An I.D.B. in South Africa Part 15

"Well, I shall consider the matter. It is late, and I must now go to my hotel. I will think it over and tell you my decision in the morning.

This has been a memorable day in my existence, but it must end, more's the pity.

"Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night, 'till it be morrow,"

quoted the doctor, as he left her alone.

The next morning they were eager to see each other, for this was the dawn of their new life, and their faces reflected the radiance of the glory of the light on their horizon. Yet their talk was not of themselves but of Bela and the diamond.

"I have been busy this morning attending to this matter. Bela has disappeared! I find he was last seen at sunrise, on the road leading up into the interior of the country. He must have been nearly frightened to death over the scene with the detectives and his mistress, and afterwards by a little encounter with the guards at the gate. He probably fears even me at present, thinking that I may hand him over to the authorities, and so injure Laure. These natives have some of the wisdom supposed to be bestowed only upon their masters."

"What will you do with the gem?"

"I have telegraphed to Kimberley to find if Donald Laure is there. The disappearance of Bela with the diamond may cause Donald to change his plans."

As they sat talking a telegram was brought in by Margaret. Its contents follow:

"Donald Laure and wife have left Kimberley for England."

The doctor sat thinking with a puzzled expression on his countenance.

"Surprises multiply, Kate. What shall we now do with the diamond? I do not know to whom it belongs, and do not wish to do anybody an injury by sending it to the authorities. They would at once telegraph to England and have Donald Laure seized on his arrival in that country."

"What do men do with their diamonds, when they want to get them out of their way?"

"Oh, they bury them, or send them to England by mail."

"Why don't you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Send it by mail to your banker in England, addressed to Donald Laure, care of yourself, so it will be in safe hands, then you can give him an order for it when you find out his address."

"Well, Kate! That is good Yankee invention. You will be as good as a lawyer in adjusting all weighty matters that may arise in our lives. It is just the thing to do. Who says a woman's quick invention isn't worth more than the step-ladder man uses when he tries to climb to the heights of success through his reason?"

"Then you will do that?"

"It is the only thing to do. I will send it off before I leave to-day.

We have only a few hours to ourselves before I start on my journey down the country to the sea, where I will take the steamer which will carry me to England in twenty days. I am a happier man, Kate, than I expected to be on that journey. When I came to Bloemfontein it did not seem as if I were worthy to approach and ask you to give yourself into my keeping."

"Love makes one feel unworthy of the object upon which it sets its affections. But our recompense for this personal sense of unfitness is the glory we gain in the eyes of our beloved. Perhaps an average struck between the humility of love on one side and the exaggeration of love on the other, will give a fair estimate of the reality."

The doctor smiled at Kate's grave conclusion, and taking both her hands in his, laid them over his heart which beat so truly, and on which she knew she could rest and gather to herself strength. In another hour he was on his way to the coast.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

"HOW WILL IT END?"

What a civiliser is the railroad, preceded by the missionary, and followed by the speculator!

How changed is the country, since the time when the journey from Kimberley to the coast was made by ox-wagon, by stagecoach, or Cape cart, with its Malay driver and Hottentot guard, with a possible pa.s.senger hurrying to the sea to catch the English steamer.

Here the Kafir, with his coating of blue clay, once wound his way over the path worn by his ancestors, through the Karoo, across the sluit, the swamp, over the Kopje, telegraphing his approach by that soft, melodious, far-reaching cry peculiar to himself, on his pilgrimage to the great ocean, his goal. Not until certain sacred rites were carried into effect and he was cleansed in the great waters, was he considered a man by his tribe, and his approach to a kraal was but the signal for the younger women to hide themselves.

Strange creatures, and stranger customs, that are as strictly adhered to, as were the Mosaic laws of old, which in some respects they resemble. The scientist in the country finds the native life a weird, never-ending mystery, and the iron horse seems a trespa.s.ser.

In these days the traveller lounges in a luxurious Pullman coach, which in thirty hours hurries to the coast at Port Elizabeth, across sandy plains, and treeless mountains, pa.s.sing slowly and gracefully over the "Good Hope" bridge, over a thousand feet in length, built upon nine arches that span the Orange River, a treacherous stream fifty-five feet below the rail, rushing onward to that omnivorous mouth, the Sea.

During a few months of the year the upland rivers come rolling down like cataracts, over huge boulders, and dragging great gnarled trees with them, as if they were no more than a feather's weight; thus leaving the riverbeds dry during the remaining months of the year, or with a mere brooklet trickling along between wide yawning walls of clay.

On reaching Port Elizabeth, that enterprising city of Cape Colony, Dr Fox proceeded immediately to the long jetty, built well out into the sea, and there boarded a tug that lay alongside, and was soon steaming out to the "Arab," riding at anchor in Algoa Bay.

Many pa.s.sengers were aboard, a number having come from Natal, and their faces expressed satisfaction at the prospect of a visit home to England.

Soon the heart of the great "Arab" began to beat, and the pulsations could be heard and felt by the pa.s.sengers sitting on its deck watching the sunlight reflected on the wooded sh.o.r.es of the African coast, that seemed to glide by, while the "Arab" stood still.

A few days at sea seems a very long time, and social reserve drops off with the taking of the log. The seats arranged at table, the constant personal a.s.sociation in the confines of the ship, together with the hundred of incidents that arise during a long voyage, soon reveal the characters of fellow pa.s.sengers. If there is congeniality the voyage comes to an end almost too soon.

There is no life that can tell of its romances and its heart-burnings like the life at sea.

A man's soul must be living indeed in a cold atmosphere, that can be so gently rocked in such a richly carved and gilded cradle as one of those Southern steamers, and not find sentiment growing in his soul.

Especially if he is fortunate to meet there what may appear to be an affinity.

On reaching Cape Town the following day, and entering the stone dock, the doctor disembarked to pay a flying visit to the Eden-like suburbs, where the houses, covered with pa.s.sion-flowers, growing in wild profusion and surrounded by orchids, peep out, overlooking the beautiful waters of Table Bay. With the mauve-tinted, golden-rimmed mountains lying in the distance, it is a veritable paradise in which to hide one's self away from the world.

Taking a hansom and returning to the steamer, the doctor stood on deck watching the sailors depositing the luggage in the hold, and thinking what that voyage might mean in the lives of many of the pa.s.sengers.

As this thought sprang up, he looked toward the dock, and saw three persons in tourist garb, hastily approaching the gangplank, then in course of being hauled on deck.

Their faces were familiar. They were Donald and Dainty Laure, with Herr Schwatka, and they came hastily on board, and disappeared in the deck cabins allotted to them.

This was the beginning of a new act, not antic.i.p.ated by the doctor, in the drama of which, so far, he had been a spectator.

"What will be the end of it?" was his mental query.

Here in the Southern hemisphere, with the clearly defined outline of majestic scenery, the great "Arab" again began slowly to swing away from her moorings out into the boundless ocean, soon to glide over its bosom, as swiftly as a swan in its native lake.

Hardly a ripple disturbed the waters, and the air kissed the cheek like the touch of an angel's wing.

Here, where "The heavens are telling the glory of G.o.d," and the Southern Cross and the eye of night throw out a light unequalled in our Northern hemisphere, to simply live is a delight.

That great deck seemed unnecessary for those quiet waters, but there are times when the sea changes its moods with a suddenness like that of Southern storms in the upland regions of Africa, where the whirlwinds of dust come with unexpected fury. Those tropical winds, on both land and sea, are treacherous and capricious.

To attempt to describe a sea-voyage from Africa to England, through the summer voyage of the world, is like attempting to describe a dream that had been one long, sweet draught of perfect happiness, where the spirit seemed to go wherever it willed, and was in company with people with whom it felt in harmony.

There are usually musicians, or accomplished people aboard, who have no thought of hiding their light under a bushel, but who cheerfully contribute to the entertainment of their fellow pa.s.sengers.

To Dainty Laure what would not this experience have been, had her heart been at rest. But she looked at the new world with strange experiences distracting her soul, and the unwonted surroundings made her condition but more pitiful.