Part 38 (1/2)

”She's been a good friend to us, and now we shall be put about as we were before for the want of her.”

They did so; and a great shout went up from the outspan, echoing far along the sides of the darkening hills, where the lowering rain-clouds rested in an unbroken pall. The bridge had been a good friend to them, and now it was gone they would sorely feel the want of it for some time to come, until another should replace it, which might not be for years.

So they cheered right heartily; but with a feeling of genuine regret.

Meanwhile, at Seringa Vale, everything was at a standstill. The stock was kept at home, and in the soaked kraals the sheep stood huddled together, stolidly chewing the cad, and looking very forlorn in the dripping rain. But their owner's watchful eye was everywhere, as, wrapped in a waterproof coat, he moved about, noting where it became necessary to cut a channel for the drainage of a fast acc.u.mulating body of water which threatened damage, and all hands would be turned out with spade and pick for this and such like duty. Even he was more than satisfied with the rainfall this time, and now and then cast an anxious look at the weather quarter.

”I don't think I ever saw the kloof so full as this before, and it's still rising,” he said.

”No?” answered Claverton, who was meditatively jerking a pebble or two across the broad, surging rush of water in front of them. ”All the rivers in the country must be tolerably well down. Why, the bridges will never stand.”

”No, they won't. If it goes on like this till morning there won't be a bridge left in the country, that's my opinion. There'll be a heap of damage done besides. Well, we can't do anything more now, and it's getting dark,” and they turned towards the house.

Very cosy and cheerful looked the interior of that domicile, as a few minutes later, Claverton found his way thither, and got into dry clothes. No one was about--wait--yes--there was some one in the inner room. It was Lilian. She had been reading, and was seated by the window with her book open in her hand, just as the twilight and then the darkness had surprised her.

”Trying to read in the dark? Worst thing possible for the eyes,” he said. ”What have you been doing with yourself all day?”

She turned to him.

”Very much what you see me doing now--reading and--dreaming.”

”The best possible occupation for a day like this. I've been doing the latter--dreaming,” he said.

”You? Why, you have been hard at work all day,” said she. ”I've been watching you walking about in the rain with a spade, and pitying you for being so uncomfortable, while we were all sitting indoors, dry and warm.”

”Pitying me?”

”To any extent,” she answered, looking up at him with a bright smile.

He bent over her. ”Yes, I was dreaming--of such a moment as this.”

She did not answer. Her eyes were fixed on the gloom without and the soft falling rain. Oh, the continuous drip, drip of that ceaseless rain throughout this livelong day, turning the daylight into dusk, and beating time in her heart to the echoes of the past! And throughout it all was a vague, indefinable longing for this man's presence. The enforced imprisonment in the house had been doubly irksome without him, and at last she had been constrained to own it to herself. Once she had seen him coming towards the door, and all unconsciously had made ready such a bright smile of welcome; but he had turned back, and the smile had faded, and a chill, sickly feeling around her heart had taken its place. What right had she to feel thus, she thought? In a few weeks they would part as friends, acquaintances, nothing more, and then--well, at any rate he knew the worst. But now as he found her in the darkening twilight, her heart gave a bound, and her voice a.s.sumed a dangerous tenderness as she replied to him.

”The rain has been very cruel,” he went on. ”I couldn't catch so much as one stray glimpse throughout the whole afternoon. If you are blockaded indoors, you might look out of the window now and then.”

”Why, I've done nothing else. And you, did you get very wet?” And there is a little inflection as of anxiety in her voice as she raises her eyes to his.

”Don't let's talk about me, but about a far more interesting subject-- yourself. Haven't you been frightfully bored to-day?”

”Well, I have rather--at least, I mean, I oughtn't to say that, but one gets rather low sometimes, you know, even without much cause, and I've been so to-day,” she answered, her tone relapsing into one of dejection, and he, standing there beside her, began to feel deliriously happy, though well knowing that it was for the moment. But the gloaming was about them, and they were alone together. What more could he--could they--want?

A light flashed from the other room; then a sound of voices. It was not exactly a blessing that Claverton gulped down, as some one was heard calling:

”Lilian. Are you there? It's supper-time. Why, what has become of her?” added the voice, parenthetically.

Lilian started as if from a reverie. ”Here I am,” and she rose hastily.

Claverton was not the only one who watched her as she came out into the light, but the serene, beautiful face was as calm and unmoved as if she had been in their midst all the time.

Very cheerful and homelike looked the lighted room, and the table with its hissing tea-urn, and knives and forks and dish-covers sparkling on the snowy cloth. Very bright and exhilarating in contrast to the wet, chill gloom without, and to those two, who had been at work in the rain all day, especially so.

”The flood will do no end of damage,” Mr Brathwaite was saying, as he began to make play with the carving-knife. ”There'll be lots of stock swept away, I fear, and the homesteads along the river banks stand a good chance of following.”