Part 30 (2/2)

Somehow there was always a vague hope that one day I might go back to her--and for that reason I kept above the foulest mire. One goes under easily here in Africa. Then at last the thing became possible.”

He broke off, and laughed, a curious little laugh, before he went on again.

”I went back. Whether she was ever what I thought her I do not know--perhaps, I had expected impossibilities--or those five years had made a change. We had not an idea that was the same, and the world she lives in is one that has grown strange to me. They think me slightly crazy--and it is perfectly possible that they are right. Men do lose their mental grip in Africa.”

Nares made a little gesture which vaguely suggested comprehension and sympathy before he looked at his comrade with a question in his eyes.

”Yes,” said Ormsgill quietly, ”I am going on. After all, I owe the girl I thought she was a good deal--and to plain folks there is safety in doing the obvious thing.” His voice softened a little. ”It may be hard for her--in fact when I went back she probably had a good deal to bear with too. One grows hard and bitter when he has lived with the outcasts as I have done.”

Nares understood that he meant what other men called duty by the obvious thing, but the definition, which he felt was characteristic of the man, pleased him. He was one who could, at least, recognize the task that was set before him, and, as it happened, he once more made this clear when he rose and called to the boys who had flung themselves down on the warm white sand.

”Well,” he said, ”we have now to outmarch Herrero, and there is a good deal to be done.”

They went on, Ormsgill limping a little, for his wound still pained him, and vanished into the shadows of the bush, two weary, climate-worn men who had malignant nature and, so far as they knew, the malice of every white man holding authority in that country against them. Still, at least, their course was clear, and in the meanwhile they asked for nothing further.

It also happened one afternoon while they pushed on through shadowy forest and steaming mora.s.s that a little and very ancient gunboat crept along the sun-scorched coast. Her white paint, although very far from fresh, gleamed like ivory on the long dazzling swell that changed to a s.h.i.+mmering sliding green in her slowly moving shadow, for she was steaming eight knots, and rolling viciously. Benicia Figuera, who swung in a hammock hung low beneath her awnings, did not, however, seem to mind the erratic motion. She was watching the snowy fringe of crumbling surf creep by, though now and then her eyes sought the far, blue hills that cut the skyline. Her thoughts were with the man who was wandering in the dim forests that crept through the marshes beyond them.

By and by she aroused herself, and looked up with a smile at the man who strolled towards her along the deck. She had met him before at brilliant functions in Portugal where he was a man of importance, and he had come on board in state a few hours earlier from a little sweltering town above a surf-swept beach whose citizens had seriously strained its finances to do him honor. He was dressed simply in plain white duck, a little, courtly gentleman, with the look of one who rules in his olive-tinted face. He sat down in a deck chair near the girl.

”After all, it is a relief to be at sea,” he said. ”One has quietness there.”

Benicia laughed. ”Quietness,” she said, ”is a thing you can hardly be accustomed to Senor. Besides, you are in one way scarcely complimentary to the citizens yonder.”

”Ah,” said her companion, ”it seems they expect something from me and it is to be hoped that when they get it some of them will not be disappointed. I almost think,” and he waved a capable hand, ”that before I am recalled they will not find insults bad enough for me.”

Benicia felt that this was quite possible. Her companion was she knew a strong man as well as an upright one, who had been sent out not long ago with ample powers to grapple with one or two of the questions which then troubled that country. It was also significant that while he was known as a judicious and firm administrator his personal views on the points at issue had not been proclaimed. Benicia had, however, guessed them correctly, and she took it as a compliment that he had given her a vague hint of them. Perhaps, he realized it, for he watched her for a moment with a shrewd twinkle in his dark eyes.

”Senorita,” he said, ”I almost think you know what I was sent out here to do. One could, however, depend upon Benicia Figuera considering it a confidence.”

The girl glanced out beneath the awnings across the sun-scorched littoral towards the blue ridge of the inland plateau before she answered him.

”Yes,” she said, ”it was to cleanse this stable. I almost think you will find it a strong man's task.”

Her companion made a gesture of a.s.sent. ”It is, at least, one for which I need a reliable broom--and I am fortunate in having one ready.”

”Ah,” said Benicia, ”you of course mean my father. Well, I do not think he will fail you, and though he has not actually told me so, I fancy he has, at least, been making preparations for the sweeping.”

The man looked at her and smiled, but when a moving shaft of sunlight struck him as the steamer rolled she saw the deep lines on his face and the gray in his hair. He, as it happened, saw the little gleam of pride in her eyes, and then the light swung back again and they were once more left in the shadow. Yet in that moment a subtle elusive something that was both comprehension and confidence had been established between them.

”Dom Clemente,” he said, ”is a man I have a great regard for. There is a good deal I owe him, as he may have told you.”

”He has told me nothing.”

The man spread his hands out. ”After all, it was to be expected. He and I were comrades, Senorita, before you were born, and there was a time when I made a blunder which it seemed must spoil my career. There was only one man who could save me and that at the hazard of his own future, but one would not expect such a fact to count with your father. Dom Clemente smiled at the peril and the affair was arranged satisfactorily.”

Again he made a little grave gesture. ”It happened long ago, and now it seems I am to bring trouble on him again. Still, the years have not changed him. He does not hesitate, but I feel I must ask your forbearance, Senorita. You have, perhaps, seen what sometimes happens when one does one's duty.”

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