Part 5 (2/2)
”It's no laughing matter,” he said. ”Listen, darling, you don't really want to get rid of me?”
”It would be better if you were to go, dearest,” she answered, slipping her hand into his. ”Believe me, it would.”
The softness of her voice, the thrill of her touch simply intoxicated him with ecstasy, and there was an unsteadiness in his tone as he answered--
”Surely in the wilds of Mashunaland we can chuck conventionalities to the winds. If it was any one else who asked you for a shakedown you wouldn't turn him out. Why me, then?”
”Because it is you, don't you see?” was the reply, breathed low and soft, as the pressure of her fingers tightened.
They could hear each other's heart-beats in the still dead silence-- could see the light of each other's eyes in the gleam of the myriad stars. The trailing streak of a meteor shot across the dark, velvety vault, showing in its momentary gleam to each the face of the other.
Suddenly Hermia started violently.
”Hark! what is that?” she cried, springing to her feet.
For a loud harsh shout had cleft the stillness of the night. It was followed by another and another. Coming as it did upon the dead silence, the interruption was, to say the least, startling: all the more so to these two, their nerves in a state of high-strung tension.
”Nothing very alarming,” returned Spence. ”You must have heard it before. Only a troop of baboons kicking up a row in the kopjes.”
”Of course; but somehow it sounded so loud and so near.”
It was destined to do so still more. For even as she spoke there arose a most indescribable tumult--shrieks and yells and chattering, and over all that harsh, resounding bark: and it came from the granite kopje nearest the house--where Spence had found the troop of guinea-fowl that afternoon.
”What a row they're making!” he went on. ”Hallo! By Jove! D'you hear that?”
For over and above the simian clamour, another sound was discernible--a sound of unmistakable import. No one need go to Mashunaland to hear it, nor anything like as far. A stroll across Regent's Park towards feeding time at the Zoo will do just as well. It was the deep, throaty, ravening roar of hungry lions.
”Phew! that accounts for all the s.h.i.+ndy!” said Justin. ”Now do you want me to go, Hermia? There isn't much show for one against a lion in the dark, and, judging from the racket, there must be several. Well, shall I start?”
She had drawn closer to him instinctively; not that there was any danger, for the stockade was high and strong--in fact, had been erected with an eye to such emergency. Now they were strained together in a close embrace, this time she returning his kisses with more than his own pa.s.sion.
”You are mine--mine at last, my heart, my life!” he whispered. And the answer came back, merely breathed--
”Yes, I am. All yours.”
And above, the myriad eyes of the starry heavens looked down; and without, the horrible throaty growl of the ravening beasts rent the night.
CHAPTER SIX.
AFTER-THOUGHTS.
If ever any man was in the state colloquially defined as over head and ears in love, and if ever any man had practical demonstration that his love was returned abundantly by the object thereof, a.s.suredly the name of that man was Justin Spence. Yet when the sun rose upon him on the following morning he somehow did not feel as elate as he should have done.
For, whatever poetic a.s.sociations may cl.u.s.ter around the hour of sunset, around that of sunrise there are none at all. It is an abominably matter-of-fact and prosaic hour, an hour when the average human is wont to feel cheap if ever, p.r.o.ne to retrospect, and, for choice, retrospect of an unwelcome nature. All that he has ever done that is injudicious or mean or _gauche_ will infallibly strike him as more injudicious and meaner and more _gauche_ in the cold and judicial stare of the waking hour. To this rule Justin Spence was no exception. His pa.s.sion had not cooled--no, not one whit; yet he awoke feeling mean. His conduct had been weak--the development thereof shady: in short, in the words of his own definition, ”it was not playing the game.”
The worst of it was that he was indebted to Blachland for more than one good turn, and now, what had been his requital for such? The other was his friend, and trusted him--and now, he had taken advantage of that friend's absence. In the unsparing light of early morning the thing had an ugly look--yes, very.
As against that, however, other considerations would arise to set themselves. First of all, he himself was human, and human powers had their limits. Then, again, the other did not in the least appreciate this splendid gift, this matchless treasure which had fallen to his lot: otherwise, how could he leave her all alone as he did, absent himself for days, for weeks at a time? He had not always done so, Justin had gathered; and from Hermia's reminiscences of camp life she seemed to have enjoyed it. If he, Justin, had been in Blachland's place, not for a single day should she have been away from him. But then, Justin was very young, and all the circ.u.mstances and surroundings went to make him think that way.
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