The Fire Trumpet Part 53

It was the first time Lilian had spoken, and Claverton, who was sitting opposite her and almost as silent, heard with a thrill that low, sweet voice which had haunted his dreams and his waking thoughts during the long years of solitude. He had been furtively watching her, noting every turn of the beautifully poised head, striving to catch a glance from the sweet, serious eyes, which somehow were never suffered to meet his. And he likewise noted that Lilian Strange at twenty-seven was, if possible, even more lovely and winning to behold than on that day just four years ago, when he had first gazed upon the vision which had completely altered the course of his life. Not even the most spiteful of critics could say of her that she had "gone off." A trifle graver perhaps, but it was a gravity that suited well her soft, dark beauty; and the smile, when it did come, lit up the serene, exquisite face as the ripple of a sunbeam on a sleeping pool. And it was just such a smile as this which caused a tug of pain at Claverton's heart, when the urchin uttered his bellicose aspiration.

"By the time you're big enough for that, sonny, there may be occasion for it, not before," said Payne, as he wheeled back his chair. "Come and have a smoke on the _stoep_, Claverton. What! Did you say, 'No'?"

"That's what I said."

"Well! Here's a transformation! Why, you haven't given up the only sociable habit--Ah, I see. Ladies, you may score a triumph; you have tamed this savage. He is going to give up the soothing weed in favour of your more soothing society. But I am not, therefore for the present--so long," and with a laugh the light-hearted fellow went out, cramming his pipe as he went.

"Now, Mr Claverton, we shall expect you to tell us some most thrilling adventures," said his hostess. "You must have a great stock of them."

"I a.s.sure you I have none," he began.

"Oh, that won't do. But tell me the ins and outs of that affair when you first met George."

Claverton started. His wits were, in popular phraseology, wool-gathering; and at first he thought of to-day's row. Then he remembered.

"That affair at De Klerk? It wasn't much of a thing. Payne was holding his own gallantly against four big Dutchmen, and I came up in time to turn the scale. You said something about his life just now, but his life wasn't in danger; the most they'd have done would have been to have given him rather a mauling."

"What was it about?" asked Lilian.

"The right of outspan, usual bone of contention in Dutch neighbourhoods.

And just then the Boers were rather sore about the Gold Fields, and made themselves very nasty to any one coming from or going to that sham El Dorado."

"Sham! Yes, it is a sham; George did no good by going," said Mrs Payne, rising. "Now, children, bed-time," and with the reluctant juveniles she left the room; and again those two were alone together.

Claverton, who had hoped for such a moment, now that it had come, felt utterly tongue-tied. He felt that he had no right to rake up the past.

She herself had buried it, and now that they were unexpectedly thrown together again, he felt that it would be unfair to her, not to say obtrusive, to revert to the forbidden subject. And yet what was he to say to her? Every topic they had in common was inextricably interwoven with that terribly painful past, which was as fresh and unhealed in his heart as on the morning when she had bidden him leave her.

"Do you know, I had not the remotest idea I should find you here to-day?" he began, rather lamely.

"Hadn't you? I suppose not," she answered, speaking quickly, and her fingers busy at some needlework, trembled ever so slightly.

"How long have you known the Paynes?"

"Nearly three years. Just before Mrs Brathwaite's death."

"What! Is Mrs Brathwaite dead?" he asked, in astonishment.

"Didn't you know?" she replied. And then she gave him the history of the sad events which had followed so soon upon his leaving Seringa Vale, and he listened in amazement, for he had only just returned straight from the interior, and thus, as it were, into the world again.

"I am very grieved to hear this," he said, when she had finished. "They were the truest, kindest friends that ever man had. I little thought I should never see them again. And I suppose Jim reigns in the old place, now?"

"Yes," she answered sadly, and then there was silence for a few moments.

The conversation was taking a decidedly dangerous turn, and Lilian began to feel embarra.s.sed. Perhaps it was as well that Mrs Payne returned, having disposed of her offspring in their various couches, and almost immediately her lord entered from the _stoep_, bringing in a whiff of fresh night air not guiltless of tobacco smoke.

"Grand night!" he exclaimed, flinging down his hat in high good-humour.

"We'll have a ride over the place to-morrow, eh, Claverton?"

Claverton a.s.sented mechanically, thinking the while how he might be far enough away by that time. Then a little more conversation, and a move was made to retire. How narrowly he scanned Lilian's face, while he held her fingers in ever so lingering a clasp as he bade her good-night!

He could read nothing there. And then, mechanically again, he followed his host to the room prepared for him, and once more he was alone.

Then what a rush of recollections swept over his mind, as he sat at the open window looking out upon the still night! All the years of wandering, of peril, and of hardship, were bridged over as by a single night, and once more it seemed as if he had just heard his doom only a few hours since, in the garden at Seringa Vale. And now Fate had thrown him beneath the same roof with this woman, whom he had never expected nor dared hope to see again. He had once more looked into her eyes, and drank in the sound of her voice--once more had held her hand in his, and now the old wound, never even so much as cicatrised over, was lacerated afresh, and gaped open and bleeding. Could he have been brought here for the mere sport of circ.u.mstances, or was it with a purpose--a deeper import? And with the superst.i.tion in small things which often, and in spite of himself, clings to a man who has travelled much and in solitude, he grasped the idea. Yet he dared not hope. Hope and he had parted company long since, he told himself. But he made up his mind that, at any rate, he would not leave his friend's hospitable roof the next day; and having arrived at that conclusion he fell asleep, and slept soundly.

VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER FOUR.

"SO THE FACE BEFORE HER LIVED, DARK-SPLENDID..."

And what of her to whom this long, weary period had been so many years and so many months of terrible self-reproach? To her, though Time had brought no solace, it had brought a certain amount of resignation; and she had been able to school herself to face the future as best she might. Then suddenly, without so much as a moment's warning, this man whom she had mourned as dead, whom she had wept and prayed for, night and morning, as one whom she would never again behold here on earth, stood before her. She had looked up, expecting to see a stranger--and there _he_ stood! No wonder the blood forsook her ashy face and her heart stood still.

And now, in the dark, silent hours, she can scarcely realise it. It must be a dream--such a one as she had many and many a time awakened from to find her pillow wet with tears. Would she now awaken to find herself once more the dupe of one of those cruel hallucinations? No, this was real, she told herself; and looking back upon that meeting, awful in its suddenness, she wondered how she had so preserved her calmness. And he--he had shrunk from her--stopped short as soon as he recognised her. No wonder. She had sent him away with bitter words, with hard, cruel words, as a last recollection. How could he tell the agonies of remorse, of repentance, of vain, pa.s.sionate yearning, which her life had since undergone? Time had gone by--perhaps he had eradicated from his heart the image of her who had made a plaything of it, as it must seem to him; perhaps some other image had taken its place. Better she could have continued to mourn him as dead than that.

She forgot, in her anguish, how he had been wandering ever since they two parted--wandering afar in the wild interior, among its wilder inhabitants, alone with his own thoughts and her memory. She forgot all this as, the night through, she lay and tortured herself with these and kindred reflections.

And even if things were not so, and he had come back as he went, was there not the same barrier between them? Now that she was face to face with it once more, could she be false to her word any more now than then? Did not the old obstacle once more arise? No, it did not. From that fatal promise she had been absolved since then, absolved by the inexorable hand of Death--not always a merciless enemy--and at this moment she was free, absolutely free. But what availed her freedom now?

Years ago it would have meant everything--life, love, and happiness-- but now--

One by one the stars paled overhead, a faint glow suffused the eastern sky, and, with a chill tremor, the dawn swept clearer and clearer over the sleeping earth. Very soothing to Lilian's tired brow was the fresh, cool air as she leaned out of the window, restless and fevered, after a sleepless night. For a few moments thus she stood, watching the shadows lightening upon the hills around, then, dressing hurriedly, she descended, intending to enjoy the early freshness before any one should be astir.

Noiselessly unlocking the front door, she pa.s.sed out; and never had the pure morning air seemed more grateful or invigorating. She walked to the gate at the end of the _stoep_ and turned the key--tried to turn it, rather, for it was firm. Then she tried again with all the strength of her two hands; but no; the wretched instrument moved not a hair's breadth, and she stood contemplating a deep-blue imprint on her own delicate palm--the sole result of her attempt.

"Allow me," said a voice, and immediately the recalcitrant key yielded, with a creak and a snap, to the vigorous turn of a strong hand.

"There," said the new arrival, swinging open the gate. "Are you taking an early stroll?"

Upon what a startled ear had that voice fallen! Her first impulse was to disclaim all intention of early exercise, and to go back indoors; but she answered in the affirmative.

"I wonder if my company would bore you greatly?" went on Claverton.

"Singularly enough, I turned out early with the same intent, and Fate seems to have thrown us together."

Did he say this with a meaning? she wondered. Fate had indeed thrown them together.

"It would be very ungrateful of me to refuse it," she answered, with a smile, "when you have just overcome such an obstacle in the way of my going out at all."

They walked along in silence for a few moments, side by side--those two, who had been so long parted.

"Do you find this place as pretty as Seringa Vale?" he asked.

The question somewhat took her aback. Why did he wish to recur to the past? "No; I have never seen anything like that," answered she. "Still this is very beautiful in its way. Mr Payne thinks it the most perfect spot on earth."

"And--are you happy here, Lilian?"

"Yes; I have no right to be otherwise. In fact, I consider myself very fortunate."

"Oh."

They had reached the little wooden bridge whence he had first caught the notes of the old, familiar ballad the evening before. Crossing it, they turned down a path between two high pomegranate hedges. Beyond was a garden--cool, leafy, and inviting--where birds twittered and chirped in the morning air. A gleam beyond the Kei hills betokened the advent of the sun.

"It's marvellously warm for daybreak at this time of year," began Claverton after a pause. "I hope it doesn't mean a storm in the afternoon, because that isn't exactly an auspicious opening to a journey."