The Golden Rock Part 27

"So you did not forget me, then?" she said, with one of her old radiant smiles.

"No more than the sailor could forget the lone star by which he steers in the dark night."

"We have your luggage ready, Miss Anstrade," said Hume, after handing her to a seat on the balcony, "and we are ready to go with you to England."

"And the Golden Rock?"

"That can wait a few more months."

"There may be others in search of it. No, you must lose no time, for success will not wait upon your leisure. Remember," she said, with a despairing gesture, "how delay marred my plan, leaving me without a comfort or a friend in the world."

"Are not we your friends?" they said, looking earnestly at her.

"Friends of a day--gone to-morrow--forgotten, and forgetting in a week."

"You may forget," murmured Frank; "but we will never."

She looked at them a moment steadily.

"Women do not forget. Their lives are confined by convention, narrowed often by small duties--the memories they have of things outside their usual limit remain with them always. I will not forget--ah! would to Heaven I could rub out the events of the last month!"

"Would you blot us out also?"

"Why not? I cannot--but if I could, why not? You are pa.s.sing away into fresh scenes and excitements, where your regrets will vanish and your memories be blurred. But what is then left for me?"

"You are young, Miss Anstrade, and it is not meant that youth should suffer."

"When do you sail?"

"We sail with you to-morrow."

"I am not going."

"What!"

"Yes; I will remain here. There is work in the convent yonder for such as would forget."

"Good G.o.d!" said Webster, staring aghast at the face of the beautiful girl who so calmly talked of throwing her life away.

"You cannot mean it," said Hume, looking at her steadily. "No; it is impossible. It would be cruel."

"I astonish you, my friends; and yet, if you consider, it is very reasonable, this step of mine. I have talked with the gentle sisters, and found them steeped in a loving patience that knows no fear of the past and allows no dread of the future. Yet some of them gave up more than I do--brothers, sisters, even lovers."

"It is horrible! And this island, of all places, with a copper heaven above and an earth of iron below."

"We can't allow it," said Webster gruffly.

"Then take me with you," she said softly, as she bent forward, with a flush in her cheeks; "take me with you--for you have suffered with me; men have sacrificed their lives for you as for me. Ah! take me too; I could not live alone with these memories."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

A QUARREL.

So it came that they left behind them the arid rock of Ascension, the murmur of the sea, and all that it spoke to them of tragedy and defeated hopes. They had set out in quest of the Golden Rock, had pa.s.sed from under the granite walls of Table Mountain, through the vine-clad valleys of the Paarl, up on to the melancholy plateau of the Karroo, crossed the Orange River in the night, sped for a day through the treeless flats of the Free State, and had arrived at Pretoria--a town of strange contrasts, where the low-walled house of the old days stood in the shadow of the lofty modern building, where the slow-moving Boer looked askance at the restless uitlanders--unwelcome visitors from the crowded haunts of Europe.

Before them was the Golden Rock--the "fairy spot," already glorified by a halo of mystery--the goal of their endeavours, whose brightness lured them on, though they secretly feared it would always elude their grasp; and behind, like a dream vividly remembered, was a vision of a calm sea, and brave men rus.h.i.+ng to their death. For them there was no interest in the people around them; but they were observed and discussed with a freedom that did not stick at coa.r.s.eness.

In the veranda of the princ.i.p.al hotel, after dinner, when the men were smoking over their coffee, and there was no other lady but Miss Anstrade, drinking in the cool of the evening, the conversation grew both free and loud, especially at one corner, where a party of three leant with their backs to a bal.u.s.trade, and laughed boisterously at each other's jokes.

"She is an actress," said one; "I can see that, from the way she manoeuvres her fan."

"You are wrong, for a fiver. Why, she wears no jewellery!"

"Done with you. I say, Coetzee, step up and ask who she is."

"Coetzee daren't do it. Another fiver he does not ask."

"Stuff, man; you should know better than to dare Coetzee after dinner.

Eh, Piet?"

"What is it you say?" asked the third of the noisy group--a tall, powerfully-built young Dutchman. "She looked at me a minute ago, and if it was not an invitation, I'm mistaken in woman."

"And you know them so well, don't you?" said the first man, with a sneer.

"None better, although the little barmaid did throw him over for five feet ten of starched collar and eyegla.s.s."

"You laugh, you skeppsels, but you know well I could take the two of you, one in either hand, and drop you into the street."

"Oh, yes, you are strong, Piet, as one of your own trek oxen; but all the same, you daren't speak to that lady."

"Soh! Look, now!" And Piet, placing his soft hat rakishly on one side, swaggered down the veranda until he faced the group of three, who were calmly oblivious to all around.

"Wie ben u, as ik maj vraa?" said Piet, falling back on his native tongue, as the task revealed unforeseen difficulties under the calm gaze of a pair of magnificent black eyes.

There was a sound of stifled laughter from the corner; but the three people looked past Piet, as though he had not been there, and this disturbed him more than the laughter. He stood shuffling on his big feet a moment, then turned and went back, this time without any swagger, received by an outburst of mocking laughter, which brought a glitter into the eyes of Hume and a flush to Webster's cheeks, though they both appeared oblivious.

It was not long before Miss Anstrade retired, and then the two friends, rising, went up to the other group.

"Are you men drunk?" said Hume bitterly, "that you behave like blackguards, or is it because you know no better?"

"We are not drunk, sir; but it was a stupid business."

"Yes, we are sorry."

"Speak for yourselves!" shouted Piet, "and let me deal with these verdomde uitlanders." He laid his big hand on Hume's shoulder, and the next instant there was the sound of a heavy blow, and he was stretched on his back, shaking the veranda, while Hume stood with frowning brows and clenched fist.