Part 13 (1/2)

Remember, Justin, I am older than you--well, only a little. But at any rate I have seen far more of the world--of life--than you can possibly have done. But what's the use of talking? We shall have to part sooner or later.”

They had dropped down on the couch, and were seated side by side, he holding both her hands.

”But why shall we have to part sooner or later?” he asked, and the lack of lugubriousness with which he echoed her words struck her at the time.

”Well, Justin, just look at things in the face. Isn't love in a cottage a synonym for the very height of absurdity? What about its Mashunaland equivalent--love in a prospector's camp?”

He laughed aloud. There was something so happy and buoyant in his laugh that it struck her too.

”Yes, it strikes you as funny, doesn't it?” she said. ”Well, it is.”

”So it is,” he answered. ”I quite agree. Now look here, Hermia.

Supposing it were not a case of love in a prospector's camp, but love in all the wide world--in any part of it that pleased you--no matter where--the brightest parts of it, where everything combined to make life all suns.h.i.+ne for you, while you made life all suns.h.i.+ne for me? What then?”

”Now you're getting beyond me, Justin. Suppose you explain.”

”Yes. That's all right. I will. No more prospecting for me, no need for that or anything else--only to enjoy life--with you. Look at this.”

He put into her hand the communication he had received in camp--the sight of which had caused him that great and sudden agitation, and which had moved his comrade so anxiously to utter a hope that it contained no bad news. Bad news! The news that it imparted was not exactly that he was a millionaire, but that all unexpectedly he had succeeded to a goodly heritage, just stopping short of five figures as a yearly income.

”Now, have we got to part sooner or later?” he cried triumphantly, watching the astonishment and then gladness which overspread her face.

”Look, we have all the world before us, and need care for n.o.body. Come with me, Hermia my darling, my one love. Leave all this and come with me, and see what love really means.”

She did not immediately answer. She was looking him through with her large eyes, and was thinking. She looked back upon her life, and it seemed all behind her. Here was an opportunity of renewing it. Should she take him at his word, or should she play him a little longer? No, that was not advisable under the circ.u.mstances. It was now or never.

It was strike while the iron is hot--and it was hot enough now in all conscience, she thought, as she looked at his pleading earnest face.

”Justin, my love, I believe I will take you at your word. Only it must be immediately or not at all. Shall I ever regret it, I wonder?” And again she looked him through with a fine expression of great and troubled seriousness.

”Never, darling,” he cried enraptured. ”That old fossil doesn't appreciate you. I will show you what appreciation means. You will go with me at once--to-morrow--never to part?”

”Yes,” she whispered.

”Ha-ha-haa!” laughed a jackal, questing after prey away in the gloaming shades of the now dusking veldt.

”Ha-ha-haa!” laughed his mate.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

GONE!

When Hilary Blachland awoke to consciousness, the moon was s.h.i.+ning full down on his face.

He was chilled and stiff--but the rest and sleep had done him all the good in the world, and now as he sat up in the hard damp rock-crevice, he began to collect his scattered thoughts.

He s.h.i.+vered. Thoughts of fever, that dread bugbear of the up-country man, took unpleasant hold upon his mind. A sleep in the open, blanketless, inadequately protected from the sudden change which nightfall brings, in the cool air of those high plateaux--the more p.r.o.nounced because of the steamy tropical heat of the day--had laid many a good man low, sapping his strength with its insidious venom, injecting into his system that which should last him throughout the best part of his life.

He peered cautiously out of his hiding-place. Not a sign of life was astir. He shook himself. Already the stiffness began to leave him. He drained his flask, and little as there was, the liquor sent a warming glow through his veins. The next thing was to find his way back to where he had left Hlangulu.

Somehow it all looked different now, as he stepped forth. In the excitement of the projected search he had not much noticed landmarks.

Now for a moment or so he felt lost. But only for a moment. The great monolith of the King's grave rose up on his left front, the granite pile, white in the moonlight. Now he had got his bearings.