would be likely to find the bodies of the two men and +horses under that lonely bank. Certainly they would not be found before +the _aasvogels_ had picked them clean, and these would be at work upon +them now. And if they were found, the paper would have rotted or been +blown away, or, at the worst, rendered so discoloured as to be +unreadable. For the rest, there was nothing to connect him with the +murder, now that his confederates were dead. Hendrik would prove an +alibi for him. He was a useful man, Hendrik. Besides, who would believe +that it was a murder? Two men were escorting an Englishman to the +river; they became involved in a quarrel; the Englishman shot them, and +they shot the Englishman and his companion. Then the horses plunged +into the Vaal upsetting the cart, and there was an end of it. He could +see now how well things had gone for him. Events had placed him beyond +suspicion. + +Then he fell to thinking of the fruits of his honest labours, and +Muller’s cheek grew warm with the mounting blood, and his eyes flashed +with the fire of youth. In two days—forty-eight hours—at the outside, +Bessie would be in his arms. He could not miscarry now, for was he not +in absolute command? Besides, Hendrik had read it in his omens long +ago.[*] Mooifontein should be stormed on the morrow, if that were +necessary, and _Oom_ Silas Croft and Bessie should be taken prisoners; +and then he knew how to deal with them. His talk about shooting on the +previous night had been no idle threat. She should yield herself to +him, or the old man must die, and then he would take her. There could +be no legal consequences now that the British Government was in the act +of surrender. It would be a meritorious deed to execute a rebel +Englishman. + +[*] It is not a very rare thing to meet white men in South Africa who +believe more or less in the efficacy of native witchcraft, and, +although such a proceeding is forbidden by law, who at a pinch will not +hesitate to consult the witch-doctors.—Author. + + +Yes, it was all plain sailing now. How long had it needed to win +her—three years? He had loved her for three years. Well, he would have +his reward; and then, his passion satisfied, he would turn his mind to +those far-reaching, ambitious schemes, whereof the end was something +like a throne. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. +SILAS IS CONVINCED + + +At first Bessie was utterly prostrated by the blow that had fallen on +her, but as time went on she revived a little, for hers was an elastic +and a sanguine nature. Troubles sink into the souls of some like water +into a sponge, and weight them down almost to the grave. From others +they run off as the water does if poured upon marble, merely wetting +the surface. + +Bessie belonged to neither of these classes, but was of a substance +between the two—a healthy, happy-hearted woman, full of beauty and +vigour, made to bloom in the sunshine, not to languish in the shadow of +some old grief. Women of her stamp do not die of broken hearts or +condemn themselves to life-long celibacy as a sacrifice to the shade of +the departed. If unfortunately No. 1 is removed, as a general rule they +shed many a tear and suffer many a pang, and after a decent interval +very sensibly turn their attention to No. 2. + +Still it was but a pale-faced, quiet Bessie who went to and fro about +the place after the visit of the one-eyed Kafir. All her irritability +had left her now; she no longer reproached her uncle because he had +despatched John to Pretoria. Indeed, on that very evening after the +evil tidings came, he began to blame himself bitterly in her presence +for having sent her lover away, when she stopped him. + +“It is God’s will, uncle,” she said quietly. “You only did what it was +ordained that you should do.” Then she came and laid her sunny head +upon the old man’s shoulder and cried a little, and said that they two +were all alone in the world now; and he comforted her in the best +fashion that he could. It was a curious thing that they neither of them +thought much of Jess when they talked thus of being alone. Jess was an +enigma, a thing apart even from them. When she was there she was loved +and allowed to go her own way, when she was not there she seemed to +fade into outer darkness. A veil came down between her and her +belongings. Of course they were both very fond of her, but +simple-natured people are apt to shrink from what they cannot +understand, and these two were no exception to the rule. For instance, +Bessie’s affection for her sister was a poor thing compared to the deep +and self-sacrificing, though often secret love that her sister showered +upon her. She loved her old uncle far more dearly than she loved Jess, +and it must be owned that he returned her attachment with interest, and +in those days of heavy trouble they drew nearer to each other than ever +they were before. + +But as time went on they began to hope again. No confirmation of John’s +death reached them. Was it not possible then, after all, that the story +was an invention? They knew that Frank Muller was not a man to hesitate +at a lie if he had a purpose to gain, and they could guess in this case +what that purpose was. His furious passion for Bessie was no secret +from either of them, and it occurred to them as possible that the tale +of John’s death might have been invented to forward it. This was +scarcely probable, it is true, but it might be so, and however cruel +suspense may be, it is at least less absolutely crushing than the dead +weight of certainty. + +One Sunday—it was just a week since the letter came—Bessie was sitting +after dinner on the verandah, when her quick ears caught what she took +to be the booming of heavy guns far away on the Drakensberg. She rose, +and leaving the house, climbed the hill behind it. On reaching its top +she stood and looked at the great solemn stretch of mountains. Away, a +little to her right, was a square precipitous peak called Majuba, which +was generally clothed in clouds. To-day, however, there was no mist, +and it seemed to her that it was from the direction of this peak that +the faint rolling sounds came floating on the breeze. But she could see +nothing; the mountain seemed as tenantless and devoid of life as on the +day when it first towered up upon the face of things created. Presently +the sounds died away, and she returned, thinking that she must have +been deceived by the echoes of some distant thunderstorm. + +Next day they learnt from the natives that what she had heard was the +roar of the big guns covering the flight of the British troops down the +precipitous sides of Majuba Mountain. After these tidings old Silas +Croft began to lose heart a little. The run of disaster was so +unrelieved that even his robust faith in the invincibility of the +English arms was shaken. + +“It is very strange, Bessie,” he said, “very strange; but, never mind, +it is bound to come right at last. Our Government is not going to knock +under because it has suffered a few reverses.” + +Then followed a long four weeks of uncertainty. The air was thick with +rumours, most of them brought by natives, and one or two by passing +Boers, to which Silas Croft declined to pay any attention. Soon, +however, it became abundantly clear that an armistice was concluded +between the English and the Boers, but what were its terms or its +object they were quite unable to decide. Silas Croft thought that the +Boers, overawed by the advance of an overwhelming force, meant to give +in without further fighting;[*] but Bessie shook her head. + +[*] This is said on good authority to have been their intention had not +Mr. Gladstone surprised them by his sudden surrender.—Author. + + +One day—it was the same on which John and Jess left Pretoria—a Kafir +brought the news that the armistice was at an end, that the English +were advancing up to the Nek in thousands, and were going to force it +on the morrow and relieve the garrisons—a piece of intelligence that +brought some of the old light back to Bessie’s eyes. As for her uncle, +he was jubilant. + +“The tide is going to turn, at last, my love,” he said, “and we shall +have our innings. Well, it is time we should, after all the disgrace, +loss and agony of mind we have gone through. Upon my word, for the last +two months I have been ashamed to call myself an Englishman. However, +there is an end of it now. I knew that they would never give in and +desert us,” and the old man straightened his crooked back and slapped +his chest, looking as proud and gallant as though he were +five-and-twenty instead of seventy years of age. + +The rest of that day passed without any further news, and so did the +following two days, but on the third, which was March 23, the storm +broke. + +About eleven o’clock in the forenoon Bessie was employed upon her +household duties as usual, or rather she had just finished them. Her +uncle had returned from his usual after-breakfast round upon the farm, +and was standing in the sitting-room, his broad felt hat in one hand +and a red pocket-handkerchief in the other, with which he was polishing +his bald head, while he chattered to Bessie through the open door. + +“No news of the advance, Bessie dear?” + +“No, uncle,” she replied with a sigh, her blue eyes filling with tears, +for she was thinking of one of whom there was also no news. + +“Well, never mind. These things take a little time, especially with our +soldiers, who move so slowly. I dare say that there was some delay +waiting for guns or ammunition or something. I expect that we shall +hear by to-night——” + +“De Booren, Baas, de Booren!” (the Boers, master, the Boers) he +shouted. “The Boers are coming with a waggon, twenty of them or more, +with Frank Muller at their head on his black horse, and Hans Coetzee, +and the one-eyed Basutu wizard with him. I was hiding behind a tree at +the end of the avenue, and I saw them riding over the rise. They are +going to take the place;” and, without waiting to give any further +explanations, he slipped through the house and hid himself up somewhere +out of the way at the back, for Jantje, like most Hottentots, was a sad +coward. + +The old man stopped rubbing his head and stared at Bessie, who stood +pale and trembling in the doorway. Just then he heard the patter of +running feet on the drive outside, and looked out of the window. It was +caused by the passing of some half-dozen Kafirs who were working on the +place, and who, on catching sight of the Boers, had promptly thrown +down their tools and were flying to the hills. Even as they passed a +shot was fired somewhere from the direction of the avenue, and the last +of the Kafirs, a lad of about twelve, suddenly threw up his hands and +pitched forward on to his face, with a bullet between his +shoulder-blades. + +Bessie heard the shout of “Good shot, good shot!” the brutal laughter +that greeted his fall, and the tramping of the horses as they came up +the drive. + +“Oh, uncle!” she said, “what shall we do?” + +The old man made no answer at the moment, but going to a rack upon the +wall, he reached down a Wesley-Richards falling-block rifle that hung +there. Then he sat down in a wooden armchair that faced the French +window opening on to the verandah, and beckoned to her to come to him. + +“We will meet them so,” he said. “They shall see that we are not afraid +of them. Don’t be frightened, dear, they will not dare to harm us; they +will be afraid of the consequences of harming English people.” + +The words were scarcely out of his mouth when the cavalcade began to +appear in front of the window, led, as Jantje had said, by Frank Muller +on his black horse, accompanied by Hans Coetzee on the fat pony, and +the villainous-looking Hendrik, mounted on a nondescript sort of +animal, and carrying a gun and an assegai in his hand. Behind these +were a body of about fifteen or sixteen armed men, among whom Silas +Croft recognised most of his neighbours, by whose side he had lived for +years in peace and amity. + +Opposite the house they stopped and began looking about. They could not +see into the room at once, on account of the bright light outside and +the shadow within. + +“I fancy you will find the birds flown, nephew,” said the fat voice of +Hans Coetzee. “They have got warning of your little visit.” + +“They cannot be far off,” answered Muller. “I have had them watched, +and know that they have not left the place. Get down, uncle, and look +in the house, and you too, Hendrik.” + +The Kafir obeyed with alacrity, tumbling out of his saddle with all the +grace of a sack of coals, but the Boer hesitated. + +“Uncle Silas is an angry man,” he ventured; “he might shoot if he found +me poking about his house.” + +“Don’t answer me!” thundered Muller; “get down and do as I bid you!” + +“Ah, what a devil of a man!” murmured the unfortunate Hans as he +hurried to obey. + +Meanwhile, Hendrik the one-eyed had jumped upon the verandah and was +peering through the windows. + +“Here they are, Baas; here they are!” he sung out; “the old cock and +the pullet too!” and he gave a kick to the window, which, being +unlatched, swung wide, revealing the old man sitting in his wooden +armchair, his rifle on his knees, and holding by the hand his +fair-haired niece, who was standing at his side. Frank Muller +dismounted and came on to the verandah, and behind him crowded a dozen +or more of his followers. + +“What is it that you want, Frank Muller, that you come to my house with +all these armed men?” asked Silas Croft from his chair. + +“I call upon you, Silas Croft, to surrender to take your trial as a +land betrayer and a rebel against the Republic,” was the answer. “I am +sorry,” he added, with a bow towards Bessie, on whom his eyes had been +fixed all the time, “to be obliged to take you prisoner in the presence +of a lady, but my duty gives me no choice.” + +“I do not know what you mean,” said the old man. “I am a subject of +Queen Victoria and an Englishman. How, then, can I be a rebel against +any republic? I am an Englishman, I say,” he went on with rising anger, +speaking so high that his powerful voice rang till every Boer there +could hear it, “and I acknowledge the authority of no republics. This +is my house, and I order you to leave it. I claim my rights as an +Englishman——” + +“Here,” interrupted Muller coldly, “Englishmen have no rights, except +such as we choose to allow to them.” + +“Shoot him!” cried a voice. + +“Treat him as Buskes treated Van der Linden at Potchefstroom!” cried +another. + +“Yes, make him swallow the same pill that we gave to Dr. Barber,” put +in a third. + +“Silas Croft, are you going to surrender?” asked Muller in the same +cold voice. + +“_No!_” thundered the old man in his English pride. “I surrender to no +rebels in arms against the Queen. I will shoot the first man who tries +to lay a finger on me!” and he rose to his feet and lifted his rifle. + +“Shall I shoot him, Baas?—shall I shoot him?” asked the one-eyed +Hendrik, smacking his lips at the thought, and fiddling with the rusty +lock of the old fowling-piece he carried. + +Muller, by way of answer, struck him across the face with the back of +his hand. “Hans Coetzee,” he said, “go and arrest that man.” + +Poor Hans hesitated, as well he might. Nature had not endowed him with +any great amount of natural courage, and the sight of his old +neighbour’s rifle-barrel made him feel positively sick. He hesitated +and began to stammer excuses. + +“Are you going, uncle, or must I denounce you to the General as a +sympathiser with Englishmen?” asked Muller in malice, for he knew the +old fellow’s weakness and cowardice, and was playing on them. + +“I am going. Of course I am going, nephew. Excuse me, a little +faintness took me—the heat of the sun,” he babbled. “Oh, yes, I am +going to seize the rebel. Perhaps one of these young men would not mind +engaging his attention on the other side. He is an angry man—I know him +of old—and an angry man with a gun, you know, dear cousin——” + +“Are you going?” said his terrible master once more. + +“Oh, yes! yes, certainly, yes. Dear Uncle Silas, pray put down that +gun, it is so dangerous. Don’t stand there looking like a wild ox, but +come up to the yoke. You are old, Uncle Silas, and I don’t want to have +to hurt you. Come now, come, come,” and he held out his hand towards +him as though he were a shy horse that he was endeavouring to beguile. + +“Hans Coetzee, traitor and liar that you are,” said the old man, “if +you draw a single step nearer, by God! I will put a bullet through +you.” + +“Go on, Hans, chuck a reim over his head; get him by the tail; knock +him down with a yokeskei; turn the old bull on his back!” shouted the +crowd of scoffers from the window, taking very good care, however, to +clear off to the right and left in order to leave room for the expected +bullet. + +Hans positively burst into tears, and Muller, who was the only one who +held his ground, caught him by the arm, and putting out all his +strength, swung him towards Silas Croft. + +For reasons of his own, he was anxious that the latter should shoot one +of them, and he chose Hans Coetzee, whom he disliked and despised, for +the sacrifice. + +Up went the rifle, and at that moment Bessie, who had been standing +bewildered, made a dash at it, knowing that bloodshed could only make +matters worse. As she did so it exploded, but not before she had shaken +her uncle’s arm, for, instead of killing Hans, as it undoubtedly would +have done, the bullet only cut his ear and then passed out through the +open window-place. In an instant the room was filled with smoke. Hans +Coetzee clapped his hand to his head, uttering yells of pain and +terror, and in the confusion that ensued three or four men, headed by +the Kafir Hendrik, rushed into the room and sprang upon Silas Croft, +who had retreated to the wall and was standing with his back against +it, his rifle, which he had clubbed in both his hands, raised above his +head. + +When his assailants were close to him they hesitated, for, aged and +bent as he was, the old man looked dangerous. He stood there like a +wounded lion, and swung the rifle-stock about. Presently one of the men +struck at him and missed him, but before he could retreat Silas brought +down the stock of the rifle on his head, and down he went like an ox +beneath a poleaxe. Then they closed on him, but for a while he kept +them off, knocking down another man in his efforts. At that moment the +witch-doctor Hendrik, who had been watching his opportunity, brought +down the barrel of his old fowling-piece upon Silas’s bald head and +felled him. Fortunately the blow was not a very heavy one, or it would +have broken his skull. As it was, it only cut his scalp open and +knocked him down. Thereon, the whole mass of Boers, with the exception +of Muller, who stood watching, seeing that he was now defenceless, fell +upon Silas, and would have kicked him to death had not Bessie +precipitated herself upon him with a cry, and thrown her arms about his +body to protect him. + +Then Frank Muller interfered, fearing lest she should be hurt. Plunging +into the fray with a curse, he exercised his great strength, throwing +the men this way and that like ninepins, and finally dragging Silas to +his feet again. + +“Come!” he shouted, “take him out of this;” and accordingly, with +taunts, curses and obloquy, the poor old man, whose fringe of white +locks was red with blood, was kicked and pushed on to the verandah, +then off it on to the drive. Here he fell over the body of the murdered +Kafir boy, but finally he was dragged to the open space by the +flagstaff, on which the Union Jack that he had hoisted there some two +months before still waved bravely in the breeze. There he sank down +upon the grass, his back against the flagstaff, and asked faintly for +some water. Bessie, who was weeping bitterly, and whose heart felt as +though it were bursting with anguish and indignation, pushed her way +through the men, and, running to the house, filled a glass and brought +it to him. One of the brutes tried to knock it out of her hand, but she +avoided him and gave it to her uncle, who drank it greedily. + +“Thank you, love, thank you,” he said; “don’t be frightened, I ain’t +much hurt. Ah! if only John had been here, and we had had an hour’s +notice, we would have held the place against them all.” + +Meanwhile one of the Boers, climbing on to the shoulders of another, +had succeeded in untying the cord on which the Union Jack was bent, and +hauled it down. Then they reversed it and hoisted it half-mast high, +and began to cheer for the Republic. + +“Perhaps Uncle Silas does not know that we are a Republic again now,” +said one of the men, a near neighbour of his own, in mockery. + +“What do you mean by a Republic?” asked the old man. “The Transvaal is +a British colony.” + +There was a hoot of derision at this. “The English Government has +surrendered,” said the same man. “The country is given up, and the +British are to evacuate it in six months.” + +“It is a lie!” said Silas, springing to his feet, “a cowardly lie! +Whoever says that the English have given up the country to a few +thousand blackguards like you, and deserted its subjects and the loyals +and the natives, is a liar—a liar from hell!” + +There was another howl of mockery at this outburst, and when it had +subsided Frank Muller stepped forward. + +“It is no lie, Silas Croft,” he said, “and the cowards are not we +Boers, who have beaten you again and again, but your soldiers, who have +done nothing but run away, and your Mr. Gladstone, who follows the +example of your soldiers. Look here”—and he took a paper out of his +pocket—“you know that signature, I suppose? It is that of one of the +Triumvirate. Listen to what he says,” and he read aloud:— + +“‘Well-beloved _Heer_ Muller,—this is to inform you that, by the +strength of our arms fighting for the right and freedom, and also by +the cowardice of the British Government, generals, and soldiers, we +have by the will of the Almighty concluded this day a glorious peace +with the enemy. The _Heer_ Gladstone surrenders nearly everything +except in the name. The Republic is to be re-established, and the +soldiers who are left will leave the land within six months. Make this +known to everyone, and forget not to thank God for our glorious +victories.’” + +The Boers shouted aloud, as well they might, and Bessie wrung her +hands. As for the old man, he leant against the flagstaff, and his gory +head sank back upon his breast as though he were about to faint. Then +suddenly he lifted it, and with clenched and quivering fists, held high +in the air, he broke out into such a torrent of blasphemy and cursing +that even the Boers fell back for a moment, dismayed into silence by +the force of the fury wrung from his utter humiliation. + +It was an appalling sight to see this good and God-fearing old man, his +face bruised, his grey hairs dabbled with blood, and his clothes nearly +rent from his body, stamp and reel to and fro, blaspheming his Maker +and the day that he was born; hurling execrations at his beloved +country and the name of Englishman, and the Government of Britain that +had deserted him, till at last nature gave out, and he fell in a fit, +there, in the very shadow of his dishonoured flag. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. +BESSIE IS PUT TO THE QUESTION + + +Meanwhile another little tragedy was being enacted at the back of the +house. After the one-eyed witch-doctor Hendrik had knocked Silas Croft +down and assisted in the pleasing operation of dragging him to the +flagstaff, it occurred to his villainous heart that the present would +be a good opportunity to profit personally by the confusion, and +possibly add to the Englishman’s misfortunes by doing him some injury +on his own account. Accordingly, just before Frank Muller began to read +the despatch announcing the British surrender, he slipped away into the +house, which was now totally deserted, to see what he could steal. +Passing into the sitting-room, he annexed Bessie’s gold watch and +chain, which was lying on the mantelpiece, a present that her uncle had +made her on the Christmas Day before the last. Having pocketed this he +proceeded to the kitchen, where, lying on the dresser ready to put +away, there was a goodly store of silver forks and spoons which Bessie +had been busily engaged in cleaning that morning. These he also +transferred, to the extent of several dozens, to the capacious pockets +of the tattered military great-coat that he wore. Whilst thus employed +he was much disturbed by the barking of the dog Stomp, the same animal +that had mauled him so severely a few weeks before, and was now, as it +happened, tied up in his kennel—an old wine barrel—just outside the +kitchen door. Hendrik peeped out of the window, and having ascertained +that the dog was secured, he proceeded, with a diabolical chuckle, to +settle his account with the poor animal. He had left his gun behind on +the grass, but he still held his assegai in his hand, and going out of +the kitchen door with it, he showed himself within a few feet of the +kennel. The dog recognised him instantly, and went nearly mad with +fury, making the most desperate efforts to break its chain and get at +him. For some moments he stood exciting the animal by derisive gestures +and pelting it with stones, till at last, fearing that the clamour +would attract attention, he suddenly transfixed it with his spear, and +then, thinking he was quite unobserved, sat down, snuffed and enjoyed +the luxury of watching the poor beast’s last agonies. + +But, as it happened, he was not quite alone, for, creeping along in the +grass and rubbish that grew on the farther side of the wall, his brown +body squeezed tightly against the brown stones—so tightly that an +unpractised eye would certainly have failed to notice it at a distance +of a dozen paces—was the Hottentot Jantje. Occasionally, too, he would +lift his head above the level of the wall and observe the proceedings +of the one-eyed man. Apparently he was undecided what to do, for he +hesitated a little, and whilst he did so Hendrik killed the dog. + +Now Jantje had all a Hottentot’s natural love for animals, which is, +generally speaking, as marked as is the Kafir’s callousness towards +them, and he was particularly fond of the dog Stomp, which always went +out with him those rare occasions when he thought it safe or desirable +to walk like an ordinary man instead of wriggling from bush to bush +like a panther, or wriggling through the grass like a snake. The sight +of the animal’s death, therefore, raised in his yellow breast a very +keen desire for vengeance on the murderer, if vengeance could be safely +accomplished; and he paused to reflect how this might be done. As he +thought Hendrik rose, gave the dead dog a kick, withdrew his assegai +from the carcase, and then, as though struck by a sudden desire to +conceal the murder, he undid the collar and, lifting the dog in his +arms, carried him with difficulty into the house and laid him under the +kitchen-table. This done, he came out again to the wall, which was +built of unmortared stones, pulled one out without trouble, deposited +the watch and the silver he had stolen in the cavity, and replaced the +stone. Next, before Jantje could guess what he meant to do, he +proceeded to make it practically impossible for his robbery to be +discovered, or at any rate very improbable, by lighting a match, and, +having first glanced round to see that nobody was looking, reaching up +and applying it to the thick thatch wherewith the house itself was +roofed, the fringe of which just at this spot was not more than nine +feet from the ground. No rain had fallen at Mooifontein for several +days, and there had been a hot sun with wind. As a result the thatch +was dry as tinder. The light caught in a second, and in two more a thin +line of fire was running up the roof. + +Hendrik paused, stepped a few paces back, resting his shoulders against +the wall, immediately the other side of which was Jantje, and began to +chuckle aloud and rub his hands as he admired the results of his +labours. This proved too much for the Hottentot behind him. The +provocation was overmastering, and so was the opportunity. Jantje +carried with him the thick stick on which he was so fond of cutting +notches. Raising it in both hands be brought the heavy knob down with +all his strength upon the one-eyed villain’s unprotected skull. It was +a thick skull, but the knob prevailed against it, and fractured it, and +down went the estimable witch-doctor as though he were dead. + +Next, taking a leaf out of his fallen enemy’s book, Jantje slipped over +the wall, and, seizing the senseless man, he dragged him by one arm +into the kitchen and rolled him under the table to keep company with +the dead dog. Then, filled with a fearful joy, he crawled out, to a +point of vantage in a little plantation seventy or eighty yards to the +right of the house, whence he could see what the Boers were doing and +watch the conflagration that he knew must ensue, for the fire had taken +instant and irremediable hold. + +Ten minutes or so afterwards that amiable character Hendrik partially +regained his senses, to find himself surrounded by a sea of fire, in +which he perished miserably, not having power to move, and his feeble +cries being totally swallowed up and lost in the fierce roaring of the +flames. Such was the very appropriate end of Hendrik and of the magic +of Hendrik. + +Down by the flagstaff the old man lay in his fit, while Bessie tended +him and a posse of Boers stood round, smoking and laughing or lounging +about with an air of lordly superiority, well worthy of victors in +possession. + +“Will none of you help me to take him to the house?” she cried. “Surely +you have ill treated an old man enough.” + +Nobody stirred, not even Frank Muller, who was gazing at her +tear-stained face with a fierce smile playing round the corners of his +clean-cut mouth, which his beard was trimmed to show. + +“It will pass, Miss Bessie,” he said; “it will pass. I have often seen +such fits. They come from too much excitement, or too much drink——” + +Suddenly he broke off with an exclamation, and pointed to the house, +from the roof of which pale curls of blue smoke were rising. + +“Who has fired the house?” he shouted. “By Heaven! I will shoot the +man.” + +The Boers wheeled round staring in astonishment, and as they gazed the +tinderlike roof burst into a red sheet of flame that grew and gathered +breadth and height with an almost marvellous rapidity. Just then, too, +a light breeze sprang up from over the hill at the rear of the house, +as it sometimes did at this time of the day, and bent the flames over +towards them in an immense arch of fire, so that the fumes and heat and +smoke began to beat upon their faces. + +“Oh, the house is burning down!” cried Bessie, utterly bewildered by +this new misfortune. + +“Here, you!” shouted Muller to the gaping Boers, “go and see if +anything can be saved. Phew! we must get out of this,” and, stooping +down, he lifted Silas Croft in his arms and walked away with him, +followed by Bessie, towards the plantation on their left, the same spot +where Jantje had taken refuge. In the centre of this plantation was a +little glade surrounded by young orange and blue-gum trees. Here he +laid the old man down upon a bed of dead leaves and soft springing +grass, and then hurried away without a word to the fire, only to find +that the house was already utterly unapproachable. Such was the +rapidity with which the flames did their work upon the mass of dry +straw and the wooden roof and floorings beneath, that in fifteen +minutes the whole of the interior of the house was a glowing +incandescent pile, and in half an hour it was completely gutted, +nothing being left standing but the massive outer walls of stone, over +which a dense column of smoke hung like a pall. Mooifontein was a +blackened ruin; only the stables and outhouses, which were roofed with +galvanised iron, remained uninjured. + +Frank Muller had not been gone five minutes when, to Bessie’s joy, her +uncle opened his eyes and sat up. + +“What is it? what is it?” he said. “Ah! I recollect. What is all this +smell of fire? Surely they have not burnt the place?” + +“Yes, uncle,” sobbed Bessie, “they have.” + +Silas groaned aloud. “It took me ten years to build, bit by bit, almost +stone by stone, and now they have destroyed it. Well, why not? God’s +will be done. Give me your arm, love; I want to get to the water. I +feel faint and sick.” + +She did as he bade her, sobbing bitterly. Within fifteen yards, on the +edge of the plantation, was a little _spruit_ or runnel of water, and +of this he drank copiously, and bathed his wounded head and face. + +“There, love,” he said, “don’t fret; I feel quite myself again. I fear +I made a fool of myself. I haven’t learnt to bear misfortune and +dishonour as I should yet, and, like Job, I felt as though God had +forsaken us. But, as I said, His will be done. What is the next move, I +wonder? Ah! we shall soon know, for here comes our friend Frank +Muller.” + +“I am glad to see that you have recovered, uncle,” said Muller +politely, “and I am sorry to have to tell you that the house is beyond +help. Believe me, if I knew who fired it I would shoot him. It was not +my wish or intention that the property should be destroyed.” + +The old man merely bowed his head and made no answer. His fiery spirit +seemed to be crushed out of him. + +“What is it your pleasure that we should do, sir?” said Bessie at last. +“Perhaps, now that we are ruined, you will allow us to go to Natal, +which, I suppose, is still an English country?” + +“Yes, Miss Bessie, Natal is still English—for the present; soon it will +be Dutch; but I am sorry that I cannot let you go there now. My orders +are to keep you both prisoners and to try your uncle by court-martial. +The waggon-house,” he went on quickly, “with the two little rooms on +each side of it, have not been touched by the fire. They shall be made +ready for you, and as soon as the heat is less you can go there;” and, +turning to his men who had followed him, he gave some rapid orders, +which two of them departed to carry out. + +Still the old man made no comment; he did not even seem indignant or +surprised; but poor Bessie was utterly prostrated, and stood helpless, +not knowing what to say to this terrible, remorseless man, who stood so +calm and unmoved before them. + +Frank Muller paused awhile to think, stroking his golden beard, then he +turned again and addressed the two other men who stood behind him. + +“You will keep guard over the prisoner,” indicating Silas Croft, “and +suffer none to communicate with him by word or sign. As soon as it is +is ready you will place him in the little room to the left of the +waggon-house, and see that he is supplied with all he wants. If he +escapes or converses, or is ill treated, I will hold you responsible. +Do you understand?” + +“Yah, _Meinheer_,” was the answer. + +“Very good; be careful you do not forget. And now, Miss Bessie, I shall +be glad if you can give me a word alone——” + +“No,” said Bessie; “no, I will not leave my uncle.” + +“I fear you will have to do that,” he said, with his cold smile. “I beg +you to think again. It will be very much to your advantage to speak to +me, and to your uncle’s advantage also. I should advise you to come.” + +Bessie hesitated. She hated and mistrusted the man, as she had good +reason to do, and feared to trust herself alone with him. + +While she still hesitated, the two Boers, under whose watch and ward +Muller had placed her uncle, advanced and stood between him and her, +cutting her off from him. Muller turned and walked a few paces—ten or +so—to the right, and in desperation she followed him. He halted behind +a bushy orange-tree of some eight years’ growth. Overtaking him, she +stood silent, waiting for him to begin. They were quite close to the +others, but the roaring of the flames of the burning house was still +sufficiently loud to have drowned a much more audible conversation. + +“What is it you have to say to me?” she said at length, pressing her +hand against her heart to still its beating. Her woman’s instinct told +her what was coming, and she was trying to nerve herself to meet it. + +“Miss Bessie,” he said slowly, “it is this. For years I have loved you +and wanted to marry you. I again ask you to be my wife.” + +“Mr. Frank Muller,” she answered, her spirit rising to the occasion, “I +thank you for your offer, and the only answer that I can give you is +that I once and for all decline it.” + +“Think,” he said; “I love you as women are not often loved. You are +always in my mind, by day and by night too. Everything I do, every step +I go up the ladder, I have said and say to myself, ‘I am doing it for +Bessie Croft, whom I mean to marry.’ Things have changed in this +country. The rebellion has been successful. It was I who gave the +casting vote for it that I might win you. I am now a great man, and +shall one day be a greater. You will be great with me. Think what you +say.” + +“I have thought, and I will not marry you. You dare to come and ask me +to marry you over the ashes of my home, out of which you have dragged +me and my poor old uncle. I hate you, I tell you, and I will not marry +you! I had rather marry a Kafir than marry you, Frank Muller, however +great you may be.” + +He smiled. “Is it because of the Englishman Niel that you will not +marry me? He is dead. It is useless to cling to a dead man.” + +“Dead or alive, I love him with all my heart, and if he is dead it is +at the hands of your people, and his blood rises up between us.” + +“His blood has sunk down into the sand. He is dead, and I am glad that +he is dead. Once more, is that your last word?” + +“It is.” + +“Very good. Then I tell you that you shall marry me or——” + +“Or what?” + +“Or your uncle, the old man you love so much, shall _die!_” + +“What do you mean?” she said in a choked voice. + +“What I say; no more and no less. Do you think that I will let one old +man’s life stand between me and my desire? Never. If you will not marry +me, Silas Croft shall be put upon his trial for attempted murder and +for treason within an hour from this. Within an hour and a half he +shall be condemned to die, and to-morrow at dawn he shall be shot, by +warrant under my hand. I am commandant here, with power of life and +death, and I tell you that he shall certainly die—and his blood will be +on your head.” + +Bessie grasped at the tree for support. “You dare not,” she said; “you +dare not murder an innocent old man.” + +“Dare not!” he answered; “you must understand me very ill, Bessie +Croft, when you talk of what I dare not do for you. There is nothing,” +he added, with a thrill of his rich voice, “that I dare not do to gain +you. Listen: promise to marry me to-morrow morning. I will bring a +clergyman here from Wakkerstroom, and your uncle shall go free as air, +though he is a traitor to the land, and though he has tried to shoot a +burgher after the declaration of peace. Refuse, and he dies. Choose +now.” + +“I have chosen,” she answered with passion. “Frank Muller, perjured +traitor—yes, murderer that you are, I will _not_ marry you.” + +“Very good, very good, Bessie; as you will. But now one more thing. You +shall not say that I have not warned you. If you persist in this your +uncle shall die, but you shall not escape me. You will not marry me? +Well, even in this country, where I can do most things, I cannot force +you to do that. But I can force you to be my wife in all but the name, +without marriage; and this, when your uncle is stiff in his bloody +grave, I will do. You shall have one more chance after the trial, and +one only. If you refuse he shall die, and then, after his death, I +shall take you away by force, and in a week’s time you will be glad +enough to marry me to cover up your shame, my pretty!” + +“You are a devil, Frank Muller, a wicked devil, but I will not be +frightened into dishonour by you. I had rather kill myself. I trust to +God to help me. I will have nothing to do with you;” and she put her +hands before her face and burst into tears. + +“You look lovely when you weep,” he said with a laugh; “to-morrow I +shall be able to kiss away your tears. As you will. Here, you!” he +shouted to some men, who could be seen watching the progress of the +dying fire, “come here.” + +Some of the men obeyed, and to them he gave instructions in the same +terms that he had given to the other two men who were watching old +Silas, ordering Bessie to be instantly incarcerated in the +corresponding little room on the other side of the waggon-house, and +kept strictly from all communication with the outside world, adding, +however, these words: + +“Bid the burghers assemble in the waggon-house for the trial of the +Englishman, Silas Croft, for treason against the State, and attempted +murder of one of the burghers of the State in the execution of the +commands of the Triumvirate.” + +The two men advanced and seized Bessie by both arms. Then, faint and +overpowered, she was led through the little plantation, over a gap in +the garden wall, down past the scorched syringa-trees which lined the +roadway that ran along the hillside at the back of the still burning +house, till they reached the waggon-house with the two little rooms +which served respectively as a store and a harness room. There she was +thrust into the store-room, which was half full of loose potatoes and +mealies in sacks, and the door locked upon her. + +There was no window to this room, and the only light in it was such as +found its way through the chinks of the door and an air-hole in the +masonry of the back wall. Bessie sank on a half-emptied sack of mealies +and tried to reflect. Her first thought was of escape, but soon she +came to the conclusion that this was a practical impossibility. The +stout yellow wood door was locked upon her, and a sentry stood before +it. She rose and looked through the air-hole in the rear wall, but +there another sentry was posted. Then she turned her attention to the +side wall that divided the room from the waggon-house. It was built of +fourteen-inch green brickwork, and had cracked from the shrinkage of +the bricks, so that she could hear everything that went on in the +waggon-house, and even see anybody who might be moving about in it. But +it was far too strong for her to hope to be able to break through, and +even if she did, it would be useless, for armed men were there also. +Besides, how could she run away and leave her old uncle to his fate? + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. +CONDEMNED TO DEATH + + +Half an hour passed in silence, which was broken only by the footsteps +of the sentries as they tramped, or rather loitered, up and down, or by +the occasional fall of some calcined masonry from the walls of the +burnt-out house. What between the smell of smoke and dust, the heat of +the sun on the tin roof above, and the red-hot embers of the house in +front, the little room where Bessie was shut up grew almost unbearable, +and she felt as though she should faint upon the sacks. Through one of +the cracks in the waggon-house wall there blew a slight draught, and by +this crack Bessie placed herself, leaning her head against the wall so +as to get the full benefit of the air and to command a view of the +place. Presently several of the Boers came into the waggon-house and +pulled some of the carts and timber out of it, leaving one buck-waggon, +however, placed along the wall on the side opposite to the crack +through which Bessie was looking. Then they pulled the Scotch cart over +to her side, laughing about something among themselves as they did so, +and arranged it with its back turned towards the waggon, supporting the +shafts upon a waggon-jack. Next, out of the farther corner of the +place, they extracted an old saw-bench, and set it at the top of the +open space. Then Bessie understood what they were doing: they were +arranging a court, and the saw-bench was the judge’s chair. So Frank +Muller meant to carry out his threat! + +Shortly after this all the Boers, except those who were keeping guard, +filed into the place and began to clamber on to the buck-waggon, +seating themselves with much rough joking in a double row upon the +broad side rails. Next appeared Hans Coetzee, his head bound up in a +bloody handkerchief. He was pale and shaky, but Bessie could see that +he was but little the worse for his wound. Then came Frank Muller +himself, looking white and very terrible, and as he came the men +stopped their jokes and talking. Indeed it was curious to observe how +strong was his ascendancy over them. As a rule, the weak part of Boer +organisation is that it is practically impossible to persuade one Boer +to pay deference to or obey another; but this was certainly not the +case where Frank Muller was concerned. + +Muller advanced without hesitation to the saw-bench at the top of the +open space, and sat down on it, placing his rifle between his knees. +After this there was a pause, and then Bessie saw her old uncle led +forward by two armed Boers, who halted in the middle of the space, +about three paces from the saw-bench, and stood one on either side of +their prisoner. At the same time Hans Coetzee climbed into the Scotch +cart, and Muller drew a note-book and a pencil from his pocket. + +“Silence!” he said. “We are assembled here to try the Englishman, Silas +Croft, by court-martial. The charges against him are that by word and +deed, notably by continuing to fly the British flag after the country +had been surrendered to the Republic, he has traitorously rebelled +against the Government of this country. Further, that he has attempted +to murder a burgher of the Republic by shooting at him with a loaded +rifle. If these charges are proved against him he will be liable to +death, by martial law. Prisoner Croft, what do you answer to the +charges against you?” + +The old man, who seemed very quiet and composed, looked up at his +judge, and then replied: + +“I am an English subject. I only defended my house after you had +murdered one of my servants. I deny your jurisdiction over me, and I +refuse to plead.” + +Frank Muller made some notes in his pocket-book, and then said, “I +overrule the prisoner’s objection as to the jurisdiction of the court. +As to the charges, we will now take evidence. Of the first charge no +evidence is needed, for we all saw the flag flying. As to the second, +Hans Coetzee, the assaulted burgher, will now give evidence. Hans +Coetzee, do you swear, in the name of God and the Republic, to speak +the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?” + +“Almighty, yes,” answered Hans from the cart on which he had enthroned +himself, “so help me the dear Lord.” + +“Proceed, then.” + +“I was entering the house of the prisoner to arrest him, in obedience +to your worshipful commands, when the prisoner lifted a gun and fired +at me. The bullet from the gun struck me upon the ear, cutting it and +putting me to much pain and loss of blood. That is the evidence I have +to give.” + +“That’s right; that is not a lie,” said some of the men on the waggon. + +“Prisoner, have you any question to ask the witness?” said Muller. + +“I have no question to ask; I deny your jurisdiction,” said the old man +with spirit. + +“The prisoner declines to question the witness, and again pleads to the +jurisdiction, a plea which I have overruled. Gentlemen, do you desire +to hear any further evidence?” + +“No, no.” + +“Do you find the prisoner guilty of the charges laid against him?” + +“Yes, yes,” from the waggon. + +Muller made a further note in his book, and went on: + +“Then, the prisoner having been found guilty of high treason and +attempted murder, the only matter that remains is the question of the +punishment required to be meted out by the law to such wicked and +horrible offences. Every man will give his verdict, having duly +considered if there is any way by which, in accordance with the holy +dictates of his conscience, and with the natural promptings to pity in +his heart, he can extend mercy to the prisoner. As commandant and +president of the court, the first vote lies with me; and I must tell +you, gentlemen, that I feel the responsibility a very heavy one in the +sight of God and my country; and I must also warn you not to be +influenced or overruled by my decision, who am, like you, only a man, +liable to err and be led away.” + +“Hear, hear,” said the voices on the waggon as he paused to note the +effect of his address. + +“Gentlemen and burghers of the State, my natural promptings in this +case are towards pity. The prisoner is an old man, who has lived many +years amongst us like a brother. Indeed, he is a _voortrekker_, and, +though an Englishman, one of the fathers of the land. Can we condemn +such a one to a bloody grave, more especially as he has a niece +dependent on him?” + +“No, no!” they cried, in answer to this skilful touch upon the better +strings in their nature. + +“Gentlemen, those sentiments do you honour. My own heart cried but now, +‘No, no. Whatever his sins have been, let the old man go free.’ But +then came reflection. True, the prisoner is old; but should not age +have taught him wisdom? Is that which is not to be forgiven to youth to +be forgiven to the ripe experience of many years? May a man murder and +be a traitor because he is old?” + +“No, certainly not!” answered the chorus on the waggon. + +“Then there is the second point. He was a _voortrekker_ and a father to +the land. Should he not therefore have known better than to betray it +into the hands of the cruel, godless English? For, gentlemen, though +that charge is not laid against him, we must remember, as throwing +light upon his general character, that the prisoner was one of those +vile men who betrayed the land to Shepstone. Is it not a most cruel and +unnatural thing that a father should sell his own children into +slavery?—that a father of the land should barter away its freedom? +Therefore on this point too does justice temper mercy.” + +“That is so,” echoed the chorus with particular enthusiasm, most of +them having themselves been instrumental in bringing the annexation +about. + +“Then one more thing: this man has a niece, and it is the care of all +good men to see that the young shall not be left destitute and +friendless, lest they should grow up bad and become enemies to the +well-being of the State. But in this case that will not be so, for the +farm will go to the girl by law; and, indeed, she will be well rid of +so desperate and godless an old man. + +“And now, having set my reasons towards one side and the other before +you, and having warned you fully to act each man according to his +conscience, I give my vote. It is”—and in the midst of the most intense +silence he paused and looked at old Silas, who never even quailed—“it +is _death_.” + +There was a little hum of conversation, and poor Bessie, surveying the +scene through the crack in the store-room wall, groaned in bitterness +and despair of heart. + +Then Hans Coetzee spoke. “It cut his bosom in two,” he said, “to have +to say a word against one to whom he had for many years been as a +brother. But, then, what was he to do? The man had plotted evil against +their land, the dear land that the dear Lord had given them, and which +they and their fathers had on various occasions watered, and were still +continuing to water, with their blood. What could be a fitting +punishment for so black-hearted a traitor, and how would it be possible +to insure the better behaviour of other damned Englishmen, unless they +inflicted that punishment? There could, alas! be but one answer—though, +personally speaking, he uttered it with many tears—and that answer was +_death_.” + +After this there were no more speeches, but each man voted, according +to his age, upon his name being called by the president. At first there +was a little hesitation, for some among them were fond of old Silas, +and loth to destroy him. But Frank Muller had played his game very +well, and, notwithstanding his appeals to their independence of +judgment, they knew full surely what would happen to him who gave his +vote against the president. So they swallowed their better feelings +with all the ease for which such swallowing is noted, and one by one +uttered the fatal word. + +When they had all done Frank Muller addressed Silas: + +“Prisoner, you have heard the judgment against you. I need not now +recapitulate your crimes. You have had a fair and open trial by +court-martial, such as our law directs. Have you anything to say why +sentence of death should not be passed upon you in accordance with the +judgment?” + +Old Silas looked up with flashing eyes, and shook back his fringe of +white hair like a lion at bay. + +“I have nothing to say. If you will do murder, do it, black-hearted +villain that you are! I might point to my grey hairs, to my murdered +servant, to my home that took me ten years to build—destroyed by you! I +might tell you how I have been a good citizen and lived peaceably and +neighbourly in the land for more than twenty years—ay, and done +kindness after kindness to many of you who are going to butcher me in +cold blood! But I will not. Shoot me if you will, and may my death lie +heavy on your heads. This morning I would have said that my country +would avenge me; I cannot say that now, for England has deserted us, +and I have no country. Therefore I leave the vengeance in the hands of +God, who never fails to avenge, though sometimes He waits for long to +do it. I am not afraid of you. Shoot me—now if you like. I have lost my +honour, my home, and my country; why should I not lose my life also?” + +Frank Muller fixed his cold eyes upon the old man’s quivering face and +smiled a dreadful smile of triumph. + +“Prisoner, it is now my duty in the name of God and the Republic, to +sentence you to be shot to-morrow at dawn, and may the Almighty forgive +you your wickedness and have mercy upon your soul. + +“Let the prisoner be removed, and let a man ride full speed to the +empty house on the hillside, where the Englishman with the red beard +used to live, one hour this side of Wakkerstroom, and bring back with +him the clergyman he will find waiting there, that the prisoner may be +offered his ministrations. Also let two men be set to dig the +prisoner’s grave in the burial-place at the back of the house.” + +The guards laid their hands upon the old man’s shoulders, and he turned +and went with them without a word. Through her crack in the wall Bessie +watched him go till the dear old head with its fringe of white hairs +and the bent frame were no more visible. Then at last, benumbed and +exhausted by the horrors she was passing through, her faculties failed +her, and she fell forward in a faint there upon the sacks. + +Meanwhile Muller was writing the death-warrant on a sheet of his +pocket-book. At the foot he left a space for his own signature, but for +reasons of his own he did not sign. What he did do was to pass the book +round to be countersigned by all who had formed the court in this mock +trial, his object being to implicate every one there present in the +judicial murder by the direct and incontrovertible evidence of his +sign-manual. Now, Boers are simple pastoral folk, but they are not +quite so simple as to be deceived by a move like this, and hereon +followed a very instructive little scene. To a man they had been +willing enough to give their verdict for the execution of Silas, but +they were by no means prepared to record it in black and white. As soon +as they understood the object of their feared and respected commandant, +a general desire manifested itself to make themselves individually and +collectively scarce. Suddenly they found that they had business +outside, to which each and all of them must attend. Already they had +escaped from their extemporised jury-box, and, headed by the +redoubtable Hans, were approaching the entrance to the waggon-house, +when Frank Muller perceived their design, and roared in a voice of +thunder: + +“Stop! Not a man leaves this place till the warrant is signed.” + +Instantly they halted, and began to look innocent and converse. + +“Hans Coetzee, come here and sign,” said Muller again, whereon that +unfortunate advanced with as good a grace as he could muster, murmuring +to himself curses, not loud but deep, upon the head of “that devil of a +man, Frank Muller.” + +However, there was no help for it, so, with a sickly smile, he put his +name to the fatal document in big and shaky letters. Then Muller called +another man, who instantly tried to shirk on the ground that his +education had been neglected, and that he could not write, an excuse +which availed him little, for Frank Muller quietly wrote his name for +him, leaving a space for his mark. After this there was no more +trouble, and in five minutes the back of the warrant was covered with +the sprawling signatures of the various members of the court. + +One by one the men went, till at last Muller was left alone, seated on +the saw-bench, his head sunk upon his breast, in one hand holding the +warrant, while with the other he stroked his golden beard. Presently he +ceased stroking his beard and sat for some minutes perfectly still—so +still that he might have been carved in stone. By this time the +afternoon sun had sunk behind the hill and the deep waggon-house was +full of shadow that seemed to gather round him and invest him with a +sombre, mysterious grandeur. He looked like a King of Evil, for Evil +has her princes as well as Good, whom she stamps with an imperial seal +of power, and crowns with a diadem of her own, and among these Frank +Muller was surely great. A little smile of triumph played upon his +beautiful cruel face, a little light danced within his cold eyes and +ran down the yellow beard. At that moment he might have sat for a +portrait of his master, the devil. + +Presently he awoke from his reverie. “I have her!” he said to himself; +“I have her in a vice! She cannot escape me; she cannot let the old man +die! Those curs have served my purpose well; they are as easy to play +on as a fiddle, and I am a good player. Yes, and now we are getting to +the end of the tune.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. +“WE MUST PART, JOHN” + + +Jess and her companion stood in awed silence and gazed at the +blackening and distorted corpses of the thunder-blasted Boers. Then +they passed by them to the tree which grew some ten paces or more on +the other side of the place of death. There was some difficulty in +leading the horses by the bodies, but at last they came with a wheel +and a snort of suspicion, and were tied up to the tree by John. +Meanwhile Jess took some of the hard-boiled eggs out of the basket and +vanished, remarking that she should take her clothes off and dry them +in the sun while she ate her breakfast, and that she advised him to do +likewise. Accordingly, so soon as she was well out of sight behind the +shelter of the rocks she set to work to free herself from her sodden +garments, a task of no little difficulty. Then she wrung them out and +spread them one by one on the flat water-washed stones around, which +were by now thoroughly warmed with the sun. Next she climbed to a pool +under the shadow of the steep bank, in the rock-bed of the river, where +she bathed her bruises and washed the sand and mud from her hair and +feet. Her bath finished, she returned and sat herself on a slab of flat +stone out of the glare of the sun, and ate her breakfast of hard-boiled +eggs, reflecting meanwhile on the position in which she found herself. +Her heart was very sore and heavy, and almost could she wish that she +were lying deep beneath those rushing waters. She had counted upon +death, and now she was not dead; indeed, she with her shame and trouble +might yet live for many a year. She was as one who in her sleep had +seemed to soar on angels’ wings far into the airy depths, and then +awakened with a start to find that she had tumbled from her bed. All +the heroic scale, all the more than earthly depth of passion, all the +spiritualised desires that sprang into being beneath the shadow of the +approaching end, had come down to the common level of an undesirable +attachment, along which she must drag her weary feet for many a year. +Nor was this all. She had been false to Bessie; more, she had broken +Bessie’s lover’s troth. She had tempted him and he had fallen, and now +he was as bad as she. Death would have justified all this; never would +she have done it had she thought that she was doomed to live; but now +Death had cheated her, as is his fashion with people to whom his +presence is more or less desirable, leaving her to cope with the spirit +she had invoked when his sword was quivering over her. + +What would be the end of it in the event of their escape? What could be +the end except misery? It should go no farther, far as it had gone—that +she swore; no, not if it broke her heart and his too. The conditions +were altered again, and the memory of those dreadful and wondrous hours +when they two swung upon the raging river and exchanged their undying +troth, with the grave for an altar, must remain a memory and nothing +more. It had risen in their lives like some beautiful yet terrible +dream-image of celestial joy, and now like a dream it must vanish. And +yet it was no dream, except in so far as all her life was a dream and a +vision, a riddle of which glimpses of the answer came as rarely as +gleams of sunshine on a rainy day. Alas! it was no dream; it was a +portion of the living, breathing past, that, having once been, is +immortal in its every part and moment, incarnating as it does the very +spirit of immortality, an utter incapacity to change. As the act was, +as the word had been spoken, so would act and word be for ever and for +ever. And now this undying thing must be caged and cast about with the +semblance of death and clouded over with the shadow of an unreal +forgetfulness. Oh, it was bitter, very bitter! What would it be now to +go away, quite away from him, and know him married to her own sister, +the other woman with a prior right? What would it be to think of +Bessie’s sweetness slowly creeping into her empty place and filling it, +of Bessie’s gentle constant love covering up the recollection of their +wilder passion; pervading it and covering it up as the twilight slowly +pervades and covers up the day, till at last perhaps it was blotted out +and forgotten in the night of forgetfulness? + +And yet it must be so: she was determined that it should be so. Ah, +that she had died then with his kiss upon her lips! Why had he not let +her die? And grieving thus the poor girl shook her damp hair over her +face and sobbed in the bitterness of her heart, as Eve might have +sobbed when Adam reproached her. + +But, naked or dressed, sobbing will not mend matters in this sad world +of ours, a fact which Jess had the sense to recognise; so presently she +wiped her eyes with her hair, having nothing else at hand to wipe them +with, and set to work to struggle into her partially dried garments +again, a process calculated to irritate the most fortunate and +happy-minded woman in the whole wide world. Certainly in her present +frame of mind those damp, bullet-torn clothes drove Jess frantic, so +much so that had she been a man she would probably have sworn—a +consolation that her sex denied her. Fortunately she carried a +travelling comb in her pocket, with which she made shift to do her +curling hair, if hair can be said to be done when one has not a hairpin +or even a bit of string wherewith to fasten it. + +Then, after a last and frightful encounter with her sodden boots, that +seemed to take almost as much out of her as her roll at the bottom of +the Vaal, Jess rose and walked back to the spot where she had left John +an hour before. When she reached him he was employed in saddling up the +two greys with the saddles and bridles that he had removed from the +carcases of the horses which the lightning had destroyed. + +“Why, Jess, you look quite smart. Have you dried your clothes?” he +said. “I have after a fashion.” + +“Yes,” she answered. + +He looked at her. “Dearest, you have been crying. Come, things are +black enough, but it is useless to cry. At any rate, we have escaped +with our lives so far.” + +“John,” said Jess sharply, “there must be no more of that. Things have +changed. We were dead last night. Now we have come to life again. +Besides,” she added, with a ghost of a laugh, “perhaps you will see +Bessie to-morrow. I should think that we ought to have come to the end +of our misfortunes.” + +John’s face fell as a sense of the impossible and most tragic position +in which they were placed, physically and morally, swept into his mind. + +“Jess, my own Jess,” he said, “what _can_ we do?” + +She stamped her foot in the bitter anguish of her heart. “I told you,” +she said, “that there must be no more of that. What are you thinking +about? From to-day we are dead to each other. I have done with you and +you with me. It is your own fault; you should have let me die. Oh, +John,” she wailed out, “why did you not let me die? Why did we not both +die? We should have been happy now, or—asleep. We must part, John, we +must part; and what shall I do without you, how _shall_ I live without +you?” + +Her distress was very poignant, and it affected him so much that for a +moment he could not trust himself to answer her. + +“Would it not be best to make a clean breast of it to Bessie?” he said +at last. “I should feel a villain for the rest of my life, but upon my +word I have a mind to do it.” + +“No, no,” she cried passionately, “I will not allow it! You shall swear +to me that you will never breathe a word to Bessie. I will not have her +happiness destroyed. We have sinned, we must suffer; not Bessie, who is +innocent, and only takes her right. I promised my dear mother to look +after Bessie and protect her, and I will not be the one to betray +her—never, never! You must marry her and I must go away. There is no +other way out of it.” + +John looked at her, not knowing what to say or do. A sharp pang of +despair went through him as he watched the passionate pale face and the +great eyes dim with tears. How was he to part from her? He put out his +arms to take her in them, but she pushed him away almost fiercely. + +“Have you no honour?” she cried. “Is it not all hard enough to bear +without your tempting me? I tell you it is done with. Finish saddling +that horse and let us start. The sooner we get off the sooner it will +be over, unless the Boers catch us again and shoot us, which for my own +part I devoutly hope they may. You must make up your mind to remember +that I am nothing but your sister-in-law. If you will not remember it, +then I shall ride away and leave you to go your road and I will go +mine.” + +John said no more. Her determination was as crushing as the cruel +necessity that dictated it. What was more, his own reason and sense of +honour approved it, whatever his passion might prompt to the contrary. +As he turned wearily to finish saddling the horses, with Jess he almost +regretted that they had not both been drowned. + +Of course the only saddles that they had were those belonging to the +dead Boers, which was very awkward for a lady. Luckily for herself, +however, from constant practice, Jess could ride almost as well as +though she had been trained to the ring, and was even capable of +balancing herself without a pommel on a man’s saddle, having often and +often ridden round the farm in that fashion. So soon as the horses were +ready she astonished John by clambering into the saddle of the older +and steadier animal, placing her foot in the stirrup-strap and +announcing that she was ready to start. + +“You had better ride some other way,” said John. “It isn’t usual, I +know, but you will tumble off so.” + +“You shall see,” she said with a cold little laugh, putting the horse +into a canter as she spoke. John followed her on the other horse, and +noticed with amazement that she sat as straight and steady on her +slippery seat as though she were on a hunting saddle, keeping herself +from falling by an instinctive balancing of the body which was very +curious to notice. When they were well on to the plain they halted to +consider their route, and, turning, Jess pointed to the long lines of +vultures descending to feast on their would-be murderers. If they went +down the river it would lead them to Standerton, and there they would +be safe if they could slip into the town, which was garrisoned by +English. But then, as they had gathered from the conversation of their +escort, Standerton was closely invested by the Boers, and to try and +pass through their lines was more than they dared to do. It was true +that they still had the pass signed by the Boer general, but after what +had occurred not unnaturally they were somewhat sceptical about the +value of a pass, and certainly most unwilling to put its efficacy to +the proof. So after due consideration they determined to avoid +Standerton and ride in the opposite direction till they found a +practicable ford of the Vaal. Fortunately, they both of them had a very +good idea of the lay of the land; and, in addition to this, John +possessed a small compass, fastened to his watch-chain, which would +enable him to steer a fairly correct course across a veldt—a fact that +rendered them independent of the waggon tracks. On the roads they were +exposed to the risk, if not the certainty, of detection. But on the +wide veldt the chances were they would meet no living creature except +the wild game. Should they see houses they could avoid them, and +probably their male inhabitants would be far away from home on business +connected with the war. + +Accordingly they rode ten miles or more along the bank without seeing a +soul, till they reached a space of bubbling, shallow water that looked +fordable. Indeed, an investigation of the banks revealed the fact that +a loaded waggon had passed the river here and at no distant date, +perhaps a week before. + +“This is good enough,” said John; “we will try it.” And without further +ado they plunged into the rapid. + +In the centre of the stream the water was strong and deep, and for a +few yards swept the horses off their legs, but they struck out boldly +till they found their footing again; and after that there was no more +trouble. On the farther side of the river John took counsel with his +compass, and they steered a course straight for Mooifontein. At midday +they off-saddled the horses for an hour by some water, and ate a small +portion of their remaining food. Then they up-saddled and went on +across the lonely, desolate veldt. No human being did they see all that +long day. The wide country was tenanted only by great herds of game +that went thundering past like squadrons of cavalry, or here and there +by coteries of vultures, hissing and fighting furiously over some dead +buck. And so at last the twilight gathered and found them alone in the +wilderness. + +“Well, what is to be done now?” said John, pulling up his tired horse. +“It will be dark in half an hour.” + +Jess slid from her saddle as she answered, “Get off and go to sleep, I +suppose.” + +She was quite right; there was absolutely nothing else that they could +do; so John set to work and hobbled the horses, tying them together for +further security, for it would be a dreadful thing if they were to +stray. By the time that this was done the twilight was deepening into +night, and the two sat down to contemplate their surroundings with +feelings akin to despair. So far as the eye could reach there was +nothing to be seen but a vast stretch of lonely plain, across which the +night wind blew in dreary gusts, causing the green grass to ripple like +the sea. There was absolutely no shelter to be had, nor any object to +break the monotony of the veldt, except two ant-heaps set about five +paces apart. John sat down on one of the ant-heaps, and Jess took up +her position on the other, and there they remained, like pelicans in +the wilderness, watching the daylight fade out of the day. + +“Don’t you think that we had better sit together?” suggested John +feebly. “It would be warmer, you see.” + +“No, I don’t,” answered Jess snappishly. “I am very comfortable as I +am.” + +Unfortunately, however, this was not the exact truth, for already poor +Jess’s teeth were chattering with cold. Soon, indeed, weary as they +were, they found that the only way to keep their blood moving was to +tramp continually up and down. After an hour and a half of this +exercise, the breeze dropped and the temperature became more suitable +to their lightly clad, half-starved, and almost exhausted bodies. Then +the moon came up, and the hyenas, or wolves, or some such animals, came +up also and howled round them—though they could not see them. These +hyenas proved more than Jess’s nerves would bear, and at last she +condescended to ask John to share her ant-heap: where they sat, +shivering in each other’s arms, throughout the livelong night. Indeed, +had it not been for the warmth they gathered from each other, it is +probable that they might have fared even worse than they did; for, +though the days were hot, the nights were now beginning to be cold on +the high veldt, especially when, as at present, the air had recently +been chilled by the passage of a heavy tempest. Another drawback to +their romantic situation was that they were positively soaked with the +falling dew. There they sat, or rather cowered, for hour after hour +without sleeping, for sleep was impossible, and almost without +speaking; and yet, notwithstanding the wretchedness of their +circumstances, not altogether unhappy, since they were united in their +misery. At last the eastern sky began to turn grey, and John rose, +shook the dew from his hat and clothes, and limped off as well as his +half-frozen limbs would allow to catch the horses, which were standing +together some yards away, looking huge and ghost-like in the mist. By +sunrise he had managed to saddle them up, and they started once more. +This time, however, he was obliged to lift Jess on to the saddle. + +About eight o’clock they halted and ate their little remaining food, +and then went on, slowly enough, for the horses were almost as tired as +they were, and it was necessary to husband them if they were to reach +Mooifontein by dark. At midday they rested for an hour and a half, and +then, feeling almost worn out, continued their journey, reckoning that +they could not be more than sixteen or seventeen miles from +Mooifontein. It was about two hours after this that the catastrophe +happened. The course they were following ran down the side of one land +wave, then across a little swampy _sluit_, and up the opposite slope. +They crossed the marshy ground, walked their horses up to the crest of +the opposite rise, and found themselves face to face with a party of +armed and mounted Boers. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. +JESS FINDS A FRIEND + + +The Boers swooped down on them with a shout, like hawks on a sparrow. +John pulled up his horse and drew his revolver. + +“Don’t, don’t!” cried Jess; “our only chance is to be civil;” whereon, +thinking better of the matter, he replaced it, and wished the leading +Boer good-day. + +“What are you doing here?” asked the Dutchman; whereon Jess explained +that they had a pass—which John promptly produced—and were proceeding +to Mooifontein. + +“Ah, _Oom_ Croft’s!” said the Boer as he took the pass, “you are likely +to meet a burying party there,” but at the time Jess did not understand +what he meant. He eyed the pass suspiciously all over, and then asked +how it came to be stained with water. + +Jess, not daring to tell the truth, said that it had been dropped into +a puddle. The Boer was about to return it when suddenly his eye fell +upon Jess’s saddle. + +“How is it that the girl is riding on a man’s saddle?” he asked. “Why, +I know that saddle; let me look at the other side. Yes, there is a +bullet-hole through the flap. That is Swart Dirk’s saddle. How did you +get it?” + +“I bought it from him,” answered Jess without a moment’s hesitation. “I +could get nothing to ride on.” + +The Boer shook his head. “There are plenty of saddles in Pretoria,” he +said, “and these are not the days when a man sells his saddle to an +English girl. Ah! and that other is a Boer saddle too. No Englishman +has a saddle-cloth like that. This pass is not sufficient,” he went on +in a cold tone; “it should have been countersigned by the local +commandant. I must arrest you.” + +Jess began to make further excuses, but he merely repeated, “I must +arrest you,” and gave some orders to the men with him. + +“We are caught again,” she said to John; “and there is nothing for it +but to go.” + +“I sha’n’t mind so much if only they will give us some food,” replied +John philosophically. “I am half starved.” + +“And I am half dead,” said Jess with a little laugh. “I wish they would +shoot us and have done with it.” + +“Come, cheer up, Jess,” he answered; “perhaps the luck is going to +change.” + +She shook her head with the air of one who expects the worst, and then +some gay young spirits among the Boers came up and made things pleasant +by an exhibition of their polished wit, which they chiefly exercised at +the expense of poor Jess, whose appearance, as may well be imagined, +was exceedingly wretched and forlorn; so much so that it would have +moved the pity of most people. But these specimens of the golden youth +of a simple pastoral folk found in it a rich mine of opportunities. +They asked her if she would not like to ride straddle-legged, and if +she had bought her dress from an old Hottentot who had done with it, +and if she had been rolling about tipsy in the veldt to get all the mud +on it; and generally availed themselves of this unparalleled occasion +to be witty at the expense of an English lady in sore distress. Indeed, +one gay young dog called Jacobus was proceeding from jokes linguistic +to jokes practical. Perceiving that Jess only kept her seat on the +man’s saddle by the exercise of a faculty of balance, it occurred to +him that it would be a fine thing to upset it and make her fall upon +her face. Accordingly, with a sudden twist of the rein he brought his +horse sharply against her wearied animal, nearly throwing it down; but +she was too quick for him, and saved herself by catching at the mane. +Jess said nothing; indeed, she made no answer to her tormentors, and +fortunately John understood little of what they were saying. Presently, +however, the young Boer made another attempt, putting out his hand to +give her a slight push. As it happened John saw this, and the sight of +the indignity caused the blood to boil in his veins. Before he could +reflect on what he was doing he was alongside of the man, and, catching +him by the throat, had hurled him backwards over his crupper with all +the force he could command. Jacobus fell heavily upon his shoulders, +and instantly there was a great hubbub. John drew his revolver, and the +other Boers raised their rifles, so that Jess thought there was an end +of it, and put her hand before her face, having first thanked John for +avenging the insult with a swift flash of her beautiful eyes. And +indeed in another second it would have been all over had not the elder +man who inspected the pass interposed. In fact he had witnessed the +proceedings which led to his follower’s discomfiture, and, being a +decent person at bottom, strongly disapproved of them. + +“Leave them alone and put down those guns,” he shouted. “It served +Jacobus right; he was trying to push the girl from her horse! Almighty! +it is not wonderful those English call us brute beasts when you boys do +such things. Put down your guns, I say, and one of you help Jacobus up. +He looks as sick as a buck with a bullet through it.” + +Accordingly the row passed over, and the playful Jacobus—whom Jess +noted with satisfaction seemed exceedingly ill and trembled in every +limb—was with difficulty hoisted on to his horse, to continue his +journey with not a single bit of fun left in him. + +A little while after this Jess pointed out a long low hill that lay +upon the flat veldt, a dozen miles or so away, like a stone upon a +stretch of sand. + +“Look,” she said, “there is Mooifontein at last!” + +“We are not there yet,” remarked John sadly. + +Another weary half-hour passed, and then on passing over a crest +suddenly they saw Hans Coetzee’s homestead lying down by the water in +the hollow. So that was whither they were being taken. + +Within a hundred yards of the house the Boers halted and consulted, +except Jacobus, who went on, still looking very green. Finally the +elder man came to them and addressed Jess, at the same time handing her +back the pass. + +“You can go on home,” he said. “The Englishman must stay with us till +we find out more about him.” + +“He says that I can go. What shall I do?” asked Jess. “I don’t like +leaving you with these men.” + +“Do? why, go, of course. I can look after myself; and if I can’t, +certainly you won’t be able to help me. Perhaps you will be able to get +some help from the farm. At any rate, you must go.” + +“Now, Englishman,” said the Boer. + +“Good-bye, Jess,” said John. “God bless you.” + +“Good-bye, John,” she answered, looking him steadily in the eyes for a +moment, and then turning away to hide the tears which would gather in +her own. + +And thus they parted. + +She knew her way now even across the open veldt, for she dared not go +by the road. There was, however, a bridle path that ran over the hill +at the back of Mooifontein, and for this she shaped her course. It was +five o’clock by now, and both she and her horse were in a condition of +great exhaustion, enhanced in her own case by want of food and trouble +of mind. But she was a strong woman, with a will like iron, and she +held on when most girls would have died. Jess meant to get to +Mooifontein somehow, and she knew that she would get there. If only she +could reach the place and find help to send to her lover, she did not +greatly care what happened to her afterwards. The pace of the horse she +was riding grew slower and slower. From the ambling canter into which +at first she managed occasionally to force it, and which is the best +pace to travel at in South Africa, it relapsed continually into a rough +short trot, which was agony to her, riding as she was, and from the +trot into a walk. Indeed, just before sunset, or a little after six +o’clock, the walk became final. At last they reached the rising ground +that stretched up the slope of the Mooifontein hill, and here the poor +beast fell down utterly worn out. Jess slipped off and tried to drag it +up, but failed. It had no strength left in it. So she did what she +could, pulling off the bridle and undoing the girth, so that the saddle +would fall off if the horse ever managed to rise. The animal watched +her go with melancholy eyes, knowing that it was being deserted. First +it neighed, then with a desperate effort it struggled to its feet and +trotted after her for a hundred yards or so, only to fall down again at +last. Jess turned and saw it, and, exhausted as she was, she positively +ran to get away from the look in those big eyes. That night there was a +cold rain, in which the horse perished, as “poor” horses are apt to do. + +It was nearly dark when at length Jess reached the top of the hill and +looked down. She knew the spot well, and from it she could always see +the light in the kitchen window of the house. To-night there was no +light. Wondering what it could mean, and feeling a fresh chill of doubt +creep round her heart, she scrambled on down the hill. When she was +about half-way a shower of sparks suddenly shot into the air from the +spot where the house should be, caused by the fall of a piece of wall +into the smouldering embers beneath. Again Jess paused, wondering and +aghast. What could have happened? Determined at all hazards to +discover, she crept on very cautiously. Before she had gone another +twenty yards, however, a hand was laid suddenly upon her arm. She +turned quickly, too paralysed with fear to cry out, and a voice that +was familiar to her whispered into her ear, “Missie Jess, Missie Jess, +is it you? I am Jantje.” + +She gave a sigh of relief, and her heart, which had stood still, began +to move again. Here was a friend at last. + +“I heard you coming down the hill, though you came so softly,” he said; +“but I could not tell who it was, because you jumped from rock to rock +and did not walk as usual. But I thought it was a woman with boots; I +could not see, because the light all falls dead against the hill, and +the stars are not up. So I got to the left of your path—for the wind is +blowing from the right—and waited till you had passed and _winded_ you. +Then I knew who you were for certain—either you or Missie Bessie; but +Missie Bessie is shut up, so it could not be her.” + +“Bessie shut up!” ejaculated Jess, not even pausing to marvel at the +dog-like instinct that had enabled the Hottentot to identify her. “What +do you mean?” + +“This way, missie, come this way, and I will tell you;” and he led her +to a fantastic pile of rocks in which it was his wild habit to sleep. +Jess knew the place well, and had often peeped into, but never entered, +the Hottentot’s kennel. + +“Stop a bit, missie. I will go and light a candle; I have some in +there, and they can’t see the light from outside;” and accordingly he +vanished. In a few seconds he returned, and, taking her by the sleeve, +led her along a winding passage between great boulders till they came +to a beehole in the rocks, through which she could see the light +shining. Going down on his hands and knees, Jantje crept through, and +Jess followed him. She found herself in a small apartment, about six +feet square by eight high, formed for the most part by the accidental +falling together of big boulders, and roofed in with one great natural +slab. The place, which was lighted by an end of candle stuck upon the +floor, was very dirty, as might be expected of a Hottentot’s den, and +in it were collected an enormous variety of odds and ends. As, +discarding a three-legged stool that Jantje offered her, Jess sank down +on a pile of skins in the corner, her eye fell upon a collection worthy +of an old rag and bone shop. The sides of the chamber were festooned +with every imaginable garment, from the white full-dress coat of an +Austrian officer down to a shocking pair of corduroys “lifted’ by +Jantje from the body of a bushman, which he had discovered in his +rambles. All these clothes were in various stages of decay, and +obviously the result of years of patient collecting. In the corners +again were sticks, kerries, and two assegais, a number of queer-shaped +stones and bones, handles of broken table-knives, bits of the locks of +guns, portions of an American clock, and various other articles which +this human jackdaw had picked up and hidden away. Altogether it was a +strange place: and vaguely it occurred to Jess, as she sank back upon +the dirty skins, that, had it not been for the old clothes and the +wreck of the American clock, she would have made acquaintance with a +very fair example of the dwellings of primeval man. + +“Stop before you begin,” she said. “Have you anything to eat here? I am +nearly starving.” + +Jantje grinned knowingly, and, grubbing in a heap of rubbish in the +corner, drew out a gourd with a piece of flat sheet iron, which once +had formed the back plate of a stove, placed on the top of it. It +contained “maas,” or curdled buttermilk, which a woman had brought him +that very morning from a neighbouring kraal, and it was destined for +Jantje’s own supper. Hungry as he was himself, for he had tasted no +food all day, he gave it to Jess without a moment’s hesitation, +together with a wooden spoon, and, squatting on the rock before her, +watched her eat it with guttural exclamations of satisfaction. Not +knowing that she was robbing a hungry man, Jess ate the maas to the +last spoonful, and was grateful to feel the sensation of gnawing +sickness leave her. + +“Now,” she said, “tell me what you mean.” + +Thereon Jantje began at the beginning and related the events of the day +so far as he was acquainted with them. When he came to where the old +man was dragged, with kicks and blows and ignominy, from his own house, +Jess’s eyes flashed, and she positively ground her teeth with +indignation; and as for her feelings when she learnt that he was +condemned to death and to be shot at dawn on the morrow, they are +simply indescribable. Of the Bessie complication Jantje was quite +ignorant, and could only tell her that Frank Muller had an interview +with her sister in the little plantation, after which she was shut up +in the store-room, where she still remained. But this was quite enough +for Jess, who knew Muller’s character better, perhaps, than anybody +else, and was not by any means ignorant of his designs upon Bessie. A +few moments’ thought put the key of the matter into her hand. She saw +now what was the reason of the granting of the pass, and of the +determined and partially successful attempt at wholesale murder of +which they had been the victims. She saw, too, why her old uncle had +been condemned to death—it was to be used as a lever with Bessie; the +man was capable even of that. + +Yes, she saw it all as clear as daylight; and in her heart she swore, +helpless as she seemed to be, that she would find a way to prevent it. +But what way? what way? Ah, if only John were here! but he was not, so +she must act without him if only she could see the road to action. She +thought first of all of going down boldly to face Muller and denounce +him as a murderer before his men; but a moment’s reflection showed that +this was impracticable. For his own safety he would be obliged to stop +her mouth somehow, and the best she could expect would be to be +incarcerated and rendered quite powerless. If only she could manage to +communicate with Bessie! At any rate it was absolutely necessary that +she should know what was happening. She might as well be a hundred +miles away as a hundred yards. + +“Jantje,” she said, “tell me where the Boers are.” + +“Some are in the waggon-house, missie, some are on sentry, and the rest +are down by the waggon they brought with them and outspanned behind the +gums there. The cart is there, too, that came just before you did, with +the clergyman in it.” + +“And where is Frank Muller?” + +“I don’t know, missie; but he brought a round tent with him in the +waggon, and it is pitched between the two big gums.” + +“Jantje, I must go down there and find out what is going on, and you +must come with me.” + +“You will be caught, missie. There is a sentry at the back of the +waggon-house, and two in front. But,” he added, “perhaps we might get +near. I will go out and look at the night.” + +Presently he returned and said that a “small rain” had come on, and the +clouds covered up the stars so that it was very dark. + +“Well, let us go at once,” said Jess. + +“Missie, you had better not go,” answered the Hottentot. “You will get +wet, and the Boers will catch you. Better let me go. I can creep about +like a snake, and if the Boers catch me it won’t matter.” + +“You must come too, but I am going. I must find out.” + +Then the Hottentot shrugged his shoulders and yielded, and, having +extinguished the candle, silently as ghosts they crept out into the +night. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. +HE SHALL DIE + + +The night was still and very dark. A soft cold rain, such as often +falls in the Wakkerstroom and New Scotland districts of the Transvaal, +and which more resembles a true north country mist than anything else, +was drizzling gently but persistently. This condition of affairs was as +favourable as possible to their enterprise, and under cover of it the +Hottentot and the white girl crept far down the hill to within twelve +or fourteen paces of the back of the waggon-house. Then Jantje, who was +leading, suddenly put back his hand and checked her, and at that moment +Jess caught the sound of a sentry’s footsteps as he tramped leisurely +up and down. For a couple of minutes or so they stopped thus, not +knowing what to do, when suddenly a man came round the corner of the +building holding a lantern in his hand. On seeing the lantern Jess’s +first impulse was to fly, but Jantje by a motion made her understand +that she was to stop still. The man with the lantern advanced towards +the other man, holding the light above his head, and looking dim and +gigantic in the mist and rain. Presently he turned his face, and Jess +saw that it was Frank Muller himself. He stood thus for a moment +waiting till the sentry was near to him. + +“You can go to your supper,” he said. “Come back in half an hour. I +will be responsible for the prisoners till then.” + +The man growled out an answer something about the rain, and then +departed round the end of the building, followed by Muller. + +“Now then, come on,” whispered Jantje; “there is a hole in the +store-room wall, and you may be able to speak to Missie Bessie.” + +Jess did not require a second invitation, but slipped up to the wall in +five seconds. Passing her hand over the stone-work she found the +air-hole, which she remembered well, for they used to play bo-peep +there as children, and was about to whisper through it, when suddenly +the door at the other end opened, and Frank Muller entered, bearing the +lantern in his hand. For a moment he stood on the threshold, opening +the slide of the lantern in order to increase the light. His hat was +off, and he wore a cape of dark cloth thrown over his shoulders, which +seemed to add to his great breadth. Indeed the thought flashed through +the mind of Jess as she looked at him through the hole, and saw the +light strike upon his face and form, glinting down his golden beard, +that he was the most magnificent specimen of humanity whom she had ever +seen. In another instant he had turned the lantern round and revealed +her dear sister Bessie to her gaze. Bessie lay upon one of the +half-empty sacks of mealies, apparently half asleep, for she opened her +wide blue eyes and looked round apprehensively like one suddenly +awakened. Her golden curls were in disorder and falling over her fair +forehead, and her face was very pale and troubled, and marked beneath +the eyes with deep blue lines. Catching sight of her visitor she rose +hurriedly and retreated as far from him as the pile of sacks and +potatoes would allow. + +“What is it?” she asked in a low voice. “I gave you my answer. Why do +you come to torment me again?” + +He placed the lantern upon an upright sack of mealies, and carefully +balanced it before he answered. Jess could see that he was taking time +to consider. + +“Let us recapitulate,” he said at length, in his full rich voice. “The +position is this. I gave you this morning the choice between consenting +to marry me to-morrow and seeing your old uncle and benefactor shot. +Further, I assured you that if you would not consent to marry me your +uncle should be shot, and that I would then make you mine, dispensing +with the ceremony of marriage. Is that not so?” + +Bessie made no answer, and he continued, his eyes fixed upon her face, +and thoughtfully stroking his beard. + +“Silence gives consent. I will go on. Before a man can be shot +according to law he must be tried and condemned according to law. Your +uncle has been tried and has been condemned.” + +“I heard it all, cruel murderer that you are,” said Bessie, lifting her +head for the first time. + +“So! I thought you would, through the crack. That is why I had you put +into this place; it would not have looked well to bring you before the +court;” and he took the light and examined the crevice. “This wall is +badly built,” he went on in a careless tone; “look, there is another +space there at the back;” and he actually came up to it and held the +lantern close to the airhole in such fashion that its light shone +through into Jess’s eyes and nearly blinded her. She shut them quickly +so that the gleam reflected from them should not betray her, then held +her breath and remained still as the dead. In another second Muller +took away the light and replaced it on the mealie bag. + +“So you say you saw it all. Well, it must have shown you that I was in +earnest. The old man took it well, did he not? He is a brave man, and I +respect him. I fancy that he will not move a muscle at the last. That +comes of English blood, you see. It is the best in the world, and I am +proud to have it in my veins.” + +“Cannot you stop torturing me, and say what you have to say?” asked +Bessie. + +“I had no wish to torture you, but if you like I will come to the +point. It is this. Will you now consent to marry me to-morrow morning +at sun-up, or am I to be forced to carry the sentence on your old uncle +into effect?” + +“I will not. I will not. I hate you and defy you.” + +Muller looked at her coldly, and then drew his pocket-book from his +pocket and extracted from it the death-warrant and a pencil. + +“Look, Bessie,” he said. “This is your uncle’s death-warrant. At +present it is valueless and informal, for I have not yet signed, +though, as you will see, I have been careful that everybody else +should. If once I place my signature there it cannot be revoked, and +the sentence must be carried into effect. If you persist in your +refusal I will sign it before your eyes;” and he placed the paper on +the book and took the pencil in his right hand. + +“Oh, you cannot, you cannot be such a fiend,” wailed the wretched +woman, wringing her hands. + +“I assure you that you are mistaken. I both can and will. I have gone +too far to turn back for the sake of one old Englishman. Listen, +Bessie. Your lover Niel is dead—that you know.” + +Here Jess behind the wall felt inclined to cry out, “it is a lie!” but, +remembering the absolute necessity of silence, she checked herself. + +“And what is more,” went on Muller, “your sister Jess is dead too! she +died two days ago.” + +“Jess dead! Jess dead! It is not true. How do you know that she is +dead?” + +“Never mind; I will tell you when we are married. She is dead, and, +except for your uncle, you are alone in the world. If you persist in +this he will soon be dead too, and his blood will be upon your head, +for you will have murdered him.” + +“And if I were to say yes, how would that help him?” she cried wildly. +“He is condemned by your court-martial—you would only deceive me and +murder him after all.” + +“On my honour, no. Before the marriage I will give this warrant to the +pastor, and he shall burn it as soon as the service is said. But, +Bessie, don’t you see that these fools who tried your uncle are only +like clay in my hands? I can bend them this way and that, and whatever +song I sing they will echo it. They do not wish to shoot your uncle, +and will be glad indeed to get out of it. Your uncle shall go in safety +to Natal, or stay here if he wills. His property shall be secured to +him, and compensation paid for the burning of his house. I swear it +before God.” + +She looked up at him, and he could see that she was inclined to believe +him. + +“It is true, Bessie, it is true—I will rebuild the place myself, and if +I can find the man who fired it he shall be shot. Come, listen to me, +and be reasonable. The man you love is dead, and no amount of sighing +can bring him to your arms. I alone am left—I who love you better than +life, better than man ever loved woman before. Look at me: am I not a +proper man for any maid to wed, though I be half a Boer? And I have the +brains, too, Bessie, the brains that shall make us both great. We were +made for each other—I have known it for years, and slowly, slowly, I +have worked my way to you till at last you are in my reach;” and he +stretched out both his arms towards her. + +“My darling,” he went on, in a soft, half-dreamy voice, “my love and +desire, yield, now—yield! Do not force this new crime upon me. I want +to grow good for your sake, and have done with bloodshed. When you are +my wife I believe that the evil will go out of me, and I shall grow +good. Yield, and never shall woman have had such a husband as I will be +to you. I will make your life soft and beautiful to you as women love +life to be. You shall have everything that money can buy and power +bring. Yield for your uncle’s sake, and for the sake of the great love +I bear you.” + +As he spoke he was slowly drawing nearer Bessie, whose face wore a +half-fascinated expression. As he came the wretched woman gathered +herself together and put out her hand to repulse him. “No, no,” she +cried, “I hate you—I cannot be false to him, living or dead. I shall +kill myself—I know I shall.” + +He made no answer, but only came always nearer, till at last his strong +arms closed round her shrinking form and drew her to him as easily as +though she were a babe. And then all at once she seemed to yield. That +embrace was the outward sign of his cruel mastery, and she struggled no +more, mentally or physically. + +“Will you marry me, darling—will you marry me?” he whispered, with his +lips so close to the golden curls that Jess, straining her ears +outside, could only just catch the words— + +“Oh, I suppose so; but I shall die—it will kill me.” + +He strained her to his heart and kissed her beautiful face again and +again, until Jess heard the heavy footsteps of the returning sentry, +and saw Muller leave go of her. Then Jantje caught Jess by the hand, +dragging her away from the wall, and presently she was once more +ascending the hill-side towards the Hottentot’s kennel. She had desired +to find out how matters stood, and she had found out indeed. To attempt +to portray the fury, the indignation, and the thirst to be avenged upon +this fiend who had attempted to murder her and her lover, and had +bought her dear sister’s honour at the price of their innocent old +uncle’s life, would be impossible. Her weariness had left her; she was +mad with all she had seen and heard, with the knowledge of what had +been done and of what was about to be done. She even forgot her passion +in it, and swore that Muller should never marry Bessie while she lived +to prevent it. Had she been a bad woman herein she might have seen an +opportunity, for Bessie once tied to Muller, John would be free to +marry her, but this idea never even entered her mind. Whatever Jess’s +errors may have been she was a self-sacrificing, honourable woman, and +one who would have died rather than profit thus by circumstance. At +length they reached the shelter again and crept into it. + +“Light a candle,” said Jess. + +Jantje hunted for and struck a match. The piece of candle they had been +using, however, was nearly burnt out, so from the rubbish in the corner +he produced a box full of “ends,” some of them three or four inches +long. In the queer sort of way that trifles do strike us when the mind +is undergoing a severe strain, Jess remembered instantly that for years +she had been unable to discover what became of the odd bits of the +candles used in the house. Now the mystery was explained. + +“Go outside and leave me. I want to think,” she said. + +The Hottentot obeyed, and seated upon the heap of skins, her forehead +resting on her hand and her fingers buried in her silky rain-soaked +hair, Jess began to review the position. It was evident to her that +Frank Muller would be as good as his word. She knew him too well to +doubt this for a moment. If Bessie did not marry him he would murder +the old man, as he had tried to murder herself and John, only this time +judicially, and then abduct her sister afterwards. She was the only +price that he was prepared to take in exchange for her uncle’s life. +But it was impossible to allow Bessie to be so sacrificed; the thought +was horrible to her. + +How, then, was it to be prevented? + +She thought again of confronting Frank Muller and openly accusing him +of her attempted murder, only, however, to dismiss the idea. Who would +believe her? And if they did believe what good would it do? She would +only be imprisoned and kept out of harm’s way, or possibly murdered out +of hand. Then she thought of attempting to communicate with her uncle +and Bessie, to tell them that John was, so far as she knew, alive, only +to recognise the impossibility of doing so now that the sentry had +returned. Besides, what object could be served? The knowledge that John +was alive might, it is true, encourage Bessie to resist Muller, but +then the death of the old man must certainly ensue. Dismissing this +project from her mind Jess began to consider whether they could obtain +assistance. Alas! it was impossible. The only people from whom she +could hope for aid would be the natives, and now that the Boers had +triumphed over the English—for this much she had gathered from her +captors and from Jantje—it was very doubtful if the Kafirs would dare +to assist her. Besides, at the best it would take twenty-four hours to +collect a force, and by then help would come too late. The situation +was hopeless. Nowhere could she see a ray of light. + +“What,” Jess said aloud to herself—“what is there in the world that +will stop a man like Frank Muller?” + +And then of an instant the answer rose up in her brain as though by +inspiration— + +“_Death!_” + +Death, and death alone, would stay him. For a minute she held the idea +in her mind till she grew familiar with it, then it was driven out by +another thought that followed swiftly on its track. Frank Muller must +die, and die before the morning light. By no other possible means could +the Gordian knot be cut, and both Bessie and her old uncle be saved. If +he were dead he could not marry Bessie, and if he died with the warrant +unsigned their uncle could not be executed. That was the terrible +answer to her riddle. + +Yet it was most just that he should die, for had he not murdered and +attempted murder? Surely if ever a man deserved a swift and awful doom +that man was Frank Muller. + +And so this forsaken, helpless girl, crouching upon the ground a torn +and bespattered fugitive in the miserable hiding-hole of a Hottentot, +arraigned the powerful leader of men before the tribunal of her +conscience, and without pity, if without wrath, passed upon him a +sentence of extinction. + +But who was to be the executioner? A dreadful thought flashed into her +mind and made her heart stand still, but she dismissed it. No, she had +not come to that! Her eyes wandering round the kennel lit upon Jantje’s +assegais and sticks in the corner, and these gave her another +inspiration. Jantje should do the deed. + +John had told her one day when they were sitting together in “The +Palatial” at Pretoria the whole of Jantje’s awful story about the +massacre of his relatives by Frank Muller twenty years before, of +which, indeed, she already knew something. It would be most fitting +that this fiend should be removed from the face of the earth by the +survivor of those unfortunates. That would be poetic justice, and +justice is so rare in the world. But the question was, would he do it? +The little man was a wonderful coward, that she knew, and had a great +terror of Boers, and especially of Frank Muller. + +“Jantje,” she whispered, stooping towards the bee-hole. + +“Yah, missie,” answered a hoarse voice outside, and next second the +Hottentot’s monkey-like face came creeping into the ring of light, +followed by his even more monkey-like form. + +“Sit down there, Jantje. I am lonely here and want to talk.” + +He obeyed her, with a grin. “What shall we talk about, missie? Shall I +tell you a story of the time when the beasts could speak, as I used to +do years and years ago?” + +“No, Jantje. Tell me about that stick—that long stick with a knob at +the top, and the nicks cut on it. Has it not something to do with Frank +Muller?” + +The Hottentot’s face instantly grew evil. “Yah, yah, missie!” he said, +reaching out a skinny claw and seizing the stick. “Look, this big +notch, that is my father, Baas Frank shot him; and this next notch, +that is my mother, Baas Frank shot her; and this next notch, that is my +uncle, an old, old man, Baas Frank shot him also. And these small +notches, they are when he has beaten me—yes, and other things too. And +now I will make more notches, one for the house that is burnt, and one +for the old Baas Croft, my own Baas, whom he is going to shoot, and one +for Missie Bessie.” And Jantje drew from his side his large +white-handled hunting-knife and began to cut them then and there upon +the hard wood of the stick. + +Jess knew this knife of old. It was Jantje’s peculiar treasure, the +chief joy of his narrow little heart. He had brought it from a Zulu for +a heifer which her uncle had given him in lieu of half a year’s wage. +The Zulu had it from a half-caste whose kraal was beyond Delagoa Bay. +As a matter of fact it was a Somali knife, manufactured from the soft +native steel which takes an edge like a razor, and with a handle cut +out of the tusk of a hippopotamus. For the rest, it was about a foot +long, with three grooves running the length of the blade, and very +heavy. + +“Stop cutting notches, Jantje, and let me look at that knife.” + +He obeyed, and put it into her hand. + +“That knife would kill a man, Jantje,” she said. + +“Yes, yes,” he answered: “no doubt it has killed many men.” + +“It would kill Frank Muller, now, would it not?” she went on, suddenly +bending forward and fixing her dark eyes upon the little man’s +jaundiced orbs. + +“Yah, yah,” he said starting back, “it would kill him dead. Ah! what a +thing it would be to kill him!” he added, making a fierce sound, half +grunt, half laugh. + +“He killed your father, Jantje.” + +“Yah, yah, he killed my father,” said Jantje, his eyes beginning to +roll with rage. + +“He killed your mother.” + +“Yah, he killed my mother,” he repeated after her with eager ferocity. + +“And your uncle. He killed your uncle.” + +“And my uncle too,” he went on, shaking his fist and twitching his long +toes as his hoarse voice rose to a subdued scream. “But he will die in +blood—the old Englishwoman, his mother, said it when the devil was in +her, and the devils never lie. Look! I draw Baas Frank’s circle in the +dust with my foot; and listen, I say the words—I say the words,” and he +muttered something rapidly; “an old, old witch-doctor taught me how to +do it, and what to say. Once before I did it, and there was a stone in +the circle, now there is no stone: look, _the ends meet_. He will die +in blood; he will die _soon_. I know how to read the omen;” and he +gnashed his teeth and sawed the air with his clenched fists. + +“Yes, you are right, Jantje,” she said, still holding him with her dark +eyes. “He will die in blood, and he will die to-night, and _you_ will +kill him, Jantje.” + +The Hottentot started, and turned pale under his yellow skin. + +“How?” he said; “how?” + +“Bend forward, Jantje, and I will tell you how;” and Jess whispered for +some minutes into his ear. + +“Yes! yes! yes!” he said when she had done. “Oh, what a fine thing it +is to be clever like the white people! I will kill him to-night, and +then I can cut out the notches, and the spooks of my father and my +mother and my uncle will stop howling round me in the dark as they do +now, when I am asleep.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. +VENGEANCE + + +For three or four minutes more Jess and Jantje whispered together, +after which the Hottentot rose and crept away to find out what was +passing among the Boers below, and watch when Frank Muller retired to +his tent. So soon as he had marked him down it was agreed that he was +to come back and report to Jess. + +When he was gone Jess gave a sigh of relief. This stirring up of Jantje +to the boiling-point of vengeance had been a dreadful thing to nerve +herself to do, but now at any rate it was done, and Muller’s doom was +sealed. But what the end of it would be none could say. Practically she +would be a murderess, and she felt that sooner or later her guilt must +find her out, and then she could hope for little mercy. Still she had +no scruples, for after all Frank Muller’s would be a well-merited fate. +But when all was said and done, it was a dreadful thing to be forced to +steep her hands in blood, even for Bessie’s sake. If Muller were +removed Bessie would marry John, provided that John escaped the Boers, +and be happy, but what would become of herself? Robbed of her love and +with this crime upon her mind, what could she do even if she +escaped—except die? It would be better to die and never see him again, +for her sorrow and her shame were more than she could bear. Then Jess +began to think of John till all her poor bruised heart seemed to go out +towards him. Bessie could never love him as she did, she felt sure of +that, and yet Bessie was to have him by her all her life, and she—she +must go away. Well, it was the only thing to do. She would see this +deed done, and set her sister free, then if she happened to escape she +would go at once—go quite away where she would never be heard of again. +Thus at any rate she would have behaved like an honourable woman. She +sat up and put her hands to her face. It was burning hot though she was +wet through, and chilled to the bone with the raw damp of the night. A +fierce fever of mind and body had taken hold of her, worn out as she +was with emotion, hunger, and protracted exposure. But her brain was +clear enough; she never remembered its being so clear before. Every +thought that came into her mind seemed to present itself with startling +strength, standing out alone against a black background of nothingness, +not softened down and shaded one into another as thoughts generally +are. She seemed to see herself wandering away—alone, utterly alone, +alone for ever!—while in the far distance John stood holding Bessie by +the hand, gazing after her regretfully. Well, she would write to him, +since it must be so, and bid him one word of farewell. She could not go +without that, though how her letter was to reach John she knew not, +unless indeed Jantje could find him and deliver it. She had a pencil, +and in the breast of her dress was the Boer pass, the back of which, +stained as it was with water, would serve the purpose of paper. She +found it, and, bending forward towards the light, placed it on her +knees. + +“Good-bye,” she wrote, “good-bye! We can never meet again, and it is +better that we never should in this world. I believe that there is +another. If there is I shall wait for you there if I have to wait ten +thousand years. If not, then good-bye for ever. Think of me sometimes, +for I have loved you very dearly, and as nobody will ever love you +again; and while I live in this or any other existence and am myself, I +shall always love you and you only. Don’t forget me. I never shall be +really dead to you until I am forgotten.—J.” + +She lifted the paper from her knee, and without even re-reading what +she had written thrust the pass back into her bosom and was soon lost +in thought. + +Ten minutes later Jantje, like a great snake in human form, came +creeping in to where she sat, his yellow face shining with the +raindrops. + +“Well,” whispered Jess, looking up with a start, “have you done it?” + +“No, missie, no. Baas Frank has but now gone to his tent. He has been +talking to the clergyman, something about Missie Bessie, I don’t know +what. I was near, but he talked low, and I could only hear the name.” + +“Are all the Boers asleep?” + +“All, missie, except the sentries.” + +“Is there a sentry before Baas Frank’s tent?” + +“No, missie, there is nobody near.” + +“What is the time, Jantje?” + +“About three hours and a half after sundown” (half-past ten). + +“Let us wait half an hour, and then you must go.” + +Accordingly they sat in silence. In silence they sat facing each other +and their own thoughts. Presently Jantje broke it by drawing the big +white-handled knife and commencing to sharpen it on a piece of leather. + +The sight made Jess feel sick. “Put the knife up,” she said quickly, +“it is sharp enough.” + +Jantje obeyed with a feeble grin, and the minutes passed on heavily. + +“Now, Jantje,” she said at last, speaking huskily in her struggle to +overcome the spasmodic contractions of her throat, “it is time for you +to go.” + +The Hottentot fidgeted about, and at last spoke. + +“Missie must come with me!” + +“Come with you!” answered Jess starting, “why?” + +“Because the ghost of the old Englishwoman will be after me if I go +alone.” + +“You fool!” said Jess angrily; then recollecting herself she added, +“Come, be a man, Jantje; think of your father and mother, and be a +man.” + +“I am a man,” he answered sulkily, “and I will kill him like a man, but +what good is a man against the ghost of a dead Englishwoman? If I put +the knife into her she would only make faces, and fire would come out +of the hole. I will not go without you, missie.” + +“You must go,” she said fiercely; “you shall go!” + +“No, missie, I will not go alone,” he answered. + +Jess looked at him and saw that Jantje meant what he said. He was +growing sulky, and the worst dispositioned donkey in the world is far, +far easier to deal with than a sulky Hottentot. She must either give up +the project or go with the man. Well, she was equally guilty one way or +the other, and being almost callous about detection, she might as well +go. She had no power left to make fresh plans. Her mind seemed to be +exhausted. Only she must keep out of the way at the last. She could not +bear to be near then. + +“Well,” she said, “I will go with you, Jantje.” + +“Good, missie, that is all right now. You can keep off the ghost of the +dead Englishwoman while I kill Baas Frank. But first he must be fast +asleep. Fast, fast asleep.” + +Then slowly and with the uttermost caution once more they crept down +the hill. This time there was no sound to be heard except the regular +tramp of the sentries. But their present business did not take them to +the waggon-house; they left that on their right, and went on towards +the blue-gum avenue. When they were nearly opposite to the first tree +they halted in a patch of stones, and Jantje slipped forward to +reconnoitre. Presently he returned with the intelligence that all the +Boers who were with the waggon had gone to sleep, but that Muller was +still sitting in his tent thinking. Then they crept on, perfectly sure +that if they were not heard they would not be seen, curtained as they +were by the dense mist and darkness. + +At length they reached the bole of the first big gum tree. Five paces +from this tree Frank Muller’s tent was pitched. There was a light in it +which caused the wet tent to glow in the mist, as though it had been +rubbed with phosphorus, and on this lurid canvas the shadow of Frank +Muller was gigantically limned. He was so placed that the lamp cast a +magnified reflection of his every feature and even of his expression +upon the screen before them. The attitude in which he sat was his +favourite one when he was plunged in thought, his hands resting on his +knees and his gaze fixed on vacancy. He was thinking of his triumph, +and of all that he had gone through to win it, and of all that it would +bring him. He held the trump cards now, and the game lay in his own +hand. He had triumphed, and yet over him hung the shadow of that curse +which dogs the presence of our accomplished desires. Too often, even +with the innocent, does the seed of our destruction lurk in the rich +blossom of our hopes, and much more is this so with the guilty. Somehow +this thought was present with him to-night, and in a rough +half-educated way he grasped its truth. Once more the saying of the old +Boer general rose in his mind: “I believe that there is a God—I believe +that God sets a limit to a man’s doings. If he is going too far, God +_kills him_.” + +What a dreadful thing it would be if the old fool were right after all! +Supposing that there were a God, and God were to kill him to-night, and +hurry off his soul, if he had one, to some dim place of unending fear! +All his superstitions awoke at the thought, and he shivered so +violently that the shadow of the shiver caused the outlines of the +gigantic form upon the canvas to tremble visibly. + +Then rising with an angry curse, Muller hastily threw off his outer +clothing, and having turned down but not extinguished the rough +parrafine lamp, he flung himself down upon the little camp bedstead, +which creaked and groaned beneath his weight like a thing in pain. + +Now came silence, only broken by the drip, drip of the rain from the +gum leaves overhead, and the rattling of the boughs whenever a breath +of air stirred them. It was an eerie and depressing night, a night that +might well have tried the nerves of any strong man who, wet through and +worn out, was obliged to crouch upon the open veldt and endure it. How +much more awful was it then to the unfortunate woman who, half +broken-hearted, fever-stricken, and well-nigh crazed with the suffering +of mind and body, waited in it to see murder done! Slowly the minutes +passed, and at every raindrop or rustle of a bough her guilty +conscience summoned up a host of fears. But by the mere power of her +will she kept them down. She would go through with it. Yes, she would +go through with it. Surely he must be asleep by now! + +They crept up to the tent and placed their ears within two inches of +his head. Yes, he was asleep; the sound of his breathing rose and fell +with the regularity of an infant’s. + +Jess turned round and touched her companion upon the shoulder. He did +not move, but she felt that his arm was shaking. + +“_Now_,” she whispered. + +Still he hung back. It was evident to her that the long waiting had +taken the courage out of him. + +“Be a man,” she whispered again, so low that the sound scarcely reached +his ears although her lips were almost touching them, “go, and mind you +strike home!” + +Then at last she heard him softly draw the great knife from the sheath, +and in another second he had glided from her side. Presently she saw +the line of light that streamed upon the darkness through the opening +of the tent broaden a little, and by this she knew that he was creeping +in upon his dreadful errand. Then she turned her head and put her +fingers in her ears. But even so she could see a long line of shadow +travelling across the skirt of the tent. So she shut her eyes also, and +waited sick at heart, for she did not dare to move. + +Presently—it might have been five minutes or only half a minute +afterwards, for she had lost count of time—Jess felt somebody touch her +on the arm. It was Jantje. + +“_Is it done?_” she whispered again. + +He shook his head and drew her away from the tent. In going her foot +caught one of the guy-ropes and stirred it slightly. + +“I could not do it, missie,” he said. “He is asleep and looks just like +a child. When I lifted the knife he smiled in his sleep and all the +strength went out of my arm, so that I could not strike. And then +before I grew strong again the spook of the old Englishwoman came and +hit me in the back, and I ran away.” + +If a look could have blasted a human being Jantje would assuredly have +been blasted then. The man’s cowardice maddened Jess, but whilst she +still choked with wrath a duiker buck, which had come down from its +stony home to feed upon the rose-bushes, suddenly sprang with a crash +almost from their feet, passing away like a grey gleam into the utter +darkness. + +Jess started, then recovered herself, guessing what it was, but the +miserable Hottentot, overcome with terror, fell upon the ground +groaning out that it was the spook of the old Englishwoman. He had +dropped the knife as he fell, and Jess, seeing the imminent peril in +which they were placed, knelt down, found it, and hissed into his ear +that if he were not quiet she would kill him. + +This pacified him a little, but no earthly power could persuade him to +enter the tent again. + +What was to be done? What could she do? For two minutes or more she +buried her face in her wet hands and thought wildly and despairingly. + +Then a dark and dreadful determination entered her mind. The man Muller +should not escape. Bessie should not be sacrificed to him. Rather than +that, she would do the deed herself. + +Without a word she rose, animated by the tragic agony of her purpose +and the force of her despair, and glided towards the tent, the great +knife in her hand. Now, ah! all too soon, she was inside of it, and +stood for a second to allow her eyes to grow accustomed to the light. +Presently she began to see, first the outline of the bed, then the +outline of the manly form stretched upon it, then both bed and man +distinctly. Jantje had said that he was sleeping like a child. He might +have been; now he was _not_. On the contrary, his face was convulsed +like the face of one in an extremity of fear, and great beads of sweat +stood upon his brow. It was as though he knew his danger, and yet was +utterly powerless to avoid it. He lay upon his back. One heavy arm, his +left, hung over the side of the bed, the knuckles of the hand resting +on the ground; the other was thrown back, and his head was pillowed +upon it. The clothing had slipped away from his throat and massive +chest, which were quite bare. + +Jess stood and gazed. “For Bessie’s sake, for Bessie’s sake!” she +murmured; then impelled by a force that seemed to move of itself she +crept slowly, slowly, to the right-hand side of the bed. + +At this moment Muller woke, and his opening eyes fell full upon her +face. Whatever his dream had been, what he now saw was far more +terrible, for bending over him was the _ghost of the woman he had +murdered in the Vaal!_ There she was, risen from her river grave, torn, +dishevelled, water yet dripping from her hands and hair. Those sunk and +marble cheeks, those dreadful flaming eyes could belong to no human +being, but only to a spirit. It was the spirit of Jess Croft, of the +woman whom he had slain, come back to tell him that there _was_ a +living vengeance and a hell! + +Their eyes met, and no creature will ever know the agony of terror that +he tasted of before the end came. She saw his face sink in and turn +ashen grey while the cold sweat ran from every pore. He was awake, but +fear paralysed him, he could not speak or move. + +He was awake, and she could hesitate no more. . . . + +He must have seen the flash of the falling steel, and—— + +Jess was outside the tent again, the red knife in her hand. She flung +the accursed thing from her. That shriek must have awakened every soul +within a mile. Already she could faintly hear the stir of men down by +the waggon, and the patter of the feet of Jantje running for his life. + +Then she too turned, and fled straight up the hill. She knew not +whither, she cared not where! None saw her or followed her, the hunt +had broken away to the left after Jantje. Her heart was lead and her +brain a rocking sea of fire, whilst before her, around her, and behind +her yelled all the conscience-created furies that run Murder to his +lair. + +On she flew, one sight only before her eyes, one sound only in her +ears. On over the hill, far into the rain and the night! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. +TANTA COETZEE TO THE RESCUE + + +After Jess had been set free by the Boers outside Hans Coetzee’s place, +John was sharply ordered to dismount and off-saddle his horse. This he +did with the best grace that he could muster, and the horse was +knee-haltered and let loose to feed. It was then indicated to him that +he was to enter the house, and this he also did, closely attended by +two of the Boers. The room into which he was conducted was the same +that he had first become acquainted with, on the occasion of the buck +hunt that had so nearly ended in his murder. There was the Buckenhout +table, and there were the stools and couches made of stinkwood. Also, +in the biggest chair at the other end of the room, a moderate-sized +slop-basin full of coffee by her side, sat Tanta Coetzee, still +actively employed in doing absolutely nothing. There, too, were the +showily dressed maidens, there was the sardonic lover of one of them, +and all the posse of young men with rifles. The _sit-kammer_ and its +characteristics were quite unchanged, and on entering it John felt +inclined to rub his eyes and wonder whether the events of the last few +months had been nothing but a dream. + +The only thing that had changed was his welcome. Evidently he was not +expected to shake hands all round on the present occasion. Fallen +indeed would that Boer have been considered who, within a few days of +Majuba, offered to shake hands with a wretched English _rooibaatje_, +picked up like a lame buck on the veldt. At the least he would have +kept the ceremony for private celebration, if only out of respect to +the feelings of others. On this occasion John’s entry was received in +icy silence. The old woman did not deign to look up, the young ones +shrugged their shoulders and turned their backs, as though they had +suddenly seen something that was not nice. Only the countenance of the +sardonic lover softened to a grin. + +John walked to the end of the room where there was a vacant chair and +stood by it. + +“Have I your permission to sit down, ma’am?” he said at last in a loud +tone, addressing the old lady. + +“Dear Lord!” said the old lady to the man next to her, “what a voice +the poor creature has! it is like a bull’s. What does he say?” + +The man explained. + +“The floor is the right place for Englishmen and Kafirs,” said the old +lady, “but after all he is a man, and perhaps sore with riding. +Englishmen always get sore when they try to ride.” Then with startling +energy she shouted out: + +“_Sit!_” + +“I will show the _rooibaatje_ that he is not the only one with a +voice,” she added by way of explanation. + +A subdued sniggle followed this sally of wit, during which John took +his seat with such native grace as he could command, which at the +moment was not much. + +“Dear me!” she went on presently, for she was a bit of a humorist, “he +looks very dirty and pale, doesn’t he? I suppose the poor thing has +been hiding in the ant-bear holes with nothing to eat. I am told that +up in the Drakensberg yonder the ant-bear holes are full of Englishmen. +They had rather starve in them than come out, for fear lest they should +meet a Boer.” + +This provoked another snigger, and then the young ladies took up the +ball. + +“Are you hungry, _rooibaatje_?” asked one in English. + +John was boiling with fury, but he was also starving, so he answered +that he was. + +“Tie his hands behind him, and let us see if he can catch in his mouth, +like a dog,” suggested a gentle youth. + +“No, no; make him eat pap with a wooden spoon, like a Kafir,” said +another. “I will feed him—if you have a very long spoon.” + +Here again was legitimate cause for merriment, but in the end matters +were compromised by a lump of biltong and a piece of bread being thrown +to John from the other end of the room. He caught them and began to +eat, trying to conceal his ravenous hunger as much as possible from the +circle of onlookers who clustered round to watch the operation. + +“Carolus,” said the old lady to the sardonic affianced of her daughter, +“there are three thousand men in the British army.” + +“Yes, my aunt.” + +“There are three thousand men in the British army,” she repeated, +looking round angrily as though somebody had questioned the truth of +her statement. “I tell you that my grandfather’s brother was at Cape +Town in the time of Governor Smith, and he counted the whole British +army, and there were three thousand of them.” + +“That is so, my aunt,” answered Carolus. + +“Then why did you contradict me, Carolus?” + +“I did not intend to, my aunt.” + +“I should hope not, Carolus; it would vex the dear Lord to see a boy +with a squint” (Carolus was slightly afflicted in this way) “contradict +his future mother-in-law. Tell me how many Englishmen were killed at +Laing’s Nek?” + +“Nine hundred,” replied Carolus promptly. + +“And at Ingogo?” + +“Six hundred and twenty.” + +“And at Majuba?” + +“One thousand.” + +“Then that makes two thousand five hundred men; yes, and the rest were +finished at Bronker’s Spruit. Nephews, that _rooibaatje_ there,” +pointing to John, “is one of the last men left in the British army.” + +Most of her audience appeared to accept this argument as conclusive, +but some mischievous spirit put it into the breast of the saturnine +Carolus to contradict her, notwithstanding the lesson he had just +received. + +“That is not so, my aunt; there are many damned Englishmen still +sneaking about the Nek, and also at Pretoria and Wakkerstroom.” + +“I tell you it is a lie,” said the old lady, raising her voice, “they +are only Kafirs and camp-followers. There were three thousand men in +the British army, and now they are all killed except that _rooibaatje_. +How dare you contradict your future mother-in-law, you dirty +squint-eyed, yellow-faced monkey? There, take that!” and before the +unfortunate Carolus knew where he was, he received the slop-basin with +its contents full in the face. The bowl broke upon the bridge of his +nose, and the coffee flew all about him, into his eyes and hair, down +his throat and over his body, making such a spectacle of him as must +have been seen to be appreciated. + +“Ah!” went on the old lady, much soothed and gratified by the eminent +and startling success of her shot, “never you say again that I don’t +know how to throw a basin of coffee. I haven’t practised at my man Hans +for thirty years for nothing, I can tell you. Now you, Carolus, I have +taught you not to contradict; go and wash your face and we will have +supper.” + +Carolus ventured no reply, and was led away by his betrothed half +blinded and utterly subdued, while her sister set the table for the +evening meal. When it was ready the men sat down to meat and the women +waited on them. John was not asked to join them, but one of the girls +threw him a boiled mealiecob, for which, being still very hungry, he +was duly grateful, and afterwards he managed to secure a mutton bone +and another bit of bread. + +When supper was over, some bottles of peach brandy were produced, and +the Boers began to drink freely, and then it was that matters commenced +to look dangerous for the Englishman. Suddenly one of the men +remembered about the young fellow whom John had thrown backwards off +the horse, and who was lying very sick in the next room, and suggested +that measures of retaliation should be taken, which would undoubtedly +have been done if the elderly Boer who had commanded the party had not +interposed. This man was getting drunk like the others, but fortunately +for John he grew amiably drunk. + +“Let him alone,” he said, “let him alone. We will send him to the +commandant to-morrow. Frank Muller will know how to deal with him.” + +John thought to himself that he certainly would. + +“Now, for myself,” the man went on with a hiccough, “I bear no malice. +We have thrashed the British and they have given up the country, so let +bygones be bygones, I say. Almighty, yes! I am not proud, not I. If an +Englishman takes off his hat to me I shall acknowledge it.” + +This staved the fellows off for a while, but presently John’s protector +went away, and then the others became playful. They took their rifles +and amused themselves with levelling them at him, and making sham bets +as to where they would hit him. John, seeing the emergency, backed his +chair well into the corner of the wall and drew his revolver, which +fortunately for himself he still had. + +“If any man interferes with me, by God, I’ll shoot him!” he said in +good English, which they did not fail to understand. Undoubtedly as the +evening went on it was only the possession of this revolver and his +evident determination to use it that saved his life. + +At last things grew very bad indeed, so bad that John found it +absolutely necessary to keep his eyes continually fixed, now on one and +now on another, to prevent their putting a bullet through him unawares. +He had twice appealed to the old woman, but she sat in her big chair +with a sweet smile upon her fat face and refused to interfere. It is +not every day that a Boer _frau_ has the chance of seeing a real live +English _rooibaatje_ baited like an ant-bear on the flat. + +Presently, just as John in desperation was making up his mind to begin +shooting right and left, and take his chance of cutting his way out, +the saturnine Carolus, whose temper had never recovered the bowl of +coffee, and who was besides very drunk, rushed forward with an oath and +dealt a tremendous blow at him with the butt-end of his rifle. John +dodged the blow, which fell upon the back of the chair and smashed it +to bits, and in another second Carolus’s gentle soul would have +departed to a better sphere, had not the old _frau_, seeing that the +game had gone beyond a joke, waddled down the room with marvellous +activity and thrown herself between them. + +“There, there,” she said, cuffing right and left with her fat fists, +“be off with you, every one. I can’t have this noise going on here. +Come, off you all go, and get the horses into the stable; they will be +right away by morning if you trust them to the Kafirs.” + +Carolus collapsed, and the other men also hesitated and drew back, +whereupon, following up her advantage, the old woman, to John’s +astonishment and relief, bundled the whole tribe of them bodily out of +the front door. + +“Now then, _rooibaatje_,” said the old lady briskly when they had gone, +“I like you because you are a brave man, and were not afraid when they +mobbed you. Also, I don’t want to have a mess made upon my floor here, +or any noise or shooting. If those men come back and find you here they +will first get rather drunker and then kill you, so you had better be +off while you have the chance,” and she pointed to the door. + +“I really am much obliged to you, my aunt,” said John, utterly +astonished to find that she possessed a heart at all, and more or less +had been playing a part throughout the evening. + +“Oh, as to that,” she said drily, “it would be a great pity to kill the +last English _rooibaatje_ in the whole British army; they ought to keep +you as a curiosity. Here, take a tot of brandy before you go; it is a +wet night, and sometimes when you are clear of the Transvaal and +remember this business, remember, too, that you owe your life to Tanta +Coetzee. But I would not have saved you, not I, if you had not been so +plucky. I like a man to be a man, and not like that miserable monkey +Carolus. There, be off!” + +John poured out and swallowed half a tumblerful of the brandy, and in +another moment he was outside the house and had slipped off into the +night. It was very dark and wet, for the rain-clouds had covered up the +moon, and he soon learned that any attempt to look for his horse would +end in failure and probably in his recapture. The only thing to do was +to get away on foot in the direction of Mooifontein as quickly as he +could; so off he went down the track across the veldt as fast as his +stiff legs would take him. He had a ten miles’ trudge before him, and +with that cheerful acquiescence in circumstances over which he had no +control which was one of his characteristics, he set to work to make +the best of it. For the first hour or so all went well, then to his +intense disgust he discovered that he was off the track, a fact at +which anybody who has ever had the pleasure of wandering along a +so-called road on the African veldt on a dark night will scarcely be +surprised. + +After wasting a quarter of an hour or more in a vain attempt to find +the path, John struck out boldly for a dim mass that loomed in the +distance, and which he took to be Mooifontein Hill. And so it was, only +instead of keeping to the left, where he would have arrived at the +house, or rather where the house had stood, unwittingly he bore to the +right, and thus went half round the hill before he found out his +mistake. Nor would he have discovered it then had he not chanced in the +mist and darkness to turn into the mouth of the great gorge known as +Leeuwen Kloof, where once, months ago, he had had an interesting talk +with Jess just before she went to Pretoria. It was whilst he was +blundering and stumbling up this gorge that at length the rain ceased +and the moon revealed herself, it being then nearly midnight. Her very +first rays lit upon one of the extraordinary pillars of balanced +boulders, and by it he recognised the locality. As may be imagined, +strong man though he was, by this time John was quite exhausted. For +nearly a week he had been travelling incessantly, and for the last two +nights he had not only not slept, but also had endured much mental +excitement and bodily peril. Were it not for the brandy that Tanta +Coetzee gave him he could never have tramped the fifteen miles or so of +ground which he had covered. Now he was quite broken down, and felt +that the only thing which he could do, wet through as he was, would be +to lie down somewhere, and sleep or die as the case might be. Then it +was that he remembered the little cave near the top of the Kloof, the +same from which Jess had watched the thunder-storm. He had visited it +once with Bessie after their engagement, and she had told him that it +was one of her sister’s favourite haunts. + +If he could but reach the cave at any rate he would find shelter and a +dry place to lie in. It could not be more than three hundred yards +away. So he struggled on bravely through the wet grass and over the +scattered boulders, till at last he came to the base of the huge column +that had been shattered by the lightning before Jess’s eyes. + +Thirty paces more and John was in the cave. + +With a sigh of utter exhaustion he flung himself down upon the rocky +floor, and almost instantly was buried in a profound sleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. +THE CONCLUSION OF THE MATTER + + +When the rain ceased and the moon began to shine, Jess was still +fleeing like a wild thing across the plain on the top of the mountain. +She felt no sense of exhaustion now or even of weariness; her only idea +was to get away, right away somewhere, where she could lose herself and +nobody would ever see her again. Presently she reached the top of +Leeuwen Kloof, and recognising the spot in a bewildered way she began +to descend it. Here was a place where she might lie till she died, for +no one ever came there, except now and again some wandering Kafir herd. +On she sprang, from rock to rock, a wild and eerie figure, well in +keeping with the solemn and titanic sadness of the place. + +Twice she fell, once right into the stream, but she took no heed, she +did not even seem to feel it. At last she was at the bottom, now +creeping like a black dot across the wide spaces of moonlight, and now +swallowed up in the shadow. There before her gaped the mouth of the +little cave; her strength was leaving her at last, and she was fain to +crawl into it, broken-hearted, crazed, and—_dying_. + +“Oh, God forgive me! God forgive me!” she moaned as she sank upon the +rocky floor. “Bessie, I sinned against you, but I have washed away my +sin. I did it for you, Bessie love, not for myself. I had rather have +died than kill him for myself. You will marry John now, and you will +never, never know what I did for you. I am going to die. I know that. I +am dying. Oh, if only I could see his face once more before I +die—before I die!” + +Slowly the westering moonlight crept down the blackness of the rock. +Now at last it peeped into the little cave and played upon John’s +sleeping face lying within six feet of her. Her prayer had been +granted; there was her lover by her side. + +With a start and a great sigh of doubt she recognised him. Was it a +vision? Was he dead? She dragged herself to him upon her hands and +knees and listened for his breathing, if perchance he still breathed +and was not a wraith. Then it came, strong and slow, the breath of a +man in deep sleep. + +So he lived. Should she try to wake him? What for? To tell him she was +a murderess and then to let him see her die? For instinct told her that +nature was exhausted; and she knew that she was certainly going—going +fast. No, a hundred times no! + +Only she put her hand into her breast, and drawing out the pass on the +back of which she had written her last message to him, she thrust it +between his listless fingers. It should speak for her. Then she leant +over him, and watched his sleeping face, a very incarnation of +infinite, despairing tenderness, and love that is deeper than the +grave. And as she watched, gradually her feet and legs grew cold and +numb, till at length she could feel nothing below her bosom. She was +dead nearly to the heart. Well, it was better so! + +The rays of the moon faded slowly from the level of the little cave, +and John’s face grew dark to her darkening sight. She bent down and +kissed him once—twice—thrice. + +At last the end came. There was a great flashing of light before her +eyes, and within her ears the roaring as of a thousand seas, and her +head sank gently on her lover’s breast as on a pillow; and there Jess +died and passed upward towards the wider life and larger liberty, or, +at the least, downward into the depths of rest. + +Poor dark-eyed, deep-hearted Jess! This was the fruition of her love, +and this her bridal bed. + +It was done. She had gone, taking with her the secret of her +self-sacrifice and crime, and the night-winds moaning amidst the rocks +sang their requiem over her. Here she first had learned her love, and +here she closed its book on earth. + +She might have been a great and a good woman. She might even have been +a happy woman. But fate had ordained it otherwise. Women such as Jess +are rarely happy in the world. It is not worldly wise to stake all +one’s fortune on a throw, and lack the craft to load the dice. Well, +her troubles are done with. Think gently of her and let her pass in +peace! + +The hours grew on towards the evening, but John, the dead face of the +woman he had loved still pillowed on his breast, neither dreamed nor +woke. There was a strange and dreadful irony in the situation, an irony +which sometimes finds its counterpart in our waking life, but still the +man slept, and the dead girl lay till the night turned into the morning +and the earth woke up as usual. The sunbeams slid into the cave, and +played indifferently upon the ashen face and tangled curls, and on the +broad chest of the living man whereon they rested. An old baboon peeped +round the rocky edge and manifested no surprise, only indignation, at +the intrusion of humanity, dead or alive, into his dominions. Yes, the +world woke up as usual, and recked not and troubled not because Jess +was dead. + +It is so accustomed to such sights. + +At last John woke up also. He stretched his arms yawning, and for the +first time became aware of the weight upon his breast. He glanced down +and saw dimly at first—then more clearly. + +There are some things into which it is wisest not to pry, and one of +them is the first agony of a strong man’s grief. + +Happy was it for John that his brain did not give way in that lonely +hour of bottomless despair. But he lived through it, as we do live +through such things, and was sane and sound after it, though it left +its mark upon his life. + +Two hours later a gaunt, haggard figure stumbled down the hill-side +towards the site of Mooifontein, bearing something in his arms. The +whole place was in commotion. Here and there were knots of Boers +talking excitedly, who, when they saw the man coming, hurried up to +learn who it was and what he carried. But when they knew, they fell +back awed and without a word, and John too passed through them without +a word. For a moment he hesitated, seeing that the house was burnt +down. Then he turned into the waggon-shed, and laid his burden down on +the saw-bench where Frank Muller had sat as judge upon the previous +day. + +Now at last John spoke in a hoarse voice: “Where is the old man?” + +One of them pointed to the door of the little room. + +“Open it!” he said, so fiercely that again they fell back and obeyed +him without a word. + +“John! John!” cried Silas Croft, rising amazed from his seat upon a +sack. “Thank God—you have come back to us from the dead!” and trembling +with joy and surprise he would have fallen on his neck. + +“Hush!” he answered; “I have brought the dead with me.” + +And he led him to where Jess lay. + +During the day all the Boers went away and left them alone. Now that +Frank Muller lay dead there was no thought among them of carrying out +the sentence upon their old neighbour. Besides, there was no warrant +for the execution, even had they desired so to do, for their commandant +died leaving it unsigned. So they held an informal inquest upon their +leader’s body, and buried him in the little graveyard that was walled +in on the hill-side at the back of where the house had stood, and +planted with the four red gums, one at each corner. Rather than be at +the pains of hollowing another grave, they buried him in the very place +that he had caused to be dug to receive the body of Silas Croft. + +Who had murdered Frank Muller was and remains a mystery among them to +this day. The knife was identified by natives about the farm as +belonging to the Hottentot Jantje, and a Hottentot had been seen +running away from the place of the deed and hunted for some way, but he +could not be caught or heard of again. Therefore many of them are of +the opinion that he is the guilty man. Others, again, believe that the +crime rests upon the shoulders of the villainous one-eyed Kafir, +Hendrik, Muller’s own servant, who had also vanished. But as they have +never found either of them, and are not likely to do so, the point +remains a moot one. Nor, indeed, did they take any great pains to hunt +for them. Frank Muller was not a popular character, and the fact of a +man coming to a mysterious end does not produce any great sensation +among a rough people and in rough times. + +On the following day, old Silas Croft, Bessie, and John Niel also +buried their dead in the little graveyard on the hill-side, and there +Jess lies, with some ten feet of earth only between her and the man +upon whom she was the instrument of vengeance. But they never knew +this, or even guessed it. They never knew indeed that she had been near +Mooifontein on that awful night. Nobody knew it except Jantje; and +Jantje, haunted by the footfall of the pursuing Boers, was gone from +the ken of the white man far into the heart of Central Africa. + +“John,” said the old man when they had filled in the grave, “this is no +country for Englishmen. Let us go home to England.” John bowed his head +in assent, for he could not speak. Fortunately means were not wanting, +although practically they were both ruined. The thousand pounds that +John had paid to Silas as the price of a third interest in the farm +still lay to the credit of the latter in the Standard Bank at +Newcastle, in Natal, together with another two hundred and fifty pounds +in cash. + +And so in due course they went. + +Now what more is there to tell? Jess, to those who read what has been +written as it is meant to be read, was the soul of it all, and Jess—is +dead. It is useless to set a lifeless thing upon its feet, rather let +us strive to follow the soarings of the spirit. Jess is dead and her +story at an end. + + +So but one word more. + +After some difficulty, John Niel, within three months of his arrival in +England, obtained employment as a land agent to a large estate in +Rutlandshire, which position he fills to this day, with credit to +himself and such advantage to the property as can be expected in these +times. Also, in due course he became the beloved husband of sweet +Bessie Croft, and on the whole he may be considered a happy man. At +times, however, a sorrow overcomes him of which his wife knows nothing, +and for a while he is not himself. + +He is not a man much addicted to sentiment or speculation, but +sometimes when his day’s work is done, and he strays to his garden gate +and looks out at the dim and peaceful English landscape beyond, and +thence to the wide star-strewn heavens above, he wonders if the hour +will ever come when once more he will see those dark and passionate +eyes, and hear that sweet remembered voice. + +For John feels as near to his lost love now that she is dead as he felt +while she was yet alive. From time to time indeed he seems to know +without possibility of doubt that if, when death is done with, there +should prove to be an individual future for us suffering mortals, as he +for one believes, certainly he will find Jess waiting to greet him at +its gates. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JESS *** + +***** This file should be named 5898-0.txt or 5898-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/5/8/9/5898/ + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law 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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