Here he was, suddenly and unexpectedly called upon to undergo a wholly delightful1 sojourn2 once more beneath the same roof with this girl who had held his thoughts during the past three months. And now he was resolved to bring things to a head, and somehow he thought he had no reason to despair of doing so. Had he been near enough to catch what was working in the mind of one of the occupants of the Cape3 cart—which he was not, for his horse, fresh and “beany” from stable confinement4 and diet, would not be held in to the more sober, jog-trot pace of a vehicle—he might have thought so still more.
In her first glance at him Hazel had decided5 that, whatever it was that she had found wanting in him before, had now been supplied as though it were the missing link of a chain. The experiences he had been through since their last meeting had hardened and strengthened Dick Selmes in every way. He had taken part in more than one battle, and had undergone perils6 such as had fallen to the lot of few—as we know—and such experience had left its mark. He had learned self-reliance in a sharp school, but he had learned it. There was a straight decisive look in his clear eyes which had not been there before, a stamp, too, of it in his features, and now Hazel came to the conclusion that Dick Selmes was the handsomest man she had ever seen, or would ever be likely to see. Even now, how well he looked on horseback. His steed, the same one which had carried him through his express-riding experience, just now was giving ample opportunity for a display of horsemanship; and, watching both from the cart, Hazel realised that small Jacky was but voicing her own verdict in rough and ready fashion when he exclaimed—
“Ma, but Mr Selmes is a fine chap, and, can’t he just ride!”
“And swim too, eh, Jacky?” was the maternal7 reply, given significantly.
“Ja. Rather!”
It was sunset when they reached the farm; whose owner they could see down at the sheep kraals some little way off, apparently8 engaged in counting in, and at this they would not disturb him. A Kafir stable hand came up to take the horses.
“Come in, Mr Selmes. My husband will be up directly, when he’s done counting. He and Magwelo will do the outspanning.”
“Oh, but I can give a hand so long, Mrs Waybridge. Why—if that isn’t Elsie.”
“Ay, it’s Elsie. And how are ye, Mr Selmes?” said the Scotswoman, as Dick heartily9 shook hands with her. “Man, but ye’ll have seen something, A’m thinking, since ye first took me for Miss Hazel, up at Mr Hesketh’s.”
“Elsie, that joke’s stale,” cut in Hazel, quickly. “I don’t know either that it was ever much of a joke in any case.”
And Dick felt grateful. He did not want to be reminded of having made an ass10 of himself—and that before other people. But the Scotswoman turned away, not in the least offended, however. Soon the owner of the place was seen approaching. He was a middle-aged11, strongly built man, with a quiet-looking, shrewd face, thickly bearded, and he was rather reticent12 of speech.
“John,” said his wife, “I’ve brought you some one you’ve very much wanted to see—Mr Selmes.”
“Very much wanted to,” echoed the other, heartily. “I should rather think so. How are you, sir—and a thousand welcomes. I need hardly say how glad I am of the opportunity of thanking you in person—”
“No—no, Mr Waybridge. That’s a subject we must agree not to mention,” protested Dick. “Really—if only to oblige me.”
“There are some subjects that can’t be dismissed so lightly,” was the answer. “You don’t meet with cases of heroism13 so often as all that.”
“Oh, Mrs Waybridge, do come to my rescue,” laughed Dick. “Now I’m going to take refuge in helping14 to outspan. Hallo! There’s my little friend, Florrie. How she’s grown.”
A pretty little girl came half shyly forward. She and Jacky constituted the Waybridges’ surviving family. Waybridge himself had not been present on the occasion of the rescue, his wife and children having been on a visit to Cape Town without him.
This Kaffrarian farm was pleasingly situated15; in front and around an undulating roll of mimosa-dotted plains, at the back a line of hills, covered with dark bush. Now, as the sun dropped down to the horizon, these were thrown out all green and gold. At the back of the house was a large fruit garden, fenced in by hedges of quince and pomegranate. The sheep kraals lay in front, at some little distance.
“I’m afraid you’ll find it a bit slow here, Mr Selmes,” said Waybridge, as they were seated out on the stoep after supper. “I hear you’re a great sportsman, but there’s nothing on earth to shoot here.”
“Yet all that bush at the back ought to show something,” said Dick.
“So it ought, but it doesn’t. There are a sight too many Kafirs—and dogs. They won’t leave a hoof16 anywhere within reach. Clear everything.”
“That’s very nearly what Mr Selmes did at Haakdoorn,” said Hazel, mischievously17.
“Ah, that was a very paradise of a shoot,” answered Dick, meeting her eyes in the starlight; and she read into the words a meaning beyond what they might on the surface convey, as he intended she should. It was like old times sitting out in the still night with her beside him, he thought. Then the conversation, as it was bound to do, got on to the war, and Dick, being pressed to do so, told them about his adventures. These, as a rule, he avoided talking about lest he should be suspected of brag18.
“You see,” he now concluded, “you wanted to hear about things, but don’t imagine for a moment I’m particularly proud of any of those experiences, because honestly I’m not. The more I look back on them, the more convinced I am that I acted the silly ass; especially in running other people into unnecessary risk to get me out. And if it hadn’t been for Greenoak, time after time, I never should have been got out.”
“What about Gcalekaland now?” said Waybridge.
“Think it’s settled?”
“I believe so. The niggers were knocked into a cocked hat. But what about your crowd round here? Are they reliable?”
“There is unrest,” answered Waybridge. “Yes, decidedly there is unrest. But if we all followed the example of some of our neighbours by running away into laager, it would be courting the very danger we want to avoid. Isn’t it a fact that the way to draw any animal after you is to run away from it? Of course; and so some of us made a kind of league to stick to our farms.”
“Aren’t you uneasy, Mrs Waybridge?” said Dick.
“Not in the least. I don’t believe, either, that the Kafirs would do us any harm. We are on very good terms with them, and the old chief, Nteya, who bosses all the Gaikas round here, is a really nice old man, and we are very friendly. At worst we should be sure to get warning to clear.”
“These scares occur from time to time,” went on Waybridge, “and one of the results is that your servants all leave. When they come back you may rely upon it that the scare is over. Just now I’m badly off for hands. Four cleared out one night, all Sandili’s people. But they’ll come back. Nteya’s people stayed on, and those are the three I have yet.”
Dick Selmes, a lurking19 anxiety at the back of his mind on account of Hazel, felt reassured20. His host’s serene21 composure on the subject could hardly fail to carry that effect. Then, upon the stillness of the night a far-away, long-drawn sound floated weirdly22.
“By Jingo!” he cried, “that reminds me of the war-dance in Vunisa’s location that I’ve just been telling you about. Listen.”
They did listen. Again and again the strange sound wailed23 forth24, seeming to come from where a distant glow was now visible beyond a roll of the plain.
“It is a dance of some sort,” said Waybridge, “but I don’t suppose it’s a war-dance. Sounds as if it was over at old Umjuza’s kraal, or not far from it. They often go in for dances, maybe for a wedding, or maybe like we do, for the sake of having a little festivity. It’s just an extraordinary beer-drinking, I expect.”
But to one who had heard it before, in grim and sinister25 earnest, that sound coming out of the darkness, as the voices of ravening26 beasts straining to be let loose, combined, too, with the state of uneasiness and tension then existing, struck a feeling of vague inquietude. Dick Selmes wondered if he felt as reassured as his host’s explanation and unruffled serenity27 should have warranted him in feeling.
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1
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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3
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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4
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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perils
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| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
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7
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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8
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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9
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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10
ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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11
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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12
reticent
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| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
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13
heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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14
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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15
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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16
hoof
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| n.(马，牛等的)蹄 | |
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17
mischievously
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| adv.有害地；淘气地 | |
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18
brag
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| v./n.吹牛，自夸；adj.第一流的 | |
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19
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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20
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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21
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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22
weirdly
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| 古怪地 | |
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23
wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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25
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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26
ravening
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| a.贪婪而饥饿的 | |
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serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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