Part 37 (1/2)

When I opened the door a wild blast tore in, lifting my cloak to the roof, and in a moment the front of my night-gown was like a wet rag, and my body streaming with wet. It was no use attempting to take a light.

I stumbled among the trees, in the thick darkness; blinding lightning flickered across my eyeb.a.l.l.s like liquid fire, but it showed the way, and at last I reached the door I knew to be Maurice's and battered on it. Silence!

”Maurice! Maurice!”

Silence again. Nothing but the flacking rain and pealing thunder.

Within, all was darkness and silence; evidently Maurice was fast asleep, and Snowie too. My worry had been about nothing. How foolish to be so disturbed by a dream, I thought, as I beat my way back, and once more sought my bed. Still, I was glad I had gone and set my mind at rest.

By one of those extraordinary lapses of memory that sometimes occur, I woke in the morning with no recollection of the night's adventure. I had slept it all away. The only thought in my mind as I jumped out of bed was that if I did not make double-quick time Maurice would be at the breakfast table before me, a thing I never allowed to happen since he had taken to rising for breakfast. I flew through my dressing, and was still five minutes to the good when I ran across the yard in the morning air of a world washed, and fresh, and glittering like crystal.

To my astonishment Maurice was not only at the table, but had finished his breakfast.

”But why so early?” I cried in surprise.

”I had a message from Ringe to say that he wants me at the court early.”

As he finished speaking Mango entered to say that Sergeant Locke was outside, wanting to speak to the master. Maurice rose hastily, putting his serviette to his lips, and as he did so I saw upon the back of his right hand three long deep scratches. In an instant he had whipped his hand into his pocket. He gave me a searching glance which I noticed but vaguely, for at that moment the whole of my last night's dream and adventure in the rain had come flas.h.i.+ng back, brought to memory by the sight of those deep new scratches on the back of his hand. While I sat thinking I heard Sergeant Locke's voice saying:

”Major Ringe went off at four this morning, sir, with Mr Malcolm--they got news last night of a lion out at Intanga. As they rode by the camp the Major called me up to ask you to see about Masefield's boy at the court this morning. It is the only case there is.”

”All right, Locke.”

Then how could Maurice have received a message from Ringe? Why had he got up so early and finished his breakfast before--What was that scratch?

As these questions flashed one after the other through my mind, I sprang up and ran to the door. He was just flicking the reins on his horse's neck for it to start. He hardly ever wore gloves, but he had a pair on this morning, and the scratch was hidden.

”Maurice,” I cried out, ”where is Snowie?”

He turned on his horse without stopping it and regarded me with surprised eyes.

”Snowie?”

”Yes--my kitten?”

”Why, haven't you seen her around the place this morning? She was in the dining-room a few minutes ago.”

”Oh!” I cried, and my heart nearly burst with relief. I waved to him, gladness in my smile, and ran back into the dining-room calling the kitten. ”Snowie--Snowie--Snow--ie.”

Later I went into the yard, and all round the huts, still calling. But she did not come running with her little tail erect and her little pink mouth open. There was no sign of her. I turned to the boys, but their faces were blank walls. No one had seen her that morning. I questioned Mango. He had not noticed her, he said. Doubtless if the _Inkos_ said so, she must have been in the dining-room, but he had not happened to notice her.

The other boys seemed to be observing me closely, but when I returned their searching gaze they dropped their mysterious dark eyes to the ground, after the manner of kaffirs. None of them had seen Snowie since the evening before, when I had crossed to the drawing-room with her on my shoulder, after dinner.

Maurice came home very gay and hungry to lunch. He had easily disposed of the one case, he said; but he and Clarke, the magistrate's clerk, had had a great morning hunting a wild-cat that had taken refuge under the courthouse, and refused to budge. It was imperative to get her as she had been after Clarke's canaries.

”At last we smoked her out,” he related, ”and she came for me like a red-hot devil. If I hadn't put up my hand she'd have had my eyes out.

Look what she did to me.”

He held out for my inspection the hand with the long deep scratch I had seen at the breakfast table! I stared at it speechless. He withdrew it and proceeded with his lunch. Presently he related to me several bits of news he had heard in town that morning. He was, for him, extraordinarily talkative.