Tween Snow and Fire Part 37

While most of the chiefs of the colonial tribes had either surrendered or been slain, the head and Paramount Chief of all was still at large.

"Kreli must be captured or killed," was the general cry. "Until this is done the war can never be considered at an end." But the old chief had no intention of submitting to either process if he could possibly help it. He continued to make himself remarkably scarce.

Another character who was very particularly wanted was Hlangani, and for this shrewd and daring leader the search was almost as keen as for Kreli himself. Common report had killed him over and over again, but somehow there was no satisfactory evidence of his identification. Then a wild rumour got about that he had been sent by his chief on a mission to invoke the aid of the Zulu King, who at that time was, rightly or wrongly, credited with keeping South Africa in general, and the colony of Natal in particular, in a state of uneasiness and alarm. But, wherever he was, like his chief, and the "bold gendarmes" of the burlesque song, he continued to be "when wanted never there."

All these reports and many more reached Eustace Milne, who had taken no active part in frontier affairs since we saw him last. He had even been sounded as to his willingness to undertake a post on behalf of the Government which should involve establis.h.i.+ng diplomatic relations with the yet combatant bands, but this he had declined. He intended to do what he could for certain of the rebels later on, but meanwhile the time had not yet come.

Moreover, he was too happy amid the peaceful idyllic life he was then leading to care to leave it even for a time in order to serve a potentially ungrateful country. And it was idyllic. There was quite enough to do on the place to keep even his energetic temperament active.

The stock which had const.i.tuted the capital of their common partners.h.i.+p and had been sent to Swaanepoel's Hoek at the outbreak of the war required considerable looking after, for, owing to the change of _veldt_, it did not thrive as well as could be wished. And then the place afforded plenty of sport; far more than Anta's Kloof had done.

Leopards, wild pigs, and bushbucks abounded in the bushy kloofs; indeed, there were rather too many of the former, looking at it from the farming point of view. The valley bottoms and the water courses were full of guinea-fowl and francolins, and high up on the mountain slopes, the vaal rykbok might be shot for the going after, to say nothing of a plentiful sprinkling of quail and now and then a bustard. Eustace was often constrained to admit to himself that he would hardly have believed it possible that life could hold such perfect and unalloyed happiness.

He had, as we have said, plenty of wholesome and congenial work, with sport to his heart's content, and enjoyed a complete immunity from care or worry. These things alone might make any man happy. But there was another factor in this instance. There was the sweet companions.h.i.+p of one whom he had loved pa.s.sionately when the case was hopeless and she was beyond his reach, and whom he loved not less absorbingly now that all barriers were broken down between them, now that they would soon belong to each other until their life's end. This was the influence that cast a radiant glow upon the doings and undertakings of everyday life, encircling everything with a halo of love, even as the very peace of Heaven.

Not less upon Eanswyth did the same influences fall. The revulsion following upon that awful period of heart-break and despair had given her fresh life indeed. In her grand beauty, in the full glow of health and perfect happiness, no one would have recognised the white, stricken mourner of that time. She realised that there was nothing on earth left to desire. And then her conscience would faintly reproach her. Had she a right to revel in such perfect happiness in the midst of a world of sorrow and strife?

But the said world seemed to keep very fairly outside that idyllic abode. Now and then they would drive or ride into Somerset East, or visit or be visited by a neighbour--the latter not often. The bulk of the surrounding settlers were Boers, and beyond exchanging a few neighbourly civilities from time to time they saw but little of them.

This, however, was not an unmixed evil.

Bentley had been as good as his word. His wife was a capital housekeeper and had effectively taken all cares of that nature off Eanswyth's hands. Both were thoroughly good and worthy people, of colonial birth, who, by steadiness and trustworthy intelligence, had worked their way up from a very lowly position. Unlike too many of their cla.s.s, however, they were not consumed with a perennial anxiety to show forth their equality in the sight of Heaven with those whom they knew to be immeasurably their superiors in birth and culture, and to whom, moreover, they owed in no small degree their own well-being. So the relations existing between the two different factors which composed the household were of the most cordial nature.

There had been some delay in settling up Tom Carhayes' affairs--in fact, they were not settled yet. With a good sense and foresight, rather unexpected in one of his unthinking and impulsive temperament, poor Tom had made his will previous to embarking on the Gcaleka campaign.

Everything he possessed was bequeathed to his wife--with no restriction upon her marrying again--and Eustace and a mutual friend were appointed executors.

This generosity had inspired in Eanswyth considerable compunction, and was the only defective spoke in the wheel of her present great happiness. Sometimes she almost suspected that her husband had guessed at how matters really stood, and the idea cost her more than one remorseful pang. Yet, though she had failed in her allegiance, it was in her heart alone. She would have died sooner than have done so otherwise, she told herself.

Twice had the executors applied for the necessary authority to administer the estate. But the Master of the Supreme Court professed himself not quite satisfied. The evidence as to the testator's actual death struck him as inadequate--resting, as it did, upon the sole testimony of one of the executors, who could not even be positive that the man was dead when last seen by him. He might be alive still, though held a prisoner. Against this view was urged the length of time which had elapsed, and the utter improbability that the Gcaleka bands, broken up and harried, as they were, from point to point, would hamper themselves with a prisoner, let alone a member of that race toward which they had every reason to entertain the most uncompromising and implacable rancour. The Supreme Court, however, was immovable. When hostilities were entirely at an end, they argued, evidence might be forthcoming on the part of natives who had actually witnessed the testator's death. That fact incontestably established, letters of administration could at once be granted. Meanwhile the matter must be postponed a little longer.

This delay affected those most concerned not one whit. There was not the slightest fear of Eanswyth's interests suffering in the able hands which held their management. Only, the excessive caution manifested by the law's representatives would at times communicate to Eustace Milne a vague uneasiness. What if his cousin should be alive after all? What if he had escaped under circ.u.mstances which would involve perforce his absence during a considerable period? He might have gained the sea sh.o.r.e, for instance, and been picked up by a pa.s.sing s.h.i.+p bound to some distant country, whose captain would certainly decline to diverge many days out of his course to oblige one unknown castaway. Such things had happened. Still, the idea was absurd, he told himself, for, even if it was so, sufficient time had elapsed for the missing man, in these days of telegraphs and swift mail steamers, to make known his whereabouts, even if not to return in person. He had not seen dim actually killed in his conflict with Hlangani--indeed, the fact of that strange duel having been fought with kerries, only seemed to point to the fact that no killing was intended. That he was only stunned and disabled when dragged away out of sight Eustace could swear, but why should that implacable savage make such a point of having the absolute disposal of his enemy, if it were not to execute the most deadly ferocious vengeance upon him which lay in his power? That the wretched man had been fastened down to be devoured alive by black ants, even as the pretended wizard had been treated, Eustace entertained hardly any doubt--would have entertained none, but that the witch-doctress's veiled hint had pointed to a fate, if possible, even more darkly horrible. No, after all this time, his unfortunate cousin could not possibly be alive. The actual mode of his death might forever remain a mystery, but that he was dead was as certain as anything in this world can be. Any suspicion to the contrary he resolved to dismiss effectually from his mind.

Eanswyth would often accompany her lover during his rides about the _veldt_ looking after the stock. She would not go with him, however, when he was on sporting intent, she had tried it once or twice, but the bucks had a horrid knack of screaming in the most heart-rending fas.h.i.+on when sadly wounded and not killed outright, and Eustace's a.s.surance that this was due to the influence of fear and not of pain, entirely failed to reconcile her to it. [A fact. The smaller species of antelope here referred to, however badly wounded, will not utter a sound until seized upon by man or dog, when it screams as described. The same holds good of the English hare.] But when on more peaceful errand bent, she was never so happy as when riding with him among the grand and romantic scenery of their mountain home. She was a first-rate horsewoman and equally at home in the saddle when her steed was picking his way along some dizzy mountain path on the side of a gra.s.s slope as steep as the roof of a house with a series of perpendicular _krantzes_ below, or when pursuing some stony and rugged bush track where the springy _spekboem_ boughs threatened to sweep her from her seat every few yards.

"We are partners now, you know, dearest," she would say gaily, when he would sometimes urge the fatigue and occasionally even the risk of these long and toilsome rides. "While that law business still hangs fire the partners.h.i.+p can't be dissolved, I suppose. Therefore I claim my right to do my share of the work."

It was winter now. The clear mountain air was keen and crisp, and although the nights were bitterly cold, the days were lovely. The sky was a deep, cloudless blue, and the sun poured his rays down into the valleys with a clear, genial warmth which just rendered perceptible the bracing exhilaration of the air. Thanks to the predominating _spekboem_ and other evergreen bushes, the winter dress of Nature suffered but little diminution in verdure; and in grand contrast many a stately summit soared proudly aloft, capped with a white powdering of snow.

Those were days of elysium indeed, to those two, as they rode abroad among the fairest scenes of wild Nature; or, returning at eve, threaded the gra.s.sy bush-paths, while the crimson winged louris flashed from tree to tree, and the francolins and wild guinea-fowl, startled by the horses' hoofs, would scuttle across the path, echoing their grating note of alarm. And then the sun, sinking behind a lofty ridge, would fling his parting rays upon the smooth burnished faces of the great red cliffs until they glowed like molten fire.

Yes, those were indeed days to look back upon.

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE.

FROM THE DEAD!

Eustace and the overseer were sitting on the _stoep_ smoking a final pipe together before going to bed. It was getting on for midnight and, save these two, the household had long since retired.

Tempted by the beauty of the night they sat, well wrapped up, for it was winter. But the whole firmament was ablaze with stars, and the broad nebulous path of the Milky Way shone forth like the phosphoric trail in the wake of a steamer. The conversation between the two had turned upon the fate of Tom Carhayes.

"I suppose we shall soon know now what his end really was," the overseer was saying. "Kafirs are as close as death over matters of that kind while the war is actually going on. But they are sure to talk afterwards, and some of them are bound to know."

"Yes. And but for this administration business it might be just as well for us not to know," answered Eustace. "Depend upon it, whatever it is, it will be something more than ghastly, poor fellow. Tom made a great mistake in going to settle in Kafirland at all. He'd have done much better here."

"I suppose there isn't the faintest shadow of a chance that he may still be alive, Mr Milne?"

The remark was an unfortunate one. Cool-headed as he was, it awoke in Eustace a vague stirring of uneasiness--chiming in, as it did, with the misgivings which would sometimes pa.s.s through his own mind.

"Not a shadow of a chance, I should say," he replied, after a slight pause.

Bentley, too, began to realise that the remark was not a happy one--for of course he could not all this time have been blind to the state of affairs. He felt confused and relapsed into silence--puffing vigorously at his pipe.

The silence was broken--broken in a startling manner. A terrified scream fell upon their ears--not very loud, but breathing unmistakable tones of mortal fear. Both men sprang to their feet.

"Heavens!" cried the overseer. "That's Mrs Carhayes--"

But the other said not a word. In about a half a dozen steps he was through the sitting room and had gained the door which opened out of it.

This was Eanswyth's bedroom, whence the terrified cry had proceeded.

"What is wrong, Eanswyth?" he cried, tapping at the door.

It opened immediately. She stood there wrapped in a long loose dressing gown, the wealth of her splendid hair falling in ma.s.ses. But her face was white as death, and the large eyes were dilated with such a pitiable expression of fear and distress, as he certainly had never beheld there.

"What is it, my darling? What has frightened you so?" he said tenderly, moved to the core by this extraordinary manifestation of pitiable terror.

She gave a quick flurried look over her shoulder. Then clutching his hands--and he noticed that hers were trembling and as cold as ice--she gasped:

"Eustace--I have seen--him!"

"Who--in Heaven's name?"

"Tom."

"Darling, you must have dreamt it. You have been allowing your thoughts to run too much on the subject and--"

"No. It was no dream. I have not even been to bed yet," she interrupted, speaking hurriedly. "I was sitting there, at the table, reading one of my little books. I just happened to look up and--O Eustace"--with a violent shudder--"I saw _his_ face staring in at the window just as plainly as I can see you now."

Eustace followed her cowering glance. The window, black and uncurtained, looked out upon the _veldt_. There were shutters, but they were hardly ever closed. His first thought, having dismissed the nightmare theory, was that some loafer was hanging about, and seeing the lighted window had climbed up to look in. He said as much.

"No. It was _him_," she interrupted decisively. "There was no mistaking him. If it were the last word I breathed I should still say so. What does it mean? Oh, what does it mean?" she repeated in tones of the utmost distress.

"Hush, hush, my dearest! Remember, Bentley will hear, and--"

"_There he is again_!"

The words broke forth in a shriek. Quickly Eustace glanced at the window. The squares of gla.s.s, black against the outer night, showed nothing in the shape of a human countenance. A large moth buzzed against them, and that was all.

Her terror was so genuine, as with blanched face and starting eyes she glared upon the black gla.s.s, that ever so slight a thrill of superst.i.tious dread shot through him in spite of himself.

"Quick!" she gasped. "Quick! Go and look all round the house! I am not frightened to remain alone. Mr Bentley will stay with me. Go, quick!"