Wild Honey Part 30

"I don't require your escort," she said rudely. "I am on my father's ground."

Nevertheless, he walked beside her as she moved quickly away.

"Chrissie!" he said quietly. "What has all this trouble about the land and about war to do with you and me?"

She did not answer, only walked faster.

"I am only an employee of the Government," he continued. "How is it my fault if they take your father's land?"

"I do not say that it is your fault," she said. "But it turns you into his enemy--and mine."

"And yours?" he repeated reproachfully, "I thought you were more just than that!"

"I am the daughter of a Boer."

"And I am an Englishman. But that does not prevent me from loving you."

He caught hold of her hands and made her stand still. They had reached a spot where the pomegranates hid them from view of the stoep.

"Do you hear, Chrissie? I love you, and I want to marry you."

"Marry an Englishman?" she cried violently. "Never. It would break my father's heart--and mine too." With a quick movement she wrenched her hands away and fled from him. He turned very pale and stood staring after her, his mouth set in a grim line.

Returned to the stoep, Chrissie found Carol Uys seated there talking to her father. It transpired that they had already arranged a deal by which Carol was to take back the pair of bays (with a mule thrown in) at the same price as he had sold. The old man said he no longer needed them to take him to _kerk_. He would never enter a _kerk_ again he avowed.

Carol and Chrissie shook hands and she went indoors where he presently followed her, for old Retief had fallen once more into absorbed reverie.

"Chrissie," said the young Dutchman, "the war will soon be on now. Old Oom Paul Kruger has defied the _rooi-neks_, and we are to fight."

"Yes, Carol," said she, listlessly arranging the coffee cups.

"I shall be off on commands, at the first call."

"You think there will be fighting in this district too?"

"If there isn't, I shall make for the Transvaal."

The girl fell into a moment's brooding silence.

"War is horrible!" she said slowly.

"Horrible, yes, _maar_ afterwards we shall be the baases, and call our country our own."

"I am not sure, Carol; they say these English are good fighters."

"_Mastag_! and what about the Boers? We will show them, you wait a little."

After another silence, he spoke again in a different voice.

"Chrissie--"

Looking up she saw his bashful purpose in his eyes, and strove to avoid the issue.

"Do you see how sick my Poppa is, Carol?"

"Yes, I am sorry, Chrissie, he is very sick. This trouble with the railway has turned his blood, I'm afraid."

"G.o.d knows what will happen if he does not shake it off! my poor old Poppa, it will kill him." Tears sprang to her eyes and her hands trembled amidst the crockery. Carol seized one and held it fast.

"Do not fret, Chrissie, I will take care of you, if you will let me.

You know I love you and want to marry you. I have already asked Oom Nick and he has given his consent. Will you marry me, Chrissie?"

A bitter little smile twisted her lips. It seemed she had grown suddenly very desirable, since two men, within an hour, should ask her in marriage!

"I do not love you, Carol," she said quietly. His face fell.

"I used to think, Chrissie--but lately you are so changed."

"Yes, I am changed," she answered staring out through the open door, to the tents away by the river. "I _am_ changed, Carol. I wish I were not a Boer maisie."

He did not understand this, but it sounded like treason, and he rebuked it.

"But you _are_ a Boer maisie, Chrissie. And you must not forget it."

"No, I shall never forget it," she said slowly, "and because of it I will marry you, if you still wish it, Carol. I do not love you, but I will be a good wife to you."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, my Chrissie. I too will be a good man to you. You will see."

The list of killed and injured on the railway workings continued, and by the time the bridge of the Kat River was nearing completion and the line across Jackalsfontein almost laid, it made heavy reading for some wives and mothers, and a Government whose business it was to compensate them.

The annoying part of the matter was that there were no shoulders upon which blame for the chapter of accidents could justly be laid. "Acts of Providence" cannot be quarrelled with. Though why "the Hand of G.o.d"

should have fallen so heavily upon that special part of the line was incomprehensible to the gangers, who were inclined to insinuate that Lucifer (aided by a certain strange and monstrous-looking old man who sat eternally watching from his stoep) had more to do with the matter.

Nick Retief's armchair no longer accommodated him. The large oak and leather settle from the kitchen had been brought out and in its broad seat he sat daily, his great head sunk on his breast, staring with blue eyes grown dim. He was now enormously swollen and of an extraordinary vivid colour. Rage and bitter anger had so poisoned his nature that it seemed, even as Chrissie in her simple way expressed it, as if his blood had "turned" or decomposed in his veins. Yet, despite its grotesqueness, there was something heart-rendingly pathetic in the figure of this old-time Boer who had fought to defeat Progress and been defeated instead.

He had to be helped to bed now, with Chrissie on one side and Shangaan Jim, his oldest Kaffir boy, supporting him on the other. But there came a night when they could not lead him to his bed; his bulk had so much increased during the day that it was in vain to try and pa.s.s him through the front door. Chrissie burst into tears.

"Oh! foy toch, my poor Poppey, what are we to do now?"

"Bring out my mattress. I will sleep here where I can see my land,"

said the old man.

So they brought out his mattress, and he went to bed on the stoep.

Shangaan Jim sat by him through the night, and, long after she had retired, Chrissie could hear his mumbling voice relating with many _clicks_ and e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns tales of when he had worked in the mines at the Diamond Fields.

The next day at Nick Retief's command the big iron and bra.s.s bedstead in which his wife had died was set up on the stoep. He slept in it, and again Shangaan Jim stayed by him relating strange stories. The morning after, the old man did not rise from his bed; only called to them to bring many pillows, and prop him up, so that he could see.