{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_6073/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_6073","id":"gutenberg_6073","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6073","summary":null,"tags":["Adventure stories, English","Category: Adventure","Category: British Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Fantasy fiction, English","Short stories, English"],"text":"SMITH AND THE PHARAOHS\n\nAND OTHER TALES\n\nBy H. Rider Haggard\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nSMITH AND THE PHARAOHS\nMAGEPA THE BUCK\nTHE BLUE CURTAINS\nLITTLE FLOWER\nONLY A DREAM\n\nBARBARA WHO CAME BACK\n\u2003CHAPTER I. THE RECTORY BLIND\n\u2003CHAPTER II. THE NEW YEAR FEAST\n\u2003CHAPTER III. AUNT MARIA\n\u2003CHAPTER IV. A YEAR LATER\n\u2003CHAPTER V. WEDDED\n\u2003CHAPTER VI. PARTED\n\u2003CHAPTER VII. BARBARA\u2019S SIN\n\u2003CHAPTER VIII. THE ATONEMENT\n\n\n\n\nSMITH AND THE PHARAOHS\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\nScientists, or some scientists\u2014for occasionally one learned person\ndiffers from other learned persons\u2014tell us they know all that is worth\nknowing about man, which statement, of course, includes woman. They\ntrace him from his remotest origin; they show us how his bones changed\nand his shape modified, also how, under the influence of his needs and\npassions, his intelligence developed from something very humble. They\ndemonstrate conclusively that there is nothing in man which the\ndissecting-table will not explain; that his aspirations towards another\nlife have their root in the fear of death, or, say others of them, in\nthat of earthquake or thunder; that his affinities with the past are\nmerely inherited from remote ancestors who lived in that past, perhaps\na million years ago; and that everything noble about him is but the\nfruit of expediency or of a veneer of civilisation, while everything \nbase must be attributed to the instincts of his dominant and primeval\nnature. Man, in short, is an animal who, like every other animal, is\nfinally subdued by his environment and takes his colour from his\nsurroundings, as cattle do from the red soil of Devon. Such are the\nfacts, they (or some of them) declare; all the rest is rubbish. \n\nAt times we are inclined to agree with these sages, especially after it\nhas been our privilege to attend a course of lectures by one of them.\nThen perhaps something comes within the range of our experience which\ngives us pause and causes doubts, the old divine doubts, to arise again\ndeep in our hearts, and with them a yet diviner hope.\n\nPerchance when all is said, so we think to ourselves, man _is_ something\nmore than an animal. Perchance he has known the past, the far past, and\nwill know the future, the far, far future. Perchance the dream is true,\nand he does indeed possess what for convenience is called an immortal\nsoul, that may manifest itself in one shape or another; that may sleep\nfor ages, but, waking or sleeping, still remains itself, indestructible\nas the matter of the Universe. \n\nAn incident in the career of Mr. James Ebenezer Smith might well\noccasion such reflections, were any acquainted with its details, which\nuntil this, its setting forth, was not the case. Mr. Smith is a person\nwho knows when to be silent. Still, undoubtedly it gave cause for\nthought to one individual\u2014namely, to him to whom it happened. Indeed,\nJames Ebenezer Smith is still thinking over it, thinking very hard\nindeed. \n\nJ. E. Smith was well born and well educated. When he was a good-looking\nand able young man at college, but before he had taken his degree,\ntrouble came to him, the particulars of which do not matter, and he was\nthrown penniless, also friendless, upon the rocky bosom of the world.\nNo, not quite friendless, for he had a godfather, a gentleman connected\nwith business whose Christian name was Ebenezer. To him, as a last\nresource, Smith went, feeling that Ebenezer owed him something in\nreturn for the awful appellation wherewith he had been endowed in\nbaptism. \n\nTo a certain extent Ebenezer recognised the obligation. He did nothing\nheroic, but he found his godson a clerkship in a bank of which he was\none of the directors\u2014a modest clerkship, no more. Also, when he died\na year later, he left him a hundred pounds to be spent upon some\nsouvenir. \n\nSmith, being of a practical turn of mind, instead of adorning himself\nwith memorial jewellery for which he had no use, invested the hundred\npounds in an exceedingly promising speculation. As it happened, he was\nnot misinformed, and his talent returned to him multiplied by ten. He\nrepeated the experiment, and, being in a position to know what he was\ndoing, with considerable success. By the time that he was thirty he\nfound himself possessed of a fortune of something over twenty-five\nthousand pounds. Then (and this shows the wise and practical nature of\nthe man) he stopped speculating and put out his money in such a fashion\nthat it brought him a safe and clear four per cent. \n\nBy this time Smith, being an excellent man of business, was well up in\nthe service of his bank\u2014as yet only a clerk, it is true, but one who\ndrew his four hundred pounds a year, with prospects. In short, he was\nin a position to marry had he wished to do so. As it happened, he did\nnot wish\u2014perhaps because, being very friendless, no lady who\nattracted him crossed his path; perhaps for other reasons.\n\nShy and reserved in temperament, he confided only in himself. None, not\neven his superiors at the bank or the Board of Management, knew how\nwell off he had become. No one visited him at the flat which he was\nunderstood to occupy somewhere in the neighbourhood of Putney; he\nbelonged to no club, and possessed not a single intimate. The blow\nwhich the world had dealt him in his early days, the harsh repulses and\nthe rough treatment he had then experienced, sank so deep into his\nsensitive soul that never again did he seek close converse with his\nkind. In fact, while still young, he fell into a condition of \nold-bachelorhood of a refined type. \n\nSoon, however, Smith discovered\u2014it was after he had given up\nspeculating\u2014that a man must have something to occupy his mind. He\ntried philanthropy, but found himself too sensitive for a business\nwhich so often resolves itself into rude inquiry as to the affairs of\nother people. After a struggle, therefore, he compromised with his\nconscience by setting aside a liberal portion of his income for\nanonymous distribution among deserving persons and objects.\n\nWhile still in this vacant frame of mind Smith chanced one day, when the\nbank was closed, to drift into the British Museum, more to escape the\nvile weather that prevailed without than for any other reason.\nWandering hither and thither at hazard, he found himself in the great\ngallery devoted to Egyptian stone objects and sculpture. The place\nbewildered him somewhat, for he knew nothing of Egyptology; indeed,\nthere remained upon his mind only a sense of wonderment not unmixed\nwith awe. It must have been a great people, he thought to himself, that\nexecuted these works, and with the thought came a desire to know more \nabout them. Yet he was going away when suddenly his eye fell on the\nsculptured head of a woman which hung upon the wall. \n\nSmith looked at it once, twice, thrice, and at the third look he fell in\nlove. Needless to say, he was not aware that such was his condition. He\nknew only that a change had come over him, and never, never could he\nforget the face which that carven mask portrayed. Perhaps it was not\nreally beautiful save for its wondrous and mystic smile; perhaps the\nlips were too thick and the nostrils too broad. Yet to him that face\nwas Beauty itself, beauty which drew him as with a cart-rope, and awoke\nwithin him all kinds of wonderful imaginings, some of them so strange\nand tender that almost they partook of the nature of memories. He\nstared at the image, and the image smiled back sweetly at him, as \ndoubtless it, or rather its original\u2014for this was but a plaster \ncast\u2014had smiled at nothingness in some tomb or hiding-hole for over \nthirty centuries, and as the woman whose likeness it was had once smiled\nupon the world. \n\nA short, stout gentleman bustled up and, in tones of authority,\naddressed some workmen who were arranging a base for a neighbouring\nstatue. It occurred to Smith that he must be someone who knew about\nthese objects. Overcoming his natural diffidence with an effort, he\nraised his hat and asked the gentleman if he could tell him who was the\noriginal of the mask. \n\nThe official\u2014who, in fact, was a very great man in the\nMuseum\u2014glanced at Smith shrewdly, and, seeing that his interest was\ngenuine, answered\u2014\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know. Nobody knows. She has been given several names, but\nnone of them have authority. Perhaps one day the rest of the statue may\nbe found, and then we shall learn\u2014that is, if it is inscribed. Most\nlikely, however, it has been burnt for lime long ago.\u201d\n\nldquo;Then you can\u2019t tell me anything about her?\u201d said Smith.\n\n\u201cWell, only a little. To begin with, that\u2019s a cast. The original is\nin the Cairo Museum. Mariette found it, I believe at Karnac, and gave it\na name after his fashion. Probably she was a queen\u2014of the eighteenth\ndynasty, by the work. But you can see her rank for yourself from the\nbroken _uraeus_.\u201d (Smith did not stop him to explain that he had not\nthe faintest idea what a _uraeus_ might be, seeing that he was utterly\nunfamiliar with the snake-headed crest of Egyptian royalty.) \u201cYou\nshould go to Egypt and study the head for yourself. It is one of the\nmost beautiful things that ever was found. Well, I must be off. Good\nday.\u201d \n\nAnd he bustled down the long gallery.\n\nSmith found his way upstairs and looked at mummies and other things.\nSomehow it hurt him to reflect that the owner of yonder sweet, alluring\nface must have become a mummy long, long before the Christian era.\nMummies did not strike him as attractive.\n\nHe returned to the statuary and stared at his plaster cast till one of\nthe workmen remarked to his fellow that if he were the gent he\u2019d go\nand look at \u201ca live\u2019un\u201d for a change.\n\nThen Smith retired abashed.\n\nOn his way home he called at his bookseller\u2019s and ordered \u201call the\nbest works on Egyptology\u201d. When, a day or two later, they arrived in a\npacking-case, together with a bill for thirty-eight pounds, he was\nsomewhat dismayed. Still, he tackled those books like a man, and, being\nclever and industrious, within three months had a fair working\nknowledge of the subject, and had even picked up a smattering of\nhieroglyphics. \n\nIn January\u2014that was, at the end of those three months\u2014Smith\nastonished his Board of Directors by applying for ten weeks\u2019 leave, he\nwho had hitherto been content with a fortnight in the year. When\nquestioned he explained that he had been suffering from bronchitis, and\nwas advised to take a change in Egypt.\n\n\u201cA very good idea,\u201d said the manager; \u201cbut I\u2019m afraid\nyou\u2019ll find it expensive. They fleece one in Egypt.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know,\u201d answered Smith; \u201cbut I\u2019ve saved a little and\nhave only myself to spend it upon.\u201d\n\nSo Smith went to Egypt and saw the original of the beauteous head and a\nthousand other fascinating things. Indeed, he did more. Attaching\nhimself to some excavators who were glad of his intelligent assistance,\nhe actually dug for a month in the neighbourhood of ancient Thebes, but\nwithout finding anything in particular.\n\nIt was not till two years later that he made his great discovery, that\nwhich is known as Smith\u2019s Tomb. Here it may be explained that the\nstate of his health had become such as to necessitate an annual visit\nto Egypt, or so his superiors understood.\n\nHowever, as he asked for no summer holiday, and was always ready to do\nanother man\u2019s work or to stop overtime, he found it easy to arrange\nfor these winter excursions.\n\nOn this, his third visit to Egypt, Smith obtained from the\nDirector-General of Antiquities at Cairo a licence to dig upon his own\naccount. Being already well known in the country as a skilled\nEgyptologist, this was granted upon the usual terms\u2014namely, that the\nDepartment of Antiquities should have a right to take any of the\nobjects which might be found, or all of them, if it so desired. \n\nSuch preliminary matters having been arranged by correspondence, Smith,\nafter a few days spent in the Museum at Cairo, took the night train to\nLuxor, where he found his head-man, an ex-dragoman named Mahomet,\nwaiting for him and his fellaheen labourers already hired. There were\nbut forty of them, for his was a comparatively small venture. Three\nhundred pounds was the amount that he had made up his mind to expend,\nand such a sum does not go far in excavations. \n\nDuring his visit of the previous year Smith had marked the place where\nhe meant to dig. It was in the cemetery of old Thebes, at the wild spot\nnot far from the temple of Medinet Habu, that is known as the Valley of\nthe Queens. Here, separated from the resting-places of their royal\nlords by the bold mass of the intervening hill, some of the greatest\nladies of Egypt have been laid to rest, and it was their tombs that\nSmith desired to investigate. As he knew well, some of these must yet\nremain to be discovered. Who could say? Fortune favours the bold. It\nmight be that he would find the holy grave of that beauteous, unknown \nRoyalty whose face had haunted him for three long years! \n\nFor a whole month he dug without the slightest success. The spot that he\nselected had proved, indeed, to be the mouth of a tomb. After\ntwenty-five days of laborious exploration it was at length cleared out,\nand he stood in a rude, unfinished cave. The queen for whom it had been\ndesigned must have died quite young and been buried elsewhere; or she\nhad chosen herself another sepulchre, or mayhap the rock had proved\nunsuitable for sculpture. \n\nSmith shrugged his shoulders and moved on, sinking trial pits and\ntrenches here and there, but still finding nothing. Two-thirds of his\ntime and money had been spent when at last the luck turned. One day,\ntowards evening, with some half-dozen of his best men he was returning\nafter a fruitless morning of labour, when something seemed to attract\nhim towards a little _wadi_, or bay, in the hillside that was filled\nwith tumbled rocks and sand. There were scores of such places, and this\none looked no more promising than any of the others had proved to be.\nYet it attracted him. Thoroughly dispirited, he walked past it twenty\npaces or more, then turned. \n\n\u201cWhere go you, sah?\u201d asked his head-man, Mahomet.\n\nHe pointed to the recess in the cliff.\n\n\u201cNo good, sah,\u201d said Mahomet. \u201cNo tomb there. Bed-rock too\nnear top. Too much water run in there; dead queen like keep dry!\u201d\n\nBut Smith went on, and the others followed obediently.\n\nHe walked down the little slope of sand and boulders and examined the\ncliff. It was virgin rock; never a tool mark was to be seen. Already\nthe men were going, when the same strange instinct which had drawn him\nto the spot caused him to take a spade from one of them and begin to\nshovel away the sand from the face of the cliff\u2014for here, for some\nunexplained reason, were no boulders or _debris_. Seeing their master,\nto whom they were attached, at work, they began to work too, and for\ntwenty minutes or more dug on cheerfully enough, just to humour him,\nsince all were sure that here there was no tomb. At length Smith\nordered them to desist, for, although now they were six feet down, the \nrock remained of the same virgin character. \n\nWith an exclamation of disgust he threw out a last shovelful of sand.\nThe edge of his spade struck on something that projected. He cleared\naway a little more sand, and there appeared a rounded ledge which\nseemed to be a cornice. Calling back the men, he pointed to it, and\nwithout a word all of them began to dig again. Five minutes more of\nwork made it clear that it was a cornice, and half an hour later there\nappeared the top of the doorway of a tomb. \n\n\u201cOld people wall him up,\u201d said Mahomet, pointing to the flat stones\nset in mud for mortar with which the doorway had been closed, and to the\nundecipherable impress upon the mud of the scarab seals of the officials\nwhose duty it had been to close the last resting-place of the royal\ndead for ever. \n\n\u201cPerhaps queen all right inside,\u201d he went on, receiving no answer\nto his remark.\n\n\u201cPerhaps,\u201d replied Smith, briefly. \u201cDig, man, dig!\nDon\u2019t waste time in talking.\u201d\n\nSo they dug on furiously till at length Smith saw something which caused\nhim to groan aloud. There was a hole in the masonry\u2014the tomb had been\nbroken into. Mahomet saw it too, and examined the top of the aperture\nwith his skilled eye.\n\n\u201cVery old thief,\u201d he said. \u201cLook, he try build up wall again,\nbut run away before he have time finish.\u201d And he pointed to certain\nflat stones which had been roughly and hurriedly replaced.\n\n\u201cDig\u2014dig!\u201d said Smith.\n\nTen minutes more and the aperture was cleared. It was only just big\nenough to admit the body of a man.\n\nBy now the sun was setting. Swiftly, swiftly it seemed to tumble down\nthe sky. One minute it was above the rough crests of the western hills\nbehind them; the next, a great ball of glowing fire, it rested on their\ntopmost ridge. Then it was gone. For an instant a kind of green spark\nshone where it had been. This too went out, and the sudden Egyptian\nnight was upon them. \n\nThe fellaheen muttered among themselves, and one or two of them wandered\noff on some pretext. The rest threw down their tools and looked at\nSmith. \u201cMen say they no like stop here. They afraid of ghost! Too\nmany _afreet_ live in these tomb. That what they say. Come back finish\nto-morrow morning when it light. Very foolish people, these common\nfellaheen,\u201d remarked Mahomet, in a superior tone.\n\n\u201cQuite so,\u201d replied Smith, who knew well that nothing that he could\noffer would tempt his men to go on with the opening of a tomb after\nsunset. \u201cLet them go away. You and I will stop and watch the place\ntill morning.\u201d\n\n\u201cSorry, sah,\u201d said Mahomet, \u201cbut I not feel quite well\ninside; think I got fever. I go to camp and lie down and pray under\nplenty blanket.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll right, go,\u201d said Smith; \u201cbut if there is anyone who is\nnot a coward, let him bring me my big coat, something to eat and drink,\nand the lantern that hangs in my tent. I will meet him there in the\nvalley.\u201d \n\nMahomet, though rather doubtfully, promised that this should be done,\nand, after begging Smith to accompany them, lest the spirit of whoever\nslept in the tomb should work him a mischief during the night, they\ndeparted quickly enough. \n\nSmith lit his pipe, sat down on the sand, and waited. Half an hour later\nhe heard a sound of singing, and through the darkness, which was dense,\nsaw lights coming up the valley.\n\n\u201cMy brave men,\u201d he thought to himself, and scrambled up the slope\nto meet them.\n\nHe was right. These were his men, no less than twenty of them, for with\na fewer number they did not dare to face the ghosts which they believed\nhaunted the valley after nightfall. Presently the light from the\nlantern which one of them carried (not Mahomet, whose sickness had\nincreased too suddenly to enable him to come) fell upon the tall form\nof Smith, who, dressed in his white working clothes, was leaning\nagainst a rock. Down went the lantern, and with a howl of terror the\nbrave company turned and fled. \n\n\u201cSons of cowards!\u201d roared Smith after them, in his most vigorous\nArabic. \u201cIt is I, your master, not an _afreet_.\u201d\n\nThey heard, and by degrees crept back again. Then he perceived that in\norder to account for their number each of them carried some article.\nThus one had the bread, another the lantern, another a tin of sardines,\nanother the sardine-opener, another a box of matches, another a bottle\nof beer, and so on. As even thus there were not enough things to go\nround, two of them bore his big coat between them, the first holding it\nby the sleeves and the second by the tail as though it were a\nstretcher. \n\n\u201cPut them down,\u201d said Smith, and they obeyed. \u201cNow,\u201d he\nadded, \u201crun for your lives; I thought I heard two _afreets_ talking\nup there just now of what they would do to any followers of the Prophet\nwho mocked their gods, if perchance they should meet them in their holy\nplace at night.\u201d\n\nThis kindly counsel was accepted with much eagerness. In another minute\nSmith was alone with the stars and the dying desert wind.\n\nCollecting his goods, or as many of them as he wanted, he thrust them\ninto the pockets of the great-coat and returned to the mouth of the\ntomb. Here he made his simple meal by the light of the lantern, and\nafterwards tried to go to sleep. But sleep he could not. Something\nalways woke him. First it was a jackal howling amongst the rocks; next\na sand-fly bit him in the ankle so sharply that he thought he must have\nbeen stung by a scorpion. Then, notwithstanding his warm coat, the cold\ngot hold of him, for the clothes beneath were wet through with\nperspiration, and it occurred to him that unless he did something he\nwould probably contract an internal chill or perhaps fever. He rose and\nwalked about.    \n\nBy now the moon was up, revealing all the sad, wild scene in its every\ndetail. The mystery of Egypt entered his soul and oppressed him. How\nmuch dead majesty lay in the hill upon which he stood? Were they all\nreally dead, he wondered, or were those fellaheen right? Did their\nspirits still come forth at night and wander through the land where\nonce they ruled? Of course that was the Egyptian faith according to\nwhich the _Ka_, or Double, eternally haunted the place where its\nearthly counterpart had been laid to rest. When one came to think of \nit, beneath a mass of unintelligible symbolism there was much in the\nEgyptian faith which it was hard for a Christian to disbelieve.\nSalvation through a Redeemer, for instance, and the resurrection of the\nbody. Had he, Smith, not already written a treatise upon these points\nof similarity which he proposed to publish one day, not under his own\nname? Well, he would not think of them now; the occasion seemed\nscarcely fitting\u2014they came home too pointedly to one who was engaged\nin violating a tomb.    \n\nHis mind, or rather his imagination\u2014of which he had plenty\u2014went off\nat a tangent. What sights had this place seen thousands of years ago!\nOnce, thousands of years ago, a procession had wound up along the\nroadway which was doubtless buried beneath the sand whereon he stood\ntowards the dark door of this sepulchre. He could see it as it passed\nin and out between the rocks. The priests, shaven-headed and robed in\nleopards\u2019 skins, or some of them in pure white, bearing the mystic\nsymbols of their office. The funeral sledge drawn by oxen, and on it\nthe great rectangular case that contained the outer and the inner\ncoffins, and within them the mummy of some departed Majesty; in the\nEgyptian formula, \u201cthe hawk that had spread its wings and flown into \nthe bosom of Osiris,\u201d God of Death. Behind, the mourners, rending the\nair with their lamentations. Then those who bore the funeral furniture\nand offerings. Then the high officers of State and the first priests of\nAmen and of the other gods. Then the sister queens, leading by the hand\na wondering child or two. Then the sons of Pharaoh, young men carrying\nthe emblems of their rank.    \n\nLastly, walking alone, Pharaoh himself in his ceremonial robes, his\napron, his double crown of linen surmounted by the golden snake, his\ninlaid bracelets and his heavy, tinkling earrings. Pharaoh, his head\nbowed, his feet travelling wearily, and in his heart\u2014what thoughts?\nSorrow, perhaps, for her who had departed. Yet he had other queens and\nfair women without count. Doubtless she was sweet and beautiful, but\nsweetness and beauty were not given to her alone. Moreover, was she not\nwont to cross his will and to question his divinity? No, surely it is\nnot only of her that he thinks, her for whom he had prepared this \nsplendid tomb with all things needful to unite her with the gods. Surely\nhe thinks also of himself and that other tomb on the farther side of\nthe hill whereat the artists labour day by day\u2014yes, and have laboured\nthese many years; that tomb to which before so very long he too must\ntravel in just this fashion, to seek his place beyond the doors of\nDeath, who lays his equal hand on king and queen and slave. \n\nThe vision passed. It was so real that Smith thought he must have been\ndreaming. Well, he was awake now, and colder than ever. Moreover, the\njackals had multiplied. There were a whole pack of them, and not far\naway. Look! One crossed in the ring of the lamplight, a slinking,\nyellow beast that smelt the remains of dinner. Or perhaps it smelt\nhimself. Moreover, there were bad characters who haunted these\nmountains, and he was alone and quite unarmed. Perhaps he ought to put\nout the light which advertised his whereabouts. It would be wise, and\nyet in this particular he rejected wisdom. After all, the light was\nsome company. \n\nSince sleep seemed to be out of the question, he fell back upon poor\nhumanity\u2019s other anodyne, work, which has the incidental advantage of\ngenerating warmth. Seizing a shovel, he began to dig at the doorway of\nthe tomb, whilst the jackals howled louder than ever in astonishment.\nThey were not used to such a sight. For thousands of years, as the old\nmoon above could have told, no man, or at least no solitary man, had\ndared to rob tombs at such an unnatural hour.\n\nWhen Smith had been digging for about twenty minutes something tinkled\non his shovel with a noise which sounded loud in that silence.\n\n\u201cA stone which may come in handy for the jackals,\u201d he thought to\nhimself, shaking the sand slowly off the spade until it appeared. There\nit was, and not large enough to be of much service. Still, he picked it\nup, and rubbed it in his hands to clear off the encrusting dirt. When\nhe opened them he saw that it was no stone, but a bronze.\n\n\u201cOsiris,\u201d reflected Smith, \u201cburied in front of the tomb to\nhallow the ground. No, an Isis. No, the head of a statuette, and a jolly\ngood one, too\u2014at any rate, in moonlight. Seems to have been\ngilded.\u201d And, reaching out for the lamp, he held it over the object.\n\nAnother minute, and he found himself sitting at the bottom of the hole,\nlamp in one hand and statuette, or rather head, in the other.\n\n\u201cThe Queen of the Mask!\u201d he gasped. \u201cThe same\u2014the same!\nBy heavens, the very same!\u201d\n\nOh, he could not be mistaken. There were the identical lips, a little\nthick and pouted; the identical nostrils, curved and quivering, but a\nlittle wide; the identical arched eyebrows and dreamy eyes set somewhat\nfar apart. Above all, there was the identical alluring and mysterious\nsmile. Only on this masterpiece of ancient art was set a whole crown of\n_uraei_ surrounding the entire head. Beneath the crown and pressed back\nbehind the ears was a full-bottomed wig or royal head-dress, of which\nthe ends descended to the breasts. The statuette, that, having been\ngilt, remained quite perfect and uncorroded, was broken just above the\nmiddle, apparently by a single violent blow, for the fracture was very\nclean. \n\nAt once it occurred to Smith that it had been stolen from the tomb by a\nthief who thought it to be gold; that outside of the tomb doubt had\novertaken him and caused him to break it upon a stone or otherwise. The\nrest was clear. Finding that it was but gold-washed bronze he had\nthrown away the fragments, rather than be at the pains of carrying\nthem. This was his theory, probably not a correct one, as the sequel\nseems to show. \n\nSmith\u2019s first idea was to recover the other portion. He searched quite\na long while, but without success. Neither then nor afterwards could it\nbe found. He reflected that perhaps this lower half had remained in the\nthief\u2019s hand, who, in his vexation, had thrown it far away, leaving\nthe head to lie where it fell. Again Smith examined this head, and more\nclosely. Now he saw that just beneath the breasts was a delicately cut\ncartouche. \n\nBeing by this time a master of hieroglyphics, he read it without\ntrouble. It ran: \u201cMa-Mee, Great Royal Lady. Beloved of \u2014\u2014\u201d Here\nthe cartouche was broken away.\n\n\u201cMa-M\u00e9, or it might be Ma-Mi,\u201d he reflected. \u201cI never\nheard of a queen called Ma-M\u00e9, or Ma-Mi, or Ma-Mu. She must be quite\nnew to history. I wonder of whom she was beloved? Amen, or Horus, or\nIsis, probably. Of some god, I have no doubt, at least I hope so!\u201d\n\nHe stared at the beautiful portrait in his hand, as once he had stared\nat the cast on the Museum wall, and the beautiful portrait, emerging\nfrom the dust of ages, smiled back at him there in the solemn moonlight\nas once the cast had smiled from the museum wall. Only that had been\nbut a cast, whereas this was real. This had slept with the dead from\nwhose features it had been fashioned, the dead who lay, or who had\nlain, within. \n\nA sudden resolution took hold of Smith. He would explore that tomb, at\nonce and alone. No one should accompany him on this his first visit; it\nwould be a sacrilege that anyone save himself should set foot there\nuntil he had looked on what it might contain.\n\nWhy should he not enter? His lamp, of what is called the\n\u201churricane\u201d brand, was very good and bright, and would burn for\nmany hours. Moreover, there had been time for the foul air to escape\nthrough the hole that they had cleared. Lastly, something seemed to\ncall on him to come and see. He placed the bronze head in his\nbreast-pocket over his heart, and, thrusting the lamp through the hole,\nlooked down. Here there was no difficulty, since sand had drifted in to\nthe level of the bottom of the aperture. Through it he struggled, to\nfind himself upon a bed of sand that only just left him room to push\nhimself along between it and the roof. A little farther on the passage\nwas almost filled with mud. \n\nMahomet had been right when, from his knowledge of the bed-rock, he said\nthat any tomb made in this place must be flooded. It _had_ been flooded\nby some ancient rain-storm, and Smith began to fear that he would find\nit quite filled with soil caked as hard as iron. So, indeed, it was to\na certain depth, a result that apparently had been anticipated by those\nwho hollowed it, for this entrance shaft was left quite undecorated.\nIndeed, as Smith found afterwards, a hole had been dug beneath the\ndoorway to allow the mud to enter after the burial was completed. Only\na miscalculation had been made. The natural level of the mud did not\nquite reach the roof of the tomb, and therefore still left it open.\n\nAfter crawling for forty feet or so over this caked mud, Smith suddenly\nfound himself on a rising stair. Then he understood the plan; the tomb\nitself was on a higher level.\n\nHere began the paintings. Here the Queen Ma-Mee, wearing her crowns and\ndressed in diaphanous garments, was presented to god after god. Between\nher figure and those of the divinities the wall was covered with\nhieroglyphs as fresh to-day as on that when the artist had limned them.\nA glance told him that they were extracts from the Book of the Dead.\nWhen the thief of bygone ages had broken into the tomb, probably not\nvery long after the interment, the mud over which Smith had just\ncrawled was still wet. This he could tell, since the clay from the\nrascal\u2019s feet remained upon the stairs, and that upon his fingers had \nstained the paintings on the wall against which he had supported\nhimself; indeed, in one place was an exact impression of his hand,\nshowing its shape and even the lines of the skin. \n\nAt the top of the flight of steps ran another passage at a higher level,\nwhich the water had never reached, and to right and left were the\nbeginnings of unfinished chambers. It was clear to him that this queen\nhad died young. Her tomb, as she or the king had designed it, was never\nfinished. A few more paces, and the passage enlarged itself into a hall\nabout thirty feet square. The ceiling was decorated with vultures,\ntheir wings outspread, the looped Cross of Life hanging from their\ntalons. On one wall her Majesty Ma-Mee stood expectant while Anubis\nweighed her heart against the feather of truth, and Thoth, the \nRecorder, wrote down the verdict upon his tablets. All her titles were\ngiven to her here, such as\u2014\u201cGreat Royal Heiress, Royal Sister,\nRoyal Wife, Royal Mother, Lady of the Two Lands, Palm-branch of Love, \nBeautiful-exceedingly.\u201d \n\nSmith read them hurriedly and noted that nowhere could he see the name\nof the king who had been her husband. It would almost seem as though\nthis had been purposely omitted. On the other walls Ma-Mee, accompanied\nby her _Ka_, or Double, made offerings to the various gods, or uttered\npropitiatory speeches to the hideous demons of the underworld,\ndeclaring their names to them and forcing them to say: \u201cPass on. Thou\nart pure!\u201d \n\nLastly, on the end wall, triumphant, all her trials done, she, the\njustified Osiris, or Spirit, was received by the god Osiris, Saviour of\nSpirits. \n\nAll these things Smith noted hurriedly as he swung the lamp to and fro\nin that hallowed place. Then he saw something else which filled him\nwith dismay. On the floor of the chamber where the coffins had\nbeen\u2014for this was the burial chamber\u2014lay a heap of black fragments\ncharred with fire. Instantly he understood. After the thief had done\nhis work he had burned the mummy-cases, and with them the body of the\nqueen. There could be no doubt that this was so, for look! among the\nashes lay some calcined human bones, while the roof above was blackened\nwith the smoke and cracked by the heat of the conflagration. There was\nnothing left for him to find! \n\nOppressed with the closeness of the atmosphere, he sat down upon a\nlittle bench or table cut in the rock that evidently had been meant to\nreceive offerings to the dead. Indeed, on it still lay the scorched\nremains of some votive flowers. Here, his lamp between his feet, he\nrested a while, staring at those calcined bones. See, yonder was the\nlower jaw, and in it some teeth, small, white, regular and but little\nworn. Yes, she had died young. Then he turned to go, for disappointment\nand the holiness of the place overcame him; he could endure no more of\nit that night. \n\nLeaving the burial hall, he walked along the painted passage, the lamp\nswinging and his eyes fixed upon the floor. He was disheartened, and\nthe paintings could wait till the morrow. He descended the steps and\ncame to the foot of the mud slope. Here suddenly he perceived,\nprojecting from some sand that had drifted down over the mud, what\nseemed to be the corner of a reed box or basket. To clear away the sand\nwas easy, and\u2014yes, it was a basket, a foot or so in length, such a\nbasket as the old Egyptians used to contain the funeral figures which\nare called _ushaptis_, or other objects connected with the dead. It \nlooked as though it had been dropped, for it lay upon its side. Smith\nopened it\u2014not very hopefully, for surely nothing of value would have\nbeen abandoned thus. \n\nThe first thing that met his eyes was a mummied hand, broken off at the\nwrist, a woman\u2019s little hand, most delicately shaped. It was withered\nand paper-white, but the contours still remained; the long fingers were\nperfect, and the almond-shaped nails had been stained with henna, as\nwas the embalmers\u2019 fashion. On the hand were two gold rings, and for\nthose rings it had been stolen. Smith looked at it for a long while,\nand his heart swelled within him, for here was the hand of that royal\nlady of his dreams. \n\nIndeed, he did more than look; he kissed it, and as his lips touched the\nholy relic it seemed to him as though a wind, cold but scented, blew\nupon his brow. Then, growing fearful of the thoughts that arose within\nhim, he hurried his mind back to the world, or rather to the\nexamination of the basket. \n\nHere he found other objects roughly wrapped in fragments of mummy-cloth\nthat had been torn from the body of the queen. These it is needless to\ndescribe, for are they not to be seen in the gold room of the Museum,\nlabelled \u201cBijouterie de la Reine Ma-M\u00e9, XVIII\u00e8me Dynastie. Thebes\n(Smith\u2019s Tomb)\u201d? It may be mentioned, however, that the set was\nincomplete. For instance, there was but one of the great gold ceremonial\near-rings fashioned like a group of pomegranate blooms, and the most\nbeautiful of the necklaces had been torn in two\u2014half of it was\nmissing. \n\nIt was clear to Smith that only a portion of the precious objects which\nwere buried with the mummy had been placed in this basket. Why had\nthese been left where he found them? A little reflection made that\nclear also. Something had prompted the thief to destroy the desecrated\nbody and its coffin with fire, probably in the hope of hiding his evil\nhandiwork. Then he fled with his spoil. But he had forgotten how\nfiercely mummies and their trappings can burn. Or perhaps the thing was\nan accident. He must have had a lamp, and if its flame chanced to touch\nthis bituminous tinder! \n\nAt any rate, the smoke overtook the man in that narrow place as he began\nto climb the slippery slope of clay. In his haste he dropped the\nbasket, and dared not return to search for it. It could wait till the\nmorrow, when the fire would be out and the air pure. Only for this\ndesecrator of the royal dead that morrow never came, as was discovered\nafterwards. \n\nWhen at length Smith struggled into the open air the stars were paling\nbefore the dawn. An hour later, after the sky was well up, Mahomet\n(recovered from his sickness) and his myrmidons arrived.\n\n\u201cI have been busy while you slept,\u201d said Smith, showing them the\nmummied hand (but not the rings which he had removed from the shrunk\nfingers), and the broken bronze, but not the priceless jewellery which\nwas hidden in his pockets.\n\nFor the next ten days they dug till the tomb and its approach were quite\nclear. In the sand, at the head of a flight of steps which led down to\nthe doorway, they found the skeleton of a man, who evidently had been\nburied there in a hurried fashion. His skull was shattered by the blow\nof an axe, and the shaven scalp that still clung to it suggested that\nhe might have been a priest. \n\nMahomet thought, and Smith agreed with him, that this was the person who\nhad violated the tomb. As he was escaping from it the guards of the\nholy place surprised him after he had covered up the hole by which he\nhad entered and purposed to return. There they executed him without\ntrial and divided up the plunder, thinking that no more was to be\nfound. Or perhaps his confederates killed him.\n\nSuch at least were the theories advanced by Mahomet. Whether they were\nright or wrong none will ever know. For instance, the skeleton may not\nhave been that of the thief, though probability appears to point the\nother way. \n\nNothing more was found in the tomb, not even a scarab or a mummy-bead.\nSmith spent the remainder of his time in photographing the pictures and\ncopying the inscriptions, which for various reasons proved to be of\nextraordinary interest. Then, having reverently buried the charred\nbones of the queen in a secret place of the sepulchre, he handed it\nover to the care of the local Guardian of Antiquities, paid off Mahomet\nand the fellaheen, and departed for Cairo. With him went the wonderful\njewels of which he had breathed no word, and another relic to him yet\nmore precious\u2014the hand of her Majesty Ma-Mee, Palm-branch of Love.\n\nAnd now follows the strange sequel of this story of Smith and the queen\nMa-Mee. \n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\nSmith was seated in the sanctum of the distinguished Director-General of\nAntiquities at the new Cairo Museum. It was a very interesting room.\nBooks piled upon the floor; objects from tombs awaiting examination,\nlying here and there; a hoard of Ptolemaic silver coins, just dug up at\nAlexandria, standing on a table in the pot that had hidden them for two\nthousand years; in the corner the mummy of a royal child, aged six or\nseven, not long ago discovered, with some inscription scrawled upon the\nwrappings (brought here to be deciphered by the Master), and the\nwithered lotus-bloom, love\u2019s last offering, thrust beneath one of the\npink retaining bands. \n\n\u201cA touching object,\u201d thought Smith to himself. \u201cReally, they\nmight have left the dear little girl in peace.\u201d\n\nSmith had a tender heart, but even as he reflected he became aware that\nsome of the jewellery hidden in an inner pocket of his waistcoat\n(designed for bank-notes) was fretting his skin. He had a tender\nconscience also. \n\nJust then the Director, a French savant, bustled in, alert, vigorous,\nfull of interest.\n\n\u201cAh, my dear Mr. Smith!\u201d he said, in his excellent English.\n\u201cI am indeed glad to see you back again, especially as I understand\nthat you are come rejoicing and bringing your sheaves with you. They\ntell me you have been extraordinarily successful. What do you say is\nthe name of this queen whose tomb you have found\u2014Ma-Mee? A very\nunusual name. How do you get the extra vowel? Is it for euphony, eh?\nDid I not know how good a scholar you are, I should be tempted to\nbelieve that you had misread it. Me-Mee, Ma-Mee! That would be pretty\nin French, would it not? _Ma mie_\u2014my darling! Well, I dare say she\nwas somebody\u2019s _mie_ in her time. But tell me the story.\u201d\n\nSmith told him shortly and clearly; also he produced his photographs and\ncopies of inscriptions.\n\n\u201cThis is interesting\u2014interesting truly,\u201d said the Director,\nwhen he had glanced through them. \u201cYou must leave them with me to\nstudy. Also you will publish them, is it not so? Perhaps one of the\nSocieties would help you with the cost, for it should be done in\nfacsimile. Look at this vignette! Most unusual. Oh, what a pity that\nscoundrelly priest got off with the jewellery and burnt her Majesty\u2019s\nbody!\u201d \n\n\u201cHe didn\u2019t get off with all of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat, Mr. Smith? Our inspector reported to me that you found\nnothing.\u201d\n\n\u201cI dare say, sir; but your inspector did not know what I found.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, you are a discreet man! Well, let us see.\u201d\n\nSlowly Smith unbuttoned his waistcoat. From its inner pocket and\nelsewhere about his person he extracted the jewels wrapped in\nmummy-cloth as he had found them. First he produced a sceptre-head of\ngold, in the shape of a pomegranate fruit and engraved with the throne\nname and titles of Ma-Mee. \n\n\u201cWhat a beautiful object!\u201d said the Director. \u201cLook! the\nhandle was of ivory, and that _sacr\u00e9_ thief of a priest smashed it\nout at the socket. It was fresh ivory then; the robbery must have taken\nplace not long after the burial. See, this magnifying-glass shows it.\nIs that all?\u201d\n\nSmith handed him the surviving half of the marvellous necklace that had\nbeen torn in two.\n\n\u201cI have re-threaded it,\u201d he muttered, \u201cbut every bead is in\nits place.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, heavens! How lovely! Note the cutting of those cornelian heads of\nHathor and the gold lotus-blooms between\u2014yes, and the enamelled flies\nbeneath. We have nothing like it in the Museum.\u201d\n\nSo it went on.\n\n\u201cIs that all?\u201d gasped the Director at last, when every object from\nthe basket glittered before them on the table.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said Smith. \u201cThat is\u2014no. I found a broken\nstatuette hidden in the sand outside the tomb. It is of the queen, but I\nthought perhaps you would allow me to keep this.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut certainly, Mr. Smith; it is yours indeed. We are not niggards\nhere. Still, if I might see it\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nFrom yet another pocket Smith produced the head. The Director gazed at\nit, then he spoke with feeling.\n\n\u201cI said just now that you were discreet, Mr. Smith, and I have been\nreflecting that you are honest. But now I must add that you are very\nclever. If you had not made me promise that this bronze should be yours\nbefore you showed it me\u2014well, it would never have gone into that\npocket again. And, in the public interest, won\u2019t you release me from\nthe promise?\u201d \n\n\u201c_No_,\u201d said Smith.\n\n\u201cYou are perhaps not aware,\u201d went on the Director, with a groan,\n\u201cthat this is a portrait of Mariette\u2019s unknown queen whom we are\nthus able to identify. It seems a pity that the two should be separated;\na replica we could let you have.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am quite aware,\u201d said Smith, \u201cand I will be sure to send\n_you_ a replica, with photographs. Also I promise to leave the original\nto some museum by will.\u201d\n\nThe Director clasped the image tenderly, and, holding it to the light,\nread the broken cartouche beneath the breasts.\n\n\u201c\u2018Ma-M\u00e9, Great Royal Lady. Beloved of \u2014\u2014\u2019\nBeloved of whom? Well, of Smith, for one. Take it, monsieur, and hide it\naway at once, lest soon there should be another mummy in this\ncollection, a modern mummy called Smith; and, in the name of Justice,\nlet the museum which inherits it be not the British, but that of Cairo,\nfor this queen belongs to Egypt. By the way, I have been told that you\nare delicate in the lungs. How is your health now? Our cold winds are\nvery trying. Quite good? Ah, that is excellent! I suppose that you have\nno more articles that you can show me?\u201d \n\n\u201cI have nothing more except a mummied hand, which I found in the\nbasket with the jewels. The two rings off it lie there. Doubtless it\nwas removed to get at that bracelet. I suppose you will not mind my\nkeeping the hand\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cOf the beloved of Smith,\u201d interrupted the Director drolly.\n\u201cNo, I suppose not, though for my part I should prefer one that was\nnot quite so old. Still, perhaps _you_ will not mind my seeing it. That\npocket of yours still looks a little bulky; I thought that it contained\nbooks!\u201d \n\nSmith produced a cigar-box; in it was the hand wrapped in cotton wool.\n\n\u201cAh,\u201d said the Director, \u201ca pretty, well-bred hand. No doubt\nthis Ma-Mee was the real heiress to the throne, as she describes\nherself. The Pharaoh was somebody of inferior birth, half-brother\u2014she\nis called \u2018Royal Sister,\u2019 you remember\u2014son of one of the\nPharaoh\u2019s slave-women, perhaps. Odd that she never mentioned him in\nthe tomb. It looks as though they didn\u2019t get on in life, and that she\nwas determined to have done with him in death. Those were the rings\nupon that hand, were they not?\u201d\n\nHe replaced them on the fingers, then took off one, a royal signet in a\ncartouche, and read the inscription on the other: \u201c\u2018Bes Ank, Ank\nBes.\u2019 \u2018Bes the Living, the Living Bes.\u2019\n\n\u201cYour Ma-Mee had some human vanity about her,\u201d he added.\n\u201cBes, among other things, as you know, was the god of beauty and of\nthe adornments of women. She wore that ring that she might remain\nbeautiful, and that her dresses might always fit, and her rouge never\ncake when she was dancing before the gods. Also it fixes her period\npretty closely, but then so do other things. It seems a pity to rob\nMa-Mee of her pet ring, does it not? The royal signet will be enough\nfor us.\u201d \n\nWith a little bow he gave the hand back to Smith, leaving the Bes ring\non the finger that had worn it for more than three thousand years. At\nleast, Smith was so sure it was the Bes ring that at the time he did\nnot look at it again. \n\nThen they parted, Smith promising to return upon the morrow, which,\nowing to events to be described, he did not do.\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d said the Master to himself, as the door closed behind his\nvisitor. \u201cHe\u2019s in a hurry to be gone. He has fear lest I should\nchange my mind about that ring. Also there is the bronze. Monsieur Smith\nwas _ruse_ there. It is worth a thousand pounds, that bronze. Yet I do\nnot believe he was thinking of the money. I believe he is in love with\nthat Ma-Mee and wants to keep her picture. _Mon Dieu!_ A\nwell-established affection. At least he is what the English call an odd\nfish, one whom I could never make out, and of whom no one seems to know\nanything. Still, honest, I am sure\u2014quite honest. Why, he might have\nkept every one of those jewels and no one have been the wiser. And what\nthings! What a find! _Ciel!_ what a find! There has been nothing like\nit for years. Benedictions on the head of Odd-fish Smith!\u201d\n\nThen he collected the precious objects, thrust them into an inner\ncompartment of his safe, which he locked and double-locked, and, as it\nwas nearly five o\u2019clock, departed from the Museum to his private\nresidence in the grounds, there to study Smith\u2019s copies and\nphotographs, and to tell some friends of the great things that had\nhappened. \n\nWhen Smith found himself outside the sacred door, and had presented its\nvenerable guardian with a baksheesh of five piastres, he walked a few\npaces to the right and paused a while to watch some native labourers\nwho were dragging a huge sarcophagus upon an improvised tramway. As\nthey dragged they sang an echoing rhythmic song, whereof each line\nended with an invocation to Allah. \n\nJust so, reflected Smith, had their forefathers sung when, millenniums\nago, they dragged that very sarcophagus from the quarries to the Nile,\nand from the Nile to the tomb whence it reappeared to-day, or when they\nslid the casing blocks of the pyramids up the great causeway and smooth\nslope of sand, and laid them in their dizzy resting-places. Only then\neach line of the immemorial chant of toil ended with an invocation to\nAmen, now transformed to Allah. The East may change its masters and its\ngods, but its customs never change, and if to-day Allah wore the\nfeathers of Amen one wonders whether the worshippers would find the\ndifference so very great. \n\nThus thought Smith as he hurried away from the sarcophagus and those\nblue-robed, dark-skinned fellaheen, down the long gallery that is filled\nwith a thousand sculptures. For a moment he paused before the wonderful\nwhite statue of Queen Amenartas, then, remembering that his time was\nshort, hastened on to a certain room, one of those which opened out of\nthe gallery. \n\nIn a corner of this room, upon the wall, amongst many other beautiful\nobjects, stood that head which Mariette had found, whereof in past\nyears the cast had fascinated him in London. Now he knew whose head it\nwas; to him it had been given to find the tomb of her who had sat for\nthat statue. Her very hand was in his pocket\u2014yes, the hand that had\ntouched yonder marble, pointing out its defects to the sculptor, or\nperhaps swearing that he flattered her. Smith wondered who that\nsculptor was; surely he must have been a happy man. Also he wondered\nwhether the statuette was also this master\u2019s work. He thought so, but\nhe wished to make sure. \n\nNear to the end of the room he stopped and looked about him like a\nthief. He was alone in the place; not a single student or tourist could\nbe seen, and its guardian was somewhere else. He drew out the box that\ncontained the hand. From the hand he slipped the ring which the\nDirector-General had left there as a gift to himself. He would much\nhave preferred the other with the signet, but how could he say so,\nespecially after the episode of the statuette? \n\nReplacing the hand in his pocket without looking at the ring\u2014for his\neyes were watching to see whether he was observed\u2014he set it upon his\nlittle finger, which it exactly fitted. (Ma-Mee had worn both of them\nupon the third finger of her left hand, the Bes ring as a guard to the\nsignet.) He had the fancy to approach the effigy of Ma-Mee wearing a\nring which she had worn and that came straight from her finger to his\nown. \n\nSmith found the head in its accustomed place. Weeks had gone by since he\nlooked upon it, and now, to his eyes, it had grown more beautiful than\never, and its smile was more mystical and living. He drew out the\nstatuette and began to compare them point by point. Oh, no doubt was\npossible! Both were likenesses of the same woman, though the statuette\nmight have been executed two or three years later than the statue. To\nhim the face of it looked a little older and more spiritual. Perhaps\nillness, or some premonition of her end had then thrown its shadow on\nthe queen. He compared and compared. He made some rough measurements\nand sketches in his pocket-book, and set himself to work out a canon of\nproportions. \n\nSo hard and earnestly did he work, so lost was his mind that he never\nheard the accustomed warning sound which announces that the Museum is\nabout to close. Hidden behind an altar as he was, in his distant,\nshadowed corner, the guardian of the room never saw him as he cast a\nlast perfunctory glance about the place before departing till the\nSaturday morning; for the morrow was Friday, the Mohammedan Sabbath, on\nwhich the Museum remains shut, and he would not be called upon to\nattend. So he went. Everybody went. The great doors clanged, were\nlocked and bolted, and, save for a watchman outside, no one was left in \nall that vast place except Smith in his corner, engaged in sketching and\nin measurements. \n\nThe difficulty of seeing, owing to the increase of shadow, first called\nhis attention to the fact that time was slipping away. He glanced at\nhis watch and saw that it was ten minutes to the hour.\n\n\u201cSoon be time to go,\u201d he thought to himself, and resumed his work.\n\nHow strangely silent the place seemed! Not a footstep to be heard or the\nsound of a human voice. He looked at his watch again, and saw that it\nwas six o\u2019clock, not five, or so the thing said. But that was\nimpossible, for the Museum shut at five; evidently the desert sand had\ngot into the works. The room in which he stood was that known as Room\nI, and he had noticed that its Arab custodian often frequented Room K\nor the gallery outside. He would find him and ask what was the real\ntime. \n\nPassing round the effigy of the wonderful Hathor cow, perhaps the finest\nexample of an ancient sculpture of a beast in the whole world, Smith\ncame to the doorway and looked up and down the gallery. Not a soul to\nbe seen. He ran to Room K, to Room H, and others. Still not a soul to\nbe seen. Then he made his way as fast as he could go to the great\nentrance. The doors were locked and bolted.\n\n\u201cWatch must be right after all. I\u2019m shut in,\u201d he said to\nhimself. \u201cHowever, there\u2019s sure to be someone about somewhere.\nProbably the _salle des ventes_ is still open. Shops don\u2019t shut till\nthey are obliged.\u201d\n\nThither he went, to find its door as firmly closed as a door can be. He\nknocked on it, but a sepulchral echo was the only answer.\n\n\u201cI know,\u201d he reflected. \u201cThe Director must still be in his\nroom. It will take him a long while to examine all that jewellery and\nput it away.\u201d\n\nSo for the room he headed, and, after losing his path twice, found it by\nhelp of the sarcophagus that the Arabs had been dragging, which now\nstood as deserted as it had done in the tomb, a lonesome and impressive\nobject in the gathering shadows. The Director\u2019s door was shut, and\nagain his knockings produced nothing but an echo. He started on a tour\nround the Museum, and, having searched the ground floors, ascended to\nthe upper galleries by the great stairway.\n\nPresently he found himself in that devoted to the royal mummies, and,\nbeing tired, rested there a while. Opposite to him, in a glass case in\nthe middle of the gallery, reposed Rameses II. Near to, on shelves in a\nside case, were Rameses\u2019 son, Meneptah, and above, his son, Seti II,\nwhile in other cases were the mortal remains of many more of the\nroyalties of Egypt. He looked at the proud face of Rameses and at the\nlittle fringe of white locks turned yellow by the embalmer\u2019s spices,\nalso at the raised left arm. He remembered how the Director had told\nhim that when they were unrolling this mighty monarch they went away to\nlunch, and that presently the man who had been left in charge of the\nbody rushed into the room with his hair on end, and said that the dead \nking had lifted his arm and pointed at him. \n\nBack they went, and there, true enough, was the arm lifted; nor were\nthey ever able to get it quite into its place again. The explanation\ngiven was that the warmth of the sun had contracted the withered\nmuscles, a very natural and correct explanation.\n\nStill, Smith wished that he had not recollected the story just at this\nmoment, especially as the arm seemed to move while he contemplated it\n\u2014a very little, but still to move.\n\nHe turned round and gazed at Meneptah, whose hollow eyes stared at him\nfrom between the wrappings carelessly thrown across the parchment-like\nand ashen face. There, probably, lay the countenance that had frowned\non Moses. There was the heart which God had hardened. Well, it was hard\nenough now, for the doctors said he died of ossification of the\narteries, and that the vessels of the heart were full of lime!\n\nSmith stood upon a chair and peeped at Seti II. above. His weaker\ncountenance was very peaceful, but it seemed to wear an air of\nreproach. In getting down Smith managed to upset the heavy chair. The\nnoise it made was terrific. He would not have thought it possible that\nthe fall of such an article could produce so much sound. Satisfied with\nhis inspection of these particular kings, who somehow looked quite\ndifferent now from what they had ever done before\u2014more real and\nimminent, so to speak\u2014he renewed his search for a living man.\n\nOn he went, mummies to his right, mummies to his left, of every style\nand period, till he began to feel as though he never wished to see\nanother dried remnant of mortality. He peeped into the room where lay\nthe relics of Iouiya and Touiyou, the father and mother of the great\nQueen Taia. Cloths had been drawn over these, and really they looked\nworse and more suggestive thus draped than in their frigid and\nunadorned blackness. He came to the coffins of the priest-kings of the\ntwentieth dynasty, formidable painted coffins with human faces. There\nseemed to be a vast number of these priest-kings, but perhaps they were\nbetter than the gold masks of the great Ptolemaic ladies which glinted\nat him through the gathering gloom. \n\nReally, he had seen enough of the upper floors. The statues downstairs\nwere better than all these dead, although it was true that, according\nto the Egyptian faith, every one of those statues was haunted eternally\nby the _Ka_, or Double, of the person whom it represented. He descended\nthe great stairway. Was it fancy, or did something run across the\nbottom step in front of him\u2014an animal of some kind, followed by a\nswift-moving and indefinite shadow? If so, it must have been the Museum\ncat hunting a Museum mouse. Only then what on earth was that very\npeculiar and unpleasant shadow? \n\nHe called, \u201cPuss! puss! puss!\u201d for he would have been quite glad of\nits company; but there came no friendly \u201cmiau\u201d in response. Perhaps\nit was only the _Ka_ of a cat and the shadow was\u2014oh! never mind\nwhat. The Egyptians worshipped cats, and there were plenty of their\nmummies about on the shelves. But the shadow!\n\nOnce he shouted in the hope of attracting attention, for there were no\nwindows to which he could climb. He did not repeat the experiment, for\nit seemed as though a thousand voices were answering him from every\ncorner and roof of the gigantic edifice.\n\nWell, he must face the thing out. He was shut in a museum, and the\nquestion was in what part of it he should camp for the night. Moreover,\nas it was growing rapidly dark, the problem must be solved at once. He\nthought with affection of the lavatory, where, before going to see the\nDirector, only that afternoon he had washed his hands with the\nassistance of a kindly Arab who watched the door and gracefully\naccepted a piastre. But there was no Arab there now, and the door, like\nevery other in this confounded place, was locked. He marched on to the\nentrance. \n\nHere, opposite to each other, stood the red sarcophagi of the great\nQueen Hatshepu and her brother and husband, Thotmes III. He looked at\nthem. Why should not one of these afford him a night\u2019s lodging? They\nwere deep and quiet, and would fit the human frame very nicely. For a\nwhile Smith wondered which of these monarchs would be the more likely\nto take offence at such a use of a private sarcophagus, and, acting on\ngeneral principles, concluded that he would rather throw himself on the\nmercy of the lady. \n\nAlready one of his legs was over the edge of that solemn coffer, and he\nwas squeezing his body beneath the massive lid that was propped above\nit on blocks of wood, when he remembered a little, naked, withered\nthing with long hair that he had seen in a side chamber of the tomb of\nAmenhotep II. in the Valley of Kings at Thebes. This caricature of\nhumanity many thought, and he agreed with them, to be the actual body\nof the mighty Hatshepu as it appeared after the robbers had done with\nit. \n\nSupposing now, that when he was lying at the bottom of that sarcophagus,\nsleeping the sleep of the just, this little personage should peep over\nits edge and ask him what he was doing there! Of course the idea was\nabsurd; he was tired, and his nerves were a little shaken. Still, the\nfact remained that for centuries the hallowed dust of Queen Hatshepu\nhad slept where he, a modern man, was proposing to sleep.\n\nHe scrambled down from the sarcophagus and looked round him in despair.\nOpposite to the main entrance was the huge central hall of the Museum.\nNow the cement roof of this hall had, he knew, gone wrong, with the\nresult that very extensive repairs had become necessary. So extensive\nwere they, indeed, that the Director-General had informed him that they\nwould take several years to complete. Therefore this hall was boarded\nup, only a little doorway being left by which the workmen could enter.\nCertain statues, of Seti II. and others, too large to be moved, were\nalso roughly boarded over, as were some great funeral boats on either\nside of the entrance. The rest of the place, which might be two hundred\nfeet long with a proportionate breadth, was empty save for the colossi \nof Amenhotep III. and his queen Taia that stood beneath the gallery at\nits farther end. \n\nIt was an appalling place in which to sleep, but better, reflected\nSmith, than a sarcophagus or those mummy chambers. If, for instance, he\ncould creep behind the deal boards that enclosed one of the funeral\nboats he would be quite comfortable there. Lifting the curtain, he\nslipped into the hall, where the gloom of evening had already settled.\nOnly the skylights and the outline of the towering colossi at the far\nend remained visible. Close to him were the two funeral boats which he\nhad noted when he looked into the hall earlier on that day, standing at\nthe head of a flight of steps which led to the sunk floor of the\ncentre. He groped his way to that on the right. As he expected, the \nprojecting planks were not quite joined at the bow. He crept in between\nthem and the boat and laid himself down. \n\nPresumably, being altogether tired out, Smith did ultimately fall\nasleep, for how long he never knew. At any rate, it is certain that, if\nso, he woke up again. He could not tell the time, because his watch was\nnot a repeater, and the place was as black as the pit. He had some\nmatches in his pocket, and might have struck one and even have lit his\npipe. To his credit be it said, however, he remembered that he was the\nsole tenant of one of the most valuable museums in the world, and his\nresponsibilities with reference to fire. So he refrained from striking\nthat match under the keel of a boat which had become very dry in the\ncourse of five thousand years. \n\nSmith found himself very wide awake indeed. Never in all his life did he\nremember being more so, not even in the hour of its great catastrophe,\nor when his godfather, Ebenezer, after much hesitation, had promised\nhim a clerkship in the bank of which he was a director. His nerves\nseemed strung tight as harp-strings, and his every sense was painfully\nacute. Thus he could even smell the odour of mummies that floated down\nfrom the upper galleries and the earthy scent of the boat which had\nbeen buried for thousands of years in sand at the foot of the pyramid\nof one of the fifth dynasty kings. \n\nMoreover, he could hear all sorts of strange sounds, faint and far-away\nsounds which at first he thought must emanate from Cairo without. Soon,\nhowever, he grew sure that their origin was more local. Doubtless the\ncement work and the cases in the galleries were cracking audibly, as is\nthe unpleasant habit of such things at night.\n\nYet why should these common manifestations be so universal and affect\nhim so strangely? Really, it seemed as though people were stirring all\nabout him. More, he could have sworn that the great funeral boat\nbeneath which he lay had become re-peopled with the crew that once it\nbore. \n\nHe heard them at their business above him. There were trampings and a\nsound as though something heavy were being laid on the deck, such, for\ninstance, as must have been made when the mummy of Pharaoh was set\nthere for its last journey to the western bank of the Nile. Yes, and\nnow he could have sworn again that the priestly crew were getting out\nthe oars. \n\nSmith began to meditate flight from the neighbourhood of that place when\nsomething occurred which determined him to stop where he was.\n\nThe huge hall was growing light, but not, as at first he hoped, with the\nrays of dawn. This light was pale and ghostly, though very penetrating.\nAlso it had a blue tinge, unlike any other he had ever seen. At first\nit arose in a kind of fan or fountain at the far end of the hall,\nillumining the steps there and the two noble colossi which sat above.\n\nBut what was this that stood at the head of the steps, radiating glory?\nBy heavens! it was Osiris himself or the image of Osiris, god of the\nDead, the Egyptian saviour of the world!\n\nThere he stood, in his mummy-cloths, wearing the feathered crown, and\nholding in his hands, which projected from an opening in the wrappings,\nthe crook and the scourge of power. Was he alive, or was he dead? Smith\ncould not tell, since he never moved, only stood there, splendid and\nfearful, his calm, benignant face staring into nothingness.\n\nSmith became aware that the darkness between him and the vision of this\ngod was peopled; that a great congregation was gathering, or had\ngathered there. The blue light began to grow; long tongues of it shot\nforward, which joined themselves together, illumining all that huge\nhall. \n\nNow, too, he saw the congregation. Before him, rank upon rank of them,\nstood the kings and queens of Egypt. As though at a given signal, they\nbowed themselves to the Osiris, and ere the tinkling of their ornaments\nhad died away, lo! Osiris was gone. But in his place stood another,\nIsis, the Mother of Mystery, her deep eyes looking forth from beneath\nthe jewelled vulture-cap. Again the congregation bowed, and, lo! she\nwas gone. But in her place stood yet another, a radiant, lovely being,\nwho held in her hand the Sign of Life, and wore upon her head the\nsymbol of the shining disc\u2014Hathor, Goddess of Love. A third time the\ncongregation bowed, and she, too, was gone; nor did any other appear in\nher place. \n\nThe Pharaohs and their queens began to move about and speak to each\nother; their voices came to his ears in one low, sweet murmur.\n\nIn his amaze Smith had forgotten fear. From his hiding-place he watched\nthem intently. Some of them he knew by their faces. There, for\ninstance, was the long-necked Khu-en-aten, talking somewhat angrily to\nthe imperial Rameses II. Smith could understand what he said, for this\npower seemed to have been given to him. He was complaining in a high,\nweak voice that on this, the one night of the year when they might\nmeet, the gods, or the magic images of the gods who were put up for\nthem to worship, should not include _his_ god, symbolized by the\n\u201cAten,\u201d or the sun\u2019s disc. \n\n\u201cI have heard of your Majesty\u2019s god,\u201d replied Rameses;\n\u201cthe priests used to tell me of him, also that he did not last long\nafter your Majesty flew to heaven. The Fathers of Amen gave you a bad\nname; they called you \u2018the heretic\u2019 and hammered out your\ncartouches. They were quite rare in my time. Oh, do not let your\nMajesty be angry! So many of us have been heretics. My grandson, Seti,\nthere\u201d\u2014and he pointed to a mild, thoughtful-faced man\u2014\u201cfor\nexample. I am told that he really worshipped the god of those Hebrew\nslaves whom I used to press to build my cities. Look at that lady with\nhim. Beautiful, isn\u2019t she? Observe her large, violet eyes! Well, she\nwas the one who did the mischief, a Hebrew herself. At least, they tell\nme so.\u201d \n\n\u201cI will talk with him,\u201d answered Khu-en-aten. \u201cIt is more\nthan possible that we may agree on certain points. Meanwhile, let me\nexplain to your Majesty\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I pray you, not now. There is my wife.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour wife?\u201d said Khu-en-aten, drawing himself up. \u201cWhich\nwife? I am told that your Majesty had many and left a large family;\nindeed, I see some hundreds of them here to-night. Now, I\u2014but let me\nintroduce Nefertiti to your Majesty. I may explain that she was my\n_only_ wife.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo I have understood. Your Majesty was rather an invalid, were you\nnot? Of course, in those circumstances, one prefers the nurse whom one\ncan trust. Oh, pray, no offence! Nefertari, my love\u2014oh, I beg pardon!\n\u2014Astnefert\u2014Nefertari has gone to speak to some of her\nchildren\u2014let me introduce you to your predecessor, the Queen\nNefertiti, wife of Amenhotep IV.\u2014I mean Khu-en-aten (he changed his\nname, you know, because half of it was that of the father of the gods).\nShe is interested in the question of plural marriage. Good-bye! I wish\nto have a word with my grandfather, Rameses I. He was fond of me as a\nlittle boy.\u201d \n\nAt this moment Smith\u2019s interest in that queer conversation died away,\nfor of a sudden he beheld none other than the queen of his dreams,\nMa-Mee. Oh! there she stood, without a doubt, only ten times more\nbeautiful than he had ever pictured her. She was tall and somewhat\nfair-complexioned, with slumbrous, dark eyes, and on her face gleamed\nthe mystic smile he loved. She wore a robe of simple white and a\npurple-broidered apron, a crown of golden _uraei_ with turquoise eyes\nwas set upon her dark hair as in her statue, and on her breast and arms\nwere the very necklace and bracelets that he had taken from her tomb.\nShe appeared to be somewhat moody, or rather thoughtful, for she leaned \nby herself against a balustrade, watching the throng without much\ninterest.    \n\nPresently a Pharaoh, a black-browed, vigorous man with thick lips, drew\nnear. \n\n\u201cI greet your Majesty,\u201d he said.\n\nShe started, and answered: \u201cOh, it is you! I make my obeisance to your\nMajesty,\u201d and she curtsied to him, humbly enough, but with a\nsuggestion of mockery in her movements.\n\n\u201cWell, you do not seem to have been very anxious to find me, Ma-Mee,\nwhich, considering that we meet so seldom\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cI saw that your Majesty was engaged with my sister queens,\u201d she\ninterrupted, in a rich, low voice, \u201cand with some other ladies in the\ngallery there, whose faces I seem to remember, but who I think were\n_not_ queens. Unless, indeed, you married them after I was drawn\naway.\u201d \n\n\u201cOne must talk to one\u2019s relations,\u201d replied the Pharaoh.\n\n\u201cQuite so. But, you see, I have no relations\u2014at least, none whom I\nknow well. My parents, you will remember, died when I was young, leaving\nme Egypt\u2019s heiress, and they are still vexed at the marriage which I\nmade on the advice of my counsellors. But, is it not annoying? I have\nlost one of my rings, that which had the god Bes on it. Some dweller on\nthe earth must be wearing it to-day, and that is why I cannot get it\nback from him.\u201d \n\n\u201cHim! Why \u2018him\u2019? Hush; the business is about to begin.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat business, my lord?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, the question of the violation of our tombs, I believe.\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed! That is a large subject, and not a very profitable one, I\nshould say. Tell me, who is that?\u201d And she pointed to a lady who had\nstepped forward, a very splendid person, magnificently arrayed.\n\n\u201cCleopatra the Greek,\u201d he answered, \u201cthe last of\nEgypt\u2019s Sovereigns, one of the Ptolemys. You can always know her by\nthat Roman who walks about after her.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhich?\u201d asked Ma-Mee. \u201cI see several\u2014also other men.\nShe was the wretch who rolled Egypt in the dirt and betrayed her. Oh, if\nit were not for the law of peace by which we must abide when we meet\nthus!\u201d \n\n\u201cYou mean that she would be torn to shreds, Ma-Mee, and her very soul\nscattered like the limbs of Osiris? Well, if it were not for that law of\npeace, so perhaps would many of us, for never have I heard a single\nking among these hundreds speak altogether well of those who went\nbefore or followed after him.\u201d\n\n\u201cEspecially of those who went before if they happen to have hammered\nout their cartouches and usurped their monuments,\u201d said the queen,\ndryly, and looking him in the eyes.\n\nAt this home-thrust the Pharaoh seemed to wince. Making no answer, he\npointed to the royal woman who had mounted the steps at the end of the\nhall. \n\nQueen Cleopatra lifted her hand and stood thus for a while. Very\nsplendid she was, and Smith, on his hands and knees behind the boarding\nof the boat, thanked his stars that alone among modern men it had been\nhis lot to look upon her rich and living loveliness. There she shone,\nshe who had changed the fortunes of the world, she who, whatever she\ndid amiss, at least had known how to die. \n\nSilence fell upon that glittering galaxy of kings and queens and upon\nall the hundreds of their offspring, their women, and their great\nofficers who crowded the double tier of galleries around the hall.\n\n\u201cRoyalties of Egypt,\u201d she began, in a sweet, clear voice which\npenetrated to the farthest recesses of the place, \u201cI, Cleopatra, the\nsixth of that name and the last monarch who ruled over the Upper and the\nLower Lands before Egypt became a home of slaves, have a word to say to\nyour Majesties, who, in your mortal days, all of you more worthily\nfilled the throne on which once I sat. I do not speak of Egypt and its\nfate, or of our sins\u2014whereof mine were not the least\u2014that brought\nher to the dust. Those sins I and others expiate elsewhere, and of\nthem, from age to age, we hear enough. But on this one night of the\nyear, that of the feast of him whom we call Osiris, but whom other\nnations have known and know by different names, it is given to us once\nmore to be mortal for an hour, and, though we be but shadows, to renew\nthe loves and hates of our long-perished flesh. Here for an hour we\nstrut in our forgotten pomp; the crowns that were ours still adorn our \nbrows, and once more we seem to listen to our people\u2019s praise. Our\nhopes are the hopes of mortal life, our foes are the foes we feared,\nour gods grow real again, and our lovers whisper in our ears. Moreover,\nthis joy is given to us\u2014to see each other as we are, to know as the\ngods know, and therefore to forgive, even where we despise and hate.\nNow I have done, and I, the youngest of the rulers of ancient Egypt,\ncall upon him who was the first of her kings to take my place.\u201d \n\nShe bowed, and the audience bowed back to her. Then she descended the\nsteps and was lost in the throng. Where she had been appeared an old\nman, simply-clad, long-bearded, wise-faced, and wearing on his grey\nhair no crown save a plain band of gold, from the centre of which rose\nthe snake-headed _uraeus_ crest.\n\n\u201cYour Majesties who came after me,\u201d said the old man, \u201cI am\nMenes, the first of the accepted Pharaohs of Egypt, although many of\nthose who went before me were more truly kings than I. Yet as the first\nwho joined the Upper and the Lower Lands, and took the royal style and\ntitles, and ruled as well as I could rule, it is given to me to talk\nwith you for a while this night whereon our spirits are permitted to\ngather from the uttermost parts of the uttermost worlds and see each\nother face to face. First, in darkness and in secret, let us speak of\nthe mystery of the gods and of its meanings. Next, in darkness and in\nsecret, let us speak of the mystery of our lives, of whence they come,\nof where they tarry by the road, and whither they go at last. And \nafterwards, let us speak of other matters face to face in light and\nopenness, as we were wont to do when we were men. Then hence to Thebes,\nthere to celebrate our yearly festival. Is such your will?\u201d \n\n\u201cSuch is our will,\u201d they answered.\n\nIt seemed to Smith that dense darkness fell upon the place, and with it\na silence that was awful. For a time that he could not reckon, that\nmight have been years or might have been moments, he sat there in the\nutter darkness and the utter silence.\n\nAt length the light came again, first as a blue spark, then in upward\npouring rays, and lastly pervading all. There stood Menes on the steps,\nand there in front of him was gathered the same royal throng.\n\n\u201cThe mysteries are finished,\u201d said the old king. \u201cNow, if any\nhave aught to say, let it be said openly.\u201d\n\nA young man dressed in the robes and ornaments of an early dynasty came\nforward and stood upon the steps between the Pharaoh Menes and all\nthose who had reigned after him. His face seemed familiar to Smith, as\nwas the side lock that hung down behind his right ear in token of his\nyouth. Where had he seen him? Ah, he remembered. Only a few hours ago\nlying in one of the cases of the Museum, together with the bones of the\nPharaoh Unas. \n\n\u201cYour Majesties,\u201d he began, \u201cI am the King Metesuphis. The\nmatter that I wish to lay before you is that of the violation of our\nsepulchres by those men who now live upon the earth. The mortal bodies\nof many who are gathered here to-night lie in this place to be stared\nat and mocked by the curious. I myself am one of them, jawless, broken,\nhideous to behold. Yonder, day by day, must my _Ka_ sit watching my\ndesecrated flesh, torn from the pyramid that, with cost and labour, I\nraised up to be an eternal house wherein I might hide till the hour of\nresurrection. Others of us lie in far lands. Thus, as he can tell you,\nmy predecessor, Man-kau-ra, he who built the third of the great\npyramids, the Pyramid of Her, sleeps, or rather wakes in a dark city, \ncalled London, across the seas, a place of murk where no sun shines.\nOthers have been burnt with fire, others are scattered in small dust.\nThe ornaments that were ours are stole away and sold to the greedy; our\nsacred writings and our symbols are their jest. Soon there will not be\none holy grave in Egypt that remains undefiled.\u201d \n\n\u201cThat is so,\u201d said a voice from the company. \u201cBut four months\ngone the deep, deep pit was opened that I had dug in the shadow of the\nPyramid of Cephren, who begat me in the world. There in my chamber I\nslept alone, two handfuls of white bones, since when I died they did\nnot preserve the body with wrappings and with spices. Now I see those\nbones of mine, beside which my Double has watched for these five\nthousand years, hid in the blackness of a great ship and tossing on a\nsea that is strewn with ice.\u201d \n\n\u201cIt is so,\u201d echoed a hundred other voices.\n\n\u201cThen,\u201d went on the young king, turning to Menes, \u201cI ask of\nyour Majesty whether there is no means whereby we may be avenged on\nthose who do us this foul wrong.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet him who has wisdom speak,\u201d said the old Pharaoh.\n\nA man of middle age, short in stature and of a thoughtful brow, who held\nin his hand a wand and wore the feathers and insignia of the heir to\nthe throne of Egypt and of a high priest of Amen, moved to the steps.\nSmith knew him at once from his statues. He was Khaemuas, son of\nRameses the Great, the mightiest magician that ever was in Egypt, who\nof his own will withdrew himself from earth before the time came that\nhe should sit upon the throne. \n\n\u201cI have wisdom, your Majesties, and I will answer,\u201d he said.\n\u201cThe time draws on when, in the land of Death which is Life, the land\nthat we call Amenti, it will be given to us to lay our wrongs as to this\nmatter before Those who judge, knowing that they will be avenged. On\nthis night of the year also, when we resume the shapes we were, we have\ncertain powers of vengeance, or rather of executing justice. But our\ntime is short, and there is much to say and do before the sun-god Ra\narises and we depart each to his place. Therefore it seems best that we\nshould leave these wicked ones in their wickedness till we meet them\nface to face beyond the world.\u201d \n\nSmith, who had been following the words of Khaemuas with the closest\nattention and considerable anxiety, breathed again, thanking Heaven\nthat the engagements of these departed monarchs were so numerous and\npressing. Still, as a matter of precaution, he drew the cigar-box which\ncontained Ma-Mee\u2019s hand from his pocket, and pushed it as far away\nfrom him as he could. It was a most unlucky act. Perhaps the cigar-box\ngrated on the floor, or perhaps the fact of his touching the relic put\nhim into psychic communication with all these spirits. At any rate, he\nbecame aware that the eyes of that dreadful magician were fixed upon\nhim, and that a bone had a better chance of escaping the search of a \nR\u00f6ntgen ray than he of hiding himself from their baleful glare. \n\n\u201cAs it happens, however,\u201d went on Khaemuas, in a cold voice,\n\u201cI now perceive that there is hidden in this place, and spying on us,\none of the worst of these vile thieves. I say to your Majesties that I\nsee him crouched beneath yonder funeral barge, and that he has with him\nat this moment the hand of one of your Majesties, stolen by him from\nher tomb at Thebes.\u201d \n\nNow every queen in the company became visibly agitated (Smith, who was\nwatching Ma-Mee, saw her hold up her hands and look at them), while all\nthe Pharaohs pointed with their fingers and exclaimed together, in a\nvoice that rolled round the hall like thunder:\n\n\u201cLet him be brought forth to judgment!\u201d\n\nKhaemuas raised his wand and, holding it towards the boat where Smith\nwas hidden, said:\n\n\u201cDraw near, Vile One, bringing with thee that thou hast stolen.\u201d\n\nSmith tried hard to remain where he was. He sat himself down and set his\nheels against the floor. As the reader knows, he was always shy and\nretiring by disposition, and never had these weaknesses oppressed him\nmore than they did just then. When a child his favourite nightmare had\nbeen that the foreman of a jury was in the act of proclaiming him\nguilty of some dreadful but unstated crime. Now he understood what that\nnightmare foreshadowed. He was about to be convicted in a court of\nwhich all the kings and queens of Egypt were the jury, Menes was Chief\nJustice, and the magician Khaemuas played the _role_ of \nAttorney-General. \n\nIn vain did he sit down and hold fast. Some power took possession of him\nwhich forced him first to stretch out his arm and pick up the cigar-box\ncontaining the hand of Ma-Mee, and next drew him from the friendly\nshelter of the deal boards that were about the boat.\n\nNow he was on his feet and walking down the flight of steps opposite to\nthose on which Menes stood far away. Now he was among all that throng\nof ghosts, which parted to let him pass, looking at him as he went with\ncold and wondering eyes. They were very majestic ghosts; the ages that\nhad gone by since they laid down their sceptres had taken nothing from\ntheir royal dignity. Moreover, save one, none of them seemed to have\nany pity for his plight. She was a little princess who stood by her\nmother, that same little princess whose mummy he had seen and pitied in\nthe Director\u2019s room with a lotus flower thrust beneath her bandages.\nAs he passed Smith heard her say: \n\n\u201cThis Vile One is frightened. Be brave, Vile One!\u201d\n\nSmith understood, and pride came to his aid. He, a gentleman of the\nmodern world, would not show the white feather before a crowd of\nancient Egyptian ghosts. Turning to the child, he smiled at her, then\ndrew himself to his full height and walked on quietly. Here it may be\nstated that Smith was a tall man, still comparatively young, and very\ngood-looking, straight and spare in frame, with dark, pleasant eyes and\na little black beard. \n\n\u201cAt least he is a well-favoured thief,\u201d said one of the queens to\nanother.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d answered she who had been addressed. \u201cI wonder that a\nman with such a noble air should find pleasure in disturbing graves and\nstealing the offerings of the dead,\u201d words that gave Smith much cause\nfor thought. He had never considered the matter in this light.\n\nNow he came to the place where Ma-Mee stood, the black-browed Pharaoh\nwho had been her husband at her side. On his left hand which held the\ncigar-box was the gold Bes ring, and that box he felt constrained to\ncarry pressed against him just over his heart.\n\nAs he went by he turned his head, and his eyes met those of Ma-Mee. She\nstarted violently. Then she saw the ring upon his hand and again\nstarted still more violently.\n\n\u201cWhat ails your Majesty?\u201d asked the Pharaoh.\n\n\u201cOh, naught,\u201d she answered. \u201cYet does this earth-dweller\nremind you of anyone?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, he does,\u201d answered the Pharaoh. \u201cHe reminds me very\nmuch of that accursed sculptor about whom we had words.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you mean a certain Horu, the Court artist; he who worked the image\nthat was buried with me, and whom you sent to carve your statues in the\ndeserts of Kush, until he died of fevers\u2014or was it poison?\u201d\n\n\u201cAye; Horu and no other, may Set take and keep him!\u201d growled the\nPharaoh.\n\nThen Smith passed on and heard no more. Now he stood before the\nvenerable Menes. Some instinct caused him to bow to this Pharaoh, who\nbowed back to him. Then he turned and bowed to the royal company, and\nthey also bowed back to him, coldly, but very gravely and courteously.\n\n\u201cDweller on the world where once we had our place, and therefore\nbrother of us, the dead,\u201d began Menes, \u201cthis divine priest and\nmagician\u201d\u2014and he pointed to Khaemuas\u2014\u201cdeclares that you\nare one of those who foully violate our sepulchres and desecrate our\nashes. He declares, moreover, that at this very moment you have with\nyou a portion of the mortal flesh of a certain Majesty whose spirit is\npresent here. Say, now, are these things true?\u201d\n\nTo his astonishment Smith found that he had not the slightest difficulty\nin answering in the same sweet tongue.\n\n\u201cO King, they are true, and not true. Hear me, rulers of Egypt. It is\ntrue that I have searched in your graves, because my heart has been\ndrawn towards you, and I would learn all that I could concerning you,\nfor it comes to me _now_ that once I was one of you\u2014no king, indeed,\nyet perchance of the blood of kings. Also\u2014for I would hide nothing\neven if I could\u2014I searched for one tomb above all others.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, O man?\u201d asked the Judge.\n\n\u201cBecause a face drew me, a lovely face that was cut in stone.\u201d\n\nNow all that great audience turned their eyes towards him and listened\nas though his words moved them.\n\n\u201cDid you find that holy tomb?\u201d asked Menes. \u201cIf so, what did\nyou find therein?\u201d\n\n\u201cAye, Pharaoh, and in it I found these,\u201d and he took from the box\nthe withered hand, from his pocket the broken bronze, and from his\nfinger the ring.\n\n\u201cAlso I found other things which I delivered to the keeper of this\nplace, articles of jewellery that I seem to see to-night upon one who\nis present here among you.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs the face of this figure the face you sought?\u201d asked the Judge.\n\n\u201cIt is the lovely face,\u201d he answered.\n\nMenes took the effigy in his hand and read the cartouche that was\nengraved beneath its breast.\n\n\u201cIf there be here among us,\u201d he said, presently, \u201cone who\nlong after my day ruled as queen in Egypt, one who was named Ma-M\u00e9, let\nher draw near.\u201d\n\nNow from where she stood glided Ma-Mee and took her place opposite to\nSmith. \n\n\u201cSay, O Queen,\u201d asked Menes, \u201cdo you know aught of this\nmatter?\u201d\n\n\u201cI know that hand; it was my own hand,\u201d she answered. \u201cI know\nthat ring; it was my ring. I know that image in bronze; it was my image.\nLook on me and judge for yourselves whether this be so. A certain\nsculptor fashioned it, the son of a king\u2019s son, who was named Horu,\nthe first of sculptors and the head artist of my Court. There, clad in\nstrange garments, he stands before you. Horu, or the Double of Horu, he\nwho cut the image when I ruled in Egypt, is he who found the image and\nthe man who stands before you; or, mayhap, his Double cast in the same\nmould.\u201d \n\nThe Pharaoh Menes turned to the magician Khaemuas and said:\u2014\n\n\u201cAre these things so, O Seer?\u201d\n\n\u201cThey are so,\u201d answered Khaemuas. \u201cThis dweller on the earth\nis he who, long ago, was the sculptor Horu. But what shall that avail?\nHe, once more a living man, is a violator of the hallowed dead. I say,\ntherefore, that judgment should be executed on his flesh, so that when\nthe light comes here to-morrow he himself will again be gathered to the\ndead.\u201d \n\nMenes bent his head upon his breast and pondered. Smith said nothing. To\nhim the whole play was so curious that he had no wish to interfere with\nits development. If these ghosts wished to make him of their number,\nlet them do so. He had no ties on earth, and now when he knew full\nsurely that there was a life beyond this of earth he was quite prepared\nto explore its mysteries. So he folded his arms upon his breast and\nawaited the sentence. \n\nBut Ma-Mee did not wait. She raised her hand so swiftly that the\nbracelets jingled on her wrists, and spoke out with boldness.\n\n\u201cRoyal Khaemuas, prince and magician,\u201d she said, \u201chearken to\none who, like you, was Egypt\u2019s heir centuries before you were born,\none also who ruled over the Two Lands, and not so ill\u2014which, Prince,\nnever was your lot. Answer me! Is all wisdom centred in your breast?\nAnswer me! Do you alone know the mysteries of Life and Death? Answer\nme! Did your god Amen teach you that vengeance went before mercy?\nAnswer me! Did he teach you that men should be judged unheard? That\nthey should be hurried by violence to Osiris ere their time, and\nthereby separated from the dead ones whom they loved and forced to\nreturn to live again upon this evil Earth? \n\n\u201cListen: when the last moon was near her full my spirit sat in my tomb\nin the burying-place of queens. My spirit saw this man enter into my\ntomb, and what he did there. With bowed head he looked upon my bones\nthat a thief of the priesthood had robbed and burnt within twenty years\nof their burial, in which he himself had taken part. And what did this\nman with those bones, he who was once Horu? I tell you that he hid them\naway there in the tomb where he thought they could not be found again.\nWho, then, was the thief and the violator? He who robbed and burnt my\nbones, or he who buried them with reverence? Again, he found the jewels\nthat the priest of your brotherhood had dropped in his flight, when the\nsmoke of the burning flesh and spices overpowered him, and with them \nthe hand which that wicked one had broken off from the body of my\nMajesty. What did this man then? He took the jewels. Would you have had\nhim leave them to be stolen by some peasant? And the hand? I tell you\nthat he kissed that poor dead hand which once had been part of the body\nof my Majesty, and that now he treasures it as a holy relic. My spirit\nsaw him do these things and made report thereof to me. I ask you,\ntherefore, Prince, I ask you all, Royalties of Egypt\u2014whether for such\ndeeds this man should die?\u201d    \n\nNow Khaemuas, the advocate of vengeance, shrugged his shoulders and\nsmiled meaningly, but the congregation of kings and queens thundered an\nanswer, and it was:\u2014\n\n\u201c_No!_\u201d\n\nMa-Mee looked to Menes to give judgment. Before he could speak the\ndark-browed Pharaoh who had named her wife strode forward and addressed\nthem. \n\n\u201cHer Majesty, Heiress of Egypt, Royal Wife, Lady of the Two Lands, has\nspoken,\u201d he cried. \u201cNow let me speak who was the husband of her\nMajesty. Whether this man was once Horu the sculptor I know not. If so\nhe was also an evil-doer who, by my decree, died in banishment in the\nland of Kush. Whatever be the truth as to that matter, he admits that\nhe violated the tomb of her Majesty and stole what the old thieves had\nleft. Her Majesty says also\u2014and he does not deny it\u2014that he dared\nto kiss her hand, and for a man to kiss the hand of a wedded Queen of\nEgypt the punishment is death. I claim that this man should die to the\nWorld before his time, that in a day to come again he may live and\nsuffer in the World. Judge, O Menes.\u201d \n\nMenes lifted his head and spoke, saying:\u2014\n\n\u201cRepeat to me the law, O Pharaoh, under which a living man must die\nfor the kissing of a dead hand. In my day and in that of those who went\nbefore me there was no such law in Egypt. If a living man, who was not\nher husband, or of her kin, kissed the living hand of a wedded Queen of\nEgypt, save in ceremony, then perchance he might be called upon to die.\nPerchance for such a reason a certain Horu once was called upon to die.\nBut in the grave there is no marriage, and therefore even if he had\nfound her alive within the tomb and kissed her hand, or even her lips,\nwhy should he die for the crime of love? \n\n\u201cHear me, all; this is my judgment in the matter. Let the soul of that\npriest who first violated the tomb of the royal Ma-Mee be hunted down\nand given to the jaws of the Destroyer, that he may know the last\ndepths of Death, if so the gods declare. But let this man go from among\nus unharmed, since what he did he did in reverent ignorance and because\nHathor, Goddess of Love, guided him from of old. Love rules this world\nwherein we meet to-night, with all the worlds whence we have gathered\nor whither we still must go. Who can defy its power? Who can refuse its\nrites? Now hence to Thebes!\u201d \n\nThere was a rushing sound as of a thousand wings, and all were gone.\n\nNo, not all, since Smith yet stood before the draped colossi and the\nempty steps, and beside him, glorious, unearthly, gleamed the vision of\nMa-Mee. \n\n\u201cI, too, must away,\u201d she whispered; \u201cyet ere I go a word with\nyou who once were a sculptor in Egypt. You loved me then, and that love\ncost you your life, you who once dared to kiss this hand of mine that\nagain you kissed in yonder tomb. For I was Pharaoh\u2019s wife in name\nonly; understand me well, in name only; since that title of Royal\nMother which they gave me is but a graven lie. Horu, I never was a\nwife, and when you died, swiftly I followed you to the grave. Oh, you\nforget, but I remember! I remember many things. You think that the\npriestly thief broke this figure of me which you found in the sand\noutside my tomb. Not so. _I_ broke it, because, daring greatly, you had\nwritten thereon, \u2018Beloved,\u2019 not \u2018of _Horus_ the God,\u2019 as you\nshould have done, but \u2018of _Horu_ the Man.\u2019 So when I came to be\nburied, Pharaoh, knowing all, took the image from my wrappings and\nhurled it away. I remember, too, the casting of that image, and how you\nthrew a gold chain I had given you into the crucible with the bronze,\nsaying that gold alone was fit to fashion me. And this signet that I\nbear\u2014it was you who cut it. Take it, take it, Horu, and in its place\ngive me back that which is on your hand, the Bes ring that I also wore. \nTake it and wear it ever till you die again, and let it go to the grave\nwith you as once it went to the grave with me. \n\n\u201cNow hearken. When Ra the great sun arises again and you awake you\nwill think that you have dreamed a dream. You will think that in this\ndream you saw and spoke with a lady of Egypt who died more than three\nthousand years ago, but whose beauty, carved in stone and bronze, has\ncharmed your heart to-day. So let it be, yet know, O man, who once was\nnamed Horu, that such dreams are oft-times a shadow of the truth. Know\nthat this Glory which shines before you is mine indeed in the land that\nis both far and near, the land wherein I dwell eternally, and that what\nis mine has been, is, and shall be yours for ever. Gods may change\ntheir kingdoms and their names; men may live and die, and live again\nonce more to die; empires may fall and those who ruled them be turned to\n forgotten dust. Yet true love endures immortal as the souls in which it\nwas conceived, and from it for you and me, the night of woe and\nseparation done, at the daybreak which draws on, there shall be born\nthe splendour and the peace of union. Till that hour foredoomed seek me\nno more, though I be ever near you, as I have ever been. Till that most\nblessed hour, Horu, farewell.\u201d    \n\nShe bent towards him; her sweet lips touched his brow; the perfume from\nher breath and hair beat upon him; the light of her wondrous eyes\nsearched out his very soul, reading the answer that was written there.\n\nHe stretched out his arms to clasp her, and lo! she was gone.\n\nIt was a very cold and a very stiff Smith who awoke on the following\nmorning, to find himself exactly where he had lain down\u2014namely, on a\ncement floor beneath the keel of a funeral boat in the central hall of\nthe Cairo Museum. He crept from his shelter shivering, and looked at\nthis hall, to find it quite as empty as it had been on the previous\nevening. Not a sign or a token was there of Pharaoh Menes and all those\nkings and queens of whom he had dreamed so vividly.\n\nReflecting on the strange phantasies that weariness and excited nerves\ncan summon to the mind in sleep, Smith made his way to the great doors\nand waited in the shadow, praying earnestly that, although it was the\nMohammedan Sabbath, someone might visit the Museum to see that all was\nwell. \n\nAs a matter of fact, someone did, and before he had been there a\nminute\u2014a watchman going about his business. He unlocked the place\ncarelessly, looking over his shoulder at a kite fighting with two\nnesting crows. In an instant Smith, who was not minded to stop and\nanswer questions, had slipped past him and was gliding down the\nportico, from monument to monument, like a snake between boulders,\nstill keeping in the shadow as he headed for the gates. \n\nThe attendant caught sight of him and uttered a yell of fear; then,\nsince it is not good to look upon an _afreet_, appearing from whence no\nmortal man could be, he turned his head away. When he looked again\nSmith was through those gates and had mingled with the crowd in the\nstreet beyond. \n\nThe sunshine was very pleasant to one who was conscious of having\ncontracted a chill of the worst Egyptian order from long contact with a\ndamp stone floor. Smith walked on through it towards his hotel\u2014it was\nShepheard\u2019s, and more than a mile away\u2014making up a story as he went\nto tell the hall-porter of how he had gone to dine at Mena House by the\nPyramids, missed the last tram, and stopped the night there.\n\nWhilst he was thus engaged his left hand struck somewhat sharply against\nthe corner of the cigar-box in his pocket, that which contained the\nrelic of the queen Ma-Mee. The pain caused him to glance at his fingers\nto see if they were injured, and to perceive on one of them the ring he\nwore. Surely, surely it was not the same that the Director-General had\ngiven him! _That_ ring was engraved with the image of the god Bes. On\n_this_ was cut the cartouche of her Majesty Ma-mee! And he had\ndreamed\u2014oh, he had dreamed\u2014\u2014! \n\nTo this day Smith is wondering whether, in the hurry of the moment, he\nmade a mistake as to which of those rings the Director-General had\ngiven him as part of his share of the spoil of the royal tomb he\ndiscovered in the Valley of Queens. Afterwards Smith wrote to ask, but\nthe Director-General could only remember that he gave him one of the\ntwo rings, and assured him that that inscribed \u201c_Bes Ank, Ank\nBes_,\u201d was with Ma-Mee\u2019s other jewels in the Gold Room of the\nMuseum. \n\nAlso Smith is wondering whether any other bronze figure of an old\nEgyptian royalty shows so high a percentage of gold as, on analysis,\nthe broken image of Ma-Mee was proved to do. For had she not seemed to\ntell him a tale of the melting of a golden chain when that effigy was\ncast? \n\nWas it all only a dream, or was it\u2014something more\u2014by day and by\nnight he asks of Nothingness?\n\nBut, be she near or far, no answer comes from the Queen Ma-Mee, whose\nproud titles were \u201cHer Majesty the Good God, the justified Dweller in\nOsiris; Daughter of Amen, Royal Heiress, Royal Sister, Royal Wife,\nRoyal Mother; Lady of the Two Lands; Wearer of the Double Crown; of the\nWhite Crown, of the Red Crown; Sweet Flower of Love, Beautiful\nEternally.\u201d \n\nSo, like the rest of us, Smith must wait to learn the truth concerning\nmany things, and more particularly as to which of those two circles of\nancient gold the Director-General gave him yonder at Cairo.\n\nIt seems but a little matter, yet it is more than all the worlds to him!\n\nTo the astonishment of his colleagues in antiquarian research, Smith has\nnever returned to Egypt. He explains to them that his health is quite\nrestored, and that he no longer needs this annual change to a more\ntemperate clime. \n\nNow, _which_ of the two royal rings did the Director-General return to\nSmith on the mummied hand of her late Majesty Ma-Mee?\n\nMAGEPA THE BUCK\n\nIn a preface to a story of the early life of the late Allan Quatermain,\nknown in Africa as Macumazahn, which has been published under the name\nof \u201cMarie,\u201d Mr. Curtis, the brother of Sir Henry Curtis, tells of\nhow he found a number of manuscripts that were left by Mr. Quatermain\nin his house in Yorkshire. Of these \u201cMarie\u201d was one, but in\naddition to it and sundry other completed records I, the Editor to whom\nit was directed that these manuscripts should be handed for\npublication, have found a quantity of unclassified notes and papers.\nSome of these deal with matters that have to do with sport and game, or\nwith historical events, and some are memoranda of incidents connected\nwith the career of the writer, or with remarkable occurrences that he\nhad witnessed of which he does not speak elsewhere. \n\nOne of these notes\u2014it is contained in a book much soiled and worn that\nevidently its owner had carried about with him for years\u2014reminds me of\na conversation that I had with Mr. Quatermain long ago when I was his\nguest in Yorkshire. The note itself is short; I think that he must have\njotted it down within an hour or two of the event to which it refers.\nIt runs thus:\u2014 \n\n\u201cI wonder whether in the \u2018Land Beyond\u2019 any recognition is\ngranted for acts of great courage and unselfish devotion\u2014a kind of\nspiritual Victoria Cross. If so I think it ought to be accorded to that\npoor old savage, Magepa, as it would be if I had any voice in the\nmatter. Upon my word he has made me feel proud of humanity. And yet he\nwas nothing but a \u2018nigger,\u2019 as so many call the Kaffirs.\u201d\n\nFor a while I, the Editor, wondered to what this entry could allude.\nThen of a sudden it all came back to me. I saw myself, as a young man,\nseated in the hall of Quatermain\u2019s house one evening after dinner.\nWith me were Sir Henry Curtis and Captain Good. We were smoking, and\nthe conversation had turned upon deeds of heroism. Each of us detailed\nsuch acts as he could remember which had made the most impression on\nhim. When we had finished, old Allan said:\u2014 \n\n\u201cWith your leave I\u2019ll tell you a story of what I think was one of\nthe bravest things I ever saw. It happened at the beginning of the Zulu\nWar, when the troops were marching into Zululand. Now at that time, as\nyou know, I was turning an honest penny transport-riding for the\nGovernment, or rather for the military authorities. I hired them three\nwagons with the necessary voorloopers and drivers, sixteen good salted\noxen to each wagon, and myself in charge of the lot. They paid me,\nwell, never mind how much\u2014I am rather ashamed to mention the amount.\nThe truth is that the Imperial officers bought in a dear market during\nthat Zulu War; moreover, things were not always straight. I could tell\nyou stories of folk, not all of them Colonials, who got rich quicker\nthan they ought, commissions and that kind of thing. But perhaps these\nare better forgotten. As for me, I asked a good price for my wagons, or \nrather for the hire of them, of a very well-satisfied young gentleman in\n uniform who had been exactly three weeks in the country, and to my\nsurprise, got it. But when I went to those in command and warned them\nwhat would happen if they persisted in their way of advance, then in\ntheir pride they would not listen to the old hunter and\ntransport-rider, but politely bowed me out. If they had, there would\nhave been no Isandhlwana disaster.\u201d    \n\nHe brooded awhile, for, as I knew, this was a sore subject with him, one\non which he would rarely talk. Although he escaped himself, Quatermain\nhad lost friends on that fatal field. He went on:\u2014\n\n\u201cTo return to old Magepa. I had known him for many years. The first\ntime we met was in the battle of the Tugela. I was fighting for the\nking\u2019s son, Umbelazi the Handsome, in the ranks of the Tulwana\nregiment\u2014I mean to write all that story, for it should not be lost.\nWell, as I have told you before, the Tulwana were wiped out; of the\nthree thousand or so of them I think only about fifty remained alive\nafter they had annihilated the three of Cetewayo\u2019s regiments that set\nupon them. But as it chanced Magepa was one who survived.\n\n\u201cI met him afterwards at old King Panda\u2019s kraal and recognised him\nas having fought by my side. Whilst I was talking to him the Prince\nCetewayo came by; to me he was civil enough, for he knew how I chanced\nto be in the battle, but he glared at Magepa, and said:\n\n\u201c\u2018Why, Macumazahn, is not this man one of the dogs with which you\ntried to bite me by the Tugela not long ago? He must be a cunning dog\nalso, one who can run fast, for how comes it that he lives to snarl\nwhen so many will never bark again? _Ow!_ if I had my way I would find\na strip of hide to fit his neck.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Not so,\u2019 I answered, \u2018he has the King\u2019s peace\nand he is a brave man \u2014braver than I am, anyway, Prince, seeing that I\nran from the ranks of the Tulwana, while he stood where he was.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018You mean that your horse ran, Macumazahn. Well, since you like\nthis dog, I will not hurt him,\u2019 and with a shrug he went his way.\n\n\u201c\u2018Yet soon or late he _will_ hurt me,\u2019 said Magepa, when\nthe Prince had gone. \u2018U\u2019Cetewayo has a memory long as the shadow\nthrown by a tree at sunset. Moreover, as he knows well, it is true that\nI ran, Macumazahn, though not till all was finished and I could do no\nmore by standing still. You remember how, after we had eaten up the\nfirst of Cetewayo\u2019s regiments, the second charged us and we ate that\nup also. Well, in that fight I got a tap on the head from a kerry. It\nstruck me on my man\u2019s ring which I had just put on, for I think I was\nthe youngest soldier in that regiment of veterans. The ring saved me;\nstill, for a while I lost my mind and lay like one dead. When I found\nit again the fight was over and Cetewayo\u2019s people were searching for\nour wounded that they might kill them. Presently they found me and saw\nthat there was no hurt on me. \n\n\u201c\u2018\"Here is one who shams dead like a stink-cat,\u201d said a big\nfellow, lifting his spear.\n\n\u201c\u2018Then it was that I sprang up and ran, who was but just married\nand desired to live. He struck at me, but I jumped over the spear, and\nthe others that they threw missed me. Then they began to hunt me, but,\nMacumazahn, I who am named \u201cThe Buck,\u201d because I am swifter of foot\nthan any man in Zululand, outpaced them all and got away safe.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Well done, Magepa,\u2019 I said. \u2018Still, remember the\nsaying of your people, \u201cAt last the strong swimmer goes with the\nstream and the swift runner is run down.\u201d\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018I know it, Macumazahn,\u2019 he answered, with a nod, \u2018and\nperhaps in a day to come I shall know it better.\u2019\n\n\u201cI took little heed of his words at the time, but more than thirty\nyears afterwards I remembered them.\n\n\u201cSuch was my first acquaintance with Magepa. Now, friends, I will tell\nyou how it was renewed at the time of the Zulu War.\n\n\u201cAs you know, I was attached to the centre column that advanced into\nZululand by Rorke\u2019s Drift on the Buffalo River. Before war was\ndeclared, or at any rate before the advance began, while it might have\nbeen and many thought it would be averted, I was employed\ntransport-riding goods to the little Rorke\u2019s Drift Station, that\nwhich became so famous afterwards, and incidentally in collecting what\ninformation I could of Cetewayo\u2019s intentions. Hearing that there was\na kraal a mile or so the other side of the river, of which the people\nwere said to be very friendly to the English, I determined to visit it.\nYou may think this was rash, but I was so well known in Zululand, where\nfor many years, by special leave of the king, I was allowed to go\nwhither I would quite unmolested and, indeed, under the royal\nprotection, that I felt no fear for myself so long as I went alone. \n\n\u201cAccordingly one evening I crossed the drift and headed for a kloof in\nwhich I was told the kraal stood. Ten minutes\u2019 ride brought me in\nsight of it. It was not a large kraal; there may have been six or eight\nhuts and a cattle enclosure surrounded by the usual fence. The\nsituation, however, was very pretty, a knoll of rising ground backed by\nthe wooded slopes of the kloof. As I approached, I saw women and\nchildren running to the kraal to hide, and when I reached the gateway\nfor some time no one would come out to meet me. At length a small boy\nappeared who informed me that the kraal was \u2018empty as a gourd.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Quite so,\u2019 I answered; \u2018still, go and tell the\nheadman that Macumazahn wishes to speak with him.\u2019\n\n\u201cThe boy departed, and presently I saw a face that seemed familiar to\nme peeping round the edge of the gateway. After a careful inspection\nits owner emerged.\n\n\u201cHe was a tall, thin man of indefinite age, perhaps between sixty and\nseventy, with a finely-cut face, a little grey beard, kind eyes and very\nwell-shaped hands and feet, the fingers, which twitched incessantly,\nbeing remarkably long.\n\n\u201c\u2018Greeting, Macumazahn,\u2019 he said, \u2018I see you do not\nremember me. Well, think of the battle of the Tugela, and of the last\nstand of the Tulwana, and of a certain talk at the kraal of our\nFather-who-is-dead\u2019 (that is King Panda), \u2018and of how he who sits\nin his place\u2019 (he meant Cetewayo), \u2018told you that if he had his way\nhe would find a hide rope to fit the neck of a certain one.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Ah!\u2019 I said, \u2018I know you now, you are Magepa the\nBuck. So the Runner has not yet been run down.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018No, Macumazahn, not yet, but there is still time. I think that\nmany swift feet will be at work ere long.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018How have you prospered?\u2019 I asked him.\n\n\u201c\u2018Well enough, Macumazahn, in all ways except one. I have three\nwives, but my children have been few and are dead, except one daughter,\nwho is married and lives with me, for her husband, too, is dead. He was\nkilled by a buffalo, and she has not yet married again. But enter and\nsee.\u2019 \n\n\u201cSo I went in and saw Magepa\u2019s wives, old women all of them. Also,\nat his bidding, his daughter, whose name was Gita, brought me some\n_maas_, or curdled milk, to drink. She was a well-formed woman, very\nlike her father, but sad-faced, perhaps with a prescience of evil to\ncome. Clinging to her finger was a beautiful boy of something under two\nyears of age, who, when he saw Magepa, ran to him and threw his little\narms about his legs. The old man lifted the child and kissed him\ntenderly, saying: \n\n\u201c\u2018It is well that this toddler and I should love one another,\nMacumazahn, seeing that he is the last of my race. All the other\nchildren here are those of the people who have come to live in my\nshadow.\u2019 \n\n\u201c\u2018Where are their fathers?\u2019 I asked, patting the little boy\nwho, his mother told me, was named Sinala, upon the cheek, an attention\nthat he resented.\n\n\u201c\u2018They have been called away on duty,\u2019 answered Magepa\nshortly; and I changed the subject.\n\n\u201cThen we began to talk about old times, and I asked him if he had any\noxen to sell, saying that this was my reason for visiting the kraal.\n\n\u201c\u2018Nay, Macumazahn,\u2019 he answered in a meaning voice.\n\u2018This year all the cattle are the king\u2019s.\u2019\n\n\u201cI nodded and replied that, as it was so, I had better be going,\nwhereon, as I half expected, Magepa announced that he would see me safe\nto the drift. So I bade farewell to the wives and the widowed daughter,\nand we started. \n\n\u201cAs soon as we were clear of the kraal Magepa began to open his heart\nto me.\n\n\u201c\u2018Macumazahn,\u2019 he said, looking up at me earnestly, for I was\nmounted, and he walked beside my horse, \u2018there is to be war. Cetewayo\nwill not consent to the demands of the great White Chief from the\nCape,\u2019\u2014he meant Sir Bartle Frere\u2014\u2018he will fight with\nthe English; only he will let them begin the fighting. He will draw them\non into Zululand and then overwhelm them with his impis and stamp them\nflat, and eat them up; and I, who love the English, am very sorry. Yes,\nit makes my heart bleed. If it were the Boers now, I should be glad,\nfor we Zulus hate the Boers; but the English we do not hate; even\nCetewayo likes them; still, he will eat them up if they attack him.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Indeed,\u2019 I answered; and then as in duty bound I proceeded\nto get what I could out of him, and that was not a little. Of course,\nhowever, I did not swallow it all, since that I suspected that Magepa\nwas feeding me with news that he had been ordered to disseminate.\n\n\u201cPresently we came to the mouth of the kloof in which the kraal stood,\nand here, for greater convenience of conversation, we halted, for I\nthought it as well that we should not be seen in close talk on the open\nplain beyond. The path here, I should add, ran past a clump of green\nbushes; I remember they bore a white flower that smelt sweet, and were\nbacked by some tall grass, elephant-grass I think it was, among which\ngrew mimosa trees. \n\n\u201c\u2018Magepa,\u2019 I said, \u2018if in truth there is to be\nfighting, why don\u2019t you move over the river one night with your people\nand cattle, and get into Natal?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018I would if I could, Macumazahn, who have no stomach for this war\nagainst the English. But there I should not be safe, since presently the\nking will come into Natal too, or send thirty thousand assegais as his\nmessengers. Then what will happen to those who have left him?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Oh! if you think that,\u2019 I answered, laughing, \u2018you\nhad better stay where you are.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Also, Macumazahn, the husbands of those women at my kraal have\nbeen called up to their regiments and if their wives fled to the English\nthey would be killed. Again, the king has sent for nearly all our\ncattle \u201cto keep them safe.\u201d He fears lest we Border Zulus might\njoin our people in Natal, and that is why he is keeping our cattle\n\u201csafe.\u201d\u2019 \n\n\u201c\u2018Life is more than cattle, Magepa. At least you might come.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018What! And leave my people to be killed? Macumazahn, you did not\nuse to talk so. Still, hearken. Macumazahn, will you do me a service? I\nwill pay you well for it. I would get my daughter Gita and my little\ngrandson Sinala into safety. If I and my wives are wiped out it does\nnot matter, for we are old. But her I would save, and the boy I would\nsave, so that one may live who will remember my name. Now if I were to\nsend them across the drift, say at the dawn, not to-morrow and not the\nnext day, but the day after, would you receive them into your wagon and\ndeliver them safe to some place in Natal? I have money hidden, fifty\npieces of gold, and you may take half of these and also half of the\ncattle if ever I live to get them back out of the keeping of the \nking.\u2019 \n\n\u201c\u2018Never mind about the money, and we will speak of the cattle\nafterwards,\u2019 I said. \u2018I understand that you wish to send your\ndaughter and your little grandson out of danger; and I think you wise,\nvery wise. When once the advance begins, if there is an advance, who\nknows what may happen? War is a rough game, Magepa. It is not the\ncustom of you black people to spare women and children; and there will\nbe Zulus fighting on our side as well as on yours; do you\nunderstand?\u2019 \n\n\u201c\u2018_Ow!_ I understand, Macumazahn. I have known the face of war\nand seen many a little one like my grandson Sinala assegaied upon his\nmother\u2019s back.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Very good. But if I do this for you, you must do something for\nme. Say, Magepa, does Cetewayo _really_ mean to fight, and if so, how?\nOh yes, I know all you have been telling me, but I want not words but\ntruth from the heart?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018You ask secrets,\u2019 said the old fellow, peering about him\ninto the gathering gloom. \u2018Still, \u201ca spear for a spear and a shield\nfor a shield,\u201d as our saying runs. I have spoken no lie. The king\n_does_ mean to fight, not because he wants to, but because the regiments\nswear that they will wash their assegais; they who have never seen blood\nsince that battle of the Tugela in which we two played a part, and if\nhe will not suffer it, well, there are more of his race! Also he means\nto fight thus,\u2019 and he gave me some very useful information, that is,\ninformation which would have been useful if those in authority had\ndeigned to pay any attention to it when I passed it on.\n\n\u201cJust as he had finished speaking I thought that I heard a sound in\nthe dense green bush behind us. It reminded me of the noise a man makes\nwhen he tries to stifle a cough, and frightened me. For if we had been\noverheard by a spy, Magepa was as good as dead, and the sooner I was\nacross the river the better.\n\n\u201c\u2018What\u2019s that?\u2019 I asked.\n\n\u201c\u2018A bush buck, Macumazahn. There are lots of them about here.\u2019\n\n\u201cNot being satisfied, though it is true that buck do cough like this,\nI turned my horse to the bush, seeking an opening. Thereon something\ncrashed away and vanished into the long grass. In those shadows, of\ncourse, I could not see what it was, but such light as remained glinted\non what might have been the polished tip of the horn of an antelope\nor\u2014an assegai. \n\n\u201c\u2018I told you it was a buck, Macumazahn,\u2019 said Magepa.\n\u2018Still, if you smell danger, let us come away from the bush, though\nthe orders are that no white man is to be touched as yet.\u2019\n\n\u201cThen, while we walked on towards the ford, he set out with great\ndetail, as Kaffirs do, the exact arrangements that he proposed to make\nfor the handing over of his daughter and her child into my care. I\nremember that I asked him why he would not send her on the following\nmorning, instead of two mornings later. He answered because he expected\nan outpost of scouts from one of the regiments at his kraal that night,\nwho would probably remain there over the morrow and perhaps longer.\nWhile they were in the place it would be difficult, if not impossible,\nfor him to send away Gita and her son without exciting suspicion.\n\n\u201cNear the drift we parted, and I returned to our provisional camp and\nwrote a beautiful report of all that I had learned, of which report, I\nmay add, no one took the slightest notice.\n\n\u201cI think it was the morning before that whereon I had arranged to meet\nGita and the little boy at the drift that just about dawn I went down to\nthe river for a wash. Having taken my dip, I climbed on to a flat rock\nto dress myself, and looked at the billows of beautiful, pearly mist\nwhich hid the face of the water, and considered\u2014I almost said\nlistened to\u2014the great silence, for as yet no live thing was stirring.\n\n\u201cAh! if I had known of the hideous sights and sounds that were\ndestined to be heard ere long in this same haunt of perfect peace!\nIndeed, at that moment there came a kind of hint or premonition of\nthem, since suddenly through the utter quiet broke the blood-curdling\nwail of a woman. It was followed by other wails and shouts, distant and\nyet distinct. Then the silence fell again. \n\n\u201cNow, I thought to myself, that noise might very well have come from\nold Magepa\u2019s kraal; luckily, however, sounds are deceptive in mist.\n\n\u201cWell, the end of it was that I waited there till the sun rose. The\nfirst thing on which its bright beams struck was a mighty column of\nsmoke rising to heaven from where Magepa\u2019s kraal had stood!\n\n\u201cI went back to my wagons very sad\u2014so sad that I could scarcely eat\nmy breakfast. While I walked I wondered hard whether the light had\nglinted upon the tip of a buck\u2019s horn in that patch of green bush\nwith the sweet-smelling white flowers a night or two ago. Or had it\nperchance fallen upon the point of the assegai of some spy who was\nwatching my movements! In that event yonder column of smoke and the\nhorrible cries that preceded it were easy to explain. For had not\nMagepa and I talked secrets together, and in Zulu? \n\n\u201cOn the following morning at dawn I attended at the drift in the faint\nhope that Gita and her boy might arrive there as arranged. But nobody\ncame, which was not wonderful, seeing that Gita lay dead, stabbed\nthrough and through, as I saw afterwards, (she made a good fight for\nthe child), and that her spirit had gone to wherever go the souls of\nthe brave-hearted, be they white or black. Only on the farther bank of\nthe river I saw some Zulu scouts who seemed to know my errand, for they\ncalled to me, asking mockingly where was the pretty woman I had come to\nmeet? \n\n\u201cAfter that I tried to put the matter out of my head, which indeed was\nfull enough of other things, since now definite orders had arrived as to\nthe advance, and with these many troops and officers.\n\n\u201cIt was just then that the Zulus began to fire across the river at\nsuch of our people as they saw upon the bank. At these they took aim,\nand, as a result, hit nobody. A raw Kaffir with a rifle, in my\nexperience, is only dangerous when he aims at nothing, for then the\nbullet looks after itself and may catch you. To put a stop to this\nnuisance a regiment of the friendly natives\u2014there may have been\nseveral hundred of them\u2014was directed to cross the river and clear the\nkloofs and rocks of the Zulu skirmishers who were hidden among them. I\nwatched them go off in fine style, and in the course of the afternoon\nheard a good deal of shouting and banging of guns on the farther side\nof the river. \n\n\u201cTowards evening someone told me that our _impi_, as he called it\ngrandiloquently, was returning victorious. Having at the moment nothing\nelse to do, I walked down to the river at a point where the water was\ndeep and the banks were high. Here I climbed to the top of a pile of\nboulders, whence with my field-glasses I could sweep a great extent of\nplain which stretched away on the Zululand side till at length it\nmerged into hills and bush. \n\n\u201cPresently I saw some of our natives marching homewards in a scattered\nand disorganised fashion, but evidently very proud of themselves, for\nthey were waving their assegais and singing scraps of war-songs. A few\nminutes later, a mile or more away, I caught sight of a man running.\n\n\u201cWatching him through the glasses I noted three things: First, that he\nwas tall; secondly, that he ran with extraordinary swiftness; and,\nthirdly, that he had something tied upon his back. It was evident,\nfurther, that he had good reason to run, since he was being hunted by a\nnumber of our Kaffirs, of whom more and more continually joined the\nchase. From every side they poured down upon him, trying to cut him off\nand kill him, for as they got nearer I could see the assegais which\nthey threw at him flash in the sunlight. \n\n\u201cVery soon I understood that the man was running with a definite\nobject and to a definite point; he was trying to reach the river. I\nthought the sight very pitiful, this one poor creature being hunted to\ndeath by so many. Also I wondered why he did not free himself from the\nbundle on his back, and came to the conclusion that he must be a\nwitch-doctor, and that the bundle contained his precious charms or\nmedicines. \n\n\u201cThis was while he was yet a long way off, but when he came nearer,\nwithin three or four hundred yards, of a sudden I caught the outline of\nhis face against a good background, and knew it for that of Magepa.\n\n\u201c\u2018My God!\u2019 I said to myself, \u2018it is old Magepa the\nBuck, and the bundle in the mat will be his grandson, Sinala!\u2019\n\n\u201cYes, even then I felt certain that he was carrying the child upon his\nback.\n\n\u201cWhat was I to do? It was impossible for me to cross the river at that\nplace, and long before I could get round by the ford all would be\nfinished. I stood up on my rock and shouted to those brutes of Kaffirs\nto let the man alone. They were so excited that they did not hear my\nwords; at least, they swore afterwards that they thought I was\nencouraging them to hunt him down. \n\n\u201cBut Magepa heard me. At the moment he seemed to be failing, but the\nsight of me appeared to give him fresh strength. He gathered himself\ntogether and leapt forward at a really surprising speed. Now the river\nwas not more than three hundred yards away from him, and for the first\ntwo hundred of these he quite outdistanced his pursuers, although they\nwere most of them young men and comparatively fresh. Then once more his\nstrength began to fail. \n\n\u201cWatching through the glasses, I could see that his mouth was wide\nopen, and that there was red foam upon his lips. The burden on his back\nwas dragging him down. Once he lifted his hands as though to loose it;\nthen with a wild gesture let them fall again.\n\n\u201cTwo of the pursuers who had outpaced the others crept up to\nhim\u2014lank, lean men of not more than thirty years of age. They had\nstabbing spears in their hands, such as are used at close quarters, and\nthese of course they did not throw. One of them gained a little on the\nother. \n\n\u201cNow Magepa was not more than fifty yards from the bank, with the\nfirst hunter about ten paces behind him and coming up rapidly. Magepa\nglanced over his shoulder and saw, then put out his last strength. For\nforty yards he went like an arrow, running straight away from his\npursuers, until he was within a few feet of the bank, when he stumbled\nand fell. \n\n\u201c\u2018He\u2019s done,\u2019 I said, and, upon my word, if I had had a\nrifle in my hand I think I would have stopped one or both of those\nbloodhounds and taken the consequences.\n\n\u201cBut no! Just as the first man lifted his broad spear to stab him\nthrough the back on which the bundle lay, Magepa leapt up and wheeled\nround to take the thrust in the chest. Evidently he did not wish to be\nspeared in the back\u2014for a certain reason. He took it sure enough, for\nthe assegai was wrenched out of the hand of the striker. Still, as he\nwas reeling backwards, it did not go through Magepa, or perhaps it hit\na bone. He drew out the spear and threw it at the man, wounding him.\nThen he staggered on, back and back, to the edge of the little cliff.\n\n\u201cIt was reached at last. With a cry of \u2018Help me, Macumazahn!\u2019\nMagepa turned, and before the other man could spear him, leapt straight\ninto the deep water. He rose. Yes, the brave old fellow rose and struck\nout for the other bank, leaving a little line of red behind him.\n\n\u201cI rushed, or rather sprang and rolled down to the edge of the stream\nto where a point of shingle ran out into the water. Along this I\nclambered, and beyond it up to my middle. Now Magepa was being swept\npast me. I caught his outstretched hand and pulled him ashore.\n\n\u201c\u2018The boy!\u2019 he gasped; \u2018the boy! Is he dead?\u2019\n\n\u201cI severed the lashings of the mat that had cut right into the old\nfellow\u2019s shoulders. Inside of it was little Sinala, spluttering out\nwater, but very evidently alive and unhurt, for presently he set up a\nyell. \n\n\u201c\u2018No,\u2019 I said, \u2018he lives, and will live.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Then all is well, Macumazahn.\u2019 (_A pause_.) \u2018It\n_was_ a spy in the bush, not a buck. He overheard our talk. The\nKing\u2019s slayers came. Gita held the door of the hut while I took the\nchild, cut a hole through the straw with my assegai, and crept out at\nthe back. She was full of spears before she died, but I got away with\nthe boy. Till your Kaffirs found me I lay hid in the bush, hoping to\nescape to Natal. Then I ran for the river, and saw you on the farther\nbank. _I_ might have got away, but that child is heavy.\u2019 (_A pause_.)\n\u2018Give him food, Macumazahn, he must be hungry.\u2019 (_A pause_.)\n\u2018Farewell. That was a good saying of yours\u2014the swift runner is\noutrun at last. Ah! yet I did not run in vain.\u2019 (_Another pause, the\nlast_.) Then he lifted himself upon one arm and with the other saluted,\nfirst the boy Sinala and next me, muttering, \u2018Remember your promise,\nMacumazahn.\u2019 \n\n\u201cThat is how Magepa the Buck died. I never saw anyone carrying weight\nwho could run quite so well as he,\u201d and Quatermain turned his head\naway as though the memory of this incident affected him somewhat.\n\n\u201cWhat became of the child Sinala?\u201d I asked presently.\n\n\u201cOh! I sent him to an institution in Natal, and afterwards was able to\nget some of his property back for him. I believe that he is being\ntrained as an interpreter.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE BLUE CURTAINS\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\nIn his regiment familiarly they called him \u201cBottles,\u201d nobody quite\nknew why. It was, however, rumoured that he had been called\n\u201cBottles\u201d at Harrow on account of the shape of his nose. Not that\nhis nose was particularly like a bottle, but at the end of it was round\nand large and thick. In reality, however, the sobriquet was more\nancient than that, for it had belonged to the hero of this story from\nbabyhood. Now, when a man has a nickname, it generally implies two\nthings: first, that he is good-tempered, and, secondly, that he is a\ngood fellow. Bottles, _alias_ John George Peritt, of a regiment it is\nunnecessary to name, amply justified both these definitions, for a\nkindlier-tempered or better fellow never breathed. But unless a thick\nround nose, a pair of small light-coloured eyes, set under bushy brows,\nand a large but not badly shaped mouth can be said to constitute\nbeauty, he was not beautiful. On the other hand, however, he was big \nand well-formed, and a pleasant-mannered if a rather silent companion. \n\nMany years ago Bottles was in love; all the regiment knew it, he was so\nvery palpably and completely in love. Over his bed in his tidy quarters\nhung the photograph of a young lady who was known to be _the_ young\nlady; which, when the regiment, individually and collectively, happened\nto see it, left no doubt in its mind as to their comrade\u2019s taste. It\nwas evident even from that badly-coloured photograph that Miss Madeline\nSpenser had the makings of a lovely figure and a pair of wonderful\neyes. It was said, however, that she had not a sixpence; and as our\nhero had but very few, the married ladies of the battalion used\nfrequently to speculate how Mr. Peritt would \u201cmanage\u201d when it came\nto matrimony. \n\nAt this date the regiment was quartered in Maritzburg, Natal, but its\nterm of foreign service had expired, and it expected to be ordered home\nimmediately. \n\nOne morning Bottles had been out buck hunting with the scratch pack kept\nin those days by the garrison at Maritzburg. The run had been a good\none, and after a seven or eight-mile gallop over the open country they\nhad actually killed their buck\u2014a beautiful Oribe. This was a thing\nthat did not often happen, and Bottles returned filled with joy and\npride with the buck fastened behind his saddle, for he was whip to the\npack. The hounds had met at dawn, and it was nine o\u2019clock or so,\nwhen, as he was riding hot and tired up the shadier side of broad and\ndusty Church Street, a gun fired at the Fort beyond Government House\nannounced the arrival of the English mail. \n\nWith a beaming smile\u2014for to him the English mail meant one if not two\nletters from Madeline, and possibly the glad news of sailing orders\u2014he\npushed on to his quarters, tubbed and dressed, and then went down to the\nmess-house for breakfast, expecting to find the letters delivered. But\nthe mail was a heavy one, and he had ample time to eat his breakfast,\nalso to sit and smoke a pipe upon the pleasant verandah under the shade\nof the bamboos and camellia bushes before the orderly arrived with the\nbag. Bottles went at once into the room that opened on to the veranda\nand stood by calmly, not being given to betraying his emotions, while\nslowly and clumsily the mess sergeant sorted the letters. At last he\ngot his packet\u2014it only consisted of some newspapers and a single\nletter\u2014and went away back to his seat on the veranda, feeling rather\ndisappointed, for he had expected to hear from his only brother as well\nas from his lady-love. Having relit his pipe\u2014for he was of a slow and\ndeliberate mind, and it rather enhances a pleasure to defer it a \nlittle\u2014and settled himself in the big chair opposite the camellia bush\n just now covered with sealing-wax-like blooms, he opened his letter and\n read:\u2014 \n\n\u201cMy dear George\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cGood heavens!\u201d he thought to himself, \u201cwhat can be the\nmatter? She always calls me \u2018Darling Bottles!\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear George,\u201d he began again, \u201cI hardly know how to begin\nthis letter\u2014I can scarcely see the paper for crying, and when I think\nof you reading it out in that horrid country it makes me cry more than\never. There! I may as well get it out at once, for it does not improve\nby keeping\u2014it is all over between you and me, my dear, dear old\nBottles.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll over!\u201d he gasped to himself.\n\n\u201cI hardly know how to tell the miserable story,\u201d went on the\nletter, \u201cbut as it must be told I suppose I had better begin from the\nbeginning. A month ago I went with my father and my aunt to the Hunt\nBall at Atherton, and there I met Sir Alfred Croston, a middle-aged\ngentleman, who danced with me several times. I did not care about him\nmuch, but he made himself very agreeable, and when I got home\naunt\u2014you know her nasty way\u2014congratulated me on my conquest. Well,\nnext day he came to call, and papa asked him to stop to dinner, and he\ntook me in, and before he went away he told me that he was coming to\nstop at the George Inn to fish for trout in the lake. After that he\ncame here every day, and whenever I went out walking he always met me,\nand really was kind and nice. At last one day he asked me to marry him,\nand I was very angry and told him that I was engaged to a gentleman in\nthe army, who was in South Africa. He laughed, and said South Africa was\na long way off, and I hated him for it. That evening papa and aunt set\non me\u2014you know they neither of them liked our engagement\u2014and told\nme that our affair was perfectly silly, and that I must be mad to\nrefuse such an offer. And so it went on, for he would not take \u2018no\u2019\nfor an answer; and at last, dear, I had to give in, for they gave me no\npeace, and papa implored me to consent for his sake. He said the\nmarriage would be the making of him, and now I suppose I am engaged.\nDear, dear George, don\u2019t be angry with me, for it is not my fault,\nand I suppose after all we could not have got married, for we have so\nlittle money. I do love you, but I can\u2019t help myself. I hope you\nwon\u2019t forget me, or marry anybody else\u2014at least, not just at\npresent\u2014for I cannot bear to think about it. Write to me and tell me\nyou won\u2019t forget me, and that you are not angry with me. Do you want\nyour letters back? If you burn mine that will do. Good-bye, dear! If you\n only knew what I suffer! It is all very well to talk like aunt does\nabout settlements and diamonds, but they can\u2019t make up to me for you.\nGood-bye, dear, I cannot write any more because my head aches\nso.\u2014Ever yours,      \n\u201cMadeline Spenser.\u201d\n\nWhen George Peritt, _alias_ Bottles, had finished reading and re-reading\nthis letter, he folded it up neatly and put it, after his methodical\nfashion, into his pocket. Then he sat and stared at the red camellia\nblooms before him, that somehow looked as indistinct and misty as\nthough they were fifty yards off instead of so many inches.\n\n\u201cIt is a great blow,\u201d he said to himself. \u201cPoor Madeline! How\nshe must suffer!\u201d\n\nPresently he rose and walked\u2014rather unsteadily, for he felt much\nupset\u2014to his quarters, and, taking a sheet of notepaper, wrote the\nfollowing letter to catch the outgoing mail:\u2014\n\n\u201cMy dear Madeline,\u2014I have got your letter putting an end to our\nengagement. I don\u2019t want to dwell on myself when you must have so much\nto suffer, but I must say that it has been, and is, a great blow to me.\nI have loved you for so many years, ever since we were babies, I think;\nit does seem hard to lose you now after all. I thought that when we got\nhome I might get the adjutancy of a militia regiment, and that we might\nhave been married. I think we might have managed on five hundred a\nyear, though perhaps I have no right to expect you to give up comforts\nand luxuries to which you are accustomed; but I am afraid that when one\nis in love one is apt to be selfish. However, all that is done with\nnow, as, of course, putting everything else aside, I could not think of\nstanding in your way in life. I love you much too well for that, dear \nMadeline, and you are too beautiful and delicate to be the wife of a\npoor subaltern with little beside his pay. I can honestly say that I\nhope you will be happy. I don\u2019t ask you to think of me too often, as\nthat might make you less so, but perhaps sometimes when you are quiet\nyou will spare your old lover a thought or two, because I am sure\nnobody could care for you more than I do. You need not be afraid that I\nshall forget you or marry anybody else. I shall do neither the one nor\nthe other. I must close this now to catch the mail; I don\u2019t know that\nthere is anything more to say. It is a hard trial\u2014very; but it is no\ngood being weak and giving way, and it consoles me to think that you\nare \u2018bettering yourself\u2019 as the servants say. Good-bye, dear\nMadeline. May God bless you, is now and ever my earnest prayer.    \n\n\u201cJ. G. Peritt.\u201d\n\nScarcely was this letter finished and hastily dispatched when a loud\nvoice was heard calling, \u201cBottles, Bottles, my boy, come rejoice with\nme; the orders have come\u2014we sail in a fortnight;\u201d followed by the\nowner of the voice, another subaltern, and our hero\u2019s bosom friend.\n\u201cWhy, you don\u2019t seem very elated,\u201d said he of the voice, noting\nhis friend\u2019s dejected and somewhat dazed appearance.\n\n\u201cNo\u2014that is, not particularly. So you sail in a fortnight, do\nyou?\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018You sail?\u2019 What do you mean? Why, we _all_ sail, of\ncourse, from the colonel down to the drummer-boy.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t think that I\u2014I am going to sail, Jack,\u201d was\nthe hesitating answer.\n\n\u201cLook here, old fellow, are you off your head, or have you been\nliquoring up, or what?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo\u2014that is, I don\u2019t think so; certainly not the\nfirst\u2014the second, I mean.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen what do you mean?\u201d\n\n\u201cI mean that, in short, I am sending in my papers. I like this climate\n\u2014I, in short, am going to take to farming.\u201d\n\n\u201cSending in your papers! Going to take to farming! And in this\nGod-forsaken hole, too. You _must_ be screwed.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, indeed. It is only ten o\u2019clock.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how about getting married, and the girl you are engaged to, and\nwhom you are looking forward so much to seeing. Is she going to take to\nfarming?\u201d\n\nBottles winced visibly.\n\n\u201cNo, you see\u2014in short, we have put an end to that. I am not engaged\nnow.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, indeed,\u201d said the friend, and awkwardly departed.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\nTwelve years have passed since Bottles sent in his papers, and in twelve\nyears many things happen. Amongst them recently it had happened that\nour hero\u2019s only and elder brother had, owing to an unexpected\ndevelopment of consumption among the expectant heirs, tumbled into a\nbaronetcy and eight thousand a year, and Bottles himself into a modest\nbut to him most ample fortune of as many hundred. When the news reached\nhim he was the captain of a volunteer corps engaged in one of the\nnumerous Basuto wars in the Cape Colony. He served the campaign out,\nand then, in obedience to his brother\u2019s entreaties and a natural\ncraving to see his native land, after an absence of nearly fourteen \nyears, resigned his commission and returned to England. \n\nThus it came to pass that the next scene of this little history opens,\nnot upon the South African veld, or in a whitewashed house in some\nhalf-grown, hobbledehoy colonial town, but in a set of the most\ncomfortable chambers in the Albany, the local and appropriate\nhabitation of the bachelor brother aforesaid, Sir Eustace Peritt.\n\nIn a very comfortable arm-chair in front of a warm fire (for the month\nis November) sits the Bottles of old days\u2014bigger, uglier, shyer than\never, and in addition, disfigured by an assegai wound through the\ncheek. Opposite to him, and peering at him occasionally with fond\ncuriosity through an eyeglass, is his brother, a very different stamp\nof man. Sir Eustace Peritt is a well-preserved, London-looking\ngentleman, of apparently any age between thirty and fifty. His eye is\nso bright, his figure so well preserved, that to judge from appearances\nalone you would put him down to the former age. But when you come to\nknow him so as to be able to measure his consummate knowledge of the \nworld, and to have the opportunity of reflecting upon the good-natured\nbut profound cynicism which pleasantly pervades his talk as absolutely\nas the flavour of lemon pervades rum punch, you would be inclined to\nassign his natal day to a much earlier date. In reality he was forty,\nneither more nor less, and had both preserved his youthful appearance\nand gained the mellowness of his experience by a judicious use of the\nopportunities of life.    \n\n\u201cWell, my dear George,\u201d said Sir Eustace, addressing his\nbrother\u2014determined to take this occasion of meeting after so long a\ntime to be rid of the nickname \u201cBottles,\u201d which he hated\u2014\u201cI\nhaven\u2019t had such a pleasure for years.\u201d\n\n\u201cAs\u2014as what?\u201d\n\n\u201cAs meeting you again, of course. When I saw you on the vessel I knew\nyou at once. You have not changed at all, unless expansion can be\ncalled a change.\u201d\n\n\u201cNor have you, Eustace, unless contraction can be called a change.\nYour waist used to be bigger, you know.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, George, I drank beer in those days; it is one of those things of\nwhich I have lived to see the folly. In fact, there are not many things\nof which I have not lived to see the folly.\u201d\n\n\u201cExcept living itself, I suppose?\u201d\n\n\u201cExactly\u2014except living. I have no wish to follow the example of our\npoor cousins,\u201d he answered with a sigh, \u201cto whose considerate\nbehaviour, however,\u201d he added, brightening, \u201cwe owe our present\nimproved position.\u201d Then came a pause.\n\n\u201cFourteen years is a long time, George; you must have had a rough time\nof it.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, pretty rough. I have seen a good deal of irregular service, you\nknow.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd never got anything out of it, I suppose?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, yes; I have got my bread and butter, which is all I am worth.\u201d\n\nSir Eustace looked at his brother doubtfully through his eyeglass.\n\u201cYou are modest,\u201d he said; \u201cthat does not do. You must have a\nbetter opinion of yourself if you want to get on in the world.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t want to get on. I am quite content to earn a living, and I\nam modest because I have seen so many better men fare worse.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut now you need not earn a living any more. What do you propose to\ndo? Live in town? I can set you going in a very good lot. You will be\nquite a lion with that hole in your cheek\u2014by the way, you must tell\nme the story. And then, you see, if anything happens to me you stand in\nfor the title and estates. That will be quite enough to float you.\u201d\n\nBottles writhed uneasily in his chair. \u201cThank you, Eustace; but really\nI must ask you\u2014in short, I don\u2019t want to be floated or anything of\nthe sort. I would rather go back to South Africa and my volunteer corps.\nI would indeed. I hate strangers, and society, and all that sort of\nthing. I\u2019m not fit for it like you.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen what do you mean to do\u2014get married and live in the\ncountry?\u201d\n\nBottles coloured a little through his sun-tanned skin\u2014a fact that did\nnot escape the eyeglass of his observant brother. \u201cNo, I am not going\nto get married, certainly not.\u201d\n\n\u201cBy the way,\u201d said Sir Eustace carelessly, \u201cI saw your old\nflame, Lady Croston, yesterday, and told her you were coming home. She\nmakes a charming widow.\u201d\n\n\u201c_What!_\u201d ejaculated his brother, slowly raising himself out\nof his chair in astonishment. \u201cIs her husband dead?\u201d\n\n\u201cDead? Yes, died a year ago, and a good riddance too. He appointed me\none of his executors; I am sure I don\u2019t know why, for we never liked\neach other. I think he was the most disagreeable fellow I ever knew.\nThey say he gave his wife a roughish time of it occasionally. Serve her\nright, too.\u201d \n\n\u201cWhy did it serve her right?\u201d\n\nSir Eustace shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\u201cWhen a heartless girl jilts the fellow she is engaged to in order to\nsell herself to an elderly beast, I think she deserves all she gets.\nThis one did not get half enough; indeed, she has made a good thing of\nit\u2014better than she expected.\u201d\n\nHis brother sat down again before he answered in a constrained voice,\n\u201cDon\u2019t you think you are rather hard on her, Eustace?\u201d\n\n\u201cHard on her? No, not a bit of it. Of all the worthless women that I\nknow, I think Madeline Croston is the most worthless. Look how she\ntreated you.\u201d\n\n\u201cEustace,\u201d broke in his brother almost sharply, \u201cif you\ndon\u2019t mind, I wish you would not talk of her like that to me. I\ncan\u2019t\u2014in short, I don\u2019t like it.\u201d\n\nSir Eustace\u2019s eyeglass dropped out of Sir Eustace\u2019s eye\u2014he\nhad opened it so wide to stare at his brother. \u201cWhy, my dear\nfellow,\u201d he ejaculated, \u201cyou don\u2019t mean to tell me you still\ncare for that woman?\u201d\n\nHis brother twisted his great form about uncomfortably in the low chair\nas he answered, \u201cI don\u2019t know, I\u2019m sure, about caring for her,\nbut I don\u2019t like to hear you say such things about her.\u201d\n\nSir Eustace whistled softly. \u201cI am sorry if I offended you, old\nfellow,\u201d he said. \u201cI had no idea that it was still a sore point\nwith you. You must be a faithful people in South Africa. Here the\n\u2018holy feelings of the heart\u2019 are shorter lived. We wear out several\ngenerations of them in twelve years.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n\nBottles did not go to bed till late that night. Long after Sir Eustace\n\u2014who, always careful of his health, never stopped up late if he could\navoid it\u2014had vanished, yawning, his brother sat smoking pipe after\npipe and thinking. He had sat many times in the same way on a wagon-box\nin the African veld, or up where the moonlight turned the falls of the\nZambesi into a rushing cataract of silver, or alone in his tent when\nall the camp was sleeping round him. It was a habit of this queer,\nsilent man to sit and think for hours at night, and arose to a great\nextent from an incapacity to sleep, that was the weak point in his\nconstitution. \n\nAs for his meditations, they were various, but mostly the outcome of a\ncurious speculative side to his nature, which he never revealed to the\noutside world. Dreams of a happiness of which heretofore his hard life\nhad given him no glimpse; semi-mystical, religious meditations upon the\ngreat unknown around us; and grand schemes for the regeneration of\nmankind\u2014all formed part of them. \n\nBut there was one central thought, the fixed star of his mind, round\nwhich all the others continually revolved, taking their light and\ncolour from it, and that was the thought of Madeline Croston, the woman\nto whom he had been engaged. Years and years had passed since he had\nseen her face, and yet it was always present to him. Beyond the\noccasional mention of her name in some society paper\u2014several of\nwhich, by the way, he took in for years and conscientiously searched on\nthe chance of finding it\u2014till this evening he had never even seen it\nor heard it spoken; and yet with all the tenacity of his strong, deep\nnature he clung to her dear memory. That she had left him to marry \nanother man weighed as nothing in the balance of his love. Once she had\nloved him, and thereby he was repaid for the devotion of his life. He\nhad no ambitions. Madeline had been his great ambition; and when that\nhad fallen, all the others had fallen with it, even to the dust. He\nsimply did his duty, whatever it might be, as well as in him lay,\nwithout fear of blame or hope of praise\u2014shunning men, and never, if\nhe could avoid it, speaking to a woman, content to earn his livelihood,\nand for the rest rendered colourless by his secret and pathetic\npassion.    \n\nAnd now it appeared that Madeline was a widow, which meant\u2014and his\nheart beat fast at the thought\u2014that she was a free woman. Madeline\nwas a free woman, and he was within a few minutes\u2019 walk of her. No\nthousands of miles of ocean rolled between them now. He rose, went to\nthe table, and consulted a Red book that lay on it. There was the\naddress\u2014a house in Grosvenor Street. Overcome by an uncontrollable\nimpulse, he went out of the room. Going to his own he found his\nmackintosh and a round hat, and softly left the house. It was then past\ntwo in the morning, pouring with rain, and blowing hard.\n\nHe had been a little in London as a lad and remembered the main\nthoroughfares, so had no great difficulty in finding his way up\nPiccadilly till he came to Park Lane, into which the Red book told him\nGrosvenor Square opened. But to find Grosvenor Street itself was a more\ndifficult matter, and at such a time on such a night there was\nnaturally nobody to ask\u2014least of all a policeman. At last he found\nit, and hurried on down the street with a quickening pulse. What he was\nhurrying to he could not tell, but that over-mastering impulse forced\nhim on quicker and quicker yet. \n\nSuddenly he halted, and examined the number of one of the houses by the\nfaint and struggling light from the nearest lamp. It was _her_ house;\nnow there was nothing between them but a few feet of space and fourteen\ninches of brickwork. He crossed over to the other side of the street,\nand looked up at the house, but could scarcely make it out through the\ndriving rain. There was no light in the house, and no sign of life\nabout the street. But there were both light and life in the heart of\nthis watcher. All the pulses of his blood were astir, keeping time with\nthe commotion of his mind. He stood there in the shadow, gazing at the\nmurky house, heedless of the bitter wind and pelting rain, and felt his\nlife and spirit pass out of his control into an unknown dominion. The\nstorm that raged around him was nothing to the convulsion of his inner\nself in that hour of madness, which was yet happiness. Yet as it had \narisen thus suddenly, so with equal swiftness it died away, and left him\n standing there with a chill sense of folly in his mind and of the\nbitter weather in his body; for on such a night a mackintosh and a\ndress coat were not adapted to keep the most ardent lover warm. He\nshivered, and turning, made his way back to Albany, feeling heartily\nashamed of himself and his midnight expedition, and heartily glad that\nno one knew of it except himself.    \n\nOn the following day Bottles\u2014for convenience\u2019 sake we still call\nhim by his old nickname\u2014was obliged to see a lawyer with reference to\nthe money which he had inherited, and to search for a box which had\ngone astray aboard the steamer; also to buy a tall hat, such as he had\nnot worn for fourteen years; so that between one thing and another it\nwas half-past four before he got back to the Albany. Here he donned the\nnew hat, which did not fit very well, and a new black coat which fitted\nso well that it seemed to cut into his large frame in every possible\ndirection, and departed, furiously struggling with a pair of gloves,\nalso new, for Grosvenor Street. \n\nA quarter of an hour\u2019s walk, for he knew the road this time, brought\nhim to the house. Glancing for a while at the spot where he had stood\non the previous night, he walked up the steps and pulled the bell.\nThough he looked bold enough outwardly\u2014indeed, rather imposing than\notherwise\u2014with his broad shoulders and the great scar on his bronzed\nface, his breast was full of terrors. In these, however, he had not\nmuch time to indulge, for a footman, still decked in the trappings of\nvicarious grief, opened the door with the most startling promptitude,\nand he was ushered upstairs into a small but richly furnished room.\n\nMadeline was not in the room, though to judge from the lace handkerchief\nlying on the floor by a low chair, and the open novel on a little\nwicker table alongside, she had not left it long. The footman departed,\nsaying, in a magnificent undertone, that \u201cher ladyship\u201d should be\ninformed, and left our hero to enjoy his sensations. Being one of those\npeople whom suspense of any sort makes fidgety, he employed himself in\nlooking at the pictures and china, even going so far as to walk to a\npair of very heavy blue velvet curtains that apparently communicated\nwith another room, and peep through them at a much larger apartment of\nwhich the furniture was done up in ghostly-looking bags.\n\nRetreating from this melancholy sight, finally he took up a position on\nthe hearthrug and waited. Would she be angry with him for coming? he\nwondered. Would it recall things she had rather forget? But perhaps she\nhad already forgotten them\u2014it was so long ago. Would she be very much\nchanged? Perhaps he should not know her. Perhaps\u2014but here he happened\nto lift his eyes, and there, standing between the two blue velvet\ncurtains, was Madeline, now a woman in the full splendour of a\nremarkable beauty, and showing as yet, at any rate in that dull\nNovember twilight, no traces of her years. There she stood, her large\ndark eyes fixed upon him with a look of wistful curiosity, her shapely\nlips just parted to speak, and her bosom gently heaving, as though with \ntrouble. \n\nPoor Bottles! One look was enough. There was no chance of his attaining\nthe blessed haven of disillusionment. In five seconds he was farther\nout to sea than ever. When she knew that he had seen her she dropped\nher eyes a little\u2014he saw the long curved lashes appear against her\ncheek, and moved forward.\n\n\u201cHow do you do?\u201d she said softly, extending her slim, cool hand.\n\nHe took the hand and shook it, but for the life of him could think of\nnothing to say. Not one of the little speeches he had prepared would\ncome into his mind. Yet the desperate necessity of saying something\nforced itself upon him. \n\n\u201cHow do you do?\u201d he ejaculated with a jerk.\n\u201cIt\u2014it\u2019s very cold, isn\u2019t it?\u201d\n\nThis remark was such an utter and ludicrous _fiasco_ that Lady Croston\ncould not choose but laugh a little.\n\n\u201cI see,\u201d she said, \u201cthat you have not got over your\nshyness.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is a long while since we met,\u201d he blurted out.\n\n\u201cI am very glad to see you,\u201d was her simple answer. \u201cNow sit\ndown and talk to me; tell me all about yourself. Stop; before you\nbegin\u2014how very curious it is! Do you know I dreamed about you last\nnight\u2014such a curious, painful dream. I dreamed that I was asleep in my\nroom\u2014which indeed I was\u2014and that it was blowing a gale and raining\nin torrents\u2014which I believe it was also\u2014so there is nothing very\nwonderful about that. But now comes the odd part. I dreamed that you\nwere standing out in the rain and wind and yet looking at me as though\nyou saw me. I could not see your face because you were in the dark, but\nI knew it was you. Then I woke up with a start. It was a most vivid\ndream. And now to-day you have come to see me after all these years.\u201d\n\nHe shifted his legs uneasily. Considering the facts of the case, her\ndream frightened him, which was not strange. Fortunately, at that\nmoment the impressive footman arrived with the tea-things and asked\nwhether he should light the lamps.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said Lady Croston; \u201cput some wood on the fire.\u201d\nShe knew that she looked her very best in those half-lights.\n\nThen, when she had given him his tea, delighting him by remembering that\nhe did not like sugar, she fell to drawing him out about the wild life\nhe had been leading.\n\n\u201cBy the way,\u201d she said presently, \u201cperhaps you can tell\nme\u2014a few days ago I bought a book for my boy\u201d\u2014she had two\nchildren\u2014\u201call about brave deeds and that sort of thing, and in it\nthere was a story of a volunteer officer in South Africa (the name was\nnot mentioned) which interested me very much. Did you ever hear of it?\nIt was this: The officer was in command of a fort containing a force\nthat was operating against a native chief. While he was away the chief\nsent a flag of truce down to the fort, which was fired on by some of\nthe volunteers in the fort, because there was a man among the truce\nparty against whom they had a spite. Just afterwards the officer\nreturned, and was very angry that such a thing had been done by\nEnglishmen, whose duty it was, he said, to teach all the world what \nhonour meant. \n\n\u201cNow comes the brave part of the story. Without saying any more, and\nnotwithstanding the entreaties of his men, who knew that in all\nprobability he was going to a death by torture, for he was so brave\nthat the natives had set a great price upon him, wishing to kill him\nand use his body for medicine, which they thought would make them as\nbrave as he was, that officer rode out far away into the mountains with\nonly an interpreter and a white handkerchief, till he came to the\nchief\u2019s stronghold. But when the natives saw him coming, holding up\nhis white handkerchief, they did not fire at him as his men had fired\nat them, because they were so astonished at his bravery that they\nthought he must be mad or inspired. So he came straight on to the walls\nof the stronghold, called to the chief and begged his pardon for what\nhad happened, and then rode away again unharmed. Shortly afterwards,\nthe chief, having captured some of the officer\u2019s volunteers, whom in\nthe ordinary course of affairs he would have tortured to death, sent\nthem back again untouched, with a message to the effect that he would\nshow the English officer that he was not the only man who could behave\n\u2018like a gentleman.\u2019 I should like to know that man. Do you know who\nhe was?\u201d    \n\nBottles looked uncomfortable, as well he might, for it was an incident\nin his own career; but her praise and enthusiasm sent a flush of pride\ninto his face. \n\n\u201cI believe it was some fellow in the Basuto War,\u201d he said,\nprevaricating with peculiar awkwardness.\n\n\u201cOh, then it _is_ a true story?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes\u2014that is, it is partially true. There was nothing heroic about\nit. It was a necessary act if our honour as fair opponents was to\ncontinue to be worth anything.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut who was the man?\u201d she asked, fixing her dark eyes on him\nsuspiciously.\n\n\u201cThe man!\u201d he stammered. \u201cOh, the man\u2014well, in\nshort\u2014\u2014\u201d and he stopped.\n\n\u201cIn short, _George_,\u201d she put in, for the first time calling\nhim by his Christian name, \u201cthat man was _you_, and I am so proud of\nyou, George.\u201d\n\nIt was very hateful to him in a way, for he loathed that kind of\npersonal adulation, even from her. He was so intensely modest he had\nnever even reported the incident in question; it had come out in some\nroundabout way. Yet he could not but feel happy that she had found him\nout. It was a great deal to him to have moved her, and her sparkling\neyes and heaving bosom showed that she was somewhat moved.\n\nHe looked up and his eyes caught hers; the room was nearly dark now, but\nthe bright flame from the wood the servant had put on the fire played\nupon her face. His eyes caught hers, and there was a look in them from\nwhich he could not escape, even if he had wished to do so. She had\nthrown her head back so that the coronet of her glossy hair rested upon\nthe back of her low seat, and thus, without strain, could look straight\nup into his face. He had risen, and was standing by the mantelpiece. A\nslow, sweet smile grew upon the perfect face, and the dark eyes became\nsoft and luminous as though they shone through tears.\n\nIn another second it had ended, as she thought that it would end and had\nintended that it should end. The great strong man was down\u2014yes, down\non his knees before her, one trembling hand catching at the arm of her\nchair, and the other clasping her tapering fingers. There was no\nhesitation or awkwardness about him now, the greatness of his long-pent\npassion inspired him, and he told her all without let or stop\u2014all\nthat he had suffered for her sake throughout those lonely years, all\nhis wretched hopelessness, keeping nothing back.\n\nMuch she did not understand; such a passion as this was too deep to be\nfathomed by her shallow lines, too soaring for her to net in her\nworld-straitened imagination. Once or twice even his exalted notions\nmade her smile: it seemed ridiculous, knowing the world as she did,\nthat any man should think thus of _any_ woman. Nor, when at length he\nhad finished, did she attempt an answer, feeling that her strength lay\nin silence, for she had a poor case. At least, the only argument that\nshe used was a purely feminine one, but perfectly effective. She bent\nher beautiful face towards him, and he kissed it again and again.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n\nThe revulsion of feeling experienced by Bottles as he hurried back to\nthe Albany to dress for dinner\u2014for he was to dine with his brother at\none of his clubs that night\u2014was so extraordinary and overwhelming\nthat it took him, figuratively speaking, off his legs. As yet his mind,\nso long accustomed to perpetual misfortune in this, the ruling passion\nof his life, could not quite grasp his luck. That he should, after all,\nhave won back his lost Madeline seemed altogether too good to be true.\n\nAs it happened, Sir Eustace had asked one or two men to meet him,\namongst them an Under-Secretary for the Colonies, who, having to\nprepare for a severe cross-examination in the House upon South African\naffairs, had jumped at the opportunity of sucking the brains of a man\nthoroughly acquainted with the subject. But the expectant\nUnder-Secretary was destined to meet with a grievous disappointment,\nfor out of Bottles came no good thing. For the most part of the dinner\nhe sat silent, only speaking when directly addressed, and then answering\n so much at random that the Under-Secretary quickly came to the\nconclusion that Sir Eustace\u2019s brother was either a fool or that he\nhad drunk too much.    \n\nSir Eustace himself saw that his brother\u2019s taciturnity had spoilt his\nlittle dinner, and his temper was not improved thereby. He was not\naccustomed to have his dinners spoiled, and felt that, so far as the\nUnder-Secretary was concerned, he had put himself into a false\nposition. \n\n\u201cMy dear George,\u201d he said in a tone of bland exasperation when they\nhad got back to the Albany, \u201cI wonder what can be the matter with you?\nI told Atherleigh that you would be able to post him up thoroughly\nabout all this Bechuana mess, and he could not get a word out of\nyou.\u201d \n\nHis brother absently filled his pipe before he answered:\n\n\u201cThe Bechuanas? Oh, yes, I know all about them. I lived among them for\na year.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen why on earth didn\u2019t you tell him what you knew? You put me in\nrather a false position.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am very sorry, Eustace,\u201d he answered humbly. \u201cI will go\nand see him if you like, and explain the thing to him to-morrow. The\nfact of the matter is, I was thinking of something else.\u201d\n\nSir Eustace interrogated him with a look.\n\n\u201cI was thinking,\u201d he went on slowly, \u201cabout Mad\u2014about\nLady Croston.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d\n\n\u201cI went to see her this afternoon, and I think, I hope, that I am\ngoing to marry her.\u201d\n\nIf Bottles expected that this great news would be received by his elder\nbrother as such news ought to be received\u2014with congratulatory\nrejoicing\u2014he was destined to be disappointed.\n\n\u201cGood heavens!\u201d ejaculated Sir Eustace shortly, letting his\neyeglass drop.\n\n\u201cWhy do you say that, Eustace?\u201d Bottles asked uneasily.\n\n\u201cBecause\u2014because,\u201d answered his brother in the emphatic tone\nwhich was his equivalent for strong language, \u201cyou must be mad to\nthink of such a thing.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy must I be mad?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause you, still a young man, with all your life before you,\ndeliberately propose to tie yourself up to a middle-aged and\n_pass\u00e9e_ woman\u2014she is extremely _pass\u00e9e_ by\ndaylight, let me tell you\u2014who has already treated you like a dog, and\nis burdened with a couple of children, and who, if she marries again,\nwill bring you very little except her luxurious tastes. But I expected\nthis. I thought she would try to catch you with those languishing black\neyes of hers. You are not the first; I know her of old.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf,\u201d said his brother, rising in dudgeon, \u201cyou are going to\nabuse Madeline to me, I think I had better say good night, for we shall\nquarrel\u2014which I would not do for anything.\u201d\n\nSir Eustace shrugged his shoulders. \u201cThose whom the gods wish to\ndestroy they first make mad,\u201d he muttered, as he lit his hand candle.\n\u201cThis is what comes of a course of South Africa.\u201d\n\nBut Sir Eustace was an amenable man. His favourite motto was \u201cLive and\nlet live\u201d; and having given the matter his best consideration during\nthe lengthy process of shaving himself on the following morning, he\ncame to the conclusion, reluctantly enough it must be owned, that it\nwas evident that his brother meant to have his own way, and therefore\nthe best thing to be done was to fall in with his views and trust to\nthe chapter of accidents to bring the thing to naught. Sir Eustace, for\nall his apparent worldliness and cynicism, was a good fellow at heart,\nand cherished a warm affection for his awkward, taciturn brother. He\nalso cherished a great dislike for Lady Croston, whose character he\nthoroughly understood. He saw a good deal of her, it is true, because\nhe happened to be one of the executors of her husband\u2019s will; and \nsince he had come into the baronetcy it had struck him that she had\ndeveloped a considerable partiality for his society. \n\nThe idea of a marriage between his brother and his brother\u2019s old flame\nwas in every way distasteful to him. In the first place, under her\nhusband\u2019s will, Madeline would bring, comparatively speaking,\nrelatively little with her should she marry again. That was one\nobjection. Another, and still more forcible one from Sir Eustace\u2019s\npoint of view, was that at her time of life she was not likely to\npresent the house of Peritt with an heir. Now, Sir Eustace had not the\nslightest intention of marrying. Matrimony was, he considered, an\nexcellent institution, and necessary to the carrying on of the world in\na respectable manner, but it was not one with which he was anxious to \nidentify himself. Therefore, if his brother married at all, it was his\nearnest desire that the union should bring children to inherit the\ntitle and estates. Prominent above both these excellent reasons, stood\nhis intense distrust and dislike of the lady. \n\nNeeds must, however, when the devil (by whom he understood Madeline)\ndrives. He was not going to quarrel with his only brother and\npresumptive heir because he chose to marry a woman who was not to his\ntaste. So he shrugged his shoulders\u2014having finished his shaving and\nhis reflections together\u2014and determined to put the best possible face\non his disappointment.\n\n\u201cWell, George,\u201d he said to his brother at breakfast, \u201cso you\nare going to marry Lady Croston?\u201d\n\nBottles looked up surprised. \u201cYes, Eustace,\u201d he answered, \u201cif\nshe will marry me.\u201d\n\nSir Eustace glanced at him. \u201cI thought the affair was settled,\u201d he\nsaid.\n\nBottles rubbed his big nose reflectively as he answered, \u201cWell, no. I\ndon\u2019t think that marriage was mentioned. But I suppose she means to\nmarry me. In short, I don\u2019t see how she could mean anything else.\u201d\n\nSir Eustace breathed more freely, guessing what had taken place. So\nthere was as yet no actual engagement.\n\n\u201cWhen are you going to see her again?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo-morrow. She is engaged all to-day.\u201d\n\nHis brother took out a pocket-book and consulted it. \u201cThen I am more\nfortunate than you are,\u201d he said; \u201cI have an appointment with Lady\nCroston this evening after dinner. Don\u2019t look jealous, old fellow, it\nis only about some executor\u2019s business. I think I told you that I am\none of her husband\u2019s executors, blessings on his memory. She is a\npeculiar woman, your _inamorata_, and swears that she won\u2019t trust her\nlawyers, so I have to do all the dirty work myself, worse luck. You had\nbetter come too.\u201d\n\n\u201cShan\u2019t I be in the way?\u201d asked Bottles doubtfully,\nstruggling feebly against the bribe.\n\n\u201cIt is evident, my dear fellow, that you cannot be _de trop_. I\nshall present my papers for signature and vanish. You ought to be\ninfinitely obliged to me for giving you such a chance. We will consider\nthat settled. We will dine together, and go round to Grosvenor Street\nafterwards.\u201d \n\nBottles agreed. Could he have seen the little scheme that was dawning in\nhis brother\u2019s brain, perhaps he would not have assented so readily.\n\nWhen her old lover went away reluctantly to dress for dinner on the\nprevious day, Madeline Croston sat down to have a good think, and the\nresult was not entirely satisfactory. It had been very pleasant to see\nhim, and his passionate declaration of enduring love thrilled her\nthrough and through, and even woke an echo in her own breast. It made\nher proud to think that this man, who, notwithstanding his ugliness and\nawkwardness, was yet, her instinct told her, worth half a dozen smart\nLondon fashionables, still loved her and had never ceased to love her.\nPoor Bottles! she had been very fond of him once. They had grown up\ntogether, and it really gave her some cruel hours when a sense of what \nshe owed to herself and her family had forced her to discard him. \n\nShe remembered, as she sat there this evening, how at the time she had\nwondered if it was worth it\u2014if life would not be brighter and happier\nif she made up her mind to fight through it by her honest lover\u2019s\nside. Well, she could answer that question now. It had been well worth\nit. She had not liked her husband, it is true; but on the whole she had\nenjoyed a good time and plenty of money, and the power that money\nbrings. The wisdom of her later days had confirmed the judgment of her\nyouth. As regards Bottles himself, she had soon got over that fancy;\nfor years she had scarcely thought of him, till Sir Eustace told her\nthat he was coming home, and she had that curious dream about him. Now\nhe had come and made love to her, not in a civilised, philandering sort\nof a way, such as she was accustomed to, but with a passion and a fire\nand an utter self-abandonment which, while it thrilled her nerves with\na curious sensation of mingled pleasure and pain, not unlike that she\nonce experienced at a Spanish bull-fight when she saw a man tossed, was\nyet extremely awkward to deal with and rather alarming. \n\nNow, too, the old question had come up again, and what was to be done?\nShe had sheered him off the question that afternoon, but he would want\nto marry her, she felt sure of that. If she consented, what were they\nto live on? Her own juncture, in the event of her re-marriage, would be\ncut down to a thousand a year\u2014she had four now, and was pinched on\nthat; and as for Bottles, she knew what he had\u2014eight hundred, for Sir\nEustace had told her. He was next heir to the baronetcy, it was true,\nbut Sir Eustace looked as though he would live for ever, and besides,\nhe might marry after all. \n\nFor a few minutes Lady Croston contemplated the possibility of existing\non eighteen hundred a year, and what Chancery would give her as\nguardian of her children in a poky house somewhere down at Kensington.\nSoon she realised that the thing was not to be done.\n\n\u201cUnless Sir Eustace will do something for him, it is very clear that\nwe cannot be married,\u201d she said to herself with a sigh. \u201cHowever, I\nneed not tell him that just yet, or he will be rushing back to South\nAfrica or something.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n\nSir Eustace and his brother carried out their programme. They dined\ntogether, and about half-past nine drove round to Grosvenor Street.\nHere they were shown into the drawing-room by the solemn footman, who\ninformed Sir Eustace that her ladyship was upstairs in the nursery and\nhad left a message for him that she would be down presently.\n\n\u201cAll right; there is no hurry,\u201d said Sir Eustace absently, and the\nman went downstairs.\n\nBottles, being nervous, was fidgeting round the room as usual, and his\nbrother, being very much at ease, was standing with his back to the\nfire, and staring about him. Presently his glance lit upon the blue\nvelvet curtains which shut off the room they were in from the larger\nsaloon that had not been used since Lady Croston\u2019s widowhood, and an\nidea which had been floating about in his brain suddenly took definite\nshape and form. He was a prompt man, and in another second he had acted\nup to that idea. \n\n\u201cGeorge,\u201d he said in a quick, low voice, \u201clisten to me, and\nfor Heaven\u2019s sake don\u2019t interrupt for a minute. You know that I do\nnot like the idea of your marrying Lady Croston. You know that I think\nher worthless\u2014no, wait a minute, don\u2019t interrupt\u2014I am only saying\nwhat I think. You believe in her; you believe that she is in love with\nyou and will marry you, and have good reason to believe it, have you\nnot?\u201d \n\nBottles nodded.\n\n\u201cVery well. Supposing that I can show you within half an hour that she\nis perfectly ready to marry somebody else\u2014myself, for\ninstance\u2014would you still believe in her?\u201d\n\nBottles turned pale. \u201cThe thing is impossible,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cThat is not the question. Would you still believe in her, and would\nyou still marry her?\u201d\n\n\u201cGreat heavens! no.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood. Then I tell you what I will do for you, and it will perhaps\ngive you some idea of how deeply I feel in the matter; I will sacrifice\nmyself.\u201d\n\n\u201cSacrifice yourself?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes. I mean that I will this very evening propose to Madeline Croston\nunder your nose, and I bet you five pounds she accepts me.\u201d\n\n\u201cImpossible,\u201d said Bottles again. \u201cBesides, if she did you\ndon\u2019t want to marry her.\u201d\n\n\u201cMarry her! No, indeed. _I_ am not mad. I shall have to get out of\nthe scrape as best I can\u2014always supposing my view of the lady is\ncorrect.\u201d\n\n\u201cExcuse me,\u201d said Bottles with a gasp, \u201cbut I must ask\nyou\u2014in short, have _you_ ever been on affectionate terms with\nMadeline?\u201d\n\n\u201cNever, on my honour.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd yet you think she will marry you if you ask her, even after what\ntook place with me yesterday?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I do.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause, my boy,\u201d replied Sir Eustace with a cynical smile,\n\u201cI have eight thousand a year and you have eight hundred\u2014because I\nhave a title and you have none. That you may happen to be the better\nfellow of the two will, I fear, not make up for those deficiencies.\u201d\n\nBottles with a motion of his hand waved his brother\u2019s courtly\ncompliment away, as it were, and turned on him with a set white face.\n\n\u201cI do not believe you, Eustace,\u201d he said. \u201cDo you understand\nwhat you make out this lady to be when you say that she could kiss me\nand tell me that she loved me\u2014for she did both yesterday\u2014and\npromise to marry you to-day?\u201d\n\nSir Eustace shrugged his shoulders. \u201cI think that the lady in question\nhas done something like that before, George.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat was years ago and under pressure. Now, Eustace, you have made\nthis charge; you have upset my faith in Madeline, whom I hope to marry,\nand I say, prove it\u2014prove it if you can. I will stake my life you\ncannot.\u201d \n\n\u201cDon\u2019t agitate yourself, my dear fellow; and as to betting, I would\nnot risk more than a fiver. Now oblige me by stepping behind those\nvelvet curtains\u2014_a la_ \u2018School for Scandal\u2019\u2014and listening\nin perfect silence to my conversation with Lady Croston. She does not\nknow that you are here, so she will not miss you. You can escape when\nyou have had enough of it, for there is a door through on to the\nlanding, and as we came up I noticed that it was ajar. Or if you like\nyou can appear from between the curtains like an infuriated husband on\nthe stage and play whatever _role_ occasion may demand. Really the\nsituation has a laughable side. I should enjoy it immensely if _I_ were\nbehind the curtain too. Come, in you go.\u201d \n\nBottles hesitated. \u201cI can\u2019t hide,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cNonsense; remember how much depends on it. All is fair in love or\nwar. Quick; here she comes.\u201d\n\nBottles grew flurried and yielded, scarcely knowing what he did. In\nanother second he was in the darkened room behind the curtains, through\nthe crack in which he could command the lighted scene before him, and\nSir Eustace was back at his place before the fire, reflecting that in\nhis ardour to extricate his brother from what he considered a suicidal\nengagement he had let himself in for a very pretty undertaking. Suppose\nshe accepted him, his brother would be furious, and he would probably\nhave to go abroad to get out of the lady\u2019s way; and suppose she\nrefused him, he would look a fool. \n\nMeanwhile the sweep, sweep of Madeline\u2019s dress as she passed down the\nstairs was drawing nearer, and in another instant she was in the room.\nShe was beautifully dressed in silver-grey silk, plentifully trimmed\nwith black lace, and cut square back and front so as to show her\nrounded shoulders. She wore no ornaments, being one of the few women\nwho are able to dispense with them, unless indeed a red camellia pinned\nin the front of her dress can be called an ornament. Bottles, shivering\nwith shame and doubt behind his curtain, marked that red camellia, and\nwondered of what it reminded him. \n\nThen in a flash it all came back, the scene of years and years ago\u2014the\nverandah in far-away Natal, with himself sitting on it, an open letter\nin his hand and staring with all his eyes at the camellia bush covered\nwith bloom before him. It seemed a bad omen to him\u2014that camellia in\nMadeline\u2019s bosom. Next second she was speaking.\n\n\u201cOh, Sir Eustace, I owe you a thousand apologies. You must have been\nhere for quite ten minutes, for I heard the front door bang when you\ncame. But my poor little girl Effie is ill with a sore throat which has\nmade her feverish, and she absolutely refused to go to sleep unless she\nhad my hand to hold.\u201d \n\n\u201cLucky Effie,\u201d said Sir Eustace, with his politest bow; \u201cI am\nsure I can understand her fancy.\u201d\n\nAt the moment he was holding Madeline\u2019s hand himself, and gave\nemphasis to his words by communicating the gentlest possible pressure\nto it as he let it fall. But knowing his habits, she did not take much\nnotice. Comparative strangers when Sir Eustace shook hands with them\nwere sometimes in doubt whether he was about to propose to them or to\nmake a remark upon the weather. Alas! it had always been the weather.\n\n\u201cI come as a man of business besides, and men of business are\naccustomed to being kept waiting,\u201d he went on.\n\n\u201cYou are really very good, Sir Eustace, to take so much trouble about\nmy affairs.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is a pleasure, Lady Croston.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, Sir Eustace, you do not expect me to believe that,\u201d laughed\nthe radiant creature at his side. \u201cBut if you only knew how I detest\nlawyers, and what you spare me by the trouble you take, I am sure you\nwould not grudge me your time.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo not talk of it, Lady Croston. I would do a great deal more than\nthat for you; in fact,\u201d here he dropped his voice a little, \u201cthere\nare few things that I would not do for you, _Madeline_.\u201d\n\nShe raised her delicate eyebrows till they looked like notes of\ninterrogation, and blushed a little. This was quite a new style for Sir\nEustace. Was he in earnest? she wondered. Impossible!\n\n\u201cAnd now for business,\u201d he continued; \u201cnot that there is much\nbusiness; as I understand it, you have only to sign this document, which\nI have already witnessed, and the stock can be transferred.\u201d\n\nShe signed the paper which he had brought in a big envelope almost\nwithout looking at it, for she was thinking of Sir Eustace\u2019s remark,\nand he put it back in the envelope.\n\n\u201cIs that all the business, Sir Eustace?\u201d she asked.\n\n\u201cYes; quite all. Now I suppose that as I have done my duty I had\nbetter go away.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish to Heaven he would!\u201d groaned Bottles to himself behind the\ncurtains. He did not like his brother\u2019s affectionate little ways or\nMadeline\u2019s tolerance of them.\n\n\u201cIndeed, no; you had better sit down and talk to me\u2014that is, if you\nhave got nothing pleasanter to do.\u201d\n\nWe can guess Sir Eustace\u2019s prompt reply and Madeline\u2019s smiling\nreception of the compliment, as she seated herself in a low chair\u2014that\nsame low chair she had occupied the day before.\n\n\u201cNow for it,\u201d said Sir Eustace to himself. \u201cI wonder how\nGeorge is getting on?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy brother tells me that he came to see you yesterday,\u201d he began.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d she answered, smiling again, but wondering in her heart how\nmuch he had told him.\n\n\u201cDo you find him much changed?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot much.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou used to be very fond of each other once, if I remember right?\u201d\nsaid he.\n\n\u201cYes, once.\u201d\n\n\u201cI often think how curious it is,\u201d went on Sir Eustace in a\nreflective tone, \u201cto watch the various changes time brings about,\nespecially where the affections are concerned. One sees children at the\nseaside making little mounds of sand, and they think, if they are very\nyoung children, that they will find them there to-morrow. But they\nreckon without their tide. To-morrow the sands will have swept as level\nas ever, and the little boys will have to begin again. It is like that\nwith our youthful love affairs, is it not? The tide of time comes up\nand sweeps them away, fortunately for ourselves. Now in your case, for\ninstance, it is, I think, a happy thing for both of you that your\nsandhouse did not last. Is it not?\u201d \n\nMadeline sighed softly. \u201cYes, I suppose so,\u201d she answered.\n\nBottles, behind the curtains, rapidly reviewed the past, and came to a\ndifferent conclusion.\n\n\u201cWell, that is all done with,\u201d said Sir Eustace cheerfully.\n\nMadeline did not contradict him; she did not see her way to doing so\njust at present.\n\nThen came a pause.\n\n\u201cMadeline,\u201d said Sir Eustace presently, in a changed voice,\n\u201cI have something to say to you.\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed, Sir Eustace,\u201d she answered, lifting her eyebrows again in\nher note of interrogation manner, \u201cwhat is it?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is this, Madeline\u2014I want to ask you to be my wife.\u201d\n\nThe blue velvet curtains suddenly gave a jump as though they were\nassisting at a spiritualistic _s\u00e9ance_.\n\nSir Eustace looked at the curtains with warning in his eye.\n\nMadeline saw nothing.\n\n\u201cReally, Sir Eustace!\u201d\n\n\u201cI dare say I surprise you,\u201d went on this ardent lover; \u201cmy\nsuit may seem a sudden one, but in truth it is nothing of the sort.\u201d\n\n\u201cO Lord, what a lie!\u201d groaned the distracted Bottles.\n\n\u201cI thought, Sir Eustace,\u201d murmured Madeline in her sweet low voice,\n\u201cthat you told me not very long ago that you never meant to marry.\u201d\n\n\u201cNor did I, Madeline, because I thought there was no chance of my\nmarrying you\u201d (\u201cwhich I am sure I hope there isn\u2019t,\u201d he\nadded to himself). \u201cBut\u2014but, Madeline, I love you.\u201d\n(\u201cHeaven forgive me for that!\u201d) \u201cListen to me, Madeline,\nbefore you answer,\u201d and he drew his chair closer to her own. \u201cI\nfeel the loneliness of my position, and I want to get married. I think\nthat we should suit each other very well. At our age, now that our\nyouth is past\u201d (he could not resist this dig, at which Madeline\nwinced), \u201cprobably neither of us would wish to marry anybody much our\njunior. I have had many opportunities lately, Madeline, of seeing the\nbeauty of your character, and to the beauties of your person no man\ncould be blind. I can offer you a good position, a good fortune, and\nmyself, such as I am. Will you take me?\u201d and he laid his hand upon\nhers and gazed earnestly into her eyes. \n\n\u201cReally, Sir Eustace,\u201d she murmured, \u201cthis is so very\nunexpected and sudden.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Madeline, I know it is. I have no right to take you by storm in\nthis way, but I trust you will not allow my precipitancy to weight\nagainst me. Take a little time to think it over\u2014a week say\u201d (\u201cby\nwhich time,\u201d he reflected, \u201cI hope to be in Algiers.\u201d) \u201cOnly,\nif you can, Madeline, tell me that I may hope.\u201d\n\nShe made no immediate answer, but, letting her hands fall idly in her\nlap, looked straight before her, her beautiful eyes fixed upon vacancy,\nand her mind amply occupied in considering the pros and cons of the\nsituation. Then Sir Eustace took heart of grace; bending down, he\nkissed the Madonna-like face. Still there was no response. Only very\ngently she pushed him from her, whispering:\n\n\u201cYes, Eustace, I think I shall be able to tell you that you may\nhope.\u201d\n\nBottles waited to see no more. With set teeth and flaming eyes he crept,\na broken man, through the door that led on to the landing, crept down\nthe stairs and into the hall. On the pegs were his hat and coat; he\ntook them and passed into the street.\n\n\u201cI have done a disgraceful thing,\u201d he thought, \u201cand I have\npaid for it.\u201d\n\nSoftly as the door closed Sir Eustace heard it; and then he too left the\nroom, murmuring, \u201cI shall soon come for my answer, Madeline.\u201d\n\nWhen he reached the street his brother was gone.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\n\nSir Eustace did not go straight back to the Albany, but, calling a\nhansom, drove down to his club.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d he thought to himself, \u201cI have played a good many\ncurious parts in my time, but I never had to do with anything like this\nbefore. I only hope George is not much cut up. His eyes ought to be\nopened now. What a woman\u2014\u2014\u201d but we will not repeat Sir\nEustace\u2019s comments upon the lady to whom he was nominally half\nengaged. \n\nAt the club Sir Eustace met his friend the Under-Secretary, who had just\nescaped from the House. Thanks to information furnished to him that\nmorning by Bottles, who had been despatched by Sir Eustace, in a\npenitent mood, to the Colonial Office to see him, he had just succeeded\nin confusing, if not absolutely in defeating, the impertinent people\nwho \u201cwanted to know.\u201d Accordingly he was jubilant, and greeted Sir\nEustace with enthusiasm, and they sat talking together for an hour or\nmore. \n\nThen Sir Eustace, being, as has been said, of early habits, made his way\nhome. \n\nIn his sitting-room he found his brother smoking and contemplating the\nfire. \n\n\u201cHullo, old fellow!\u201d he said, \u201cI wish you had come to the\nclub with me. Atherleigh was there, and is delighted with you. What you\ntold him this morning enabled him to smash up his enemies, and as the\nsmashing lately has been rather the other way he is jubilant. He wants\nyou to go to see him again to-morrow. Oh, by the way, you made your\nescape all right. I only hope I may be as lucky. Well, what do you\nthink of your lady-love now?\u201d \n\n\u201cI think,\u201d said Bottles slowly\u2014\u201cthat I had rather not\nsay what I do think.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, you are not going to marry her now, I suppose?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I shall not marry her.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is all right; but I expect that it will take _me_ all I know\nto get clear of her. However, there are some occasions in life when one\nis bound to sacrifice one\u2019s own convenience, and this is one of them.\nAfter all, she is really very pretty in the evening, so it might have\nbeen worse.\u201d\n\nBottles winced, and Sir Eustace took a cigarette.\n\n\u201cBy the way, old fellow,\u201d he said, as he settled himself in his\nchair again, \u201cI hope you are not put out with me over this. Believe\nme, you have no cause to be jealous; she does not care a hang about me,\nit is only the title and the money. If a fellow who was a lord and had\na thousand a year more proposed to her to-morrow she would chuck me up\nand take him.\u201d \n\n\u201cNo; I am not angry with you,\u201d said Bottles; \u201cyou meant\nkindly, but I am angry with myself. It was not honourable to\u2014in short,\nplay the spy upon a woman\u2019s weakness.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are very scrupulous,\u201d yawned Sir Eustace; \u201call means are\nfair to catch a snake. Dear me, I nearly exploded once or twice; it was\nbetter than [yawn] any [yawn] play,\u201d and Sir Eustace went to sleep.\n\nBottles sat still and stared at the fire.\n\nPresently his brother woke up with a start. \u201cOh, you are there, are\nyou, Bottles?\u201d (it was the first time he had called him by that name\nsince his return.) \u201cOdd thing; but do you know that I was dreaming\nthat we were boys again, and trout-fishing in the old Cantlebrook\nstream. I dreamt that I hooked a big fish, and you were so excited that\nyou jumped right into the river after it\u2014you did once, you\nremember\u2014and the river swept you away and left me on the bank; most\nunpleasant dream. Well, good night, old boy. I vote we go down and have\nsome trout-fishing together in the spring. God bless you!\u201d\n\n\u201cGood night,\u201d said Bottles, gazing affectionately after his\nbrother\u2019s departing form.\n\nThen he too rose and went to his bedroom. On a table stood a battered\nold tin despatch-box\u2014the companion of all his wanderings. He opened\nit and took from it first a little bottle of chloral.\n\n\u201cAh,\u201d he said, \u201cI shall want you if I am to sleep\nagain.\u201d Setting the bottle down, he extracted from a dirty envelope\none or two letters and a faded photograph. It was the same that used to\nhang over his bed in his quarters at Maritzburg. These he destroyed,\ntearing them into small bits with his strong brown fingers.\n\nThen he shut the box and sat down at the table to think, opening the\nsluice-gates of his mind and letting the sea of misery flow in, as it\nwere. \n\nThis, then, was the woman whom he had forgiven and loved and honoured\nfor all these years. This was the end and this the reward of all his\ndevotion and of all his hopes. And he smiled in bitterness of his pain\nand self-contempt. \n\nWhat was he to do? Go back to South Africa? He had not the heart for it.\nLive here? He could not. His existence had been wasted. He had lost his\ndelusion\u2014the beautiful delusion of his life\u2014and he felt as though\nit would drive him mad, as the man whose shadow left him went mad.\n\nHe rose from the chair, opened the window, and looked out. It was a\nclear frosty night, and the stars shone brightly. For some while he\nstood looking at them; then he undressed himself. Generally, for he was\ndifferent to most men, he said his prayers. For years, indeed, he had\nnot missed doing so, any more than he had missed praying Providence in\nthem to watch over and bless his beloved Madeline. But to-night he said\nno prayers. He could not pray. The three angels, Faith, Hope, and Love,\nwhose whisperings heretofore had been ever in his ears, had taken wing,\nand left him as he played the eavesdropper behind those blue velvet\ncurtains. \n\nSo he swallowed his sleeping-draught and laid himself down to rest.\n\nWhen Madeline Croston heard the news at a dinner-party on the following\nevening she was much shocked, and made up her mind to go home early. To\nthis day she tells the story as a frightful warning against the\ncareless use of chloral. \n\n\n\n\nLITTLE FLOWER\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\nThe Rev. Thomas Bull was a man of rock-like character with no more\nimagination than a rock. Of good birth, good abilities, good principles\nand good repute, really he ought to have been named not Thomas but John\nBull, being as he was a typical representative of the British middle\nclass. By nature a really religious man and, owing to the balance of\nhis mind, not subject to most of the weaknesses which often afflict\nothers, very early in his career he determined that things spiritual\nwere of far greater importance than things temporal, and that as\nEternity is much longer than Time, it was wise to devote himself to the \nspiritual and leave the temporal to look after itself. There are quite a\nnumber of good people, earnest believers in the doctrine of rewards and\npunishments, who take that practical view. With such \n\n\u201cRepaid a thousand-fold shall be,\u201d\n\nis a favourite line of a favourite hymn.\n\nIt is true that his idea of the spiritual was limited. Perhaps it would\nbe more accurate to say that it was unlimited, since he accepted\nwithout doubt or question everything that was to be found within the\nfour corners of what he had been taught. As a boy he had been noted for\nhis prowess in swallowing the largest pills.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t think,\u201d he would say to his weaker brothers and\nsisters, especially one of the latter whose throat seemed to be so\nconstituted that she was obliged to cut up these boluses with a pair of\nscissors, \u201cDon\u2019t think, but gulp \u2018em down!\u201d\n\nSo it was with everything else in life; Thomas did not think, he gulped\nit down. Thus in these matters of faith, if other young folk ventured\nto talk of \u201callegory\u201d or even to cast unhallowed doubts upon such\npoints as those of the exact method of the appearance on this earth of\ntheir Mother Eve, or whether the sun actually did stand still at the\nbidding of Joshua, or the ark, filled with countless pairs of living\ncreatures, floated to the top of Ararat, or Jonah, defying digestive\njuices, in fact abode three days in the interior of a whale, Thomas\nlooked on them with a pitying smile and remarked that what had been\nwritten by Moses and other accepted prophets was enough for him.\n\nIndeed a story was told of him when he was a boy at school which well\nexemplified this attitude. By way of lightening their labours a very\nnoted geologist who had the art of interesting youthful audiences and\nmaking the rocks of the earth tell their own secular story, was brought\nto lecture to his House. This eminent man lectured extremely well. He\nshowed how beyond a doubt the globe we inhabit, one speck of matter,\nfloating in the sea of space, had existed for millions upon millions of\nyears, and how by the evolutionary changes of countless ages it had at\nlength become fitted to be the habitation of men, who probably\nthemselves had lived and moved and had their being there for at least a\nmillion of years, perhaps much longer. \n\nAt the conclusion of the entrancing story the boys were invited to ask\nquestions. Thomas Bull, a large, beetle-browed youth, rose at once and\ninquired of their titled and aged visitor, a man of world-wide\nreputation, why he thought it funny to tell them fairy tales. The old\ngentleman, greatly interested, put on his spectacles, and while the\nrest of the school gasped and the head master and other pedagogues\nstared amazed, studied this strange lad, then said:\n\n\u201cI am outspoken myself, and I like those who speak out when they do so\nfrom conviction; but, my young friend, why do you consider that\nI\u2014well, exaggerate?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause the Bible says so,\u201d replied Thomas unabashed. \u201cThe\nBible tells us that the world was made in six days, not in millions of\nyears, and that the sun and the moon and the stars were put in the sky\nto light it; also that man was created four thousand years B.C.\nTherefore, either you are wrong, sir, or the Bible is, and _I_ prefer\nthe Bible.\u201d \n\nThe eminent scientist took off his spectacles and carefully put them\naway, remarking:\n\n\u201cMost logical and conclusive. Pray, young gentleman, do not allow any\nhumble deductions of my own or others to interfere with your\nconvictions. Only I believe it was Archbishop Ussher, not the Bible,\nwho said that the world began about 4,000 B.C. I think that one day you\nmay become a great man\u2014in your own way. Meanwhile I might suggest\nthat a certain sugaring of manners sweetens controversy.\u201d\n\nAfter this no more questions were asked, and the meeting broke up in\nconfusion. \n\nFrom all of which it will be gathered that since none of us is perfect,\neven in Thomas there were weak points. For instance, he had what is\nknown as a \u201ctemper,\u201d also he was blessed with a good idea of\nhimself and his own abilities, and had a share of that intolerance by\nwhich this is so often accompanied.\n\nIn due course Thomas Bull became a theological student. Rarely was there\nsuch a student. He turned neither to left nor right, worked eight hours\na day when he did not work ten, and took the highest possible degrees\non every subject. Then he was ordained. About this time he chanced to\nhear a series of sermons by a Colonial bishop that directed his mind\ntowards the mission-field. This was after he had served as a deacon in\nan East End parish and become acquainted with savagery in its western\nform. \n\nHe consulted with his friends and his superiors as to whether his true\ncall were not to the far parts of the earth. Unanimously they answered\nthat they thought so; so unanimously that a mild fellow-labourer whom\nhe bullied was stung to the uncharitable remark that almost it looked\nas though they wanted to be rid of him. Perhaps they did; perhaps they\nheld that for energy so gigantic there was no fitting outlet in this\nnarrow land. \n\nBut as it chanced there was another to be consulted, for by this time\nthe Rev. Thomas Bull had become engaged to the only daughter of a\ndeceased London trader\u2014in fact, he had been a shop-keeper upon a\nlarge scale. This worthy citizen had re-married late in life, choosing,\nor being chosen by a handsome and rather fashionable lady of a somewhat\nhigher class than his own, who was herself a widow. By her he had no\nissue, his daughter, Dorcas, being the child of his first marriage. Mr.\nHumphreys, for that was his name, made a somewhat peculiar will,\nleaving all his fortune, which was considerable, to his young widow,\ncharged, however, with an annuity of 300 pounds settled on his daughter \nDorcas. \n\nOn the day before his death, however, he added a codicil which angered\nMrs. Humphreys very much when she saw it, to the effect that if she\nre-married, three-fourths of the fortune were to pass to Dorcas at\nonce, and that she or her heirs were ultimately to receive it all upon\nthe decease of his wife. \n\nThe result of these testamentary dispositions was that one house,\nalthough it chanced to be large, proved too small to hold Mrs.\nHumphreys and her stepdaughter, Dorcas. The latter was a mild and timid\nlittle creature with a turned-up nose, light-coloured fluffy hair and\nan indeterminate mouth. Still there was a degree of annoyance and\nfashionable scorn at which her spirit rose. The end of it was that she\nwent to live on her three hundred a year and to practise good works in\nthe East End, being laudably determined to make a career for herself,\nwhich she was not in the least fitted to do. \n\nThus it was that Dorcas came into contact with the Rev. Thomas Bull.\nFrom the first time she saw her future husband he dominated and\nfascinated her. He was in the pulpit and really looked very handsome\nthere with his burly form, his large black eyes and his determined,\nclean-shaven face. Moreover, he preached well in his own vigorous\nfashion. \n\nOn this occasion he was engaged in denouncing the vices and pettiness of\nmodern woman\u2014upper-class modern woman\u2014of whom he knew nothing at\nall, a topic that appealed to an East End congregation. He showed how\nworthless was this luxurious stamp of females, what a deal they thought\nof dress and of other more evil delights. He compared them to the\nFlorentines whom Savonarola (in his heart Thomas saw resemblances\nbetween himself and that great if narrow man) scourged till they wept\nin repentance and piled up their jewels and fripperies to be burned.\n\nWhat do they do with their lives, he asked. Is there one in ten thousand\nof them who would abandon her luxuries and go forth to spread the light\nin the dark places of earth, or would even pinch herself to support\nothers who did? And so on for thirty minutes.\n\nDorcas, listening and, reflecting on her stepmother, thought how\nmarvellously true it all was. Had he known her personally, which so far\nas she was aware was not the case, the preacher could not have\ndescribed her better. Also it was certain that Mrs. Humphreys and her\nfriends had not the slightest intention of spreading any kind of light,\nunless it were that of their own eyes and jewels, or of going anywhere\nto do so, except perhaps to Monte Carlo in the spring. \n\nHow noble too was the picture he painted of the life of self-sacrifice\nand high endeavour that lay open to her sex. She would like to lead\nthat higher life, being in truth a good-hearted little thing full of\nrighteous impulses; only unfortunately she did not know how, for her\npresent mild and tentative efforts had been somewhat disappointing in\ntheir fruits. \n\nThen an inspiration seized her; she would consult Mr. Bull.\n\nShe did so, with results that might have been anticipated. Within three\nmonths she and her mentor were engaged and within six married.\n\nIt was during those fervid weeks of engagement that the pair agreed, not\nwithout a little hesitation upon the part of Dorcas, that in due course\nhe would become a missionary and set forth to convert the heathen in\nwhat he called \u201cBlackest Africa.\u201d First, however, there was much to\nbe done; he must go through a long course of training; he must acquaint\nhimself with various savage languages, such as Swahili and Zulu, and so\nmust she. \n\nOh! how poor Dorcas, who was not very clever and had no gift of tongues\ncame to loathe those barbaric dialects. Still she worked away at them\nlike a heroine, confining herself ultimately, with a wise and practical\nprescience, to learning words and sentences that dealt with domestic\naffairs, such as \u201cLight the fire.\u201d \u201cPut the kettle on to boil.\u201d\n\u201cSister, have you chopped the wood?\u201d \u201cCease making so much noise\nin the kitchen-hut.\u201d \u201cWake me if you hear the lion eating our\ncow.\u201d And so forth.\n\nFor more than a year after their marriage these preliminaries continued\nwhile Thomas worked like a horse, though it is true that Dorcas\nslackened her attention to Swahili and Zulu grammar in the pressure of\nmore immediate affairs. Especially was this so after the baby was born,\na girl, flaxen-haired like her mother, whom Thomas christened by the\nname of Tabitha, and who in after years became the \u201cLittle Flower\u201d\nof this history. Then as the time of departure drew near another thing\nhappened. Her stepmother, Mrs. Humphreys, insisted upon going to a ball\nin Lent, where she caught a chill that developed into inflammation of\nthe lungs and killed her. \n\nThe result of this visitation of Providence, as Thomas called it, was\nthat Dorcas suddenly found herself a rich woman with an income of quite\n2000 pounds a year, for her father had been wealthier than she knew.\nNow temptation took hold of her. Why, she asked herself, should Thomas\ndepart to Africa to teach black people, when with his gifts and her\nmeans he could stop at home comfortably and before very long become a\nbishop, or at the least a dean? \n\nGreatly daring, she propounded this matter to her husband, only to find\nthat she might better have tried to knock down a stone wall with her\nhead than induce him to change his plans. He listened to her\npatiently\u2014unless over-irritated, a perfectly exasperating patience\nwas one of his gifts\u2014then said in a cold voice that he was astonished\nat her. \n\n\u201cWhen you were poor,\u201d he went on, \u201cyou vowed yourself to this\nservice, and now because we are rich you wish to turn traitor and become\na seeker after the fleshpots of Egypt. Never let me hear you mention\nthe matter again.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut there is the baby,\u201d she exclaimed. \u201cAfrica is hot and\nmight not agree with her.\u201d\n\n\u201cHeaven will look after the baby,\u201d he answered.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s just what I am afraid of,\u201d wailed Dorcas.\n\nThen they had their first quarrel, in the course of which, be it\nadmitted, she said one or two spiteful things. For instance, she\nsuggested that the real reason he wished to go abroad was because he\nwas so unpopular with his brother clergymen at home, and especially\nwith his superiors, to whom he was fond of administering lectures and\nreproofs. \n\nIt ended, of course, in her being crushed as flat as is a broken-winged\nbutterfly that comes in the path of a garden roller. He stood up and\ntowered over her.\n\n\u201cDorcas,\u201d he said, \u201cdo what you will. Stay here if you wish,\nand enjoy your money and your luxuries. I sail on the first of next\nmonth for Africa. Because you are weak, do I cease to be strong?\u201d\n\n\u201cI think not,\u201d she replied, sobbing, and gave in.\n\nSo they sailed, first class\u2014this was a concession, for he had intended\nto go third\u2014but without a nurse; on that point he stood firm.\n\n\u201cYou must learn to look after your own children,\u201d he said, a remark\nat which she made a little face that meant more than he knew.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\nThe career of Mr. and Mrs. Bull during the next eight years calls for\nbut little comment. Partly because Tabitha was delicate at first and\nmust be within reach of doctors, they lived for the most part at\nvarious coast cities in Africa, where Thomas worked with his usual\nfervour and earnestness, acquiring languages which he learned to speak\nwith considerable perfection, though Dorcas never did, and acquainting\nhimself thoroughly with the local conditions in so far as they affected\nmissionary enterprise. \n\nHe took no interest in anything else, not even in the history of the\nnatives, or their peculiar forms of culture, since for the most part\nthey have a secret culture of their own. All that was done with, he\nsaid, a turned page of the black and barbarous past; it was his\nbusiness to write new things upon a new sheet. Perhaps it was for this\nreason that Thomas Bull never really came to understand or enter into\nthe heart of a Zulu, or a Basuto, or a Swahili, or indeed of any\ndark-skinned man, woman, or child. To him they were but brands to be\nsnatched from the burning, desperate and disagreeable sinners who must\nbe saved, and he set to work to save them with fearful vigour. \n\nHis wife, although her vocabulary was still extremely limited and much\neked out with English or Dutch words, got on much better with them.\n\n\u201cYou know, Thomas,\u201d she would say, \u201cthey have all sorts of\nfine ideas which we don\u2019t understand, and are not so bad in their way,\nonly you must find out what their way is.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have found out,\u201d he said grimly; \u201cit is a very evil way,\nthe way of destruction. I wish you would not make such a friend of that\nsly black nurse-girl who tells me a lie once out of every three times\nshe opens her mouth.\u201d\n\nFor the rest Dorcas was fairly comfortable, as with their means she was\nalways able to have a nice house in whatever town they might be\nstationed, where she could give tennis parties and even little lunches\nand dinners, that is if her husband chanced to be away, as often he was\nvisiting up-country districts, or taking the duty there for another\nmissionary who was sick or on leave. Indeed, in these conditions she\ncame to like Africa fairly well, for she was a chilly little thing who\nloved its ample, all-pervading sunshine, and made a good many friends,\nespecially among young men, to whom her helplessness and rather forlorn\nlittle face appealed. \n\nThe women, too, liked her, for she was kindly and always ready to help\nin case of poverty or other distresses. Luckily, in a way, she was her\nown mistress, since her fortune came to her unfettered by any marriage\nsettlements; moreover, it was in the hands of trustees, so that the\nprincipal could not be alienated. Therefore she had her own account and\nher own cheque-book and used her spare money as she liked. More than\none poor missionary\u2019s wife knew this and called her blessed, as\nthrough her bounty they once again looked upon the shores of England or\nwere able to send a sick child home for treatment. But of these good\ndeeds Dorcas never talked, least of all to her husband. If he suspected\nthem, after one encounter upon some such matter, in which she developed\na hidden strength and purpose, he had the sense to remain silent. \n\nSo things went on for years, not unhappily on the whole, for as they\nrolled by the child Tabitha grew acclimatised and much stronger. By\nthis time, although Dorcas loved her husband as all wives should,\nobeying him in all, or at any rate in most things, she had come to\nrecognise that he and she were very differently constituted. Of course,\nshe knew that he was infinitely her superior, and indeed that of most\npeople. Like everybody else she admired his uprightness, his fixity of\npurpose and his devouring energy and believed him to be destined to\ngreat things. Still, to tell the truth, which she often confessed with\npenitence upon her knees, on the whole she felt happier, or at any rate\nmore comfortable, during his occasional absences to which allusion has \nbeen made, when she could have her friends to tea and indulge in human\ngossip without being called \u201cworldly.\u201d \n\nIt only remains to add that her little girl Tabitha, a name she\nshortened into Tabbie, was her constant joy, especially as she had no\nother children. Tabbie was a bright, fair-haired little thing, clever,\ntoo, with resource and a will of her own, an improved edition of\nherself, but in every way utterly unlike her father, a fact that\nsecretly annoyed him. Everybody loved Tabitha, and Tabitha loved\neverybody, not excepting the natives, who adored her. Between the\nKaffirs and Tabitha there was some strong natural bond of sympathy.\nThey understood one another. \n\nAt length came the blow.\n\nIt happened thus. Not far from the borders of Zululand but in the\ncountry that is vaguely known as Portuguese Territory, was a certain\ntribe of mixed Zulu and Basuto blood who were called the Ama-Sisa, that\nis, the People of the Sisa. Now \u201cSisa\u201d in the Zulu tongue has a\npeculiar meaning which may be translated as \u201cSent Away.\u201d It is said\nthat they acquired this name because the Zulu kings when they exercised\ndominion over all that district were in the habit of despatching large\nherds of the royal cattle to be looked after by these people, or in\ntheir own idiom to be _sisa\u2019d_, i.e. agisted, as we say in English of\nstock that are entrusted to another to graze at a distance from the\nowner\u2019s home. \n\nSome, however, gave another reason. In the territory of this tribe was a\ncertain spot of which we shall hear more later, where these same Zulu\nkings were in the habit of causing offenders against their law or\ncustoms to be executed. Such also, like the cattle, were \u201csent\naway,\u201d and from one of these two causes, whichever it may have been,\nor perhaps from both, the tribe originally derived its name.\n\nIt was not a large tribe, perhaps there were three hundred and fifty\nheads of families in it, or say something under two thousand souls in\nall, descendants, probably, of a mild, peace-loving, industrious Basuto\nstock on to which had been grafted a certain number of the dominant,\nwarlike Zulus who perhaps had killed out the men and possessed\nthemselves of the Basuto women and their cattle. The result was that\namong this small people there were two strains, one of the bellicose\ntype, who practically remained Zulus, and the other of the milder and\nmore progressive Basuto stamp, who were in the majority. \n\nAmong these Sisas missionaries had been at work for a number of years,\nwith results that on the whole were satisfactory. More than half of\nthem had been baptised and were Christians of a sort; a church had been\nbuilt; a more or less modern system of agriculture had been introduced,\nand the most of the population wore trousers or skirts, according to\nsex. Recently, however, trouble had arisen over the old question of\npolygamy. The missionaries would not tolerate more than one wife, while\nthe Zulu section of the tribe insisted upon the old prerogative of\nplural marriage. \n\nThe dispute had ended in something like actual fighting, in the course\nof which the church and the school were burnt, also the missionary\u2019s\nhouse. Because of these troubles this excellent man was forced to camp\nout in the wet, for it was the rainy season, and catching a chill, died\nsuddenly of heart-failure following rheumatic fever just after he had\nmoved into his new habitation, which consisted of some rather glorified\nnative huts. \n\nSubsequently to these events there came a petition from the chief of the\ntribe, a man called Kosa, whose name probably derived from the Zulu\nword Koos, which means chief or captain, addressed to the Church\nauthorities and asking that a new Teacher might be sent to take the\nplace of him who had died, also to rebuild the church and the school.\nIf this were not done, said the messengers, the tribe would relapse\ninto heathenism, since the Zulu and anti-Christian party headed by an\nold witch-doctor, named Menzi, was strong and gaining ground. \n\nThis was an appeal that could not be neglected, since hitherto the Sisa\nhad been a spot of light in a dark place, as most of the surrounding\npeoples, who were of the old Zulu stock, remained heathen. If that\nlight went out the chances were that they would continue to be so,\nwhereas if it went on burning another result might be hoped, since from\na spark a great fire may come. Therefore earnest search was made for a\nsuitable person to deal with so difficult and delicate a situation,\nwith the result that the lot fell upon the Rev. Thomas Bull.\n\nOnce his name was mentioned, it was acclaimed by all. He was the very\nman, they said, bold, determined, filled with a Jesuit\u2019s fiery zeal\n(although it need scarcely be explained that he hated Jesuits as a cat\ndoes mustard), one whom no witch-doctors would daunt, one, moreover,\nwho being blessed with this world\u2019s goods would ask no pay, but on\nthe contrary would perhaps contribute a handsome sum towards the\nre-building of the church. This, it may be explained, as the Mission\nitself scarcely possessed a spare penny with which to bless itself, was\na point that could not be overlooked. \n\nSo Thomas was sent for and offered the post, after its difficulties and\ndrawbacks had been fairly but diplomatically explained to him. He did\nnot hesitate a minute, or at any rate five minutes; he took it at once,\nfeeling that his call had come; also that it was the very thing for\nwhich he had been seeking. Up in that secluded spot in Portuguese\nTerritory he would, he reflected, be entirely on his own, a sort of\nlittle bishop with no one to interfere with him, and able to have his\nown way about everything, which in more civilised regions he found he\ncould not do. Here a set of older gentlemen, who were always appealing\nto their experience of natives, continually put a spoke into his wheel,\nbringing his boldest plans to naught. There it would be different. He\nwould fashion his own wheel and grind the witch-doctor with his \nfollowing to dust beneath its iron rim. He said that he would go at\nonce, and what is more, he promised a donation of 1,000 pounds towards\nthe rebuilding of the church and other burnt-out edifices. \n\n\u201cThat is very generous of Bull,\u201d remarked the Dean when he had left\nthe room.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said another dignitary, \u201conly I think that the\nundertaking must be looked upon as conditional. I understand, well, that\nthe money belongs to Mrs. Bull.\u201d\n\n\u201cProbably she will endorse the bond as she is a liberal little\nwoman,\u201d said the Dean, \u201cand in any case our brother Bull, if I may\nbe pardoned a vulgarism, will knock the stuffing out of that pestilent\nMenzi and his crowd.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you think so?\u201d asked the other. \u201cI am not so certain. I\nhave met old Menzi, and he is a tough nut to crack. He may \u2018knock the\nstuffing\u2019 out of him. Bull, sound as he is, and splendid as he is in\nmany ways, does not, it seems to me, quite understand natives, or that\nit is easier to lead them than to drive them.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps not,\u201d said the Dean, \u201cbut in the case of these Sisas\nit is rather a matter of Hobson\u2019s choice, isn\u2019t it?\u201d\n\nSo this affair was settled, and in due course Thomas received his letter\nof appointment as priest-in-charge of the Sisa station.\n\nOn his arrival home a few days later, where he was not expected till the\nfollowing week, Thomas was so pre-occupied that he scarcely seemed to\nnotice his wife\u2019s affectionate greeting; even the fact that both she\nand Tabitha were arrayed in smart and unmissionary-like garments\nescaped him. Dorcas also looked pre-occupied, the truth being that she\nhad asked a few young people, officers and maidens of the place (alas!\nas it chanced, among them were no clergy or their wives and daughters),\nto play tennis that afternoon and some of them to stop to supper. Now\nshe was wondering how her austere spouse would take the news. He might\nbe cross and lecture her; when he was both cross and lectured the\ncombination was not agreeable. \n\nA few formal enquiries as to health and a certain sick person were made\nand answered. Dorcas assured him that they were both quite well,\nTabitha especially, and that she had visited the afflicted woman as\ndirected. \n\n\u201cAnd how was she, dear?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know, dear,\u201d she answered. \u201cYou see, when I\ngot to the house I met Mrs. Tomley, the Rector\u2019s wife, at the door,\nand she said, rather pointedly I thought, that she and her husband were\nlooking after the case, and though grateful for the kind assistance you\nhad rendered, felt that they need not trouble us any more, as the\npatient was a parishioner of theirs.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid they?\u201d said Thomas with a frown. \u201cConsidering all\nthings\u2014well, let it be.\u201d\n\nDorcas was quite content to do so, for she was aware that her\nhusband\u2019s good-heartedness was apt to be interpreted as poaching by\nsome who should have known better, and that in fact the ground was\ndangerous. \n\n\u201cI have something to tell you,\u201d she began nervously, \u201cabout\nan arrangement I have made for this afternoon.\u201d\n\nMr. Bull, who was drinking a tumbler of water\u2014he was a teetotaller and\nnon-smoker, and one of his grievances was that his wife found it\ndesirable to take a little wine for the Pauline reason\u2014set it down\nand said: \n\n\u201cNever mind your afternoon arrangements, my dear; they are generally\nof a sort that can be altered, for _I_ have something to tell _you_,\nsomething very important. My call has come.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour call, dear. What call? I did not know that you expected\nanyone\u2014and, by the way\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nShe got no further, for her husband interrupted.\n\n\u201cDo not be ridiculous, Dorcas. I said call\u2014not caller, and I use\nthe word in its higher sense.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! I understand, forgive me for being so stupid. Have they made you\na bishop?\u201d\n\n\u201cA bishop\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cI mean a dean, or an archdeacon, or something!\u201d she went on\nconfusedly.\n\n\u201cNo, Dorcas, they have not. I could scarcely expect promotion as yet,\nthough it is true that I thought\u2014but never mind, others no doubt have\nbetter claims and longer service. I have, however, been honoured with a\nmost responsible duty.\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed, dear. What duty?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have been nominated priest-in-charge of the Sisa Station.\u201d\n\n\u201cO-oh! and where is that? Is it anywhere near Durban, or perhaps\nMaritzburg?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t exactly know at present, though I understand that it is\nabout six days\u2019 trek from Eshowe in Zululand, but over the border in\nPortuguese territory. Indeed, I am not sure that one can trek all the\nway, at least when the rivers are in flood. Then it is necessary to\ncross one of them in a basket slung upon a rope, or if the river is not\ntoo full, in a punt. At this season the basket is most used.\u201d\n\n\u201cGreat Heavens, Thomas! do you propose to put me and Tabbie in a\nbasket, like St. Paul, and did you remember that we have just taken on\nthis house for another year?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course I do. The families of missionaries must expect to face\nhardships, from which it is true circumstances have relieved you up to\nthe present. It is therefore only right that they should begin now,\nwhen Tabitha has become as strong as any child of her age that I know.\nAs for the house, I had forgotten all about it. It must be relet, or\nfailing that we must bear the loss, which fortunately we can well\nafford.\u201d \n\nDorcas looked at him and said nothing because words failed her, so he\nwent on hurriedly.\n\n\u201cBy the way, love, I have taken a slight liberty with your name. It\nappears that the church at Sisa, which I understand was quite a nice one\nbuilt with subscriptions obtained in England by one of my predecessors\nwho chanced to have influence or connections at home, has been recently\nburnt down together with the mission-house. Now the house can wait,\nsince, of course, we can make shift for a year or two in some native\nhuts, but obviously we must have a church, and as the Society is\noverdrawn it cannot help in the matter. Under these circumstances I\nventured to promise a gift of 1,000 pounds, which it is estimated will\ncover the re-erection of both church and house.\u201d \n\nHe paused awaiting a reply, but as Dorcas still said nothing, continued.\n\n\u201cYou will remember that you told me quite recently that you found you\nhad 1,500 pounds to your credit, therefore I felt quite sure that you\nwould not grudge 1,000 pounds of it to enable me to fulfil this\nduty\u2014this semi-divine duty.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d said Dorcas. \u201cAs a matter of fact I intended to spend\nthat 1,000 pounds, or much of it, otherwise. There are some people here\nwhom I wanted to help, but fortunately I had not mentioned this to\nthem, so they will have to do without the money and their holiday; also\nthe children cannot be sent to school. And, by the way, how is Tabbie\nto be educated in this far-away place?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am sorry, dear, but after all private luxuries, including that of\nbenevolence, must give way to sacred needs, so I will write to the Dean\nthat the money will be forthcoming when it is needed. As for\nTabitha\u2019s education, of course we will undertake it between us, at\nany rate for the next few years.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Thomas, since you have passed your word, or rather my word, the\nmoney will be forthcoming. But meanwhile, if you can spare me the odd\n500 pounds, I suggest that I should stay here with Tabbie, who could\ncontinue to attend the college as a day-scholar, while you get us some\nplace ready to live in among these savages, the Sneezers, or whatever\nthey are called.\u201d \n\n\u201cMy dear,\u201d answered Thomas, \u201cconsider what you ask. You are\nin perfect health and so is our child. Would it not, then, be a\ndownright scandal that you should stop here in luxury while your\nhusband went out to confront grave difficulties among the Sisas\u2014not\nthe Sneezers\u2014for I may tell you at once that the difficulties are\nvery grave? There is a noted witch-doctor amongst this people named\nMenzi, who, I understand, is suspected of having burned down the\nmission-house, and probably the church also, because he said that it\nwas ridiculous that an unmarried man like the late priest should have\nso large a dwelling to live alone. This, of course, was but a cunning\nexcuse for his savage malevolence, but if another apparent celibate \narrives, he might repeat the argument and its application. Also often\nthese barbarians consider that a man who is not married _must_ be\ninsane! Therefore it is absolutely necessary that you and the child\nshould be present with me from the first.\u201d \n\n\u201cOh! is it?\u201d said Dorcas, turning very pink. \u201cWell, I am\nsorry to say that just now it is absolutely necessary that I should be\nabsent from you, since I have a tennis party this afternoon\u2014the\nofficers of the garrison are coming and about half a dozen girls\u2014and\nI must go to arrange about the tea.\u201d\n\n\u201cA tennis party! A tennis party to those godless officers and probably\nequally godless girls,\u201d exclaimed her husband. \u201cI am ashamed of\nyou, Dorcas, you should be occupied with higher things.\u201d\n\nThen at last the worm turned.\n\n\u201cDo you know, Thomas,\u201d she answered, springing up, \u201cthat I am\ninclined to be ashamed of you too, who I think should be occupied in\nkeeping your temper. You have accepted some strange mission without\nconsulting me, you have promised 1,000 pounds of my money without\nconsulting me, and now you scold me because I have a few young people\nto play tennis and stop to supper. It is unchristian, it is\nuncharitable, it is\u2014too bad!\u201d and sitting down again she burst into\ntears. \n\nThe Rev. Thomas who by now was in a really regal rage, not knowing what\nto say or do, glared about him. By ill-luck his eye fell upon a box of\ncigarettes that stood upon the mantelpiece.\n\n\u201cWhat are those things doing here?\u201d he asked. \u201cI do not\nsmoke, so they cannot be for me. Is our money\u2014I beg pardon\u2014your\nmoney which is so much needed in other directions to be wasted in\nproviding such unnecessaries\u2014for officers and\u2014idle girls?\nOh\u2014bless it all,\u201d and seizing the offending cigarettes he hurled\nthem through the open window, a scattered shower of white tubes which\nsome Kaffirs outside instantly proceeded to collect.\n\nThen he rushed from the house, and Dorcas went to get ready for her\nparty. But first she sent a servant to buy another box of cigarettes.\nIt was her first act of rebellion against the iron rule of the Rev.\nThomas Bull. \n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n\nIn the end, as may be guessed, Dorcas, who was a good and faithful\nlittle soul, accompanied her husband to the Sisa country. Tabitha went\nalso, rejoicing, having learned that in this happy land there was no\nschool. Dorcas found the journey awful, but really, had she but known\nit, it was most fortunate, indeed ideal. Her husband, who was a little\nanxious on the point, had made the best arrangements that were possible\non such an expedition. \n\nThe wagon in which they trekked was good and comfortable, and although\nit was still the rainy season, fortune favoured them in the matter of\nweather, so that when they came to the formidable river, they were\nactually able to trek across it with the help of some oxen borrowed\nfrom a missionary in that neighbourhood, without having recourse to the\ndreaded rope-slung basket, or even to the punt. \n\nBeyond the river they were met by some Christian Kaffirs of the Sisa\ntribe, who were sent by the Chief Kosa to guide them through the\nhundred miles or so of difficult country which still lay between them\nand their goal. These men were pleasant-spoken but rather depressed\nfolk, clad in much-worn European clothes that somehow became them very\nill. They gave a melancholy account of the spiritual condition of the\nSisas, who since the death of their last pastor, they said, were\nrelapsing rapidly into heathenism under the pernicious influence of\nMenzi, the witch-doctor. Therefore Kosa sent his greetings and prayed\nthe new Teacher to hurry to their aid and put a stop to this state of \nthings. \n\n\u201cFear nothing,\u201d said Thomas in a loud voice, speaking in Zulu,\nwhich by now he knew very well. \u201cI _will_ put a stop to it.\u201d\n\nThen they asked him his name. He replied that it was Thomas Bull, which\nafter the native fashion, having found out what bull meant in English,\nthey translated into a long appellation which, strictly rendered, meant\n_Roaring-Leader-of-the-holy-Herd_. When he found this out, Thomas flatly\ndeclined any such unchristian title, with the result that, anxious to\noblige, they christened him \u201cTombool,\u201d and as \u201cTombool\u201d\nthenceforward he was known. (Dorcas objected to this name, but Tabitha\nremarked sagely that at any rate it was better than \u201cTomfool.\u201d)\n\nThis was to his face, but behind his back they called him _Inkunzi_,\nwhich means bull, and in order to keep up the idea, designated poor\nDorcas _Isidanda_, that being interpreted signified a gentle-natured\ncow. To Tabitha they gave a prettier name, calling her _Imba_ or Little\nFlower. \n\nAt first Dorcas was quite pleased with her title, which sounded nice,\nbut when she came to learn what it meant it was otherwise.\n\n\u201cHow can you expect me, Thomas, to live among a people who call me\n\u2018a mild cow\u2019?\u201d she asked indignantly.\n\n\u201cNever mind, my dear,\u201d he answered. \u201cIn their symbolical way\nthey are only signifying that you will feed them with the milk of human\nkindness,\u201d a reply which did not soothe her at all. In fact, of the\nthree the child alone was pleased, because she said that \u201cOpening\nFlower\u201d was a prettier name than Tabbie, which reminded her of cats.\n\nThenceforward, following a track, for it could not be called a road,\nthey advanced slowly, first over a mountain pass on the farther side of\nwhich the wagon nearly upset, and then across a great bush-clad plain\nwhere there was much game and the lions roared round them at night,\nnecessitating great fires to frighten them away. These lions terrified\nDorcas, a town-bred woman who had never seen one of them except in the\nZoo, so much that she could scarcely sleep, but oddly enough Tabitha\nwas not disturbed by them. \n\n\u201cGod will not let us be eaten by a lion, will He, Father?\u201d she\nasked in her simple faith.\n\n\u201cCertainly not,\u201d he answered, \u201cand if the brute tries to do\nso I shall shoot it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019d rather trust to God, Father, because you know you can never\nhit anything,\u201d replied Tabitha.\n\nFortunately, however, it never became necessary for Thomas to show his\nskill as a marksman, for when they got through the bushveld there were\nno more lions. \n\nOn the fourth day after they left the river they found themselves upon\ngentle sloping veld that by degrees led them upwards to high land where\nit was cold and healthy and there were no mosquitoes. For two days they\ntrekked over these high lands, which seemed to be quite uninhabited\nsave by herds of feeding buck, till at length they attained their\ncrest, and below them saw a beautiful mimosa-clad plain which the\nguides told them was the Sisa Country. \n\n\u201cThe Promised Land at last! It makes me feel like another Moses,\u201d\nsaid Thomas, waving his arm.\n\n\u201cOh, isn\u2019t it lovely!\u201d exclaimed Tabitha.\n\n\u201cYes, dear,\u201d answered her mother, \u201cbut\u2014but I\ndon\u2019t see any town.\u201d\n\nThis indeed was the case because there was none, the Sisa kraal, for it\ncould not be dignified by any other name, being round a projecting\nridge and out of sight. For the rest the prospect was very fair, being\npark-like in character, with dotted clumps of trees among which ran, or\nrather wound, a silver stream that seemed to issue from between two\nrocky koppies in the distance. \n\nThese koppies, the guides told them, were the gates of Sisa Town. They\nneglected to add that it lay in a hot and unhealthy hill-ringed hollow\nbeyond them, the site having originally been chosen because it was\ndifficult to attack, being only approachable through certain passes.\nTherefore it was a very suitable place in which to kraal the cattle of\nthe Zulu kings in times of danger. That day they travelled down the\ndeclivity into the plain, where they camped. By the following afternoon\nthey came to the koppies through which the river ran, and asked its\nname. The answer was _Ukufa_. \n\n\u201c_Ukufa?_\u201d said Thomas. \u201cWhy, that means Death.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d was the reply, \u201cbecause in the old days this river was\nthe River of Death where evil-doers were sent to be slain.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow horrible!\u201d said Dorcas, for unfortunately she had overheard\nand understood this conversation.\n\nBy the side of the river was a kind of shelf of rock that was used as a\nroad, and over this they bumped in their wagon, till presently they\nwere past the koppies and could see their future home beyond. It was a\nplain some miles across, and entirely surrounded by precipitous hills,\nthe river entering it through a gorge to the north. In the centre of\nthis plain was another large koppie of which the river _Ukufa_, or\nDeath, washed one side. Around this koppie, amid a certain area of\ncultivated land, stood the \u201ctown\u201d of the Christian branch of the\nSisa. It consisted of groups of huts, ten or a dozen groups in all, set\non low ground near the river, which suggested that the population might\nnumber anything between seven hundred and a thousand souls. \n\nAt the time that our party first saw it the sun was sinking, and had\ndisappeared behind the western portion of the barricade of hills.\nTherefore the valley, if it may be so called, was plunged in a gloom\nthat seemed almost unnatural when compared with the brilliant sky\nabove, across which the radiant lights of an African sunset already\nsped like arrows, or rather like red and ominous spears of flame.\n\n\u201cWhat a dreadful place!\u201d exclaimed Dorcas. \u201cIs our home to be\nhere?\u201d\n\n\u201cI suppose so,\u201d answered Thomas, who to tell the truth for once was\nhimself somewhat dismayed. \u201cIt does look a little gloomy, but after\nall it is very sheltered, and home is what one makes it,\u201d he added\nsententiously.\n\nHere the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the Chief and\nsome of the Christian portion of the Sisa tribe, who having been warned\nof its approach by messenger, to the number of a hundred and fifty or\nso had advanced to meet the party.\n\nThey were a motley crowd clad in every kind of garment, ranging from a\nmoth-eaten General\u2019s tunic to practically nothing at all. Indeed, one\ntall, thin fellow sported only a battered helmet of rusty steel that had\ndrifted here from some European army, a _moocha_ or waistbelt of\ncatskins, and a pair of decayed tennis-shoes through which his toes\nappeared. With them came what were evidently the remains of the church\nchoir, when there was a church, for they wore dirty fragments of\nsurplices and sang what seemed to be a hymn tune to the strains of a\ndecadent accordion. \n\nThe tune was long and ended in a kind of howl like to that of a\ndisappointed jackal. When at length it was finished the Chief Kosa\nappeared. He was a middle-aged man, become prematurely old because he\nhad lived too fast in his pre-Christian days, or so report said. Now he\nhad a somewhat imbecile appearance, for his fingers twitched and when\nhe spoke his mouth jerked up at the corners; also he kept looking over\nhis shoulder as though he were afraid of something behind him.\nAltogether he inspired Thomas with no confidence. Whatever else he\nmight be, clearly he was not a staff for a crusader to lean upon.\n\nStill he came forward and made a very nice speech, as a high-bred native\nnoble, such as he was, can almost invariably do. With many pious\nexpressions he welcomed the new Teacher, saying that he and his people,\nthat is those of them who were Christians, would do their best to make\nhim happy. \n\nThomas thanked him in appropriate language, adding that he on his part\nwould do his best to promote their welfare and to save their souls.\n\nKosa replied that he was glad to hear it, because these needed saving,\nsince most of the Sisa people were now servants of the devil. Since the\nlast _Umfundisi_, or Teacher died, they had been walking the road to\nhell at a very great pace, marrying many wives, drinking gin and\npractising all kinds of witchcraft under the guidance of the _Isanusi_\nor doctor, Menzi. This man, he added, had burned down the church and\nthe mission-house by his magic, though these had seemed to be destroyed\nby lightning. \n\nWith a proud gesture Thomas announced that he would soon settle Menzi\nand all his works, and that meanwhile, as the darkness was coming on,\nhe would be glad if Kosa would lead them to the place where they were\nto sleep. \n\nSo they started, the accordion-man, playing execrably, leading the way,\nand trekked for about a mile and a half till they came to the koppie in\nthe centre of the plain, reaching it by following the left bank of the\nriver that washed its western face.\n\nPassing between a number of tumbled walls built of loose stones, that\nonce in bygone generations had sheltered the cattle of Chaka and other\nZulu kings, they reached a bay in the side of the koppie that may have\ncovered four acres of ground. Here by the edge of the river, but\nstanding a little above it, were the burnt-out ruins of a building that\nby its shape had evidently been a church, and near to it other ruins of\na school and of a house which once was the mission-station.\n\nAs they approached they heard swelling from within those cracked and\nmelancholy walls the sound of a fierce, defiant chant which Thomas\nguessed must be some ancient Zulu war-song, as indeed it was. It was a\nvery impressive song, chanted by many people, which informed the\nlisteners that those who sung it were the King\u2019s oxen, born to kill\nthe King\u2019s enemies, and to be killed for the King, and so forth; a\ndeep-noted, savage song that thrilled the blood, at the first sound of\nwhich the accordion gave a feeble wail and metaphorically expired.\n\n\u201cIsn\u2019t that beautiful music, Father. I never heard anything like\nthat before,\u201d exclaimed Tabitha.\n\nBefore Thomas could answer, out from the ruined doorway of the Church\nissued a band of men\u2014there might have been a hundred of them\u2014clad\nin all the magnificent panoply of old-time Zulu warriors, with tall\nplumes upon their heads, large shields upon their arms, kilts about\ntheir middles, and fringes of oxtails hanging from their knees and\nelbows. They formed into a double line and advanced, waving\nbroad-bladed assegais. Then at a signal they halted by the wagon and\nuttered a deep-throated salute. \n\nIn front of their lines was a little withered old fellow who carried\nneither shield nor spear, but only a black rod to which was bound the\ntail of a _wildebeeste_. Except for his _moocha_ he was almost naked,\nand into his grey hair was woven a polished ring of black gum, from\nwhich hung several little bladders. Upon his scraggy neck was a\nnecklace of baboon\u2019s teeth and amulets, whilst above the _moocha_ was\ntwisted a snake that might have been either alive or stuffed.\n\nHis face, though aged and shrunken, was fine-featured and full of\nbreeding, while his hands and feet were very small; his eyes were\nbrooding, the eyes of a mystic, but when his interest was excited their\nglance was as sharp as a bradawl. Just now it was fixed on Thomas, who\nfelt as if it were piercing him through and through. The owner of the\neyes, as Thomas guessed at once, was Menzi, a witch-doctor very famous\nin those parts. \n\n\u201cWhy are these men armed with spears? It is against the law for\nKaffirs to carry spears,\u201d he said to the Chief.\n\n\u201cThis is Portuguese Territory; there is no law in Portuguese\nTerritory,\u201d answered Kosa with a vacant stare.\n\n\u201cThen we might be all murdered here and no notice taken,\u201d exclaimed\nThomas.\n\n\u201cYes, Teacher. Many people have been murdered here: my father was\nmurdered, and I dare say I shall be.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho by?\u201d\n\nKosa made no answer, but his vacant eyes rested for a little while on\nMenzi. \n\n\u201cGood God! what a country,\u201d said Thomas to himself, looking at\nDorcas who was frightened. Then he turned to meet Menzi, who was\nadvancing towards them.\n\nCasting a glance of contempt at Kosa, of whom he took no further notice,\nMenzi saluted the new-comers by lifting his hand above his head. Then\nwith the utmost politeness he drew a snuff-box fashioned from the tip\nof a buffalo-horn out of a slit in the lobe of his left ear, extracted\nthe wooden stopper and offered Thomas some snuff.\n\n\u201cThank you, but I do not take that nastiness,\u201d said Thomas.\n\nMenzi sighed as though in disappointment, and having helped himself to a\nlittle, re-stoppered the horn and thrust it back into the lobe of his\near. Next he said, speaking in a gentle and refined voice:\n\n\u201cGreeting, Teacher, who, the messengers tell us, are called Tombool in\nyour own language and in ours _Inkunzi_. A good name, for in truth you\nlook like a bull. I am glad to see that you are made much more robust\nthan was the last Teacher, and therefore will live longer in this place\nthan he did. Though as for the lady-teacher\u2014\u2014\u201d and he glanced at\nthe delicate-looking Dorcas.\n\nThomas stared at this man, to whom already he had taken a strong\ndislike. Then moved thereto either by a very natural outburst of\ntemper, or perchance by a flash of inspiration, he replied:\n\n\u201cYes, I shall live longer than did my brother, who died here and has\ngone to Heaven, and longer I think than you will.\u201d\n\nThis personal remark seemed to take Menzi aback; indeed for a moment he\nlooked frightened. Recovering himself, however, he said:\n\n\u201cI perceive, Teacher Tombool, that like myself you are a witch-doctor\nand a prophet. At present I do not know which of us will live the\nlonger, but I will consult my Spirits and tell you afterwards.\u201d\n\n\u201cPray do not trouble to do so on my account, for I do not believe in\nyour Spirits.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course you do not, Teacher. No doctor believes in another\ndoctor\u2019s Spirits, since each has his own, and there are more Spirits\nthan there are doctors. Teacher Tombool, I greet you and tell you at\nonce that we are at war over this matter of Spirits. This tribe,\nTeacher, is a cleft log, yes, it is split into two. The Chief there,\nKosa, sits on one half of the log with his Christians; I sit on the\nother half with the rest, who are as our fathers were. So if you wish\nto fight I shall fight with such weapons as I have. No, do not look at\nthe spears\u2014not with spears. But, if you leave me and my following\nalone, we shall leave you alone. If you are wise I think that you will\ndo well to walk your own road and suffer us to walk ours.\u201d \n\n\u201cOn the contrary,\u201d answered Thomas, \u201cI intend that all the\nSisa people shall walk one road, the road that leads to Heaven.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs it so, Teacher?\u201d Menzi replied with a mysterious smile.\n\nThen he turned his head and looked at the darkling river that just here,\nwhere it ran beneath an overhanging ledge of the koppie, was very deep\nand still. Thomas felt that there was a world of meaning in his look,\nthough what it might be he did not know. Suddenly he remembered that\nthis river was named Death. \n\nAfter Menzi had looked quite a long while, once more he saluted as\nthough in farewell, searching the faces of the three white people,\nespecially Tabitha\u2019s, with his dreamy eyes and, letting them fall,\nsearching the ground also. Near to where he stood grew a number of veld\nflowers, such as appear in their glory after the rains in Africa. Among\nthese was a rare and beautiful white lily. This lily Menzi plucked, and\nstepping forward, presented it to Tabitha, saying:\n\n\u201cA flower for the Flower! A gift to a child from one who is\nchildless!\u201d\n\nHer father saw and meditated interference. But he was too late; Tabitha\nhad already taken the lily and was thanking Menzi in his own tongue,\nwhich she knew well enough, having been brought up by Zulu nurses. He\nsmiled at her, saying: \n\n\u201cAll Spirits, black or white, love flowers.\u201d\n\nThen for a third time he saluted, not the others, but Tabitha, with more\nheartiness than before, and turning, departed, followed by his spearmen,\nwho also saluted Tabitha as they filed in front of her.\n\nIt was a strange sight to see these great plumed men lifting their broad\nspears to the beautiful bright-haired child who stood there holding the\ntall white lily in her hand as though it were a sceptre.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n\nWhen Menzi and his company had departed, vanishing round the corner of\nthe koppie, Thomas again asked the Chief where they were to sleep, an\nurgent matter as darkness was now approaching.\n\nKosa answered with his usual vagueness that he supposed in the hut where\nthe late Teacher had died after the mission-house was burnt down. So\nthey trekked on a little way, passing beneath the shelf of rock that\nhas been mentioned as projecting from that side of the koppie which\noverhung the stream, where there was just room for a wagon to travel\nbetween the cliff and the water. \n\n\u201cWhat a dark road,\u201d said Dorcas, and one of the Christian natives\nwho understood some English, having been the body-servant of the late\nmissionary\u2014it was he with the accordion\u2014replied in Zulu:\n\n\u201cYes, Lady; this rock is called the Rock of Evildoers, because once\nthose accused of witchcraft and others were thrown from it by the order\nof the King, to be eaten by the crocodiles in that pool. But,\u201d he\nadded, brightening up, \u201cdo not be afraid, for there are no more Zulu\nkings and we have hunted away the crocodiles, though it is true that\nthere are still plenty of wizards who ought to be thrown from the\nrock,\u201d and he looked over his shoulder in the direction Menzi had\ntaken, adding in a low voice, \u201cYou have just seen the greatest of\nthem, Lady.\u201d \n\n\u201cHow horrible!\u201d said Dorcas for the second time.\n\nA few yards farther on they emerged from this tunnel-like roadway and\nfound themselves travelling along the northern face of the koppie.\nHere, surrounded by a fence, stood the Chief\u2019s kraal, and just\noutside of it a large, thatched hut with one or two smaller huts at its\nback. It was a good hut of its sort, being built after the Basuto\nfashion with a projecting roof and a doorway, and having a kind of\nverandah floored with beaten lime. \n\n\u201cThis was the Teacher\u2019s house,\u201d said Kosa as the wagon halted.\n\n\u201cI should like to look inside it at once,\u201d remarked Dorcas\ndoubtfully, adding, \u201cWhy, what\u2019s that?\u201d and she pointed to a\nsuspicious-looking, oblong mound that was covered with weeds, over which\nshe had almost stumbled.\n\n\u201cThat is the grave of the late Teacher, Lady. We buried him here\nbecause Menzi\u2019s people took up the bones of those who were in the\nchurchyard and threw them into the river,\u201d explained Kosa.\n\nDorcas looked as though she were going to faint, but Thomas, rising to\nthe occasion, remarked:\n\n\u201cCome on, dear. The dead are always with us, and what better company\ncould we have than the dust of our sainted predecessor.\u201d\n\n\u201cI would rather have his room,\u201d murmured Dorcas, and gathering\nherself together, proceeded to the hut.\n\nSomebody opened the door with difficulty, and as it seemed to be very\ndark within Thomas struck a match, by the light of which Dorcas peered\ninto the interior. Next second she fell back into his arms with a\nlittle scream. \n\n\u201cTake me away!\u201d she said. \u201cThe place is full of rats.\u201d\n\nHe stared; it was quite true. There, sitting up upon the dead\nmissionary\u2019s bed, was a singularly large rat that did not seem in the\nleast frightened by their appearance, whilst other creatures of the same\ntribe scuttled about the floor and up the walls.\n\nDorcas slept, or did not sleep, that night in the wagon with Tabitha,\nwhile Thomas took his rest beneath it as well as a drizzling rain that\nwas falling would allow.\n\nSuch was the beginning of the life of the Bull family in Sisa-Land, not\nan encouraging beginning, it will be admitted, though no worse and\nperhaps much better than that which many missionaries and their\nfamilies are called upon to face in various regions of the earth. What\nhorror is there that missionaries have not been called upon to endure?\nSt. Paul tells us of his trials, but they are paralleled, if not\nsurpassed, even in the present day. \n\nMissionaries, however good, may not always be wise folk; the reader\nmight even think the Rev. Thomas Bull to be no perfect embodiment of\nwisdom, sympathy or perhaps manners, but taking them as a class they\nare certainly heroic folks, who endure many things for small reward, as\nwe reckon reward. In nothing perhaps do they show their heroism and\nfaith more greatly than in their persistent habit of conveying women\nand young children into the most impossible places of the earth, there\nto suffer many things, not exclusive, occasionally, of martyrdom. At\nleast the Protestant section of their calling does this; the Roman\nCatholics are wiser. In renouncing marriage these save themselves from \nmany agonies, and having only their own lives and health at stake, are\nperhaps better fitted to face rough work in rough places. \n\nEven Thomas Bull, not a particularly sensitive person, was tempted more\nthan once to arrive at similar conclusions during his period of service\nin Sisa-land, although neither he nor his wife or child was called upon\nto face the awful extremities that have confronted others of his cloth;\nfor instance, another Thomas, one Owen, who was a missionary in\nZululand at the time when Dingaan, the King, massacred Retief and his\nBoers beneath his eyes. \n\nOn the following morning Thomas crept out from beneath his wagon, not\nrefreshed, it is true, but filled with a renewed and even more fiery\nzeal. During those damp hours of unrest he had reflected much and\nbrought the whole position into perspective, a clear if a narrow\nperspective. The Chief with whom he had to deal evidently was a fool,\nif not an imbecile, and the Christians who remained after a generation\nof teaching were for the most part poor creatures, the weak-kneed\namongst this mixed-blood tribe, probably those of the milder Basuto\norigin. \n\nSuch strength as remained in the people, who were, after all, but a\ndwindling handful marooned in a distant spot, was to be found among\nthose of the old Zulu stock. They were descendants of the men sent by\nthe Kings Chaka and Dingaan to keep an eye upon the humble Basuto\nslaves, whose duty it was to herd the royal cattle, the men, too, to\nwhom was entrusted the proud but hateful business of carrying out the\nexecution of persons that, for one reason or another, it was not\ndesirable to kill at home. \n\nThe individuals detailed for these duties were for the most part of high\nblood, inconvenient persons, perhaps, whom it was desired to move to a\ndistance. Thus, as Thomas Bull soon learned, Menzi was said to be no\nless a man than the grandson of the King Dingaan himself, one whose\nfather had developed troublesome ambitions, but whose life had been\nspared because his mother was a favourite with the King.\n\nHence some of the grandson\u2019s pride, which was enhanced by the fact\nthat in his youth he had been trained in medicine and magic by a\ncertain Zikali, alias \u201cOpener-of-Roads,\u201d who was said to have been\nthe greatest witch-doctor that ever lived in Zululand, and through him\nhad acquired, or perhaps developed inherent psychic gifts, that were in\nany case considerable. \n\nIn the end, however, he had returned to his petty tribe, neglecting\nlarger opportunities, as Thomas learned, because of some woman to whom\nhe was attached at home. It seemed, however, that he might as well have\nstayed away, since on his arrival he found that this woman had become\none of the Chief\u2019s wives, for which reason he afterwards killed that\nChief, Kosa\u2019s father, and possessed himself of the woman, who died\nimmediately afterwards, as Menzi suspected by poisoning. It was\nprincipally for this reason that he hated Kosa, his enemy\u2019s son, and\nall who clung to him; and partly because of that hatred and the fear\nthat it engendered Kosa and his people had turned Christian, hoping to\nprotect themselves thus against Menzi and his wizardries. Also for this\ndead woman\u2019s sake, Menzi had never married again. \n\nThomas did not learn all these details, and others that need not be\nmentioned, at once, but by the time he crept out from under that wagon\nhe had guessed enough to show that he was face to face with a very\ntough proposition, and being the man he was, he girded his loins to\nmeet it, vowing that he would conquer Menzi or die in the attempt.\n\nThat very morning he called a council of the Christians and set to work\nwith a will. The first thing to do was to make the late missionary\u2019s\nhuts habitable, which did not take long, and the next to commence the\nrebuilding of the church. Thomas, true to his principles, insisted on\nbeginning with the church and letting the mission-house stand over,\nalthough Dorcas, small blame to her, complained at being obliged to\nlive for an indefinite time in a hut like a Kaffir woman. However, as\nusual, she was obliged to give way. \n\nAs it chanced, here there was little difficulty about building\noperations, for stone and wood and _tambuki_ grass for thatching were\nall at hand in plenty. Also the Basuto section of the Sisa, as is\ncommon among that race, were clever masons and carpenters, some of them\nhaving followed those trades in Natal and the more settled places in\nZululand, where dwellings had to be erected. Moreover, they possessed\nwagons, and now that the dry season was approaching were able to fetch\nstores of every kind from the borders of Natal. Lastly, thanks to\nDorcas\u2019s banking account, money was by comparison no object, an\nunusual circumstance where missionaries are concerned. \n\nSo all the week Thomas laboured at these matters and at making himself\nacquainted with his congregation, and all Sunday he held open-air\nservices or taught in the ruins of the old church.\n\nThus in the midst of so many new interests matters went on not\nuncomfortably, and Dorcas became more or less reconciled to her life.\nStill she could never get over her loathing of the place which she\nbelieved to be ill-omened, perhaps because of its gloomy aspect,\ncoupled with the name of the river and the uses to which it had been\nput, after all not so very long ago. Naturally, also, this distaste was\naccentuated by the unlucky circumstances of their arrival. \n\nTabitha, too, was really happy, since she loved this wild free life, and\nhaving been brought up amongst Kaffirs and talking their language\nalmost as well as she did her own, soon she made many friends.\n\nPerhaps it was a sense that the information would not be well received\nby her father that prevented her from mentioning that the greatest of\nthose friends was the old witch-doctor, Menzi, whom she often met when\nshe was rambling about the place. Or it may have been pure accident,\nsince Thomas was too busy to bother about such trifles, while her\nmother, who of course knew, kept her own counsel. The truth is that\nthough he was a heathen witch-doctor, Dorcas liked old Menzi better\nthan any other native in the district, because she said, quite truly,\nthat he was a gentleman, however sinful and hard-hearted he might be. \nMoreover, with a woman\u2019s perception she felt that if only he were a \nfriend, at a pinch he might be worth all the others put together, while\nif he were an enemy, conversely the same applied. \n\nSo it came about that in the end there arose a very strange state of\naffairs. Menzi hated Thomas and did all he could to thwart him. He\nliked Dorcas and did all he could to help her, while the child Tabitha\nhe came to worship, for some reason he never revealed, which was hidden\nin the depths of his secret soul; indeed ere long had she been his own\ndaughter he could not have loved her more. It was he who amongst many\nother things gave her the pretty carved walking-stick of black and\nwhite _umzimbeet_ wood, also the two young blue cranes and the kid that\nafterwards were such pets of hers, and with them the beautiful white\nfeathers of a cock ostrich that had been killed on the veld. In the\nsame way it was he who sent milk and eggs to Dorcas when she was at her \nwits\u2019 end for both, which more than once were found mysteriously at\nthe door of their hut, and not any of his Christian flock, as Thomas\nfondly imagined. \n\nThus things went on for a while.\n\nMeanwhile Thomas found this same Menzi a stumbling-block and a rock of\noffence. Whenever he tried to convert man, woman, or child he was\nconfronted with Menzi or the shadow of Menzi. Thus those with whom he\nwas arguing would ask him why he could not work miracles like Menzi.\nLet him show them pictures in the fire, or tell them who had stolen\ntheir goods or where they would find their strayed cattle, and perhaps\nthey would believe him. And so forth. \n\nAt length Thomas grew exasperated and announced publicly that he\ncredited nothing of this magic, and that Menzi was only a common cheat\nwho threw dust into their eyes. If Menzi could perform marvels, let him\nshow these marvels to him, Thomas, and to his wife, that they might\njudge of them for themselves. \n\nApparently this challenge was repeated to the witch-doctor. At least one\nmorning a few days later, when Thomas went out accompanied by Dorcas and\nTabitha, to meet the Chief Kosa and others and to discuss with them\nwhether ultimately the mission-house should be rebuilt upon the old\nsite or elsewhere, he found a great concourse of people, all or nearly\nall the tribe indeed, assembled on a level place where in the old days\nstood one of the great kraals designed to hold the king\u2019s cattle. Out\nof the crowd emerged Kosa, looking rather sillier than usual, and of\nhim Thomas inquired why it was gathered. Was it to consult with him\nabout the mission-house? \n\n\u201cNo, Teacher,\u201d answered the Chief, \u201cMenzi has heard that you\ncall him a cheat, and has come to show that he is none, assembling all\nthe people that they may judge between you and him.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not want to see his tricks,\u201d said Thomas angrily. \u201cTell\nhim to go away.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Teacher!\u201d replied Kosa, \u201cthat would not be wise, for\nthen everyone would believe that Menzi\u2019s magic is so great that you\nare afraid even to look upon it. It is better to let him try. Perhaps\nif you pray hard he will fail, for his spirits will not always come\nwhen he calls them.\u201d\n\nThomas hesitated, then, being bold by nature, determined that he would\nsee the thing through. After all, Menzi was an impostor and nothing\nelse, and could work no more magic than he could himself. Here was a\nprovidential opportunity to expose him. So followed by the others he\nadvanced into the crowd, which made way for him.\n\nIn an open space in its centre, sat Menzi wearing all his\nwitch-doctor\u2019s trappings, bladders in his hair, snakeskins tied about\nhim, and the rest, but even in this grotesque attire still managing to\nlook dignified. With him were several acolytes or attendants, one of\nthem an old woman, also peculiarly arrayed and carrying hide bags that\ncontained their master\u2019s medicines. He rose as they came, saluted\nThomas and smiled at Dorcas and Tabitha, very sweetly at the latter.\n\n\u201cO Teacher,\u201d he said, \u201cmy ears hear that you say that I am a\nliar and a cheat who have no wonders at my command; to whom the Spirits\nnever speak and who deceives the people. Now, Teacher, I have come here\nthat it may be seen whether you are right or I am right. If your magic\nis greater than mine, then I can do nothing and I will eat the dust\nbefore you. But if mine prevails, then perhaps all these will say that\nyou are the cheat, not I. Also it is true that I am not a great\nmagician as was my master, Zikali, the Opener-of-Roads, and cannot show\nyou things worthy to be seen. Nor will I smell out evil-doers, witches\nand wizards, since then the people might kill them, and I think that\nthere are some here who deserve to die in the ancient fashion. No, I\nwill not do this, since it is not right that those with you,\u201d here he \nglanced at Dorcas and Tabitha, \u201cshould look upon the sight of blood,\neven in this land where the White-man\u2019s law has no power. Still there\nare little things that may serve to amuse you for an hour and hurt no\none. Have any of you lost anything, for instance?\u201d \n\n\u201cYes, I have,\u201d said Tabitha with a laugh.\n\n\u201cIs it so, Little Flower? Then be silent and do not say what you have\nlost. Have you told any what you have lost?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d answered Tabitha, \u201cbecause I was afraid I should be\nscolded.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere, _Imba_, there, Little Flower, even that is too much, because\nyou see the old cheat might guess something from your words. Yes, he\nmight guess that it is something of value that you have lost, such as a\nbracelet of gold, or the thing that ticks, on which you white people\nread the time. Nay, be silent and do not let your face move lest I\nshould read it. Now let us see what it is that you have lost.\u201d\n\nThen he turned to his confederates, as Thomas called them, and began to\nask them questions which need not be set out in detail. Was it an\nanimal that the Little Flower had lost? No, it was not an animal, the\nSpirits told him that it was not. Was it an article of dress? No, they\ndid not think it was an article of dress, yet the Spirits seemed to\nsuggest that it had something to do with dress. Was it a shoe? Was it\nscissors? Was it a comb? Was it a needle? No, but it was something that\nhad to do with needles. What had to do with needles? Thread. Was it\nthread? No, but something that had to do with thread. Was it a silver\nshield which pushed the needle that drew the thread? \n\nHere Tabitha could contain herself no longer, but clapped her hands and\ncried out delightedly:\n\n\u201cYes, that\u2019s it. It\u2019s my thimble.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! very well,\u201d said Menzi, \u201cbut it is easy to discover what\nis lost and hard to find it.\u201d\n\nThen followed another long examination of the assessors or acolytes, or\nwitch-doctor\u2019s chorus, by which it was established at length that the\nthimble had been lost three days before, when Tabitha was sitting on a\nstone sewing, that she believed it had fallen into a crevice of rocks,\nand so forth. \n\nAfter this the chorus was silent and Menzi himself took up the game,\napparently asking questions of the sky and putting his ear to the\nground for an answer. \n\nAt length he announced: (1) That the thimble was not among the rocks;\n(2) That it was not lost at all.\n\n\u201cBut it is, it is, you silly old man,\u201d cried Tabitha excitedly.\n\u201cI have hunted everywhere, and I cried about it because I haven\u2019t\ngot another, and can\u2019t buy one here, and the needle hurts my\nfinger.\u201d\n\nMenzi contemplated her gravely as though he were looking her through and\nthrough.\n\n\u201cIt is _not_ lost, Little Flower. I see it; you have it now. Put\nyour hand into the pocket of your dress. What do you find there?\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing,\u201d said Tabitha. \u201cThat is, nothing except a\nhole.\u201d\n\n\u201cFeel at the bottom of your dress, there on the right. No, a little\nmore to the front. What do you feel there?\u201d\n\n\u201cSomething hard,\u201d said Tabitha.\n\n\u201cTake this knife and cut the lining of your dress where you feel the\nhard thing. Ah! there is the silver shield which you have been carrying\nabout with you all these days.\u201d\n\nThe crowd murmured approval. Dorcas exclaimed: \u201cWell, I never!\u201d and\nThomas looked first puzzled, then angry, then suspicious.\n\n\u201cDoes the Teacher think that the Floweret and the old doctor have made\na plot together?\u201d asked Menzi. \u201cCan a sweet Flower make plots and\ntell lies like the old doctor? Well, well, it is nothing. Now let us try\nsomething better. My bags, my bags.\u201d\n\nThomas made as though he would go away, but Menzi stopped him, saying:\n\n\u201cNo, doubters must stay to see the end of their doubts. What shall I\ndo? Ah! I have it.\u201d\n\nThen from one of the bags he drew out a number of crooked black sticks\nthat looked like bent ebony rulers, and built them up criss-cross in a\nlittle pile upon the ground. Next he found some bundles of fine dried\ngrass, which he thrust into the interstices between the sticks, as he\ndid so bidding one of his servants to run to the nearest hut and bring\na coal of fire upon a sherd. \n\n\u201cA match will not do,\u201d he said. \u201cWhite men have touched\nit.\u201d\n\nPresently the burning ember arrived, and muttering something, Menzi blew\nupon it as though to keep it alight.\n\n\u201cNow, White Teacher,\u201d he said in a voice that had suddenly become\ncommanding, \u201cthink of something. Think of what you will, and I will\nshow it to you.\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed,\u201d said Thomas with a smile. \u201cI have thought of\nsomething; now make good your words.\u201d\n\nMenzi thrust the ember into the haylike fibres and blew. They caught and\nblazed up fiercely, making an extraordinarily large flame considering\nthe small amount of the kindling. The ebony-like sticks also began to\nblaze. Menzi grew excited. \n\n\u201cMy Spirit, come to me; my Spirit, come to me!\u201d he cried. \u201cO\nmy Spirit, show this White Teacher Tombool that I am not a cheat!\u201d\n\nHe ran round and round the fire; he leapt into the air, then suddenly\nshouted: \u201cMy Spirit has entered into me; my Snake is in my breast!\u201d\n\nAll his excitement went; he grew quite calm, almost cataleptic. Holding\nhis thin hands over the fire, slowly he let them fall, and as he did so\nthe fierce flames died down.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s going out,\u201d said Tabitha.\n\nMenzi smiled at her and lifted his hands again. Lo! the fire that seemed\nto be dead leapt up after them in a fierce blaze. Again he dropped his\nhands and the fire died away. Then he moved his arms to and fro and it\ncame back, following the motions of his arms as though he drew it by a\nstring. \n\n\u201cHave you thought, White Teacher? Have you thought?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cGood! Arise, smoke!\u201d\n\nBehold, instead of the clear flame appeared a fan-shaped column of dense\nwhite smoke, behind which Menzi vanished, all except his outstretched\nhands. \n\n\u201cLook on to the smoke, White people, and do you, Little Flower, tell\nme what you see there,\u201d he called from behind this vaporous veil.\n\nTabitha stared, they all stared. Then she cried out:\n\n\u201cI see a room, I see an old man in a clergyman\u2019s coat reading a\nletter. Why, it is the Dean whom we used to know in Natal. There\u2019s the\nwart on his nose and the tuft of hair that hangs down over his eye, and\nhe\u2019s reading a letter written by Father. I know the writing. It\nbegins, \u2018My dear Dean, Providence has appointed me to a strange\nplace\u2019\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cIs that what you see also, Teacher?\u201d asked Menzi. \u201cAnd if\nso, is it what you pictured in your thought?\u201d\n\nThomas turned away and uttered something like a groan, for indeed he had\nthought of the Dean and of the letter he had written to him a month\nbefore. \n\n\u201cThe Teacher is not satisfied,\u201d said Menzi. \u201cIf he had seen\nall he thought of, being so good and honest, he would tell us. There is\nsome mistake. My Spirit must have deceived me. Think of something else,\nTeacher, and tell the lady, and the child Imba, and Kosa, and another,\nwhat it is you are thinking of. Go aside and tell them where I cannot\nhear.\u201d \n\nThomas did so\u2014in some way he felt compelled to do so.\n\n\u201cI am going to think of the church as I propose it shall be when\nfinished according to the plans I have made,\u201d he said hoarsely. \u201cI\nam going to think of it with a belfry spire roofed with red tiles and a\nclock in the tower, and I am going to think of the clock as pointing to\nthe exact hour of noon. Do you all understand? It is impossible that\nthis man should know of how I mean to build that spire and about the\nclock, because until this moment no one knew except myself. If he can\nshow me that, I shall begin to believe that he is inspired by his\nmaster, the devil. Do you all understand?\u201d \n\nThey said they did, and Menzi called out:\n\n\u201cBe quick, White Teacher. Be quick, I grow tired. My Spirit grows\ntired. The smoke grows tired. Come, come, come!\u201d\n\nThey returned and stood in front of the fire, and in obedience to\nMenzi\u2019s motions once more the fan of smoke arose. On it grew\nsomething nebulous, something uncertain that by degrees took the form\nof a church. It was not very clear, perhaps because Thomas found it\ndifficult to conceive the exact shape of the church as it would be when\nit was finished, or only conceived it bit by bit. One thing, however,\nwas very distinct in his mind, and that was the proposed spire and the\nclock. As a result, there was the spire standing at the end of the\nshadowy church vivid and distinct. And there was the clock with its two\ncopper hands exactly on the stroke of noon! \n\n\u201cTell me what you see, Little Flower,\u201d said Menzi in a hollow voice.\n\n\u201cI see what Father told me he would think of, a church and the spire\nof the church, and the clock pointing to twelve.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you all see that,\u201d asked Menzi, \u201cand is it what the\nTeacher said he would think about?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Doctor,\u201d they answered.\n\n\u201cThen look once more, for _I_ will think of something. I will think\nof that church falling. Look once more.\u201d\n\nThey looked, and behold the shadowy fabric began to totter, then it\nseemed to collapse, and last of all down went the spire and vanished in\nthe smoke. \n\n\u201cHave you seen anything, O people?\u201d said Menzi, \u201cfor standing\nbehind this smoke I can see nothing. Mark that it is thick, since\nthrough it I am invisible to you.\u201d\n\nThis was true, since they could only perceive the tips of his\noutstretched fingers appearing upon each side of the smoke-fan.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d they answered, \u201cwe have seen a church fall down and\nvanish.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat was my thought,\u201d said Menzi; \u201chave I not told you that\nwas the thought my Spirit gave me?\u201d\n\n\u201cThis is black magic, and you are a fiend!\u201d shouted Thomas, and was\nsilent.\n\n\u201cNot so, Tombool, though it is true that I have gifts which you clever\nWhite people do not understand,\u201d answered Menzi.\n\nBy degrees the smoke melted away, and there on the ground were the ten\nor twelve crooked pieces of ebony that they had seen consumed, now to\nall appearance quite untouched by the flame. There too on their farther\nside lay Menzi, shining with perspiration, and in a swoon or sleeping.\n\n\u201cCome away,\u201d said Thomas shortly, and they turned to go, but at\nthis moment something happened.\n\nMenzi, it will be remembered, had given Tabitha a kid of a long-haired\nvariety of goat peculiar to these parts. This little creature had\nalready grown attached to its mistress and walked about after her, in\nthe way which pet goats have. It had followed her that morning, but not\nbeing interested in tricks or magic, engaged itself in devouring herbs\nthat grew amongst the tumbled stones of the old kraal.\n\nSuddenly Menzi recovered from his faint or seizure and, looking up,\ndirected his attendants to return the magical ebony rods which burned\nwithout being consumed to one of the hide bags that contained his\nmedicines. The assembly began to break up amidst a babel of excited\ntalk. \n\nTabitha looked round for her goat, and perceiving it at a little\ndistance, ran to fetch it, since the creature, being engaged in eating\nsomething to its taste, would not come at her call. She seized it by\nthe neck to drag it away, with the result that its fore-feet,\nobstinately set upon the wall, overturned a large stone, revealing a\ngreat puff adder that was sleeping there. \n\nThe reptile thus disturbed instantly struck backwards after the fashion\nof its species, so that its fangs, just missing Tabitha\u2019s hands, sank\ndeep into the kid\u2019s neck. She screamed and there was a great\ndisturbance. A native ran forward and pinned down the puff-adder with\nhis walking-stick of which the top was forked. The kid immediately fell\non to its side, and lay there bleeding and bleating. Tabitha began to\nweep, calling out, \u201cMy goat is killed,\u201d between her sobs.\n\nMenzi, distinguishing her voice amid the tumult, asked what was the\nmatter. Someone told him, whereon he commanded that the kid should be\nbrought to him and the snake also. This was done, Tabitha following her\ndying pet with her mother, for by now Thomas had departed, taking no\nheed of these events, which perhaps he was too disturbed to notice.\n\n\u201cSave my goat! Save my goat, O Menzi!\u201d implored Tabitha.\n\nThe old witch-doctor looked at the animal, also at the hideous\npuff-adder that had been dragged along the ground in the fork of the\nstick. \n\n\u201cIt will be hard, Little Flower,\u201d he said, \u201cseeing that the\ngoat is bitten in the neck and this snake is very poisonous. Still for\nyour sake I will try, although I fear that it may prove but a waste of\ngood medicine.\u201d\n\nThen he took one of his bags and from it selected a certain packet\nwrapped in a dried leaf, out of which he shook some grey powder.\nSeizing the kid, which seemed to be almost dead, he made an incision in\nits throat over the wound, and into it rubbed some of this powder. Next\nhe spat upon more of the powder, thus turning it into a paste, and\nopening the kid\u2019s mouth, thrust it down its throat, at the same time\nmuttering an invocation or spell. \n\n\u201cNow we must wait,\u201d he said, letting the kid fall upon the ground,\nwhere it lay to all appearance dead.\n\n\u201cIs that powder any good?\u201d asked Dorcas rather aimlessly.\n\n\u201cYes, it is very good, Lady; a medicine of power of which I alone have\nthe secret, a magic medicine. See, I will show you. Except the\n_immamba_, the ring-snake that puffs out its head, this one is the most\ndeadly in our country. Yet I do not fear it. Look!\u201d\n\nLeaning forward, he seized the puff-adder, and drawing it from beneath\nthe fork, suffered it to strike him upon the breast, after which he\ndeliberately killed it with a stone. Then he took some of the grey\npowder and rubbed it into the punctures; also put more of it into his\nmouth, which he swallowed. \n\n\u201cOh!\u201d exclaimed Dorcas, \u201che will die,\u201d and some of the\nChristian Kaffirs echoed her remark.\n\nBut Menzi did not die at all. On the contrary, after shivering a few\ntimes he was quite himself, and, indeed, seemed rather brighter than\nbefore, like a jaded business man who has drunk a cocktail.\n\n\u201cNo, Wife of Tombool,\u201d he said, \u201cI shall not die; every year\nI doctor myself with this magic medicine that is called _Dawa_, after\nwhich all the snakes in Sisa-Land\u2014remember that they are many, Little\nFlower\u2014may bite me if they like.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs it your magic or is it the medicine that protects you?\u201d asked\nDorcas.\n\n\u201cBoth, Lady. The medicine _Dawa_ is of no use without the magic\nwords, and the magic words are of no use without the medicine. Therefore\nalone in all the land I can cure snake bites, who have both medicine\nand magic. Look at your goat, Little Flower. Look at your goat!\u201d\n\nTabitha looked, as did everyone else. The kid was rising to its feet. It\nrose, it baa\u2019d and presently began to frisk about its mistress, like\nMenzi apparently rather brighter than before.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n\nA year had gone by, during which time, by the most heroic exertions,\nThomas Bull had at length succeeded in rebuilding the church. There it\nstood, a very nice mission-church, constructed of sun-dried bricks\nneatly plastered over, cool and spacious within, for the thatched roof\nwas lofty, beautifully furnished (the font and the pulpit had been\nimported from England), and finished off with the spire and clock of\nhis dreams, the latter also imported from England and especially\nadjusted for a hot climate. \n\nMoreover, there was a sweet and loud-throated bell upon which the clock\nstruck, with space allowed for the addition of others that must wait\ntill Thomas could make up his mind to approach Dorcas as to the\nprovision of the necessary funds. Yes, the church was finished, and the\nBishop of those parts had made a special journey to consecrate it at\nthe hottest season of the year, and as a reward for his energy had\ncontracted fever and nearly been washed away in a flooded river. \n\nOnly one thing was lacking, a sufficient congregation to fill this fine\nchurch, which secretly the Bishop, who was a sensible man, thought\nwould have been of greater value had it been erected in any of several\nother localities that he could have suggested. For alas! the Christian\ncommunity of Sisa-Land did not increase. Occasionally Thomas succeeded\nin converting one of Menzi\u2019s followers, and occasionally Menzi\nsnatched a lamb from the flock of Thomas, with the result that the\nscales remained even neither going up nor down. \n\nThe truth was, of course, that the matter was chiefly one of race; those\nof the Sisas in whom the Basuto blood preponderated became Christian,\nwhile those who were of the stubborn Zulu stock, strengthened and\ninspired by their prophet Menzi, remained unblushingly heathen.\n\nStill Thomas did not despair. One day, he told himself, there would be a\ngreat change, a veritable landslide, and he would see that church\nfilled with every Zulu in the district. Needless to say, he wished him\nno ill, but Menzi was an old man, and before long it might please\nProvidence to gather that accursed wizard to his fathers. For that he\nwas a wizard of some sort Thomas no longer doubted, a person directly\ndescended from the Witch of Endor, or from some others of her company\nwho were mentioned in the Bible. There was ample authority for wizards,\nand if they existed then why should they they not continue to do so?\nSince he could not explain it, Thomas swallowed the magic, much as in\nhis boyhood he used to swallow the pills. \n\nYes, if only Menzi were removed by the will of Heaven, which really,\nthought Thomas, must be outraged by such proceedings, his opportunity\nwould come, and \u201cMenzi\u2019s herd,\u201d as the heathens were called in\nSisa-land, would be added to his own. The Bishop, it is true, was not\nequally sanguine, but said nothing to discourage zeal so laudable and\nso uncommon. \n\nIt was while his Lordship was recovering from the sharp bout of fever\nwhich he had developed in a new and mosquito-haunted hut with a damp\nfloor that had been especially erected for his accommodation, that at\nlast the question of the re-building of the mission-house came to a\nhead, which it could not do while all the available local labour, to\nsay nothing of some hired from afar, was employed upon the church.\n\nThomas, it was true, wished to postpone it further, pointing out that a\nschool was most necessary, and that after all they had grown quite\naccustomed to the huts and were fairly comfortable in them.\n\nOn this point, however, Dorcas was firm; indeed, it would not be too\nmuch to say that, having already been disappointed once, she struck\nwith all the vigour of a trade-unionist. She explained that the\nsituation of the huts on the brink of the river was low and most\nunhealthy, and that in them she was becoming a victim to recurrent\nattacks of fever. He, Thomas, might be fever-proof, as indeed she\nthought he was. It was true also that Tabitha had been extraordinarily\nwell and grown much ever since she came to Sisa-Land, which puzzled\nher, inasmuch as the place was notoriously unhealthy for children, even \nif they were of native blood. Indeed, in her agitation she added an\nunwise remark to the effect that she could only explain their\ndaughter\u2019s peculiar health by supposing that Menzi had laid a \u201cgood\ncharm\u201d upon her, as all the natives believed, and he announced\npublicly that he had done. \n\nThis made Thomas very angry, admittedly not without cause. Forgetting\nhis conversion to a belief in the reality of Menzi\u2019s magic, he\ntalked in a loud voice about the disgrace of being infected with vile,\nheathen superstitions, such as he had never thought to hear uttered by\nhis wife\u2019s Christian lips. Dorcas, however, stuck to her point, and\nenforced it by a domestic example, adding that the creatures which in\npolite society are called \u201cbed-pests,\u201d that haunted the straw of\nthe huts, tormented her while Tabitha never had so much as a single\nbite. \n\nThe end of it was that the matter of mission-house _versus_ huts was\nreferred to the Bishop for his opinion. As the teeth of his Lordship\nwere chattering with ague resulting, he knew full well, from the fever\nhe had contracted in the said huts, Dorcas found in him a most valuable\nally. He agreed that a mission-house ought to be built before the\nschool or anything else, and suggested that it should be placed in a\nhigher and better situation, above the mists that rose from the river\nand the height to which mosquitoes fly. \n\nBowing to the judgment of his superior, which really he heard with\ngratitude, although in his zeal and unselfishness he would have\npostponed his own comfort and that of his family till other duties had\nbeen fulfilled, Thomas replied that he knew only one such place which\nwould be near enough to the Chief\u2019s town. It was on the koppie\nitself, about fifty feet above the level of and overhanging the river,\nwhere he had noted there was always a breeze, even on the hottest day,\nsince the conformation of this hill seemed to induce an unceasing\ndraught of air. He added that if his Lordship were well enough, they\nmight go to look at the site. \n\nSo they went, all of them. Ascending a sloping, ancient path that was\nnever precipitous, they came to the place, a flat tableland that\nperhaps measured an acre and a half, which by some freak of nature had\nbeen scooped out of the side of the koppie, and was backed by a\nprecipitous cliff in which were caves. The front part of this plateau,\nthat which approached to and overhung the river, was of virgin rock,\nbut the acre or so behind was filled with very rich soil that in the\ncourse of centuries had been washed down from the sides of the koppie,\nor resulted from the decomposition of its material. \n\n\u201cThe very place,\u201d said the Bishop. \u201cThe access is easy. The\nhouse would stand here\u2014no need to dig deep foundations in this stone,\nand behind, when those trees have been cleared away, you could have a\nbeautiful and fertile garden where anything will grow. Also, look,\nthere is a stream of pure water running from some spring above. It is\nan ideal site for a house, not more than three minutes\u2019 walk from the\nchurch below, the best I should say in the whole valley. And then,\nconsider the view.\u201d \n\nEveryone agreed, and they were leaving the place in high spirits,\nDorcas, who had household matters to attend, having already departed,\nwhen whom should they encounter but Menzi seated on a stone just where\nthe path began to descend. Thomas would have passed him without notice\nas one with whom he was not on speaking terms, but the Bishop, having\nbeen informed by Tabitha who he was, was moved by curiosity to stop and\ninterchange some words with him, as knowing his tongue perfectly, he\ncould do. \n\n\u201c_Sakubona_\u201d (that is, \u201cgood day\u201d), he said\npolitely.\n\nMenzi rose and saluted with his habitual courtesy, first the Bishop,\nthen the others, as usual reserving his sweetest smile for Tabitha.\n\n\u201cGreat Priest,\u201d he said at once, \u201cI understand that the\nTeacher Tombool intends to build his house upon this place.\u201d\n\nThe Bishop wondered how on earth the man knew that, since the matter had\nonly just been decided by people talking in English, but answered that\nperhaps he might do so.\n\n\u201cGreat Priest,\u201d went on Menzi in an earnest voice, \u201cI pray\nyou to forbid the Teacher Tombool from doing anything of the sort.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, friend?\u201d asked the Bishop.\n\n\u201cBecause, Great Priest, this place is haunted by the spirits of the\ndead, and those who live here will be haunted also. Hearken. I myself\nwhen I was young have seen evil-doers brought from Zululand and hurled\nfrom that rock, blinded and broken-armed, by order of the King. I say\nthat scores have been thrown thence to be devoured by the crocodiles in\nthe pool below. Will such a sight as this be pleasant for white eyes to\nlook upon, and will such cries as those of the evil-doers who have\n\u2018gone down\u2019 be nice for white ears to hear in the silence of the\nnight?\u201d \n\n\u201cBut, my good man,\u201d said the Bishop, \u201cwhat you say is\nnonsense. These poor creatures are dead, \u2018gone down\u2019 as you say,\nand do not return. We Christians have no belief in ghosts, or if they\nexist we are protected from them.\u201d\n\n\u201cNone at all,\u201d interposed Thomas boldly and speaking in Zulu.\n\u201cThis man, my Lord, is at his old tricks. For reasons of his own he is\ntrying to frighten us; for my part I will not be frightened by a native\nwitch-doctor and his rubbish, even if he does deal with Satan. With your\npermission I shall certainly build the mission-house here.\u201d\n\n\u201cQuite right, of course, quite right,\u201d said the Bishop, though\nwithin himself he reflected that evidently the associations of the spot\nwere disagreeable, and that were he personally concerned, perhaps he\nshould be inclined to consider an alternative site. However, it was a\nmatter for Mr. Bull to decide.\n\n\u201cI hear that Tombool will not be turned from his purpose. I hear that\nhe will still build his house upon this rock. So be it. Let him do so\nand see. But this I say, that Imba, the Floweret, shall not be haunted\nby the _Isitunzi_ (the ghosts of the dead) who wail in the night,\u201d\nsaid Menzi.\n\nHe advanced to Tabitha, and holding his hands over her he cried out:\n\n\u201cSweet eyes, be blind to the _Isitunzi_. Little ears, do not hear\ntheir groans. Spirits, build a garden fence about this flower and keep\nher safe from all night-prowling evil things. Imba, little Flower,\nsleep softly while others lie awake and tremble.\u201d\n\nThen he turned and departed swiftly.\n\n\u201cDear me!\u201d said the Bishop. \u201cA strange man, a very strange\nman. I don\u2019t know quite what to make of him.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do,\u201d answered Thomas, \u201che is a black-hearted villain who\nis in league with the devil.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I dare say\u2014I mean as to his being a villain, that is\naccording to our standards\u2014but does your daughter\u2014a clever and most\nattractive little girl, by the way\u2014think so? She seemed to look on him\nwith affection\u2014one learns to read children\u2019s eyes, you know. A very\nstrange man, I repeat. If we could see all his heart we should know lots\nof things and understand more about these people than we do at present.\nHas it ever struck you, Mr. Bull, how little we white people _do_\nunderstand of the black man\u2019s soul? Perhaps a child can see farther\ninto it than we can. What is the saying\u2014\u2018a little child shall lead\nthem,\u2019 is it not? Perhaps we do not make enough allowances. \u2018Faith,\nHope and Charity, these three, but the greatest of these is\ncharity\u2019\u2014or love, which is the same thing. However, of course you\nare quite right not to have been frightened by his silly talk about the\n_Isitunzi_, it would never do to show fear or hesitation. Still, I am\nglad that Mrs. Bull did not hear it; you may have noticed that she had\ngone on ahead, and if I were you I should not repeat it to her, since\nladies are so nervous. Tabitha, my dear, don\u2019t tell your mother\nanything of all this.\u201d \n\n\u201cNo, Bishop,\u201d answered Tabitha, \u201cI never tell her all the\nqueer things that Menzi says to me when I meet him, or at least not many\nof them.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish I had asked him if he had a cure for your local fever,\u201d\nsaid the Bishop with a laugh, \u201cfor against it, although I have taken\nso much that my ears buzz, quinine cannot prevail.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe has given me one in a gourd, Bishop,\u201d replied Tabitha\nconfidentially, \u201cbut I have never taken any, because you see I have\nhad no fever, and I haven\u2019t told mother, for if I did she would tell\nfather\u201d (Thomas had stridden ahead, and was out of hearing), \u201cand\nhe might be angry because he doesn\u2019t like Menzi, though I do. Will you\nhave some, Bishop? It is well corked up with clay, and Menzi said it\nwould keep for years.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, my dear,\u201d answered the Bishop, \u201cI don\u2019t quite\nknow. There may be all sorts of queer things in Mr. Menzi\u2019s medicine.\nStill, he told you to drink it if necessary, and I am absolutely certain\nthat he does not wish to poison _you_. So perhaps I might have a try,\nfor really I feel uncommonly ill.\u201d\n\nSo later on, with much secrecy, the gourd was produced, and the Bishop\nhad \u201ca try.\u201d By some strange coincidence he felt so much better\nafter it that he begged for the rest of the stuff to comfort him on his\nhomeward journey, which ultimately he accomplished in the best of\nhealth. \n\nThat most admirable and wide-minded prelate departed, and so far as\nhistory records was no more seen in Sisa-Land. But Thomas remained, and\nset about the building of the house with his usual vigour. Upon the\nDeath Rock, as it was called, in course of time he erected an excellent\nand most serviceable dwelling, not too large but large enough, having\nevery comfort and convenience that his local experience could suggest\nand money could supply, since in this matter the cheque-book of the\nsuffering Dorcas was entirely at his service. \n\nAt length the house was finished, and with much rejoicing the Bull\nfamily, deserting their squalid huts, moved into it at the commencement\nof the hot season. After the first agitations of the change and of the\narrangement of the furniture newly-arrived by wagon, they settled down\nvery comfortably, directing all their energies towards the development\nof the garden, which had already been brought into some rough order\nduring the building of the house. \n\nOne difficulty, however, arose at once. For some mysterious reason they\nfound that not a single native servant would sleep in the place, no,\nnot even Tabitha\u2019s personal attendant, who adored her. Every soul of\nthem suddenly developed a sick mother or other relative who would\ninstantly expire if deprived of the comfort of their society after\ndark. Or else they themselves became ailing at that hour, saying they\ncould not sleep upon a cliff like a rock-rabbit.\n\nAt any rate, for one cause or another off they went the very moment that\nthe sun vanished behind the western hills, nor did they re-appear until\nit was well up above those that faced towards the east.\n\nAt least this happened for one night. On the following day, however, a\npleasant-looking woman named Ivana, whom they knew to be of good repute,\nthough of doubtful religion, as sometimes she came to church and\nsometimes she did not, appeared and offered her services as\n\u201cnight-dog\u201d\u2014that is what she called it\u2014to Tabitha, saying that\nshe did not mind sleeping on a height. Since it was inconvenient to\nhave no one about the place from dark to dawn, and Dorcas did not\napprove of Tabitha being left to sleep alone, the woman, whose\ncharacter was guaranteed by the Chief Kosa and the elders of the \nchurch, was taken on at an indefinite wage. To the matter of pecuniary\nreward, indeed, she seemed to be entirely indifferent. \n\nFor the rest she rolled herself in blankets, native fashion, and slept\nacross Tabitha\u2019s door, keeping so good a watch that once when her\nfather wished to enter the room to fetch something after the child was\nasleep, she would not allow even him to do so. When he tried to force a\nway past her, suddenly Ivana became so threatening that he thought she\nwas about to spring at him. After this he wanted to dismiss her, but\nDorcas said it only showed that she was faithful, and that she had\nbetter be left where she was, especially as there was no one to take\nher place. \n\nSo things went on till the day of full moon. On that night Ivana\nappeared to be much agitated, and insisted that Tabitha should go to\nbed earlier than was usual. Also after she was asleep Dorcas noticed\nthat Ivana walked continually to and fro in front of the door of the\nchild\u2019s room and up and down the veranda on to which its windows\nopened, droning some strange song and waving a wand.\n\nHowever, at the appointed hour, having said their prayers, Dorcas and\nher husband went to bed.\n\n\u201cI wonder if there is anything strange about this place,\u201d remarked\nDorcas. \u201cIt is so very odd that no native will stop here at night\nexcept that half-wild Ivana.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! I don\u2019t know,\u201d replied Thomas with a yawn, real or\nfeigned. \u201cThese people get all sorts of ideas into their silly heads.\nDo stop twisting about and go to sleep.\u201d\n\nAt last Dorcas did go to sleep, only to wake up again suddenly and with\ngreat completeness just as the church clock below struck three, the\nsound of which she supposed must have roused her. The brilliant\nmoonlight flooded the room, and as for some reason she felt creepy and\ndisturbed, Dorcas tried to occupy her mind by reflecting how\ncomfortable it looked with its new, imported furnishings, very\ndifferent from that horrible hut in which they had lived so long.\n\nThen her thoughts drifted to more general matters. She was heartily\ntired of Sisa-Land, and wished earnestly that her husband could get a\nchange of station, which the Bishop had hinted to her would not be\nimpossible\u2014somewhere nearer to civilisation. Alas! he was so\nobstinate that she feared nothing would move him, at any rate until he\nhad converted \u201cMenzi\u2019s herd,\u201d who were also obstinate, and\nremained as heathen as ever. Indeed why, with their ample means, should\nthey be condemned to perpetual exile in these barbarous places? Was\nthere not plenty of work to be done at home, where they might make\nfriends and live decently? \n\nPutting herself and her own wishes aside, this existence was not fair to\nTabitha, who, as she saw, watching her with a mother\u2019s eye, was\nbecoming impregnated with the native atmosphere. She who ought to be at\na Christian school now talked more Zulu than she did English, and was\nbeginning to look at things from the Zulu point of view and to use\ntheir idioms and metaphors even when speaking her own tongue. She had\nbecome a kind of little chieftainess among these folk, also, Christian\nand heathen alike. Indeed, now most of them spoke of her as the Maiden\n_Inkosikazi_, or Chieftainess, and accepted her slightest wish or order\nas law, which was by no means the case where Dorcas herself and even\nThomas were concerned. \n\nIn fact, one or twice they had been driven to make a request through the\nchild, notably upon an important occasion that had to do with the\ntransport-riding of their furniture, to avoid its being left for a\ncouple of months on the farther side of a flooded river. The details do\nnot matter, but what happened was that when Tabitha intervened that\nwhich had been declared to be impossible proved possible, and the\nfurniture arrived with wonderful celerity. Moreover, Tabitha made no\nrequest; as Dorcas knew, though she hid it from Thomas, she sent for \nthe headmen, and when they were seated on the ground before her after\ntheir fashion, Menzi among them, issued an order, saying: \n\n\u201cWhat! Are my parents and I to live like dogs without a kennel or\ncattle that lack a winter kraal, because you are idle? Inspan the\nwagons and fetch the things or I shall be angry. _Hamba_\u2014Go!\u201d\n\nThereon they rose and went without argument, only lifting their right\nhands above their heads and murmuring, \u201c_Ikosikaas! Umame!_\n(Chieftainess! Mother!) we hear you.\u201d Yes, they called Tabitha\n\u201cMother!\u201d \n\nIt was all very wrong, thought Dorcas, but she supposed, being a pious\nlittle person, that she must bear her burden and trust to Providence to\nfree her from it, and she closed her eyes to wipe away a tear.\n\nWhen Dorcas opened them again something very strange seemed to have\nhappened. She felt wide awake, and yet knew that she must be dreaming\nbecause the room had disappeared. There was nothing in sight except the\nbare rock upon which the house stood. For instance, she could see the\ngorge behind as it used to be before they made it into a garden, for\nshe recognised some of the very trees that they had cut down. Moreover,\nfrom one of the caves at the end of it issued a procession, a horrible\nprocession of fierce-looking, savage warriors, with spears and\nknobkerries, who between them half dragged, half carried a young woman\nand an elderly man. \n\nThey advanced. They passed within a few feet of her, and observing the\ncondition of the woman and the man, she saw that these must be led\nbecause for a certain reason they could not see where to go,\u2014oh!\nnever mind what she saw.\n\nThe procession reached the edge of the rock where the railing was, only\nnow the railing had gone like the house. Then for the first time Dorcas\nheard, for hitherto all had seemed to happen in silence.\n\n\u201cDie, _Umtakati!_ Die, you wizard, as the King commands, and feed\nthe river-dwellers,\u201d said a deep voice.\n\nThere followed a struggle, a horrible twisting of shapes, and the\nelderly man vanished over the cliff, while a moment later from below\ncame the noise of a great splash.\n\nNext the girl was haled forward, and the words of doom were repeated.\nShe seemed to break from her murderers and stagger to the edge of the\nprecipice, crying out:\n\n\u201cO Father, I come!\u201d\n\nThen, with one blood-curdling shriek, she vanished also, and again there\nfollowed the sound of a great splash that slowly echoed itself to\nsilence. \n\nAll had passed away, leaving Dorcas paralysed with terror, and wet with\nits dew, so that her night-gear clung to her body. The room was just as\nit had been, filled with the soft moonlight and looking very\ncomfortable. \n\n\u201cThomas!\u201d gasped his wife, \u201cwake up.\u201d\n\n\u201cI _am_ awake,\u201d he answered in his deep voice, which shook a\nlittle. \u201cI have had a bad dream.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat did you dream? Did you see two people thrown from the cliff?\u201d\n\n\u201cSomething of that sort.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! Thomas, Thomas, I have been in hell. This place is haunted.\nDon\u2019t talk to me of dreams. Tabitha will have seen and heard too. She\nwill be driven mad. Come to her.\u201d\n\n\u201cI think not,\u201d answered Thomas.\n\nStill he came.\n\nAt the door of Tabitha\u2019s room they found the woman Ivana, wide-eyed,\nsolemn, silent.\n\n\u201cHave you seen or heard anything, Ivana?\u201d asked Thomas.\n\n\u201cYes, Teacher,\u201d she answered, \u201cI have seen what I expected to\nsee and heard what I expected to hear on this night of full moon, but I\nam guarded and do not fear.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe child! The child!\u201d said Dorcas.\n\n\u201cThe _Inkosikazi_ Imba sleeps. Disturb her not.\u201d\n\nTaking no heed, they thrust past her into the room. There on her little\nwhite bed lay Tabitha fast asleep, and looking like an angel in her\nsleep, for a sweet smile played about her mouth, and while they watched\nshe laughed in her dreams. Then they looked at each other and went back\nto their own chamber to spend the rest of the night as may be imagined.\n\nNext morning when they emerged, very shaken and upset, the first person\nthey met was Ivana, who was waiting for them with their coffee.\n\n\u201cI have a message for you, Teacher and Lady. Never mind who sends it,\nI have a message for you to which you will do well to give heed. Sleep\nno more in this house on the night of full moon, though all other\nnights will be good for you. Only the little Chieftainess Imba ought to\nsleep in this house on the night of full moon.\u201d\n\nSo indeed it proved to be. No suburban villa could have been more\ncommonplace and less disturbed than was their dwelling for twenty-seven\nnights of every month, but on the twenty-eighth they found a change of\nair desirable. Once it is true the stalwart Thomas, like Ajax, defied\nthe lightning, or rather other things that come from above\u2014or from\nbelow. But before morning he appeared at the hut beneath the koppie\nannouncing that he had come to see how they were getting on, and\nshaking as though he had a bout of fever. \n\nDorcas asked him no questions (afterwards she gathered that he had been\nfavoured with quite a new and very varied midnight programme); but\nTabitha smiled in her slow way. For Tabitha knew all about this\nbusiness as she knew everything that passed in Sisa-Land. Moreover, she\nlaughed at them a little, and said that _she_ was not afraid to sleep\nin the mission-house on the night of full moon.\n\nWhat is more, she did so, which was naughty of her, for on one such\noccasion she slipped back to the house when her parents were asleep,\nfollowed only by her \u201cnight-dog,\u201d the watchful Ivana, and returned\nat dawn just as they had discovered that she was missing, singing and\nlaughing and jumping from stone to stone with the agility of her own\npet goat. \n\n\u201cI slept beautifully,\u201d she cried, \u201cand dreamed I was in\nheaven all night.\u201d\n\nThomas was furious and rated her till she wept. Then suddenly Ivana\nbecame furious too and rated him.\n\nShould he be wrath with the Little Chieftainess Imba, she asked him,\nbecause the _Isitunzis_, the spirits of the dead, loved her as did\neverything else? Did they not understand that the Floweret was unlike\nthem, one adored of dead and living, one to be cherished even in her\ndreams, one whom \u201cHeaven Above,\u201d together with those who had\n\u201cgone below,\u201d built round with a wall of spells?\u2014and more of such\ntalk, which Thomas thought so horrible and blasphemous that he fled\nbefore its torrent. \n\nBut when he came back calmer he said no more to Tabitha about her\nescapade. \n\nIt was a long while afterwards, at the beginning of the great drought,\nthat another terrible thing happened. On a certain calm and beautiful\nday Tabitha, who still grew and flourished, had taken some of the\nChristian children to a spot on the farther side of the koppie, where\nstood an old fortification originally built for purposes of defence.\nHere, among the ancient walls, with the assistance of the natives, she\nhad made a kind of summer-house as children love to do, and in this\nhouse, like some learned eastern pundit in a cell, a very pretty pundit\ncrowned with a wreath of flowers, she sat upon the ground and\ninstructed the infant mind of Sisa-Land. \n\nShe was supposed to be telling them Bible stories to prepare them for\ntheir Sunday School examination, which, indeed, she did with\nembellishments and in their own poetic and metaphorical fashion. The\nparticular tale upon which she was engaged, by a strange coincidence,\nwas that from the Acts which narrates how St. Paul was bitten by a\nviper upon the Island of Melita, and how he shook it off into the fire\nand took no hurt. \n\n\u201cHe must have been like Menzi,\u201d said Ivana, who was present,\nwhereon Tabitha\u2019s other attendant, who was also with her as it was\ndaytime, started an argument, for being a Christian she was no friend to\nMenzi, whom she called a \u201cdirty old witch-doctor.\u201d\n\nTabitha, who was used to these disputations, listened smiling, and while\nshe listened amused herself by trying to thrust a stone into a hole in\nthe side of her summer-house, which was formed by one of the original\nwalls of the old kraal.\n\nPresently she uttered a scream, and snatched her arm out of the hole. To\nit, or rather to her hand, was hanging a great hooded snake of the\ncobra variety such as the Boers call _ringhals_. She shook it off, and\nthe reptile, after sitting up, spitting, hissing and expanding its\nhood, glided back into the wall. Tabitha sat still, staring at her\nlacerated finger, which Ivana seized and sucked.\n\nThen, bidding one of the oldest of the children to take her place and\ncontinue sucking, Ivana ran to a high rock a few yards away which\noverlooked Menzi\u2019s kraal, that lay upon a plain at a distance of\nabout a quarter of a mile, and called out in the low, ringing voice\nthat Kaffirs can command, which carries to an enormous distance.\n\n\u201cAwake, O Menzi! Come, O Doctor, and bring with you your _Dawa_. The\nlittle Chieftainess is bitten in the finger by a hooded snake. The\nFloweret withers! Imba dies!\u201d\n\nAlmost instantly there was a disturbance in the kraal and Menzi\nappeared, following by a man carrying a bag. He cried back in the same\nstrange voice: \n\n\u201cI hear. I come. Tie string or grass round the lady Imba\u2019s finger\nbelow the bite. Tie it hard till she screams with pain.\u201d\n\nMeanwhile the Christian nurse had rushed off over the crest of the\nkoppie to fetch Thomas and Dorcas, or either of them. As it chanced she\nmet them both walking to join Tabitha in her bower, and thus it came\nabout that they reached the place at the same moment as did old Menzi\nbounding up the rocks like a _klipspringer_ buck, or a mountain sheep.\nHearing him, Thomas turned in the narrow gateway of the kraal and asked\nwildly: \n\n\u201cWhat has happened, Witch-doctor?\u201d\n\n\u201cThis has happened, White-man,\u201d answered Menzi, \u201cthe Floweret\nhas been bitten by a hooded snake and is about to die. Look at her,\u201d\nand he pointed to Tabitha, who notwithstanding the venom sucking and\nthe grass tied round her blackened finger, sat huddled-up, shivering\nand half comatose. \n\n\u201cLet me pass, White-man, that I may save her if I can,\u201d he went on.\n\n\u201cGet back,\u201d said Thomas, \u201cI will have none of your black\nmagic practised on my daughter. If she is to live God will save her.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat medicines have you, White-man?\u201d asked Menzi.\n\n\u201cNone, at least not here. Faith is my medicine.\u201d\n\nDorcas looked at Tabitha. She was turning blue and her teeth were\nchattering. \n\n\u201cLet the man do his best,\u201d she said to Thomas. \u201cThere is no\nother hope.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe shan\u2019t touch her,\u201d replied her husband obstinately.\n\nThen Dorcas fired up, meek-natured though she was and accustomed though\nshe was to obey her husband\u2019s will.\n\n\u201cI say that he shall,\u201d she cried. \u201cI know what he can do.\nDon\u2019t you remember the goat? I will not see my child die as a\nsacrifice to your pride.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have made up my mind,\u201d answered Thomas. \u201cIf she dies it is\nso decreed, and the spells and filth of a heathen cannot save her.\u201d\n\nDorcas tried to thrust him aside with her feeble strength, but big and\nburly, he stood in the path like a rock, blocking the way, with the\nstone entrance walls of the little pleasure-house on either side of\nhim. \n\nSuddenly the old Zulu, Menzi, became rather terrible; he drew himself\nup; he seemed to swell in size; his thin face grew set and fierce.\n\n\u201cOut of the path, White-man!\u201d he said, \u201cor by Chaka\u2019s\nhead I will kill you,\u201d and from somewhere he produced a long,\nthin-bladed knife of native iron fixed on a buck\u2019s horn.\n\n\u201cKill on, Wizard,\u201d shouted Thomas. \u201cKill if you can.\u201d\n\n\u201cListen,\u201d said Dorcas. \u201cIf our daughter dies because of you,\nthen I have done with you. We part for ever. Do you understand?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I understand,\u201d he answered heavily. \u201cSo be it.\u201d\n\nTabitha behind them made some convulsive noise. Thomas turned and looked\nat her; she was slowly sinking down upon her side. His face changed.\nAll the rage and obstinacy went out of it.\n\n\u201cMy child! Oh, my child!\u201d he cried, \u201cI cannot bear this. Love\nis stronger than all. When I come up for judgment, may it be remembered\nthat love is stronger than all!\u201d\n\nThen he stepped out of the gateway, and sat down upon a stone hiding his\neyes with his hand.\n\nMenzi threw down the knife and leapt in, followed by his servant who\nbore his medicines, and the woman Ivana. He did his office; he uttered\nhis spells and invocations, he rubbed _Dawa_ into the wound, and\nprising open the child\u2019s clenched teeth, thrust more of it, a great\ndeal more, down her throat, while all three of them rubbed her cold\nlimbs. \n\nAbout half an hour afterwards he came out of the place followed by\nIvana, who carried Tabitha in her strong arms; Tabitha was very weak,\nbut smiling, and with the colour returning to her cheeks. Of Thomas he\ntook no notice, but to Dorcas he said:\n\n\u201cLady, I give you back your daughter. She is saved. Let her drink milk\nand sleep.\u201d\n\nThen Thomas, whose judgment and charity were shaken for a while, spoke,\nsaying: \n\n\u201cAs a man and a father I thank you, Witch-doctor, but know that as a\npriest I swear that I will never have more to do with you, who, I am\nsure, by your arts, can command these reptiles to work your will and\nhave planned all this to shame me. No, not even if you lay dying would\nI come to visit you.\u201d\n\nThus stormed Thomas in his wrath and humiliation, believing that he had\nbeen the victim of a plot and not knowing that he would live bitterly\nto regret his words.\n\n\u201cI see that you hate me, Teacher,\u201d said Menzi, \u201cand though\nhere I do not find the gentleness you preach, I do not wonder; it is\nquite natural. Were I you I should do the same. But you are Little\nFlower\u2019s father\u2014strange that she should have grown from such a\nseed\u2014and though we fight, for that reason I cannot hate you. Be not\ndisturbed. Perhaps it was the sucking of the wound and the grass tied\nround her finger which saved her, not my spells and medicine. No, no, I\ncannot hate you, although we fight for mastery, and you pelt me with\nvile words, saying that I charmed a deadly _immamba_ to bite Little\nFlower whom I love, that I might cure her and make a mock of you. Yet I\ndo hate that snake which bit the maiden Imba of its own wickedness, the\nhooded _immamba_ that you believe to be my familiar, and it shall die.\nMan,\u201d here he turned to his servant, \u201cand you, Ivana and the\nothers, pull down that wall.\u201d \n\nThey leapt to do his bidding, and presently discovered the _ringhals_ in\nits hole. Heedless of its fangs and writhings, Menzi sprang at it with a\nZulu curse, and seizing it, proceeded to kill it in a very slow and\ncruel fashion. \n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\n\nThe great drought fell upon Sisa-Land like a curse from Heaven. For\nmonth after month the sun beat fiercely, the sky was as brass, and no\nrain fell. Even the dews seemed to depart. The springs dried up. The\nriver Ukufa, the river called Death, ceased to flow, so that water\ncould only be found in its deepest hollows. The pool beneath the Rock\nof Evildoers, the Death Rock, sank till the bones of those who had been\nmurdered there many years before appeared as the crocodiles had left\nthem. Cattle died because there was no grass; cows ceased to give their\nmilk even where they could be partially fed and watered, so that the\nlittle children died also. Even in the dampest situations the crops \nwithered, till at last it became certain that unless rain fell within a\nmonth, before another cold season had gone by there would be starvation\neverywhere. For the drought was widespread, and therefore corn could\nnot be sent from other districts, even if there were cattle to draw it.\n   \n\nEvery day Thomas put up prayers for rain in the church, and on two\noccasions held special services for this purpose. These were better\nattended than any others had ever been, because his congregation felt\nthat the matter was extremely urgent, affecting them all, and that now\nwas the time when, whatever happened to the heathen, good Christians\nlike themselves should be rewarded. \n\nHowever this did not chance, since the drought went on as fiercely as\nbefore. \n\nMenzi was, of course, a rain-doctor, a \u201cHeaven-herd\u201d of the highest\ndistinction; one who, it was reputed, could by his magic cause the most\nbrazen sky to melt in tears. His services had been called in by\nneighbouring tribes, with the result, it was rumoured, that those\ntribes had been rewarded with partial showers. Also with great ceremony\nhe had gone through his rites for the benefit of the heathen section of\nthe Sisa people. Behold! by some curious accident on the following day\na thunderstorm had come up, and with it a short deluge of rain which\nsufficed to make it certain that the crops in those fields on which it\nfell would keep alive, at any rate for a while. \n\nBut mark what happened. As is not uncommon in the case of thunder\nshowers, this rain fell upon the lands which the heathen cultivated on\none side of the koppie, whereas those that belonged to the Christian\nsection upon the other side received not a single drop. The unjust were\nbedewed, the just were left dry as bones. All that they received was\nthe lightning, which killed an old man, one of the best Christians in\nthe place. The limits of the torrent might have been marked off with a\nline. When it had passed, to the heathen right stood pools of water; to\nthe Christian left there was nothing but blowing dust. \n\nNow these Christians, weak-kneed some of them, began to murmur,\nespecially those who, having passed through a similar experience in\ntheir youth, remembered what starvation meant in that country.\nReligion, they reflected, was all very well, but without mealies they\ncould not live, and without Kaffir corn there would be no beer. Indeed,\nmetaphorically, before long they passed from murmurs to shouting, and\ntheir shouts said this: Menzi must be invited to celebrate a\nrain-service in his own fashion for the benefit of the entire tribe. \n\nThomas argued in vain. He grew angry; he called them names which\ndoubtless they deserved; he said that they were spiritual outcasts. By\nthis time, being frantic, his flock did not care what he said. Either\nMenzi must come, they explained, or they would turn heathen. The Great\nOne in the sky could work as well through Menzi as through him, Tombool\nor anybody else. Menzi _must_ come.\n\nThomas threatened to excommunicate them all, a menace which did not\namount to much as they were already excommunicating themselves, and\nwhen they remained obstinate, told them that he would have nothing to\ndo with this rain-making business, which was unholy and repugnant to\nhim. He told them, moreover, that he was certain that their wickedness\nwould bring some judgment upon them, in which he proved to be right.\n\nThe end of it was that Menzi was summoned, and arrived with a triumphant\nsmile, saying that he was certain he could put everything in order, and\nthat soon they would have plenty of rain, that is, if they all attended\nhis invocations and made him presents suitable to so great an occasion.\n\nThe result was that they did attend them, man, woman and child, seated\nin a circle in that same old kraal where the witch-doctor had so\nmarvellously shown pictures upon the smoke. Each of them also brought\nhis gift in his hand, or, if it were a living thing, drove it before\nhim. \n\nThomas went down and addressed them in the midst of a sullen silence,\ncalling them wicked and repeating his belief that they would bring a\njudgment on their own heads, they who were worshipping Baal and making\nofferings to his priest. \n\nAfter he had talked himself hoarse, Menzi said mildly that if the\nTeacher Tombool had finished he would get to business. Why should the\nTeacher be angry because he, Menzi, offered to do what the Teacher\ncould not\u2014save the land from starving? And as for the gifts to\nhimself, did not White Teachers also receive pay and offerings at\ncertain feasts? \n\nThen, making a gesture of despair, Thomas returned to his house, and\nwith Dorcas and Tabitha watched the savage ceremony from the edge of\nthe cliff that overhung the river, or rather what had been the river.\nHe could not see much of it because they were too far away, but he\nperceived those apostate Christians prostrating themselves at Menzi\u2019s\norder, probably, he reflected, to make prayers to the devil. In fact\nthey were not doing this, but only repeating Menzi\u2019s magical chants\nwith appropriate gestures, as for countless ages their forefathers had\ndone upon similar occasions. \n\nNext an unfortunate black goat was dragged forward by the horns, a very\nthin black goat, and its throat was cut over a little fire, a sacrifice\nthat suggested necromancy of the most Satanic sort.\n\nAfter this Thomas and his family went back into the house and shut the\nwindows, that they might not hear the unholy shoutings of the misguided\nmob. When they went out again Menzi had departed, and so had the\nothers. The place was empty. \n\nThe following day was Sunday, and Thomas locked the church on the inner\nside, and read the service with Dorcas and Tabitha for sole\ncongregation. It was a melancholy business, for some sense of evil\nseemed to hang over all three of them, also over everybody else, for\nthe Christians went about with dejected looks and not one person spoke\nto them. Only Ivana came at night as usual to sleep with Tabitha,\nthough even she said nothing. \n\nNext morning they woke up to find the heavens black with clouds, heavy,\nominous clouds; the truth being that the drought was drawing to its\nnatural end. Thomas noted this, and reflected bitterly how hard it was\nthat this end should not have come twenty-four hours earlier. But so\nevents had been decreed and he was helpless.\n\nBy midday it began to rain, lightly at first, and from his rock he could\nsee the people, looking unnatural and distorted in that strange gloom,\nfor the clouds had descended almost to the earth, rushing about,\nholding out their hands as though to clasp the blessed moisture and\ntalking excitedly one to the other. Soon they were driven into their\nhuts, for the rain turned into a kind of waterspout. Never had such\nrain been known in Sisa-Land. \n\nAll that afternoon it poured, and all the night with ever-increasing\nviolence; yes, and all the following morning, so that by noon\nThomas\u2019s rain-gauge showed that over twelve inches had fallen in\nabout twenty-four hours, and it was still raining. Water rushed down\nfrom the koppie; even their well-built house could not keep out the\nwet, and, to the despair of Dorcas, several of the rooms were flooded\nand some of the new furniture was spoiled. The river beneath had become\na raging torrent, and was rising every hour. Already it was over its \nbanks, and the water had got into the huts of the Chief\u2019s kraal and\nthe village round it, so that their occupants were obliged to seek\nsafety upon the lower rocks of the koppie, where they sat shivering in\nthe wet.    \n\nNight came at last, and through the darkness they heard cries as of\npeople in distress. The long hours wore away till dawn, a melancholy\ndawn, for still it rained, though more lightly now, and no sun could be\nseen. \n\n\u201cFather,\u201d cried Tabitha, who, clad in oilskins, had gone a little\nway down the road, \u201ccome here and look.\u201d\n\nHe went. The child pointed to the village below, or rather what had been\nthe village, for now there was none. It had gone and with it Kosa\u2019s\nkraal; the site was a pool, the huts had vanished, all of them, and\nsome of the roofs lay upon the sides of the koppie, looking like\noverturned coracles. Only the church and the graveyard remained, for\nthose stood on slightly higher ground by the banks of the river.\n\nA little while later a miserable and dejected crowd arrived at the\nmission-house, wrapped up in blankets or anything else that they had\nmanaged to save.\n\n\u201cWhat do you want?\u201d asked Thomas.\n\n\u201cTeacher,\u201d replied the Chief Kosa, with twitching face and rolling\neyes, \u201cwe want you to come down to the church and pray for us. Our\nhouses are gone, our fields are washed away. We want you to come to\npray for us, for more rain is gathering on the hills and we are\nafraid.\u201d \n\n\u201cYou mean that you are cold and wish to take refuge in the church, of\nwhich I have the key. You have sought rain and now you have got rain,\nsuch rain as you deserve. Why do you complain? Go to your witch-doctor\nand ask him to save you.\u201d\n\n\u201cTeacher, come down to the church and pray for us,\u201d they wailed.\n\nIn the end Thomas went, for his heart was moved to pity, and Dorcas and\nTabitha went with him.\n\nThey entered the church, wading to it through several inches of water,\nand the service of intercession began, attended by every Christian in\nthe place\u2014except a few who were drowned\u2014a miserable and heartily\nrepentant crowd.\n\nWhile it was still in progress suddenly there was a commotion, and Menzi\nhimself rushed into the church. It was the first time he had ever\nentered there. \n\n\u201cCome forth!\u201d he cried. \u201cCome forth if you would save your\nlives. The water has eaten away the ground underneath this Heaven-house.\nIt falls! I say it falls!\u201d\n\nThen he peered about him in the shadowed place till he found Tabitha.\nLeaping at her, he threw his long thin arms round her and bore her from\nthe church. The others began to follow swiftly, and as Menzi passed the\ndoor carrying Tabitha, there came a dreadful rending sound, and one of\nthe walls opened, letting in the light.\n\nAll fled forth, Thomas still in his surplice and his soul filled with\nbitterness, for as he went it came into his mind that this must be a\nfarewell to that cherished church reared with so much love, cost and\nlabour. \n\nOutside the building on a patch of higher land, an upthrown plateau of\nrock, where presently all gathered beyond the reach of the waters,\nstood Menzi and Tabitha. Thomas looked at him and said:\n\n\u201cDoubtless you think that your spells have worked well, Witch-doctor,\nfor see the ruin about us. Yet I hold otherwise, and say, \u2018Wait till\nthe end!\u2019 To set a rock rolling down a hill is easy for those who\nhave the strength. But who knows on whom it will fall at last?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou speak foolishly, Teacher,\u201d answered Menzi. \u201cI do not\nthink that my spells have worked well, for something stronger than I am\nhas spoiled them. Mayhap it is you, Teacher, or the _Great-Great_ whom\nyou serve in your own fashion. I do not know, but I pray you to\nremember that long since on the smoke of my magic fire I showed you\nwhat would come about if you re-built the Heaven-house upon this place.\nBut you said I was a cheat and would not be warned. Therefore things\nhave gone as the Spirits appointed that they should go. Your Christians\nmade me gifts and asked me to bring rain and it has come in plenty, and\nwith it other things, more than you asked. Look,\u201d and he pointed\ndownwards. \n\nThe church was falling. Its last foundations were washed away. Down it\ncame with a mighty crash, to melt into the flood that presently filled\nthe place where it had been. Its collapse and the noise of it were\nterrible, so terrible that the Christians gathered on the rock uttered\na heart-rending wail of woe. The spire, being built upon a deeper bed\nbecause of its weight, stood longer than the rest of the fabric, but\npresently it went also. \n\nThrice it seemed to bow towards them, then it fell like a child\u2019s\ncastle. Reckoning its height with his eye, Thomas saw that it could not\nreach them where they stood, and so did the others, therefore no one\nstirred. As the tower collapsed the clock sounded the first stroke of\nthe hour, then suddenly became silent for ever and vanished beneath the\nwaters, a mass of broken metal. \n\nBut the bell on which it had struck was hurled forward by the sway of\nthe fall like a stone from a sling. It sped towards them through the\nair, a great dark object. Men ran this way and that, so that it fell\nupon the rock where none stood. It fell; it flew to pieces like an\nexploding shell, and its fragments hurtled over them with a screaming\nsound. Yet as it chanced the tongue or clapper of it took a lower\ncourse, perhaps because it was heavier, and rushing onwards like a\nthrown spear, struck Menzi full upon the chest, crushing in his breast\nbone. \n\nThey bore him up to the mission-house, since there was nowhere else\nwhither he could be taken. Here they laid him on a bed, leaving the\nwoman, Ivana, to watch him, for they had no skill to deal with such\ninjuries as his. Indeed, they thought him dead.\n\nFor a long while Menzi lay senseless, but after night had fallen his\nmind returned to him and he bade Ivana bring Tabitha to him, Tabitha\nand no one else. If she could not or would not come, then Ivana must\nbring no one else, for if she did he would curse her and die at once.\n\nThere were discussions and remonstrances, but in the end Tabitha was\nallowed to go, for after all a fellow-creature was dying, and this was\nhis last wish. She came, and Menzi received her smiling. Yes, he smiled\nand saluted her with shaking but uplifted arm, naming her _Inkosikazi_\nand _Umame_, or Mother.\n\n\u201cWelcome, Maiden Imba. Welcome, Little Flower,\u201d he said. \u201cI\nwish to say good-bye to you and to bless you; also to endow you with my\nSpirit, that it may guard you throughout your life till you are as I\nam. I have hated some of the others, but I have always loved you,\nLittle Flower.\u201d \n\n\u201cAnd I have loved you too, Menzi,\u201d said Tabitha, with a sob.\n\n\u201cI know, I know! We witch-doctors read hearts. But do not weep, Little\nFlower. Why should you for such as I, a black man, a mere savage cheat,\nas your father named me? Yet I have not been altogether a cheat, O\nImba, though sometimes I used tricks like other doctors, for I have a\nstrength of my own which your white people will never understand,\nbecause they are too young to understand. It only comes to the old folk\nwho have been since the beginning of the world, and remain as they were\nat the beginning. I have been wicked, Little Flower, according to your\nwhite law. I have killed men and done many other things that are\naccording to the law of my own people, and by that law I look for\njudgment. Yet, O Imba, I will say this\u2014that I believe your law to be \nhigher and better than my law. Has it not been shown to-day, since of\nall that were gathered on the rock yonder I alone was struck down and\nin the hour of my victory? The strongest law must be the best law, is\nit not so? Tell me, Little Flower, would it please you if I died a\nChristian?\u201d    \n\n\u201cYes, very much,\u201d said Tabitha, fixing upon this point at once and\nby instinct avoiding all the other very doubtful disputations. \u201cI will\nbring my father.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, nay, Little Flower. Your father, the Teacher Tombool, swore in\nhis wrath that he would not come to visit me even if I lay dying, and\nnow that I am dying he shall keep his oath and repent of it day by day\ntill he too is dying. If I am to die a Christian, you must make me one\nthis moment; _you_ and no other. Otherwise I go hence a heathen as I\nhave lived. If you bring your father here I will die at once before he\ncan touch me, as I have power to do.\u201d \n\nThen Tabitha, who although so young had strength and understanding and\nknew, if she thwarted him, that Menzi would do as he threatened, took\nwater and made a certain Sign upon the brow of that old witch-doctor,\nuttering also certain words that she had often heard used in church at\nbaptisms. \n\nPerhaps she was wrong; perhaps she transgressed and took too much upon\nher. Still, being by nature courageous, she ran the risk and did these\nthings as afterwards Ivana testified to the followers of Menzi.\n\n\u201cThank you, Little Flower,\u201d said Menzi. \u201cI do not suppose\nthat this Christian magic will do me any good, but that you wished it is\nenough. It will be a rope to tie us together, Little Flower. Also I have\nanother thought. When it is known that I became a Christian at the last\nthen, if _you_ bid them, Little Flower, the \u2018heathen-herd\u2019 will\nfollow where the bull Menzi went before them. They are but broken sherds\nand scorched sticks\u201d (i.e. rubbish) \u201cbut they will follow and that\nwill please you, Little Flower, and your father also.\u201d\n\nHere Menzi\u2019s breath failed, but recovering it, he continued:\n\n\u201cHearken! O Imba! I give my people into your hand; now let your hand\nbend the twig as you would have it grow. Make them Christian if you\nwill, or leave them heathen if you will; I care nothing. They are yours\nto drive upon whatever path you choose to set their feet, _yours_, O\nImba, not Tombool\u2019s. Also, I, who lack heirs, give you my cattle, all\nof them. Ivana, make known my words, and with them the curse of Menzi,\nthe King\u2019s child, the _Umazisi_, the Seer, on any who dare to\ndisobey. Say to those of my House and to my people that henceforth the\nMaiden Imba is their lady and their mother.\u201d\n\nAgain he paused a little, then went on:\n\n\u201cNow I charge my Spirit to watch over you, Little Flower, till you die\nand we come to talk over these matters otherwhere, and my Spirit as it\ndeparts tells me that it will watch well, and that you will be a very\nhappy woman, Little Flower.\u201d\n\nHe shut his eyes and lay still a while. Then he opened them again and\nsaid: \n\n\u201cO Imba, tell your father, the Teacher Tombool, from me that he does\nnot understand us black people, whom he thinks so common, as you\nunderstand us, Little Flower, and that he would be wise to go to\nminister to white ones.\u201d \n\nAfter this, once more he smiled at Tabitha and then shut his eyes again\nfor the last time, and that was the end of the witch-doctor Menzi.\n\nIt may be added that after he had rebuilt the church for the second\ntime, and numbered all the \u201cMenzi-herd\u201d among his congregation,\nwhich he did now that \u201cthe bull of the herd\u201d was dead, as Menzi had\nforetold that he would, if Tabitha, whom he had \u201cwrapped with his\nblanket,\u201d decreed it, Thomas took the sage advice of his departed\nenemy. \n\nNow, in the after years, he is the much respected if somewhat feared\nbishop of white settlers in a remote Dominion of the Crown.\n\nThomas to-day knows more than he used to know, but one thing he has\nnever learned, namely that it was the hand of a maid, yes, the little\nhidden hand of Tabitha, that drove all \u201cMenzi\u2019s herd\u201d into the\ngates of the \u201cHeavenly Kraal,\u201d as some of them named his church.\n\nFor Tabitha knew when to be silent. Perhaps the Kaffirs, whose minds she\ncould read as an open book, taught her this; or perhaps it was one of\nthe best gifts to her of old Menzi\u2019s \u201cSpirit,\u201d into whose care he\npassed her with so much formality.\n\nThis is the story of the great fight between Thomas Bull the missionary\nand Menzi the witch-doctor, who was led by his love of a little child\nwhither he never wished to go; not for his own soul\u2019s sake, but just\nbecause of that little child.\n\nMenzi did not care about his soul, but, being so strange a man, for some\nreason that he never explained, for Tabitha, his \u201cLittle Flower,\u201d\nhe cared very much indeed. That was why he became a Christian at the\nlast, since in his darkened, spell-bound heart he believed that if he\ndid not, when she too \u201cwent down\u201d he would never find her again.\n\nONLY A DREAM\n\nFootprints\u2014footprints\u2014the footprints of one dead. How ghastly they\nlook as they fall before me! Up and down the long hall they go, and I\nfollow them. _Pit, pat_ they fall, those unearthly steps, and beneath\nthem starts up that awful impress. I can see it grow upon the marble, a\ndamp and dreadful thing.\n\nTread them down; tread them out; follow after them with muddy shoes, and\ncover them up. In vain. See how they rise through the mire! Who can\ntread out the footprints of the dead?\n\nAnd so on, up and down the dim vista of the past, following the sound of\nthe dead feet that wander so restlessly, stamping upon the impress that\nwill not be stamped out. Rave on, wild wind, eternal voice of human\nmisery; fall, dead footsteps, eternal echo of human memory; stamp, miry\nfeet; stamp into forgetfulness that which will not be forgotten.\n\nAnd so on, on to the end.\n\nPretty ideas these for a man about to be married, especially when they\nfloat into his brain at night like ominous clouds into a summer sky,\nand he is going to be married to-morrow. There is no mistake about\nit\u2014the wedding, I mean. To be plain and matter-of-fact, why there\nstand the presents, or some of them, and very handsome presents they\nare, ranged in solemn rows upon the long table. It is a remarkable\nthing to observe when one is about to make a really satisfactory\nmarriage how scores of unsuspected or forgotten friends crop up and\nsend little tokens of their esteem. It was very different when I married\nmy first wife, I remember, but then that match was not\nsatisfactory\u2014just a love-match, no more. \n\nThere they stand in solemn rows, as I have said, and inspire me with\nbeautiful thoughts about the innate kindness of human nature,\nespecially the human nature of our distant cousins. It is possible to\ngrow almost poetical over a silver teapot when one is going to be\nmarried to-morrow. On how many future mornings shall I be confronted\nwith that tea-pot? Probably for all my life; and on the other side of\nthe teapot will be the cream jug, and the electro-plated urn will hiss\naway behind them both. Also the chased sugar basin will be in front,\nfull of sugar, and behind everything will be my second wife. \n\n\u201cMy dear,\u201d she will say, \u201cwill you have another cup of\ntea?\u201d and probably I shall have another cup.\n\nWell, it is very curious to notice what ideas will come into a man\u2019s\nhead sometimes. Sometimes something waves a magic wand over his being,\nand from the recesses of his soul dim things arise and walk. At\nunexpected moments they come, and he grows aware of the issues of his\nmysterious life, and his heart shakes and shivers like a\nlightning-shattered tree. In that drear light all earthly things seem\nfar, and all unseen things draw near and take shape and awe him, and he\nknows not what is true and what is false, neither can he trace the edge\nthat marks off the Spirit from the Life. Then it is that the footsteps \necho, and the ghostly footprints will not be stamped out. \n\nPretty thoughts again! and how persistently they come! It is one\no\u2019clock and I will go to bed. The rain is falling in sheets outside.\nI can hear it lashing against the window panes, and the wind wails\nthrough the tall wet elms at the end of the garden. I could tell the\nvoice of those elms anywhere; I know it as well as the voice of a\nfriend. What a night it is; we sometimes get them in this part of\nEngland in October. It was just such a night when my first wife died,\nand that is three years ago. I remember how she sat up in her bed. \n\n\u201cAh! those horrible elms,\u201d she said; \u201cI wish you would have\nthem cut down, Frank; they cry like a woman,\u201d and I said I would, and\njust after that she died, poor dear. And so the old elms stand, and I\nlike their music. It is a strange thing; I was half broken-hearted, for\nI loved her dearly, and she loved me with all her life and strength,\nand now\u2014I am going to be married again.\n\n\u201cFrank, Frank, don\u2019t forget me!\u201d Those were my wife\u2019s\nlast words; and, indeed, though I am going to be married again\nto-morrow, I have not forgotten her. Nor shall I forget how Annie\nGuthrie (whom I am going to marry now) came to see her the day before\nshe died. I know that Annie always liked me more or less, and I think\nthat my dear wife guessed it. After she had kissed Annie and bid her a\nlast good-bye, and the door had closed, she spoke quite suddenly:\n\u201cThere goes your future wife, Frank,\u201d she said; \u201cyou should have\nmarried her at first instead of me; she is very handsome and very good,\nand she has two thousand a year; _she_ would never have died of a\nnervous illness.\u201d And she laughed a little, and then added: \n\n\u201cOh, Frank dear, I wonder if you will think of me before you marry\nAnnie Guthrie. Wherever I am I shall be thinking of you.\u201d\n\nAnd now that time which she foresaw has come, and Heaven knows that I\nhave thought of her, poor dear. Ah! those footsteps of one dead that\nwill echo through our lives, those woman\u2019s footprints on the marble\nflooring which will not be stamped out. Most of us have heard and seen\nthem at some time or other, and I hear and see them very plainly\nto-night. Poor dead wife, I wonder if there are any doors in the land\nwhere you have gone through which you can creep out to look at me\nto-night? I hope that there are none. Death must indeed be a hell if\nthe dead can see and feel and take measure of the forgetful \nfaithlessness of their beloved. Well, I will go to bed and try to get a\nlittle rest. I am not so young or so strong as I was, and this wedding\nwears me out. I wish that the whole thing were done or had never been\nbegun.    \n\nWhat was that? It was not the wind, for it never makes that sound here,\nand it was not the rain, since the rain has ceased its surging for a\nmoment; nor was it the howling of a dog, for I keep none. It was more\nlike the crying of a woman\u2019s voice; but what woman can be abroad on\nsuch a night or at such an hour\u2014half-past one in the morning?\n\nThere it is again\u2014a dreadful sound; it makes the blood turn chill, and\nyet has something familiar about it. It is a woman\u2019s voice calling\nround the house. There, she is at the window now, and rattling it, and,\ngreat heavens! she is calling me.\n\n\u201cFrank! Frank! Frank!\u201d she calls.\n\nI strive to stir and unshutter that window, but before I can get there\nshe is knocking and calling at another.\n\nGone again, with her dreadful wail of \u201cFrank! Frank!\u201d Now I hear\nher at the front door, and, half mad with a horrible fear, I run down\nthe long, dark hall and unbar it. There is nothing there\u2014nothing but\nthe wild rush of the wind and the drip of the rain from the portico.\nBut I can hear the wailing voice going round the house, past the patch\nof shrubbery. I close the door and listen. There, she has got through\nthe little yard, and is at the back door now. Whoever it is, she must\nknow the way about the house. Along the hall I go again, through a\nswing door, through the servants\u2019 hall, stumbling down some steps\ninto the kitchen, where the embers of the fire are still alive in the\ngrate, diffusing a little warmth and light into the dense gloom. \n\nWhoever it is at the door is knocking now with her clenched hand against\nthe hard wood, and it is wonderful, though she knocks so low, how the\nsound echoes through the empty kitchens.\n\nThere I stood and hesitated, trembling in every limb; I dared not open\nthe door. No words of mine can convey the sense of utter desolation\nthat overpowered me. I felt as though I were the only living man in the\nwhole world. \n\n\u201c_Frank! Frank!_\u201d cries the voice with the dreadful familiar\nring in it. \u201cOpen the door; I am so cold. I have so little time.\u201d\n\nMy heart stood still, and yet my hands were constrained to obey. Slowly,\nslowly I lifted the latch and unbarred the door, and, as I did so, a\ngreat rush of air snatched it from my hands and swept it wide. The\nblack clouds had broken a little overhead, and there was a patch of\nblue, rain-washed sky with just a star or two glimmering in it\nfitfully. For a moment I could only see this bit of sky, but by degrees\nI made out the accustomed outline of the great trees swinging furiously\nagainst it, and the rigid line of the coping of the garden wall beneath\nthem. Then a whirling leaf hit me smartly on the face, and \ninstinctively I dropped my eyes on to something that as yet I could not \ndistinguish\u2014something small and black and wet. \n\n\u201cWhat are you?\u201d I gasped. Somehow I seemed to feel that it was not\na person\u2014I could not say, _Who_ are you?\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t you know me?\u201d wailed the voice, with the far-off\nfamiliar ring about it. \u201cAnd I mayn\u2019t come in and show myself. I\nhaven\u2019t the time. You were so long opening the door, Frank, and I am\nso cold\u2014oh, so bitterly cold! Look there, the moon is coming out, and\nyou will be able to see me. I suppose that you long to see me, as I\nhave longed to see you.\u201d\n\nAs the figure spoke, or rather wailed, a moonbeam struggled through the\nwatery air and fell on it. It was short and shrunken, the figure of a\ntiny woman. Also it was dressed in black and wore a black covering over\nthe whole head, shrouding it, after the fashion of a bridal veil. From\nevery part of this veil and dress the water fell in heavy drops.\n\nThe figure bore a small basket on her left arm, and her hand\u2014such a\npoor thin little hand\u2014gleamed white in the moonlight. I noticed that\non the third finger was a red line, showing that a wedding-ring had\nonce been there. The other hand was stretched towards me as though in\nentreaty. \n\nAll this I saw in an instant, as it were, and as I saw it, horror seemed\nto grip me by the throat as though it were a living thing, for as the\nvoice had been familiar, so was the form familiar, though the\nchurchyard had received it long years ago. I could not speak\u2014I could\nnot even move. \n\n\u201cOh, don\u2019t you know me yet?\u201d wailed the voice; \u201cand I\nhave come from so far to see you, and I cannot stop. Look, look,\u201d and\nshe began to pluck feverishly with her poor thin hand at the black veil\nthat enshrouded her. At last it came off, and, as in a dream, I saw\nwhat in a dim frozen way I had expected to see\u2014the white face and\npale yellow hair of my dead wife. Unable to speak or to stir, I gazed\nand gazed. There was no mistake about it, it was she, ay, even as I had\nlast seen her, white with the whiteness of death, with purple circles\nround her eyes and the grave-cloth yet beneath her chin. Only her eyes\nwere wide open and fixed upon my face; and a lock of the soft yellow\nhair had broken loose, and the wind tossed it. \n\n\u201cYou know me now, Frank\u2014don\u2019t you, Frank? It has been so hard\nto come to see you, and so cold! But you are going to be married\nto-morrow, Frank; and I promised\u2014oh, a long time ago\u2014to think of\nyou when you were going to be married wherever I was, and I have kept\nmy promise, and I have come from where I am and brought a present with\nme. It was bitter to die so young! I was so young to die and leave you,\nbut I had to go. Take it\u2014take it; be quick, I cannot stay any longer.\n_I could not give you my life, Frank, so I have brought you my\ndeath\u2014take it!_\u201d \n\nThe figure thrust the basket into my hand, and as it did so the rain\ncame up again, and began to obscure the moonlight.\n\n\u201cI must go, I must go,\u201d went on the dreadful, familiar voice, in a\ncry of despair. \u201cOh, why were you so long opening the door? I wanted\nto talk to you before you married Annie; and now I shall never see you\nagain\u2014never! never! _never!_ I have lost you for ever! ever!\n_ever!_\u201d\n\nAs the last wailing notes died away the wind came down with a rush and a\nwhirl and the sweep as of a thousand wings, and threw me back into the\nhouse, bringing the door to with a crash after me.\n\nI staggered into the kitchen, the basket in my hand, and set it on the\ntable. Just then some embers of the fire fell in, and a faint little\nflame rose and glimmered on the bright dishes on the dresser, even\nrevealing a tin candlestick, with a box of matches by it. I was\nwell-nigh mad with the darkness and fear, and, seizing the matches, I\nstruck one, and held it to the candle. Presently it caught, and I\nglanced round the room. It was just as usual, just as the servants had\nleft it, and above the mantelpiece the eight-day clock ticked away\nsolemnly. While I looked at it it struck two, and in a dim fashion I\nwas thankful for its friendly sound. \n\nThen I looked at the basket. It was of very fine white plaited work with\nblack bands running up it, and a chequered black-and-white handle. I\nknew it well. I have never seen another like it. I bought it years ago\nat Madeira, and gave it to my poor wife. Ultimately it was washed\noverboard in a gale in the Irish Channel. I remember that it was full\nof newspapers and library books, and I had to pay for them. Many and\nmany is the time that I have seen that identical basket standing there\non that very kitchen table, for my dear wife always used it to put\nflowers in, and the shortest cut from that part of the garden where her\nroses grew was through the kitchen. She used to gather the flowers, and \nthen come in and place her basket on the table, just where it stood now,\nand order the dinner. \n\nAll this passed through my mind in a few seconds as I stood there with\nthe candle in my hand, feeling indeed half dead, and yet with my mind\npainfully alive. I began to wonder if I had gone asleep, and was the\nvictim of a nightmare. No such thing. I wish it had only been a\nnightmare. A mouse ran out along the dresser and jumped on to the\nfloor, making quite a crash in the silence.\n\nWhat was in the basket? I feared to look, and yet some power within me\nforced me to it. I drew near to the table and stood for a moment\nlistening to the sound of my own heart. Then I stretched out my hand\nand slowly raised the lid of the basket.\n\n\u201cI could not give you my life, so I have brought you my death!\u201d\nThose were her words. What could she mean\u2014what could it all mean? I\nmust know or I would go mad. There it lay, whatever it was, wrapped up\nin linen. \n\nAh, heaven help me! It was a small bleached human skull!\n\nA dream! After all, only a dream by the fire, but what a dream! And I am\nto be married to-morrow.\n\n_Can_ I be married to-morrow?\n\n\n\n\nBARBARA WHO CAME BACK\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\nTHE RECTORY BLIND\n\n\nThis is the tale of Barbara, Barbara who came back to save a soul alive.\n\nThe Reverend Septimus Walrond was returning from a professional visit to\na distant cottage of his remote and straggling parish upon the coast of\nEast Anglia. His errand had been sad, to baptise the dying infant of a\nfisherman, which just as the rite was finished wailed once feebly and\nexpired in his arms. The Reverend Septimus was weeping over the sorrows\nof the world. Tears ran down his white but rounded face, for he was\nstout of habit, and fell upon his clerical coat that was green with age\nand threadbare with use. Although the evening was so cold he held his\nbroad-brimmed hat in his hand, and the wind from the moaning sea tossed\nhis snow-white hair. He was talking to himself, as was his fashion on\nthese lonely walks. \n\n\u201cI think that fresh milk would have saved that child,\u201d he said,\n\u201cbut how was poor Thomas to buy fresh milk at fourpence a quart? Laid\nup for three months as he has been and with six children, how was he to\nbuy fresh milk? I ought to have given it to him. I could have done\nwithout these new boots till spring, damp feet don\u2019t matter to an old\nman. But I thought of my own comfort\u2014the son that doth so easily\nbeset me\u2014and so many to clothe and feed at home and poor Barbara, my\ndarling Barbara, hanging between life and death.\u201d\n\nHe sobbed and wiped away his tears with the back of his hand, then began\nto pray, still aloud.\n\n\u201cO God of pity, in the name of the loving and merciful Christ, help me\nand poor Thomas in our troubles.\u201d\n\n\u201cI ought to have put Thomas\u2019s name first\u2014my selfishness\nagain,\u201d he ejaculated, then went on:\n\n\u201cGive consolation to Thomas who loved his baby, and if it pleases Thee\nin Thy infinite wisdom and foresight, spare my dearest Barbara\u2019s\nlife, that she may live out her days upon the earth and perhaps in her\nturn give life to others. I know I should not ask it; I know it is\nbetter that she should go and be with Thee in the immortal home Thou\nhast prepared for us unhappy, suffering creatures. Yet\u2014pity my poor\nhuman weakness\u2014I do ask it. Or if Thou decreest otherwise, then take\nme also, O God, for I can bear no more. Four children gone! I can bear\nno more, O God.\u201d \n\nHe sobbed again and wiped away another tear, then muttered:\n\n\u201cMy selfishness, always my selfishness! With six remaining to be\nlooked after, that is counting Barbara if she still lives, I dare to\nask to be relieved of the burdens of the flesh! Pitiful Christ, visit\nnot my wickedness on me or on others, and O Thou that didst raise the\ndaughter of Jairus, save my sweet Barbara and comfort the heart of poor\nThomas. I will have faith. I _will_ have faith.\u201d\n\nHe thrust his hat upon his head, pulling it down over his ears because\nof the rough wind, and walked forward quite jauntily for a few yards.\n\n\u201cWhat a comfort these new boots are,\u201d he said. \u201cIf I had\nstepped into that pool with the old ones my left foot would be wet\nthrough now. Let me thank God for these new boots. Oh! how can I, when\nI remember that the price of them should have been spent in milk for\nthe poor baby? If I were really a Christian I ought to take them off\nand walk barefoot, as the old pilgrims used to do. They say it is\nhealthy, and I tried to think so because it is cheap, though I am sure\nthat this was the beginning of poor little Cicely\u2019s last illness.\nWith her broken chilblains she could not stand the snow; at any rate,\nthe chill struck upwards. Well, she has been in bliss three years,\nthree whole years, and how thankful I ought to be for that. How glad she\n will be to see Barbara too, if it pleases God in His mercy to take\nBarbara; she always was her favourite sister. I ought to remember that;\nI ought to remember that what I lose here I gain there, that my store\nis always growing in Heaven. But I can\u2019t, for I am a man still. Oh!\ncurse it all! I can\u2019t, and like Job I wish I\u2019d never been born. Job\ngot a new family and was content, but that\u2019s their Eastern way.\nIt\u2019s different with us Englishmen.\u201d \n\nHe stumbled on for a hundred yards or more, vacuously, almost drunkenly,\nfor the hideous agony that he was enduring half paralysed his brain,\nand by its very excess was bringing him some temporary relief. He\nlooked at the raging sea to his right, and in a vague fashion wished\nthat it had swallowed him. He looked at the kind earth of the ploughed\nfield to his left, and wished vividly, for the idea was more familiar,\nthat six feet of it lay above him. Then he remembered that just beyond\nthat sand-heap he had found a plover\u2019s nest with two eggs in it fifty\nyears ago when he was a boy, and had taken one egg and left the other,\nor rather had restored it because the old bird screamed so pitifully\nabout him. In some strange manner that little, long-forgotten act of \nrighteousness brought a glow of comfort to his tormented spirit. Perhaps\nGod would deal so by him. \n\nIn its way the evening was very beautiful. The cold November day was\ndying into night. Clear, clear was the sky save for some black and\nheavy snow clouds that floated on it driven before the easterly wind\nthat piped through the sere grasses and blew the plovers over him as\nthough they were dead leaves. Where the sun had vanished long bars of\npurple lay above the horizon; to his excited fancy they looked like the\ngateway of another and a better world, set, as the old Egyptians\ndreamed, above the uttermost pylons of the West. What lay there beyond\nthe sun? Oh! what lay beyond the sun? Perhaps, even now, Barbara knew! \n\nA figure appeared standing upon a sand dune between the pathway and the\nsea. Septimus was short-sighted and could not tell who it was, but in\nthis place at this hour doubtless it must be a parishioner, perhaps one\nwaiting to see him upon some important matter. He must forget his\nprivate griefs. He must strive to steady his shaken mind and attend to\nhis duties. He drew himself together and walked on briskly.\n\n\u201cI wish I had not been obliged to give away Jack,\u201d he said.\n\u201cHe was a great companion, and somehow I always met people with more\nconfidence when he was with me; he seemed to take away my shyness. But\nthe license was seven-and-sixpence, and I haven\u2019t got\nseven-and-sixpence; also he has an excellent home with that stuffy old\nwoman, if a dull one, for he must miss his walk. Oh! it\u2019s you,\nAnthony. What are you doing here at this time of night? Your father\ntold me you had a bad cold and there\u2019s so much sickness about. You\nshould be careful, Anthony, you know you\u2019re not too strong, none of\nyou Arnotts are. Well, I suppose you are shooting, and most young men\nwill risk a great deal in order to kill God\u2019s other creatures.\u201d\n\nThe person addressed, a tall, broad-shouldered, rather pale young man of\nabout twenty-one, remarkable for his large brown eyes and a certain\nsweet expression which contrasted somewhat oddly with the general\nmanliness of his appearance, lifted his cap and answered:\n\n\u201cNo, Mr. Walrond, I am not shooting to-night. In fact, I was waiting\nhere to meet you.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat for, Anthony? Nothing wrong up at the Hall, I hope.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, Mr. Walrond; why should there be anything wrong there?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know, I am sure, only as a rule people don\u2019t wait\nfor the parson unless there is something amiss, and there seems to be so\nmuch misfortune in this parish just now. Well, what is it, my boy?\u201d\n\n\u201cI want to know about Barbara, Mr. Walrond. They tell me she is very\nbad, but I can\u2019t get anything definite from the others, I mean from\nher sisters. They don\u2019t seem to be sure, and the doctor wouldn\u2019t\nsay when I asked him.\u201d\n\nThe Reverend Septimus looked at Anthony and Anthony looked at the\nReverend Septimus, and in that look they learned to understand each\nother. The agony that was eating out this poor father\u2019s heart was not\npeculiar to him; another shared it. In what he would have called his\n\u201cwicked selfishness\u201d the Reverend Septimus felt almost grateful for\nthis sudden revelation. If it is a comfort to share our joys, it is a\nstill greater comfort to share our torments.\n\n\u201cWalk on with me, Anthony,\u201d he said. \u201cI must hurry, I have\nevery reason to hurry. Had it not been a matter of duty I would not have\nleft the house, but, so to speak, a clergyman has many children; he\ncannot prefer one before the other.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, yes,\u201d said Anthony, \u201cbut what about Barbara? Oh! please\ntell me at once.\u201d\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t tell you, Anthony, because I don\u2019t know. From here\nto the crest of Gunter\u2019s Hill,\u201d and he pointed to an eminence in\nfront of them, \u201cis a mile and a quarter. When we get to the crest of\nGunter\u2019s Hill perhaps we shall know. I left home two hours ago, and\nthen Barbara lay almost at the point of death; insensible.\u201d\n\n\u201cInsensible,\u201d muttered Anthony. \u201cOh! my God,\ninsensible.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d went on the clergyman in a voice of patient resignation.\n\u201cI don\u2019t understand much about such things, but the inflammation\nappears to have culminated that way. Now either she will never wake\nagain, or if she wakes she may live. At least that is what they tell\nme, but they may be wrong. I have so often known doctors to be\nwrong.\u201d \n\nThey walked on together in silence twenty yards or more. Then he added\nas though speaking to himself:\n\n\u201cWhen we reach the top of Gunter\u2019s Hill perhaps we shall learn. We\ncan see her window from there, and if she had passed away I bade them\npull the blind down; if she was about the same, to pull it half down,\nand if she were really better, to leave it quite up. I have done that\nfor two nights now, so that I might have a little time to prepare\nmyself. It is a good plan, though very trying to a father\u2019s heart.\nYesterday I stood for quite a while with my eyes fixed upon the ground,\nnot daring to look and learn the truth.\u201d \n\nAnthony groaned, and once more the old man went on:\n\n\u201cShe is a very unselfish girl, Barbara, or perhaps I should say was,\nperhaps I should say was. That is how she caught this horrible\ninflammation. Three weeks ago she and her sister Janey went for a long\nwalk to the Ness, to\u2014to\u2014oh! I forget why they went. Well, it came\non to pour with rain; and just as they had started for home,\nfortunately, or rather unfortunately, old Stevens the farmer overtook\nthem on his way back from market and offered them a lift. They got into\nthe cart and Barbara took off the mackintosh that her aunt gave her\nlast Christmas\u2014it is the only one in the house, since such things are\ntoo costly for me to buy\u2014and put it over Janey, who had a cold. It\nwas quite unnecessary, for Janey was warmly wrapped up, while Barbara\nhad nothing under the mackintosh except a summer dress. That is how she\ncaught the chill.\u201d \n\nAnthony made no comment, and again they walked forward without speaking,\nperhaps for a quarter of a mile. Then the horror of the suspense became\nintolerable to him. Without a word he dashed forward, sped down the\nslope and up that of the opposing Gunter\u2019s Hill, more swiftly perhaps\nthan he had ever run before, although he was a very quick runner.\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s gone,\u201d murmured Septimus. \u201cI wonder why! I\nsuppose that I walk too slowly for him. I cannot walk so fast as I used\nto do, and he felt the wind cold.\u201d\n\nThen he dismissed the matter from his half-dazed mind and stumbled on\nwearily, muttering his disjointed prayers.\n\nThus in due course he began to climb the little slope of Gunter\u2019s\nHill. The sun had set, but there was still a red glow in the sky, and\nagainst this glow he perceived the tall figure of Anthony standing\nquite still. When he was about a hundred yards away the figure suddenly\ncollapsed, as a man does if he is shot. The Reverend Septimus put his\nhand to his heart and caught his breath. \n\n\u201cI know what that means,\u201d he said. \u201cHe was watching the\nwindow, and they have just pulled down the blind. I suppose he must be\nfond of her and it\u2014affects him. Oh! if I were younger I think this\nwould kill me, but, thank God! as one draws near the end of the road\nthe feet harden; one does not feel the thorns so much. \u2018The Lord gave\nand the Lord hath taken away, bl\u2014bl\u2014yes, I _will_ say it\u2014blessed\nbe the Name of the Lord.\u2019 I should remember that she is so much\nbetter where she is; that this is a very hard world; indeed, sometimes\nI think it is not a world, but a hell. Oh! Barbara, my sweet\nBarbara!\u201d and he struggled forward blindly beating at the rough wind\nwith his hands as though it were a visible foe, and so at last came to\nthe crest of the hill where Anthony Arnott lay prone upon his face.\n\nSo sure was Septimus of the cause of his collapse that he did not even\ntrouble to look at the Rectory windows in the hollow near the church\ntwo hundred yards or so away. He only looked at Anthony, saying:\n\n\u201cPoor lad, poor lad! I wonder how I shall get him home; I must fetch\nsome help.\u201d\n\nAs he spoke, Anthony sat up and said, \u201cYou see, you see!\u201d\n\n\u201cSee what?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe blind; _it is quite up_. When I got here it was half down, then\nsomeone pulled it up. That\u2019s what finished me. I felt as though I had\nbeen hit on the head with a stick.\u201d\n\nThe Reverend Septimus stared, then suddenly sank to his knees and\nreturned thanks in his simple fashion.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t let us be too certain, Anthony,\u201d he exclaimed at\nlength. \u201cThere may be a mistake, or perhaps this is only a respite\nwhich will prolong the suspense. Often such things happen to torment\nus; I mean that they are God\u2019s way of trying and purifying our poor\nsinful hearts.\u201d \n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\nTHE NEW YEAR FEAST\n\n\nBarbara did not die. On the contrary, Barbara got quite well again, but\nher recovery was so slow that Anthony only saw her once before he was\nobliged to return to college. This was on New Year\u2019s Day, when Mr.\nWalrond asked him to dinner to meet Barbara, who was coming down for\nthe first time. Needless to say he went, taking with him a large bunch\nof violets which he had grown in a frame at the Hall especially for\nBarbara. Indeed, she had already received many of those violets through\nthe agency of her numerous younger sisters. \n\nThe Rectory dinner was at one o\u2019clock, and the feast could not be\ncalled sumptuous. It consisted of a piece of beef, that known as the\n\u201caitch-bone,\u201d which is perhaps the cheapest that the butcher\nsupplies when the amount of eating is taken into consideration; one\nroast duck, a large Pekin, the New Year offering of the farmer\nStevens; and a plum pudding somewhat pallid in appearance. These\ndainties with late apples and plenty of cold water made up the best\ndinner that the Walrond family had eaten for many a day.\n\nThe Rectory dining-room was a long, narrow chamber of dilapidated\nappearance, since between meals it served as a schoolroom also. A deal\nbookcase in the corner held some tattered educational works and the\nwalls that once had been painted blue, but now were faded in patches to\na sickly green, were adorned only with four texts illuminated by\nBarbara. These texts had evidently served as targets for moistened\npaper pellets, some of which still stuck upon their surface.\n\nAnthony arrived a little late, since the picking of the violets had\ntaken longer than he anticipated, and as there was no one to open the\nfront door, walked straight into the dining-room. In the doorway he\ncollided with the little maid-of-all-work, a red-elbowed girl of\nsingularly plain appearance, who having deposited the beef upon the\ntable, was rushing back for the duck, accompanied by two of the young\nWalronds who were assisting with the vegetables. The maid, recoiling,\nsat down with a bump on one of the wooden chairs, and the Walrond\ngirls, a merry, good-looking, unkempt crew (no boy had put in an\nappearance in all that family), burst into screams of laughter. Anthony\napologised profusely; the maid, ejaculating that she didn\u2019t mind, not\nshe, jumped up and ran for the duck; and the Reverend Septimus, a very \ndifferent Septimus to him whom we met a month or so before, seizing his\nhand, shook it warmly, calling out: \n\n\u201cJulia, my dear, never mind that beef. I haven\u2019t said grace yet.\nHere\u2019s Anthony.\u201d\n\n\u201cGlad to see him, I am sure,\u201d said Mrs. Walrond, her eyes still\nfixed upon the beef, which was obviously burnt at one corner. Then with\na shrug, for she was accustomed to such accidents, she rose to greet\nhim. \n\nMrs. Walrond was a tall and extremely good-looking lady of about\nfifty-five, dark-eyed and bright complexioned, whose chestnut hair was\nscarcely touched with grey. Notwithstanding all the troubles and\nhardships that she had endured, her countenance was serene and even\nhappy, for she was blessed with a good heart, a lively faith in\nProvidence, and a well-regulated mind. Looking at her, it was easy to\nsee whence Barbara and her other daughters inherited their beauty and\nair of breeding. \n\n\u201cHow are you, Anthony?\u201d she went on, one eye still fixed upon the\nburnt beef. \u201cIt is good of you to come, though you are late, which I\nsuppose is why the girl has burnt the meat.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot a bit,\u201d called out one of the children, it was Janey,\n\u201cit is very good of us to have him when there\u2019s only one duck.\nAnthony, you mustn\u2019t eat duck, as we don\u2019t often get one and you\nhave hundreds.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot I, dear, I hate ducks,\u201d he relied automatically, for his eyes\nwere seeking the face of Barbara.\n\nBarbara was seated in the wooden armchair with a cushion on it, near the\nfire of driftwood, advantages that were accorded to her in honour of\nher still being an invalid. Even to a stranger she would have looked\nextraordinarily sweet with her large and rather plaintive violet eyes\nover which the long black lashes curved, her waving chestnut hair\nparted in the middle and growing somewhat low upon her forehead, her\ntall figure, very thin just now, and her lovely shell-like complexion\nheightened by a blush. \n\nTo Anthony she seemed a very angel, an angel returned from the shores of\ndeath for his adoration and delight. Oh! if things had gone the other\nway\u2014if there had been no sweet Barbara seated in that wooden chair!\nThe thought gripped his heart with a hand of ice; he felt as he had\nfelt when he looked at the window-place from the crest of Gunter\u2019s\nHill. But she _had_ come back, and he was sure that they were each\nother\u2019s for life. And yet, and yet, life must end one day and then,\nwhat? Once more that hand of ice dragged at his heart strings.\n\nIn a moment it was all over and Mr. Walrond was speaking.\n\n\u201cWhy don\u2019t you bid Barbara good-day, Anthony?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cDon\u2019t you think she looks well, considering? We do, better than\nyou, in fact,\u201d he added, glancing at his face, which had suddenly\ngrown pale, almost grey.\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s going to give Barbara the violets and doesn\u2019t know how\nto do it,\u201d piped the irrepressible Janey. \u201cAnthony, why\ndon\u2019t you ever bring _us_ violets, even when we have the whooping\ncough?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause the smell of them is bad for delicate throats,\u201d he\nanswered, and without a word handed the sweet-scented flowers to\nBarbara. \n\nShe took them, also without a word, but not without a look, pinned a few\nto her dress, and reaching a cracked vase from the mantelpiece,\ndisposed of the rest of them there till she could remove them to her\nown room. Then Mr. Walrond began to say grace and the difficulties of\nthat meeting were over. \n\nAnthony sat by Barbara. His chair was rickety, one of the legs being\nmuch in need of repair; the driftwood fire that burned brightly about\ntwo feet away grilled his spine, for no screen was available, and he\nnearly choked himself with a piece of very hot and hard potato. Yet to\ntell the truth never before did he share in such a delightful meal. For\nsoon, when the clamour of \u201cthe girls\u201d swelled loud and long, and\nthe attention of Mr. and Mrs. Walrond was entirely occupied with the\nburnt beef and the large duck that absolutely refused to part with its\nlimbs, he found himself almost as much alone with Barbara as though\nthey had been together on the wide seashore. \n\n\u201cYou are really getting quite well?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cYes, I think so.\u201d Then, after a pause and with a glance from the\nviolet eyes, \u201cAre you glad?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou know I am glad. You know that if you had\u2014died, I should have\ndied too.\u201d\n\n\u201cNonsense,\u201d said the curved lips, but they trembled and the violet\neyes were a-swim with tears. Then a little catch of the throat, and,\nalmost in a whisper, \u201cAnthony, father told me about you and the\nwindow-blind and\u2014oh! I don\u2019t know how to thank you. But I want to\nsay something, if you won\u2019t laugh. Just at that time I seemed to come\nup out of some blackness and began to dream of you. I dreamed that I\nwas sinking back into the blackness, but you caught me by the hand and\nlifted me quite out of it. Then we floated away together for ever and\nfor ever and for ever, for though sometimes I lost you we always met\nagain. Then I woke up and knew that I wasn\u2019t going to die, that\u2019s\nall.\u201d \n\n\u201cWhat a beautiful dream,\u201d began Anthony, but at that moment,\npausing from her labours at the beef, Mrs. Walrond said:\n\n\u201cBarbara, eat your duck before it grows cold. You know the doctor said\nyou must take plenty of nourishment.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am going to, mother,\u201d answered Barbara, \u201cI feel dreadfully\nhungry,\u201d and really she did; her gentle heart having fed full, of a\nsudden her body seemed to need nourishment.\n\n\u201cDear me!\u201d said Mr. Walrond, pausing from his labours and viewing\nthe remains of the duck disconsolately, for he did not see what portion\nof its gaunt skeleton was going to furnish him with dinner, and duck\nwas one of his weaknesses, \u201cdear me, there\u2019s a dreadful smell of\nburning in this room. Do you think it can be the beef, my love?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course it is not the beef,\u201d replied Mrs. Walrond rather\nsharply. \u201cThe beef is beautifully done.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d ejaculated one of the girls who had got the calcined bit,\n\u201cwhy, mother, you said it was burnt yourself.\u201d\n\n\u201cNever mind what I said,\u201d replied Mrs. Walrond severely,\n\u201cespecially as I was mistaken. It is very rude of your father to make\nremarks about the meat.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, something _is_ burning, my love.\u201d\n\nJaney, who was sitting next to Anthony, paused from her meal to sniff,\nthen exclaimed in a voice of delight:\n\n\u201cOh! it is Anthony\u2019s coat tails. Just look, they are turning quite\nbrown. Why, Anthony, you must be as beautifully done as the beef. If you\ncan sit there and say nothing, you are a Christian martyr wasted,\nthat\u2019s all.\u201d\n\nAnthony sprang up, murmuring that he thought there was something wrong\nbehind, which on examination there proved to be. The end of it was that\nthe chairs were all pushed downwards, with the result that for the rest\nof that meal there was a fiery gulf fixed between him and Barbara which\nmade further confidences impossible. So he had to talk of other\nmatters. Of these, as it chanced, he had something to say.\n\nA letter had arrived that morning from his elder brother George, who was\nan officer in a line regiment. It had been written in the trenches\nbefore Sebastopol, for these events took place in the mid-Victorian\nperiod towards the end of the Crimean War. Or rather the letter had\nbeen begun in the trenches and finished in the military hospital,\nwhither George had been conveyed, suffering from \u201cfever and severe\nchill,\u201d which seemed to be somewhat contradictory terms, though\ndoubtless they were in fact compatible enough. Still he wrote a very\ninteresting letter, which, after the pudding had been consumed to the\nlast spoonful, Anthony read aloud while the girls ate apples and\ncracked nuts with their teeth. \n\n\u201cDear me! George seems to be very unwell,\u201d said Mrs. Walrond.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d answered Anthony, \u201cI am afraid he is. One of the\nmedical officers whom my father knows, who is working in that hospital,\nsays they mean to send him home as soon as he can bear the journey,\nthough he doesn\u2019t think it will be just at present.\u201d\n\nThis sounded depressing, but Mr. Walrond found that it had a bright\nside. \n\n\u201cAt any rate, he won\u2019t be shot like so many poor fellows; also he\nhas been in several of the big battles and will be promoted. I look upon\nhim as a made man. He\u2019ll soon shake off his cold in his native\nair\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd we shall have a real wounded hero in the village,\u201d said one of\nthe girls.\n\n\u201cHe isn\u2019t a wounded hero,\u201d answered Janey, \u201che\u2019s\nonly got a chill.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, that\u2019s as bad as wounded, dear, and I am sure he would have\nbeen wounded if he could.\u201d And so on.\n\n\u201cWhen are you going back to Cambridge, Anthony?\u201d asked Mrs. Walrond\npresently.\n\n\u201cTo-morrow morning, I am sorry to say,\u201d he answered, and\nBarbara\u2019s face fell at his words. \u201cYou see, I go up for my degree\nthis summer term, and my father is very anxious that I should take high\nhonours in mathematics. He says that it will give me a better standing\nin the Bar. So I must begin work at once with a tutor before term, for\nthere\u2019s no one near here who can help me.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said Mr. Walrond. \u201cIf it had been classics now, with a\nlittle refurbishing perhaps I might. But mathematics are beyond me.\u201d\n\n\u201cBarbara should teach him,\u201d suggested one of the little girls\nslyly. \u201cShe\u2019s splendid at Rule of Three.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhich is more than you are,\u201d said Mrs. Walrond in severe tones,\n\u201cwho always make thirteen out of five and seven. Barbara, love, you\nare looking very tired. All this noise is too much for you, you must go\nand lie down at once in your own room. No, not on the sofa, in your own\nroom. Now say good-bye to Anthony and go.\u201d\n\nSo Barbara, who was really tired, though with a happy weariness, did as\nshe was bid. Her hand met Anthony\u2019s and lingered there for a little,\nher violet eyes met his brown eyes and lingered there a little; her\nlips spoke some few words of commonplace farewell. Then staying a\nmoment to take the violets from the cracked vase, and another moment to\nkiss her father as she passed him, she walked, or rather glided from\nthe room with the graceful movement that was peculiar to her, and lo!\nat once for Anthony it became a very emptiness. Moreover, he grew aware\nof the hardness of his wooden seat and that the noise of the girls was\nmaking his head ache. So presently he too rose and departed. \n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\nAUNT MARIA\n\n\nSix months or so had gone by and summer reigned royally at Eastwich, for\nthus was the parish named of which the Reverend Septimus Walrond had\nspiritual charge. The heath was a blaze of gold, the cut hay smelt\nsweetly in the fields, the sea sparkled like one vast sapphire, the\nlarks beneath the sun and the nightingales beneath the moon sang their\nhearts out on Gunter\u2019s Hill, and all the land was full of life and\nsound and perfume. \n\nOn one particularly beautiful evening, after partaking of a meal called\n\u201chigh tea,\u201d Barbara, quite strong again now and blooming like the\nwild rose upon her breast, set out alone upon a walk. Her errand was to\nthe cottage of that very fisherman whose child her father had baptised\non the night when her life trembled in the balance. Having accomplished\nthis she turned homewards, lost in reverie, events having happened at\nthe Rectory which gave her cause for thought. When she had gone a\nlittle way some instinct led her to look up. About fifty yards away a\nman was walking towards her to all appearance also lost in reverie.\nEven at that distance and in the uncertain evening light she knew well\nenough that this was Anthony. Her heart leapt at the sight of him and\nher cheeks seemed to catch the hue of the wild rose on her bosom. Then\nshe straightened her dress a little and walked on. \n\nIn less than a minute they had met.\n\n\u201cI heard where you had gone and came to meet you,\u201d he said\nawkwardly. \u201cHow well you are looking, Barbara, how well\nand\u2014\u2014\u201d he had meant to add \u201cbeautiful,\u201d but his\ntongue stumbled at the word and what he said was \u201cbrown.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf I were an Indian I suppose I should thank you for the compliment,\nAnthony, but as it is I don\u2019t know. But how well _you_ are looking,\nhow well and by comparison\u2014fat.\u201d\n\nThen they both laughed, and he explained at length how he had been able\nto get home two days earlier than he expected; also that he had taken\nhis degree with even higher honours than he hoped.\n\n\u201cI am so glad,\u201d she said earnestly.\n\n\u201cAnd so am I; I mean glad that you are glad. You see, if it hadn\u2019t\nbeen for you I should never have done so well. But because I thought you\nwould be glad, I worked like anything.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou should have thought of what your father would feel, not\nof\u2014of\u2014well, it has all ended as it should, so we needn\u2019t\nargue. How is your brother George?\u201d she went on, cutting short the\nanswer that was rising to his lips. \u201cI suppose I should call him\nCaptain Arnott now, for I hear he has been promoted. We haven\u2019t seen\nhim since he came home last week, from some hospital in the South of\nEngland, they say.\u201d \n\nAnthony\u2019s face grew serious.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know; I don\u2019t quite like the look of him, and he\ncoughs such a lot. It seems as though he could not shake off that chill\nhe got in the trenches. That\u2019s why he hasn\u2019t been to call at the\nRectory.\u201d\n\n\u201cI hope this beautiful weather will cure him,\u201d Barbara replied\nrather doubtfully, for she had heard a bad report of George Arnott\u2019s\nhealth. Then to change the subject she added, \u201cDo you know, we had a\nvisitor yesterday, Aunt Maria in the flesh, in a great deal of flesh, as\nJaney says.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you mean Lady Thompson?\u201d\n\nShe nodded.\n\n\u201cAunt Thompson and her footman and her pug dog. Thank goodness, she\nonly stayed to tea, as she had a ten mile drive back to her hotel. As\nit was, lots of things happened.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat happened?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, first when she got out of the carriage, covered with jet anchor\nchains\u2014for you know Uncle Samuel died only three months ago and left\nher all his money\u2014she caught sight of our heads staring at her out of\nthe drawing-room window, and asked father if he kept a girls\u2019 school.\nThen she made mother cry by remarking that she ought to be thankful to\nProvidence for having taken to its bosom the four of us who died young\n\u2014you know she has no children herself and so can\u2019t feel about them.\nAlso father was furious because she told him that at least half of us\nshould have been boys. He turned quite pink and said:\n\n\u201c\u2018I have been taught, Lady Thompson, that these are matters which\nGod Almighty keeps in His own hands, and to Him I must refer you.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Good gracious! don\u2019t get angry,\u2019 she answered.\n\u2018If you clergymen can cross-examine your Maker, I am not in that\nposition. Besides, they are all very good-looking girls who may find\nhusbands, if they ever see a man. So things might have been worse.\u2019\n\n\u201cThen she made remarks about the tea, for Uncle Samuel was a\ntea-merchant; and lastly that wicked Janey sent the footman to take the\npug dog to walk past the butcher\u2019s shop where the fighting terrier\nlives. You can guess the rest.\u201d\n\n\u201cWas the pug killed?\u201d asked Anthony.\n\n\u201cNo, though the poor thing came back in a bad way. I never knew before\nthat a pug\u2019s tail was so long when it is quite uncurled. But the\nfootman looked almost worse, for he got notice on the spot. You see he\nwent into the \u2018Red Dragon\u2019 and left the pug outside.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd here endeth Aunt Maria and all her works,\u201d said Anthony, who\nwanted to talk of other things.\n\n\u201cNo, not quite.\u201d\n\nHe looked at her, for there was meaning in her voice.\n\n\u201cIn fact,\u201d she went on, \u201cso far as I\u2019m concerned it\nought to run, \u2018Here beginneth Aunt Maria.\u2019 You see, I have got to\ngo and live with her to-morrow.\u201d\n\nAnthony stopped and looked at her.\n\n\u201cWhat the devil do you mean?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cWhat I say. She took a fancy to me and she wants a\ncompanion\u2014someone to do her errands and read to her at night and look\nafter the pug dog and so forth. And she will pay me thirty pounds a year\nwith my board and dresses. And\u201d (with gathering emphasis) \u201cwe\ncannot afford to offend her who have half lived upon her alms and old\nclothes for so many years. And, in short, Dad and my mother thought it\nbest that I should go, since Joyce can take my place, and at any rate\nit will be a mouth less to feed at home. So I am going to-morrow\nmorning by the carrier\u2019s cart.\u201d \n\n\u201cGoing?\u201d gasped Anthony. \u201cWhere to?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo London first, then to Paris, then to Italy to winter at Rome, and\nthen goodness knows where. You see, my Aunt Maria has wanted to travel\nall her life, but Uncle Samuel, who was born in Putney, feared the sea\nand lived and died in Putney in the very house in which he was born.\nNow Aunt Maria wants a change and means to have it.\u201d\n\nThen Anthony broke out.\n\n\u201cDamn the old woman! Why can\u2019t she take her change in Italy or\nwherever she wishes, and leave you alone?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnthony!\u201d said Barbara in a scandalised voice. \u201cWhat do you\nmean, Anthony, by using such dreadful language about my aunt?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do I mean? Well\u201d (this with the recklessness of despair),\n\u201cif you want to know, I mean that I can\u2019t bear your going\naway.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf my parents,\u201d began Barbara steadily\u2014\u2014\n\n\u201cWhat have your parents to do with it? I\u2019m not your parents,\nI\u2019m your\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nBarbara looked at him in remonstrance.\n\n\u201c\u2014old friend, played together in childhood, you know the kind of\nthing. In short, I don\u2019t want you to go to Italy with Lady Thompson. I\nwant you to stop here.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, Anthony? I thought you told me you were going to live in\nchambers in London and read for the Bar.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, London isn\u2019t Italy, and one doesn\u2019t eat dinners at\nLincoln\u2019s Inn all the year round, one comes home sometimes. And heaven\nknows whom you\u2019ll meet in those places or what tricks that horrible\nold aunt of yours will be playing with you. Oh! it\u2019s wicked! How can\nyou desert your poor father and mother in this way, to say nothing of\nyour sisters? I never thought you were so hard-hearted.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnthony,\u201d said Barbara in a gentle voice, \u201cdo you know what\nwe have got to live on? In good years it comes to about 150 pounds, but\nonce, when my father got into that lawsuit over the dog that was\nsupposed to kill the sheep, it went down to 70 pounds. That was the\nwinter when two of the little ones died for want of proper\nfood\u2014nothing else\u2014and I remember that the rest of us had to walk\nbarefoot in the mud and snow because there was no money to buy us\nboots, and only some of us could go out at once because we had no\ncloaks to put on. Well, all this may happen again. And so, Anthony, do\nyou think that I should be right to throw away thirty pounds a year and\nto make a quarrel with my aunt, who is rich and kind-hearted although\nvery over-bearing, and the only friend we have? If my father died,\nAnthony, or even was taken ill, and he is not very strong, what would\nbecome of us? Unless Aunt Thompson chose to help we should all have to\ngo to the workhouse, for girls who have not been specially trained can\nearn nothing, except perhaps as domestic servants, if they are strong\nenough. I don\u2019t want to go away and read to Aunt Maria and take the\npug dog out walking, although it is true I should like to see Italy,\nbut I must\u2014can\u2019t you understand\u2014I must. So please reproach me no\nmore, for it is hard to bear\u2014especially from you.\u201d    \n\n\u201cStop! For God\u2019s sake, stop!\u201d said Anthony. \u201cI am a\nbrute to have spoken like that, and I\u2019m helpless; that\u2019s the worst\nof it. Oh! my darling, don\u2019t you understand? Don\u2019t you\nunderstand\u2014\u2014?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d answered Barbara, shaking her head and beginning to cry.\n\n\u201cThat I love you, that I have always loved you, and that I always\nshall love you until\u2014until\u2014the moon ceases to shine?\u201d and he\npointed to that orb which had appeared above the sea.\n\n\u201cThey say that it is dead already, and no doubt will come to an end\nlike everything else,\u201d remarked Barbara, seeking to gain time.\n\nThen for a while she sought nothing more, who found herself lost in her\nlover\u2019s arms.\n\nSo there they plighted their troth, that was, they swore, more enduring\nthan the moon, for indeed they so believed.\n\n\u201cNothing shall part us except death,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cWhy should death part us?\u201d she answered, looking him bravely in\nthe eyes. \u201cI mean to live beyond death, and while I live and wherever\nI live death shall _not_ part us, if you\u2019ll be true to me.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll not fail in that,\u201d he answered.\n\nAnd so their souls melted into rapture and were lifted up beyond the\nworld. The song of the nightingales was heavenly music in their ears,\nand the moon\u2019s silver rays upon the sea were the road by which their\nlinked souls travelled to the throne of Him who had lit their lamp of\nlove, and there made petition that through all life\u2019s accidents and\ndeath\u2019s darkness it might burn eternally.\n\nFor the love of these two was deep and faithful, and already seemed to\nthem as though it were a thing they had lost awhile and found once\nmore; a very precious jewel that from the beginning had shone upon\ntheir breasts; a guiding-star to light them to that end which is the\ndawn of Endlessness. \n\nWho will not smile at such thoughts as these?\n\nThe way of the man with the maid and the way of the maid with the man\nand the moon to light them and the birds to sing the epithalamium of\ntheir hearts and the great sea to murmur of eternity in their opened\nears. Nature at her sweet work beneath the gentle night\u2014who is there\nthat will not say that it was nothing more?\n\nWell, let their story answer.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\nA YEAR LATER\n\n\nSomething over a year had gone by, and Barbara, returned from her\nforeign travels, sat in the drawing-room of Lady Thompson\u2019s house in\nRussell Square.\n\nThat year had made much difference in her, for the sweet country girl,\nnow of full age, had blossomed into the beautiful young woman of the\nworld. She had wintered in Rome and studied its antiquities and art.\nShe had learned some French and Italian, for nothing was grudged to her\nin the way of masters, and worked at music, for which she had a natural\ntaste. She had seen a good deal of society also, for Lady Thompson was\nat heart proud of her beautiful niece, and spared no expense to bring\nher into contact with such people as she considered she should know.\n\nThus it came about that the fine apartment they occupied in Rome had\nmany visitors. Among these was a certain Secretary of Legation, the\nHon. Charles Erskine Russell, who, it was expected, would in the course\nof nature succeed to a peerage. He was a very agreeable as well as an\naccomplished and wealthy man, and\u2014he fell in love with Barbara. With\nthe cleverness of her sex she managed to put him off and to avoid any\nactual proposal before they left for Switzerland in the early summer.\nThither, happily, he could not follow them, since his official duties\nprevented him from leaving the Embassy. Lady Thompson was much annoyed\nat what she considered his bad conduct, and said as much to Barbara.\n\nHer niece listened, but did not discuss the matter, with the result that\nLady Thompson\u2019s opinion of the Hon. Charles Russell was confirmed.\nWas it not clear that there had been no proposal, although it was\nequally clear that he ought to have proposed? Poor Barbara! Perhaps\nthis was the only act of deception of which she was ever guilty.\n\nSo things went on until the previous day, the Monday after their arrival\nin London, when, most unhappily, Lady Thompson went out to lunch and\nmet the Hon. Charles Russell, who was on leave in England.\n\nNext morning, while Barbara was engaged in arranging some flowers in the\ndrawing-room, who should be shown in but Mr. Russell. In her alarm she\ndropped a bowl and broke it, a sign that he evidently considered\nhopeful, setting it down to the emotion which his sudden presence\ncaused. To emotion it was due, indeed, but not of a kind he would have\nwished. Recovering herself, Barbara shook his hand and then told the\nservant who was picking up the pieces of the bowl to inform her\nladyship of the arrival of this morning caller. \n\nThe man bowed and departed, and as he went Barbara noticed an ominous\ntwinkle in the pleasant blue eyes of the Hon. Charles Russell.\n\nThe rest of the interview may be summed up in a few words. Mr. Russell\nwas eloquent, passionate and convincing. He assured Barbara that she\nwas the only woman he had ever loved with such force and conviction\nthat in the end she almost believed him. But this belief, if it\nexisted, did not in the least shake her absolutely definite\ndetermination to have nothing whatsoever to do with her would-be lover.\n\nNot until she had told him so six times, however, did he consent to\nbelieve her, for indeed he had been led to expect a very different\nanswer. \n\n\u201cI suppose you care for someone else,\u201d he said at last.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said Barbara, whose back, metaphorically, was against the\nwall.\n\n\u201cSomebody much more\u2014suitable.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said Barbara, \u201che is poor and not distinguished and has\nall his way to make in the world.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe might change his mind, or\u2014die.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf so, I should not change mine,\u201d said Barbara. \u201cVery likely\nI shall not marry him, but I shall not marry anyone else.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn heaven\u2019s name, why not?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause it would be a sacrilege against heaven.\u201d\n\nThen at last Mr. Russell understood.\n\n\u201cAllow me to offer you my good wishes and to assure you of my earnest\nand unalterable respect,\u201d he said in a somewhat broken voice, and\ntaking her hand he touched it lightly with his lips, turned, and\ndeparted out of Barbara\u2019s sight and life.\n\nTen minutes later Lady Thompson arrived, and her coming was like to that\nof a thunderstorm. She shut the door, locked it, and sat down in an\narmchair in solemn, lurid silence. Then with one swift flash the storm\nbroke. \n\n\u201cWhat is this I hear from Mr. Russell?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am sure I don\u2019t know what you have heard from Mr.\nRussell,\u201d answered Barbara faintly.\n\n\u201cPerhaps, but you know very well what there was to hear, you wicked,\nungrateful girl.\u201d\n\n\u201cWicked!\u201d murmured Barbara, \u201cungrateful!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, it is wicked to lead a man on and then reject him as though he\nwere\u2014rubbish. And it is ungrateful to throw away the chances that a\nkind aunt and Providence put in your way. What have you against him?\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing at all, I think him very nice.\u201d\n\nLady Thompson\u2019s brow lightened; if she thought him \u201cvery\nnice\u201d all might yet be well. Perhaps this refusal was nothing but\nnonsensical modesty. Mr. Russell, being a gentleman, had not told her\neverything.\n\n\u201cThen I say you shall marry him.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I say, Aunt, that I will not and cannot.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy? Have you been secretly converted to the Church of Rome, and are\nyou going into a nunnery? Or is there\u2014another man?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Aunt.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere is he?\u201d said Lady Thompson, looking about her as though she\nexpected to find him hidden under the furniture. \u201cAnd how did you\nmanage to become entangled with him, you sly girl, under my very nose?\nAnd who is he? One of those bowing and scraping Italians, I suppose,\nwho think you\u2019ll get my money. Tell me the truth at once.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe is somebody you have never seen, Aunt. One of the Arnotts down at\nhome.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, that Captain! Well, I believe they have a decent property, about\n2,000 pounds a year, but all in land, which Sir Samuel never held by. Of\ncourse, it is nothing like the Russell match, which would have made a\npeeress of you some day and given you a great position meanwhile. But I\nsuppose we must be thankful for small mercies.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is not Captain Arnott, it is his younger brother Anthony.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnthony! Anthony, that youth who is reading for the Bar. Why, the\nproperty is all entailed, and he will scarcely have a half-penny, for\nhis mother brought no money to the Arnotts. Oh, this is too much! To\nthrow up Mr. Russell for an Anthony. Are you engaged to him with your\nparents\u2019 consent, may I ask, and if so, why was the matter concealed\nfrom me, who would certainly have declined to drag an entangled young\nwoman about the world?\u201d \n\n\u201cI am not engaged, but my father and mother know that we are attached\nto each other. It happened the day after you came to Eastwich, or they\nwould have told you. My father made me promise that we would not\ncorrespond while I was away, as he thought that we were too young to\nbind ourselves to each other, especially as Anthony has no present\nprospects or means to support a wife.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am glad they had so much sense. It is more than might have been\nexpected of my sister after her own performance, for which doubtless she\nis sorry enough now. Like you, she might have married a title instead\nof a curate and beggary.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am quite sure that my mother is not sorry, Aunt,\u201d replied\nBarbara, whose spirit was rising. \u201cI know that she is a very happy\nwoman.\u201d\n\n\u201cLook here, Barbara, let\u2019s come to the point. Will you give up this\nmoon-calf business of yours or not?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is not a moon-calf business, whatever that may be, and I will not\ngive it up.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well, then, I can\u2019t make you as you are of age. But I have\ndone with you. You will go to your room and stop there, and to-morrow\nmorning you will return to your parents, to whom I will write at once.\nYou have betrayed my hospitality and presumed upon my kindness; after\nall the things I have given you, too,\u201d and her eyes fixed themselves\nupon a pearl necklace that Barbara was wearing. For Lady Thompson could\nbe generous when she was in the mood.\n\nBarbara unfastened the necklace and offered it to her aunt without a\nword. \n\n\u201cNonsense!\u201d said Lady Thompson. \u201cDo you think I want to rob\nyou of your trinkets because I happen to have given them to you? Keep\nthem, they may be useful one day when you have a husband and a family\nand no money. Pearls may pay the butcher and the rent.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you for all your kindness, Aunt, and good-bye. I am sorry that\nI am not able to do as you wish about marriage, but after all a\nwoman\u2019s life is her own.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s just what it isn\u2019t and never has been. A\nwoman\u2019s life is her husband\u2019s and her children\u2019s, and\nthat\u2019s why\u2014but it is no use arguing. You have taken your own line.\nPerhaps you are right, God knows. At any rate, it isn\u2019t mine, so we\nhad better part. Still, I rather admire your courage. I wonder what\nthis young fellow is like for whose sake you are prepared to lose so\nmuch; more than you think, maybe, for I had grown fond of you. Well,\ngood-bye, I\u2019ll see about your getting off. There, don\u2019t think that\nI bear malice although I am so angry with you. Write to me when you get\ninto a tight place,\u201d and rising, she kissed her, rather roughly but\nnot without affection, and flung out of the room like one who feared to\ntrust herself there any longer. \n\nOn the evening of the following day Barbara, emerging from the\ncarrier\u2019s cart at the blacksmith\u2019s corner at Eastwich, was met by a\nriotous throng of five energetic young sisters who nearly devoured her\nwith kisses. So happy was that greeting, indeed, that in it she almost\nforgot her sorrows. In truth, as she reflected, why should she be sorry\nat all? She was clear of a suitor whom she did not wish to marry, and\nof an aunt whose very kindness was oppressive and whose temper was\nterrible. She had fifty pounds in her pocket and a good stock of\nclothes, to say nothing of the pearls and other jewellery, wealth\nindeed if measured by the Walrond standard. Her beloved sisters were \nevidently in the best of health and spirits; also, as she thought, \nbetter-looking than any girls she had seen since she bade them farewell.\nHer father and mother were, as they told her, well and delighted at her\nreturn; and lastly, as she had already gathered, Anthony either was or\nwas about to be at the Hall. Why then should she be sorry? Why indeed\nshould she not rejoice and thank God for these good things? \n\nOn that evening, however, when supper was done, she had a somewhat\nserious interview with her father and mother who sat on either side of\nher, each of them holding one of her hands, for they could scarcely\nbear her out of their sight. She had told all the tale of the Hon.\nCharles Russell and of her violent dismissal by her aunt, of which\nstory they were not entirely ignorant, for Lady Thompson had already\nadvised them of these events by letter. \n\nThe Reverend Septimus shook his head sadly. He was not a worldly-minded\nman; still, to have a presumptive peer for a son-in-law, who would\ndoubtless also become an ambassador, was a prospect that at heart he\nrelinquished with regret. Also this young Arnott business seemed very\nvague and unsatisfactory, and there were the other girls and their\nfuture to be considered. No wonder, then, that he shook his kindly grey\nhead and looked somewhat depressed. \n\nBut his wife took another line.\n\n\u201cSeptimus,\u201d she said, \u201cin these matters a woman must judge by\nher own heart, and you see Barbara is a woman now. Once, you remember, I\nhad to face something of the same sort, and I do not think, dear,\nnotwithstanding all our troubles, that either of us have regretted our\ndecision.\u201d \n\nThen they both rose and solemnly kissed each other over Barbara\u2019s\nhead. \n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\nWEDDED\n\n\nNext day, oh! joy of joys, Barbara and Anthony met once more after some\nfifteen months of separation. Anthony was now in his twenty-fourth\nyear, a fine young man with well-cut features, brown eyes and a\npleasant smile. Muscularly, too, he was very strong, as was shown by\nhis athletic record at Cambridge. Whether his strength extended to his\nconstitution was another matter. Mrs. Walrond, noticing his unvarying\ncolour, which she thought unduly high, and the transparent character of\nhis skin, spoke to her husband upon the matter. \n\nIn his turn Septimus spoke to the old local doctor, who shrugged his\nshoulders and remarked that the Arnotts had been delicate for\ngenerations, \u201clungy,\u201d he called it. Noticing that Mr. Walrond\nlooked serious, and knowing something of how matters stood between\nAnthony and Barbara, he hastened to add that so far as he knew there\nwas no cause for alarm, and that if he were moderately careful he\nthought that Anthony would live to eighty. \n\n\u201cBut it is otherwise with his brother,\u201d he added significantly,\n\u201cand for the matter of that with the old man also.\u201d\n\nThen he went away, and there was something in the manner of his going\nwhich seemed to suggest that he did not wish to continue the\nconversation. \n\nFrom Anthony, however, Barbara soon learned the truth as to his brother.\nHis lungs were gone, for the chill he took in the Crimea had settled on\nthem, and now there was left to him but a little time to live. This was\nsad news and marred the happiness of their meeting, since both of them\nwere far too unworldly to consider its effect upon their own prospects,\nor that it would make easy that which had hitherto seemed impossible.\n\n\u201cAre you nursing him?\u201d she asked.\n\n\u201cYes, more or less. I took him to the South of England for two months,\nbut it did no good.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am glad the thing is not catching,\u201d she remarked, glancing at\nhim.\n\n\u201cOh, no,\u201d he replied carelessly, \u201cI never heard that it was\ncatching, though some people say it runs in families. I hope not, I am\nsure, as the poor old chap insists upon my sleeping in his room\nwhenever I am at home, as we used to do when we were boys.\u201d\n\nThen their talk wandered elsewhere, for they had so much to say to each\nother that it seemed doubtful if they would ever get to the end of it\nall. Anthony was particularly anxious to learn what blessed\ncircumstance had caused Barbara\u2019s sudden re-appearance at Eastwich.\nShe fenced for a while, then told him all the truth.\n\n\u201cSo you gave up this brilliant marriage for me, a fellow with scarcely\na half-penny and a very few prospects,\u201d he exclaimed, staring at her.\n\n\u201cOf course. What would you have expected me to do\u2014marry one man\nwhile I love another? As for the rest it must take its chance,\u201d and\nwhile the words were on her lips, for the first time it came into\nBarbara\u2019s mind that perhaps Anthony had no need to trouble about his\nworldly fortunes. For if it were indeed true that Captain Arnott was\ndoomed, who else would succeed to the estate?\n\n\u201cI think you are an angel,\u201d he said, still overcome by this\nwondrous instance of fidelity and of courage in the face of Lady\nThompson\u2019s anger.\n\n\u201cIf I had done anything else, I think, Anthony, that you might very\nwell have called me\u2014whatever is the reverse of an angel.\u201d\n\nAnd thus the links of their perfect love were drawn even closer than\nbefore. \n\nOnly three days later Mr. Walrond was summoned hastily to the Hall. When\nhe returned from his ministrations it was to announce in a sad voice\nthat Captain Arnott was sinking fast. Before the following morning he\nwas dead. \n\nA month or so after the grave had closed over Captain Arnott the\nengagement of Anthony and Barbara was announced formally, and by the\nexpress wish of Mr. Arnott. The old gentleman had for years been\npartially paralysed and in a delicate state of health, which the sad\nloss of his elder son had done much to render worse. He sent for\nBarbara, whom he had known from her childhood, and told her that the\nsooner she and Anthony were married the better he would be pleased.\n\n\u201cYou see, my dear,\u201d he added, \u201cI do not wish the old name to\ndie out after we have been in this place for three hundred years, and\nyou Walronds are a healthy stock, which is more than we can say now.\nWorn out, I suppose, worn out! In fact,\u201d he went on, looking at her\nsharply, \u201cit is for you to consider whether you care to take the\nrisks of coming into this family, for whatever the doctors may or may\nnot say, I think it my duty to tell you straight out that in my opinion\nthere is some risk.\u201d \n\n\u201cIf so, I do not fear it, Mr. Arnott, and I hope you will not put any\nsuch idea into Anthony\u2019s head. If you do he might refuse to marry me,\nand that would break my heart.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I dare say you do not fear it, but there are other\u2014well,\nthings must take their course. If we were always thinking of the future\nno one would dare to stir.\u201d\n\nThen he told her that when first he heard of their mutual attachment he\nhad been much disturbed, as he did not see how they were to marry.\n\n\u201cBut poor George\u2019s death has changed all that,\u201d he said,\n\u201csince now Anthony will get the estate, which is practically the only\nproperty we have, and it ought always to produce enough to keep you\ngoing and to maintain the place in a modest way.\u201d\n\nLastly he presented her with a valuable set of diamonds that had\nbelonged to his mother, saying he might not be alive to do so when the\ntime of her marriage came, and dismissed her with his blessing.\n\nIn due course all these tidings, including that of the diamonds, came to\nthe ears of Aunt Thompson, and wondrously softened that lady\u2019s anger.\nIndeed, she wrote to Barbara in very affectionate terms, to wish her\nevery happiness and say how glad she was to hear that she was settling\nherself so well in life. She added that she should make a point of\nbeing present at the wedding. A postscript informed her that Mr.\nRussell was about to be married to an Italian countess, a widow.\n\nBarbara\u2019s wedding was fixed for October. At the beginning of that\nmonth, however, Anthony was seized with some unaccountable kind of\nillness, in which coughing played a considerable part. So severe were\nits effects that it was thought desirable to postpone the ceremony. The\ndoctor ordered him away for a change of air. On the morning of his\ndeparture he spoke seriously to Barbara. \n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know what is the matter with me,\u201d he said,\n\u201cand I don\u2019t think it is very much at present. But, dear, I have a\nkind of presentiment that I am going to become an invalid. My strength\nis nothing like what it was, and at times it fails me in a most\nunaccountable manner. Barbara, it breaks my heart to say it, but I\ndoubt whether you ought to marry me.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you were going to be a permanent invalid, which I do not believe\nfor one moment,\u201d answered Barbara steadily, \u201cyou would want a\nnurse, and who could nurse you so well as your wife? Therefore unless\nyou had ceased to care for me, I should certainly marry you.\u201d\n\nThen, as still he seemed to hesitate, she flung her arms about him and\nkissed him, which was an argument that he lacked strength to resist.\n\nA day or two afterwards her father also spoke to Barbara.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t like this illness of Anthony\u2019s, my dear. The doctor\ndoes not seem to understand it, or at any rate so he pretends, and says\nhe has no doubt it will pass off. But I cannot help remembering the\ncase of his brother George; also that of his mother before him.. In\nshort, Barbara, do you think\u2014well, that it would be wise to marry\nhim? I know that to break it off would be dreadful, but, you see,\nhealth is so very important.\u201d \n\nBarbara turned on her father almost fiercely.\n\n\u201cWhose health?\u201d she asked. \u201cIf you mean mine, it is in no\ndanger; and if it were I should care nothing. What good would health be\nto me if I lost Anthony, who is more to me than life? But if you mean\nhis health, then the greatest happiness I can have is to nurse him.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, yes, I understand, dear. But, you see, there might\nbe\u2014others.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf so, father, they must run their risks as we do; that is if there\nare any risks for them to run, which I doubt.\u201d\n\n\u201cI dare say you are quite right, dear; indeed, I feel almost sure that\nyou are right, only I thought it my duty to mention the matter, which I\nhope you will forgive me for having done. And now I may tell you I have\na letter from Anthony, saying that he is ever so much better, and\nasking if the fifteenth of November will suit us for the wedding.\u201d\n\nOn the fifteenth of November, accordingly, Anthony and Barbara were made\nman and wife by the bride\u2019s father with the assistance of the\nclergyman of the next parish. Owing to the recent death of the\nbridegroom\u2019s brother and the condition of Mr. Arnott\u2019s health the\nwedding was extremely quiet. Still, in its own way it was as charming\nas it was happy. All her five sisters acted as Barbara\u2019s bridesmaids,\nand many gathered in that church said they were the most beautiful bevy\nof maidens that ever had been seen. But if so, Barbara outshone them\nall, perhaps because of her jewels and fine clothes and the radiance on\nher lovely face. \n\nAnthony, who seemed to be quite well again, also looked extremely\nhandsome, while Aunt Thompson, who by now had put off her mourning,\nshone in that dim church as the sun shines through a morning mist.\n\nIn short, all went as merrily as it should, save that the bride\u2019s\nmother seemed depressed and wept a little.\n\nThis, said her sister to someone in a loud voice, was in her opinion\nnothing short of wicked. What business, she asked, has a woman with six\nportionless daughters to cry because one of them is making a good\nmarriage; \u201cthough it is true,\u201d she added, dropping her voice to a\nconfidential whisper, \u201cthat had Barbara chosen she might have made a\nbetter one. Yes, I don\u2019t mind telling you that she might have been a\npeeress, instead of the wife of a mere country squire.\u201d\n\nIn truth, Mrs. Walrond was ill at ease about this marriage, why she did\nnot know. Something in her heart seemed to tell her that her dear\ndaughter\u2019s happiness would not be of long continuance. Bearing in\nmind his family history, she feared for Anthony\u2019s health; indeed, she\nfeared a hundred things that she was quite unable to define. However,\nat the little breakfast which followed she seemed quite to recover her\nspirits and laughed as merrily as anyone at the speech which Lady\nThompson insisted upon making, in which she described Barbara as \u201cher\ndarling, beautiful and most accomplished niece, who indeed was almost\nher daughter.\u201d \n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\nPARTED\n\n\nHard indeed would it be to find a happier marriage than that of Anthony\nand Barbara. They adored each other. Never a shadow came between them.\nAlmost might it be said that their thoughts were one thought and their\nhearts one heart. It is common to hear of twin souls, but how often are\nthey to be met with in the actual experience of life? Here, however,\nthey really might be found, or so it would seem. Had they been one\nancient entity divided long ago by the working of Fate and now brought\ntogether once more through the power of an overmastering attraction,\ntheir union could not have been more complete. To the eye of the \nobserver, and indeed to their own eyes, it showed neither seam nor flaw.\nThey were one and indivisible. \n\nAbout such happiness as this there is something alarming, something\nominous. Mrs. Walrond felt it from the first, and they, the two persons\nconcerned, felt it also.\n\n\u201cOur joy frightens me,\u201d said Anthony to Barbara one day. \u201cI\nfeel like that Persian monarch who threw his most treasured ring into\nthe sea because he was too fortunate; you remember the sea refused the\noffering, for the royal cook found it in the mouth of a fish.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen, dear, he was doubly fortunate, for he made his sacrifice and\nkept his ring.\u201d\n\nAnthony, seeing that Barbara had never heard the story and its ending,\ndid not tell it to her, but she read something of what was passing in\nhis mind, as very often she had the power to do.\n\n\u201cDearest,\u201d she said earnestly, \u201cI know what you think. You\nthink that such happiness as ours will not be allowed to last for long,\nthat something evil will overtake us. Well, it may be so, but if it is,\nat least we shall have had the happiness, which having been, will\nremain for ever, a part of you, a part of me; a temple of our love not\nbuilt with hands in which we shall offer thanks eternally, here\nand\u2014beyond,\u201d and she nodded towards the glory of the sunset sky,\nthen turned and kissed him. \n\nAs it chanced, that cruel devouring sea which rages at the feet of all\nmankind was destined ere long to take the offering that was most\nprecious to these two. Only this was flung to its waters, not by their\nhands, but by that of Fate, nor did it return to them again.\n\nAfter their marriage Anthony and Barbara hired a charming little\nGeorgian house at Chelsea near to the river. The drawback to the\ndwelling was that it stood quite close to a place of public\nentertainment called \u201cThe Gardens,\u201d very well known in those days\nas the nightly haunt of persons who were not always as respectable as\nthey might have been. During their sojourn in London they never entered\nthese Gardens, but often in the summer evenings they passed them when\nout for the walks which they took together, since Anthony spent most of\nhis days at the Temple, studying law in the chambers of a leading\nbarrister. Thus their somewhat fantastic gateway became impressed upon\nBarbara\u2019s mind, as did the character of the people who frequented\nthem. As, however, their proximity reduced the rent of their own and \nneighbouring houses by about one-half, personally they were grateful to\nthese Gardens, since the noise of the bands and the dancing did not\ntrouble them much, and those who danced could always be avoided. \n\nWhen they had been married nearly a year a little daughter was born to\nthem, a sweet baby with violet eyes like to those of Barbara. Now\nindeed their bliss was complete, but it was not fated that it should\nremain, since the hungry sea took its sacrifice. The summer was very\nhot in London, and many infants sickened there of some infantile\ncomplaint, among them their own child. Like hundreds of others, it died\nwhen only a few months old and left them desolate. \n\nPerhaps Anthony was the more crushed of the two, since here Barbara\u2019s\nvivid faith came to her aid.\n\n\u201cWe have only lost her for a little while,\u201d she said, choking back\nher tears as she laid some flowers on the little grave. \u201cWe shall find\nher again; I know that we shall find her again, and meanwhile she will\nbe happier than she could have been with us in this sad world.\u201d\n\nThen they walked back home, pushing their way through the painted crowds\nthat were gathering at the gates of \u201cThe Gardens,\u201d and listening to\nthe strains of the gay music that jarred upon their ears.\n\nIn due course, having been called to the Bar, Anthony entered the\nchambers of an eminent Common Law leader. Although his prospects were\nnow good, and he was ere long likely to be independent of the\nprofession, he was anxious to follow it and make a name and fortune for\nhimself. This indeed he would have found little difficulty in doing,\nsince soon he showed that he had studied to good purpose; moreover, his\ngifts were decidedly forensic. He spoke well and without nervousness;\nhis memory was accurate and his mind logical. Moreover, he had \nsomething of that imaginative and sympathetic power which brings an\nadvocate success with juries. \n\nAlready he had been entrusted with a few cases which he held as\n\u201cdevil\u201d for somebody else, when two events happened which between\nthem brought his career as a lawyer to an end. In the November after the\ndeath of their baby his father suddenly died. On receiving the news of\nhis fatal illness Anthony hurried to Eastwich without even returning\nhome to fetch a warm coat, and as a result took a severe cold. During\nthe winter following the funeral this cold settled on his lungs. At\nlast towards the spring the crisis came. He was taken seriously ill,\nand on his partial recovery several doctors held a consultation over\nhim. Their verdict was that he must give up his profession, which\nfortunately now he was in a position to do, live in the country and as\nmuch in the open air as possible, spending the worst months of the\nwinter either in the South of England or in some warmer land. These\ngrave and learned men told him outright that his lungs were seriously\nattacked, and that he must choose between following their advice and a\nspeedy departure from the world. \n\nAnthony would have defied them, for that was his nature. He wished to go\non with his work and take the risk. But Barbara persuaded him to\nobedience. She said she agreed with him that the matter of his health\nwas greatly exaggerated. At the same time, she pointed out that as they\nwere now very well off she saw no reason why he should continue to\nslave at a profession which might or might not bring him an adequate\nreturn fifteen or twenty years later. She added that personally she\ndetested London, and would like nothing better than to live at Eastwich\nnear her own people. Also she showed him that his rather extensive \nestate needed personal attention, and could be much improved in value if\nhe were there to care for it. \n\nThe end may be guessed; Anthony gave up the Bar and the house in\nChelsea. After staying at Torquay for a few of the winter months, where\nhis health improved enormously, they moved to Eastwich during the\nfollowing May. Here their welcome was warm indeed, not only from the\nRectory party, who rejoiced to have Barbara back among them, but from\nthe entire neighbourhood, including the tenants and labourers on the\nproperty. \n\nThe ensuing summer was one of the happiest of their married life.\nAnthony became so much better that Barbara began to believe he had\nthrown off his lung weakness. Certain repairs and rearrangements of\ntheir old Elizabethan house agreeably occupied their time, and, to\ncrown all, on Christmas Eve Barbara gave birth to a son, an\nextraordinarily fine and vigorous child, red-haired, blue-eyed, and so\nfar as could be seen at that early age entirely unlike either of his\nparents. \n\nThe old doctor who ushered him into the world remarked that he had never\nseen a more splendid and perfect boy, nor one who appeared to possess a\nrobuster constitution.\n\nIn due course Mr. Walrond christened him by the name of Anthony, after\nhis father, and a dinner was given to the tenants and labourers in\nhonour of the event.\n\nThat same month, there being a dearth of suitable men with an adequate\nknowledge of the law, Anthony, who already was a magistrate, though so\nyoung, was elected a Deputy-Chairman of Quarter Sessions for his\ncounty. This local honour pleased him very much, since now he knew that\nhis legal education would not be wasted, and that he would have an\nopportunity of turning it to use as a judge of minor cases.\n\nYet this grateful and conciliatory appointment in the end brought him\nevil and not good. The first Quarter Sessions at which he was called\nupon to preside in one of the courts fell in February, when he ought to\nhave been out of the East of England. The calendar was heavy, and\nAnthony acquitted himself very well in the trial of some difficult\ncases, earning the compliments of all concerned. But on leaving the hot\ncourt after a long day he caught a heavy cold, which awoke his latent\ncomplaint, and from that time forward he began to go down hill. \n\nStill, watched, fought against by Barbara, its progress was slow. The\nwinter months they spent in warmer climates, only residing in Eastwich\nfrom May to November. During the summer Anthony occupied himself on\nmatters connected with the estate and principally with the cultivation\nof the home farm. Indeed, as time went on and increasing weakness\nforced him to withdraw himself more and more from the world and its\naffairs, the interests of this farm loomed ever larger in his eyes, as\nlargely indeed as though he depended upon it alone for his daily bread.\nMoreover, it brought him into touch with Nature, and now that they were\nso near to parting, his friendship with her grew very close. \n\nThis was one of his troubles, that when he died, and he knew that before\nvery long he must die, even if he continued to live in some other form,\nhe must bid farewell to the Nature that he knew.\n\nOf course, there was much of her, her cruel side, that he would rejoice\nto lose. He could scarcely conceive a future existence framed upon\nthose lines of struggle, which in its working involves pain and cruelty\nand death. Putting aside sport and its pleasures, which he had\nabandoned because of the suffering and extinction entailed upon the\nshot or hunted creatures, to him it seemed inexpressibly sad that even\nhis honest farming operations, at least where the beasts were\nconcerned, should always culminate in death. Why should the faithful\nhorse be knocked on the head when it grew old, or the poor cow go to \nthe butcher as a reward for its long career of usefulness and profit? \n\nWhat relentless power had thus decreed? In any higher life surely this\ndecree would be rescinded, and of that side of Nature he had seen more\nthan enough upon the earth. It was her gentler and harmless aspects\nfrom which he did not wish to part\u2014from the flower and the fruit,\nfrom the springing blade and the ripened corn; from the beauty that\nbrooded over sea and land; from the glory of the spreading firmament\nalive with light, and the winds that blew beneath it, and the rains\nthat washed the face of earth; from the majestic passage of the\nglittering stars shedding their sweet influences through the night. To\nbid farewell to such things as these must, to his mind, indeed be \nterrible. \n\nOnce he said as much to Barbara, who thought a while and answered him:\n\n\u201cWhy should we be taken beyond all things? If seems scarcely\nreasonable. I know we have not much to go on, but did not the Christ\nspeak of drinking the fruit of the vine \u2018new with you in my\nFather\u2019s kingdom\u2019? Therefore surely there must be a growing plant\nthat produces the fruit and a process directed by intelligence that\nturns it into wine. There must be husbandmen or farmers. There must be\nmansions or abiding places, also, for they are spoken of, and flowers\nand all things that are beautiful and useful; a new earth indeed, but\nnot one so different to the old as to be utterly unfamiliar.\u201d\n\nAnthony said no more of the matter at this time, but it must have\nremained in his mind. At any rate, a month or two later when he woke up\none morning he said to Barbara:\n\n\u201cWill you laugh very much if I tell you of a dream that came to me\nlast night\u2014if it was a dream, for I seemed to be still awake?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy should I laugh at your dream?\u201d she asked, kissing him.\n\u201cI often think that there is as much truth in dreams as in anything\nelse. Tell it to me.\u201d\n\n\u201cI dreamed that I saw a mighty landscape which I knew was not of the\nearth. It came to me like a picture, and a great stillness brooded over\nit. At the back of this landscape stood a towering cliff of stern rock\nthousands of feet high. Set at intervals along the edge of the cliff\nwere golden figures, mighty and immovable. Whether they were living\nguards or only statues I do not know, for I never came near to them.\nHere and there, miles apart, streams from the lands beyond poured over\nthe edge of the cliff in huge cascades of foam that became raging\ntorrents when they reached its lowest slopes. One of these rivers fed a\nlake which lay in a chasm on the slopes, and from either end of this\nlake poured two rivers which seemed to me about twenty miles apart, as\nwe should judge. They ran through groves of cedars and large groups of\nforest trees not unlike to enormous oaks and pines, and yet not the\nsame.    \n\n\u201cOne river, that to the right if I looked towards the lake, was very\nbroad, so broad that after it reached the plain and flowed slowly, great\nships could have sailed upon it. The other, that to the left, was\nsmaller and more rapid, but it also wandered away across the plain till\nmy sight could follow it no farther. I observed that the broad,\nright-hand river evidently inundated its banks in seasons of flood,\nmuch as the Nile does, and that all along those banks were fields\nfilled with rich crops, of what sort I do not know. The plain itself,\nwhich I take it was a kind of delta, the gift of the great river, was \nlimitless. It stretched on and on, broken only by forests, along the\nedges of which moved many animals. \n\n\u201cWhen first I saw this landscape it was suffused with a sweet and\npearly light, that came not from sun or moon or stars, but from a\nluminous body in shape like a folded fan, of which the handle rested on\nthe earth. By degrees this fan began to open; I suppose that it was the\nhour of dawn. Its ribs of gorgeous light spread themselves from one\nside of heaven to the other and were joined together by webs of a\nthousand colours, of such stuff as the rainbow, only a hundred times\nmore beautiful. The reflection from these rainbow webs lay upon the\nearth, divided by and sometimes mingled with those from the bars of \nlight, and made it glorious. \n\n\u201cAll these things I saw from an eminence on which I stood that rose\nbetween the rivers at the head of the plain. At length, overcome by the\nsplendour, drunk as it were with beauty, I turned to look behind me, and\nthere, quite close, in the midst of stately gardens with terraces and\ntrees and fountains and banks of flowers, I saw a house, and\u2014now\nindeed you will laugh\u2014for so far as I can recollect it, in general\nstyle it was not unlike our own; that is to say, its architecture\nseemed to be more or less Elizabethan. If one who was acquainted with\nElizabethan buildings had gone to that land and built a house from\nmemory, but with more beautiful materials, he might have produced such\na one as I imagined in my dream. \n\n\u201cPresently from the door of the house emerged two figures. One of\nthese was my brother George and the other, Barbara, was our baby grown\nto a little fair-haired child. The child perceived me first and ran to\nme through the flowers. It leapt into my arms and kissed me. Then my\nbrother came and said\u2014I do not mean he spoke, but his meaning was\nconveyed to me: \n\n\u201c\u2018You see, we are making your home ready. We hope that you will\nlike it when you come, but if not you can change it as you wish.\u2019\n\n\u201cThen I woke up, or went to sleep\u2014I do not know which.\u201d\n\nBarbara made light of Anthony\u2019s dream, which seemed to her to be after\nall but a reflection or an echo of earthly things tricked out with some\nbizarre imagination. Was not this obvious? The house? A vague replica\nof his own house. The river? Something copied from the Nile, delta and\nall. The waterfalls? Niagara on a larger scale. The great trees?\nDoubtless their counterparts grew in America. The brother and the\nbabe\u2014would he not naturally be thinking of his brother and his babe?\nThe thing stood self-convicted. Echo, echo, echo, flung back in mockery\nof our agonised pleadings from the cliffs of the Beyond. \n\nAnd yet this dream haunted her, especially as it returned to him more\nthan once, always with a few added details. They often talked of this\nsupernatural landscape and of the great radiant fan which closed at\nnight and opened itself by day, wherewith it was illuminated. Barbara\nthought it strange that Anthony should have imagined so splendid a\nthing. And yet why should he not have done so? If she could picture it\nin her own mind, why should he not be able to originate it in his.\n\nShe told him all this, only avoiding allusions to the child, the baby\nBarbara whom they had lost. For of this child, although she longed to\nask him details as to her supposed appearance, she could not bring\nherself to speak. Supposing that he were right, supposing that their\ndaughter was really growing up yonder towards some celestial womanhood,\nand waiting for him and waiting for her, the mother upon whose breast\nshe had lain, the poor, bereaved mother. Oh! then would not all be\nworth while? \n\nAnthony listened and said that he agreed with her; as a lawyer he had\nanalysed the dream and found in it nothing at all. Nothing more, for\ninstance, than on analysis is to be found in any and every religion.\n\n\u201cAnd yet,\u201d he added, with that pleasant smile of his which was\nbeginning to grow so painfully sweet and plaintive in its character,\n\u201cand yet, it is very odd how real that landscape and that house are\nbecoming to me. Do you know, Barbara, that the other night I seemed to\nbe sitting in it in a great cool room, looking out at the river and the\nvast fertile plain. Then you came in, my dear, clad in a beautiful robe\nembroidered with violets. Yes, you came in glancing round you timidly\nlike one who had lost her way, and saw me and cried aloud.\u201d\n\nTowards the end Anthony grew worse with a dreadful swiftness. He was to\nhave gone abroad as usual that winter, but when the time came his state\nwas such that the doctors shrugged their shoulders and said that he\nmight as well stop at home in comfort.\n\nUp to the middle of October he managed to get out upon the farm on fine\ndays to see to the drilling of the wheat and so forth. One rather rough\nafternoon he went out thus, not because he wished to, but for the sake\nof his spaniel dog, Nell, which bothered him to come into the fresh\nair. Not finding something that he sought, he was drawn far afield and\ncaught in a tempest of rain and wind, through which he must struggle\nhome. Barbara who, growing anxious, had gone to seek him, found him\nleaning against an oak unable to speak, with a little stream of blood\ntrickling from the corner of his mouth. Indeed, it was the dog, which\nseemed distressed, that discovered her and led her to him. \n\nThis was Anthony\u2019s last outing, but he lived till Christmas Eve, his\nson\u2019s eighth birthday. That morning the boy was brought into his room\nto receive some present that his father had procured for him, and\nwarned that he must be very quiet. Quiet, however, he would not be; his\ntumultuous health and strength seemed to forbid it. He racketed about\nthe room, teasing the spaniel which lay by the side of the bed, until\nthe patient beast growled at him and even bit, or pretended to bite\nhim. Thereon he set up such a yell of pain, or anger, or both, that his\nfather struggled from the bed to see what was the matter, and so\nbrought on the haemorrhage which caused his death. \n\n\u201cI am afraid you will have trouble with that child, Barbara,\u201d he\ngasped shortly before the end. \u201cHe seems to be different from either\nof us; but he is our son, and I know that you will do your best for\nhim. I leave him in your keeping. Good night, dearest, I want to go to\nsleep.\u201d \n\nThen he went to sleep, and Barbara\u2019s heart broke.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\nBARBARA\u2019S SIN\n\n\nThe months following Anthony\u2019s death were to Barbara as a bad dream.\nLike one in a dream she saw that open, wintry grave beneath the tall\nchurch tower about whose battlements the wind-blown rooks wheeled on\ntheir homeward way. She noted a little yellow aconite that had opened\nits bloom prematurely in the shadow of the wall, and the sight of it\nbrought her some kind of comfort. He had loved aconites and planted\nmany of them, though because of his winter absences years had gone by\nsince he had seen one with his eyes, at any rate in England. That this\nflower among them all should bloom on that day and in that place seemed\nto her a message and a consolation, the only one that she could find.\n\nHis sad office over, her father accompanied her home, pouring into her\near the words of faith and hope that he was accustomed to use to those\nbroken by bereavement, and with him came her mother. But soon she\nthanked them gently and bade them leave her to herself. Then they\nbrought her son to her, thinking that the sight of him would thaw her\nheart. For a while the child was quiet and subdued, for there was that\nabout his mother\u2019s face which awed him. At last, weary of being\nstill, he swung round on his heel after a fashion that he had, and\nsaid: \n\n\u201cCook says that now father is dead I\u2019m master here, and everyone\nwill have to do what I tell them.\u201d\n\nBarbara lifted her head and looked at him, and something in her\nfawn-like eyes, a mute reproach, pierced to the boy\u2019s heart. At any\nrate, he began to whimper and left the room.\n\nThere was little in the remark, which was such as a vulgar servant might\nwell make thoughtlessly. Yet it brought home to Barbara the grim fact\nof her loss more completely perhaps than anything had done. Her beloved\nhusband was dead, of no more account in the world than those who had\npassed from it at Eastwich a thousand years ago. He was dead, and soon\nwould be forgotten by all save her, and she was alone; in her heart\nutterly alone. \n\nThe summer came and everyone grew cheerful. Aunt Thompson arrived at the\nHall to stay, and urged Barbara to put away past things and resign\nherself to the will of Providence\u2014as she had done in the case of the\ndeparted Samuel. \n\n\u201cAfter all,\u201d she said, \u201cit might have been worse. You might\nhave been called upon to nurse an invalid for twenty years, and when at\nlast he went, have found the best part of your life gone, as I did,\u201d\nand she sighed heavily. \u201cAs it is, you still look quite a girl,\nhaving kept your figure so well; you are comfortably off and have a\ngood position, and in short there is no knowing what may happen in the\nfuture. You must come up and stay with me this winter, dear, instead of\npoking yourself away in this damp old house, where everybody seems to\ndie of consumption. Really it is a sort of family vault, and if you\nstop here long enough you will catch something too.\u201d\n\nBarbara thanked her with a sad little smile, and answered that she would\nthink over her kind invitation and write to her later. But in the end\nshe never went to London, at least not to stay, perhaps it reminded her\ntoo vividly of her life there with Anthony. At Eastwich she could bear\nsuch memories, but for some unexplained reason it was otherwise in\nLondon. \n\nIndeed, in the course of time her aunt gave up the attempt to persuade\nher, and devoted herself to forwarding the fortunes of her other pretty\nnieces, Barbara\u2019s sisters, two of whom, it should be said, already\nshe had settled comfortably in life. Also she took a fancy to the boy,\nin whose rough, energetic nature she found something akin to her own.\n\n\u201cI am sick of women,\u201d she said; \u201cit is a comfort to have to\ndo with a male thing.\u201d\n\nSo it came about that after he went to school young Anthony spent a\nlarge share of his holidays at his great-aunt\u2019s London house. It may\nbe added that he got no good from these visits, since Lady Thompson\nspoilt him and let him have his way in everything. Also she gave him\nmore money than a boy ought to have. As a result, or partly so, Barbara\nfound that her son grew more and more uncontrollable. He mixed with\ngrooms and low characters, and when checked flew into fits of passion\nwhich frightened her. \n\nOddly enough, during these paroxysms, which were generally followed by\ntwo or three days of persistent sulking, the only person who seemed to\nhave any control over him was a certain under-housemaid named Bess\nCotton, the daughter of a small farmer in the neighbourhood. This girl,\nwho was only about three years older than Anthony, was remarkable for\nher handsome appearance and vigour of body and mind. Her hair and large\neyes were so dark that probably the local belief that she had gipsy or\nother foreign blood in her veins was true. Her complexion, however, was\npurely English, and her character had all the coarseness of those who\nhave lived for generations in the Fens, whence her father came,\nuncontrolled by higher influences, such as the fellowship of \ngentle-bred and educated folk. \n\nBess was an excellent and capable servant, one, moreover, who soon\nobtained a sort of mastery in the household. On a certain occasion the\nyoung Squire, as they called him, was in one of the worst of his rages,\nhaving been forbidden by his mother to go to a coursing meeting which\nhe wished to attend. In this state he shut himself up in the library,\nswearing that he would do a mischief to anyone who came near him, a\npromise which, being very strong for his years, he was quite capable of\nkeeping. The man-servant was told to go in and bring him out, but hung\nback. \n\n\u201cBless you,\u201d said Bess, \u201cI ain\u2019t afraid,\u201d and\nwithout hesitation walked into the room and shut the door behind her.\n\nBarbara, listening afar off, heard a shout of \u201cGet out!\u201d followed\nby a fearful crash, and trembled, for all violence was abominable to her\nnature. \n\n\u201cHe will injure that poor girl,\u201d she said to herself, and rose,\nproposing to enter the library and face her son.\n\nAs she hurried down the long Elizabethan corridor, however, she heard\nanother sound that came to her through an open window, that of Anthony\nlaughing in his jolliest and most uproarious manner and of the\nhousemaid Bess, laughing with him. She stayed where she was and\nlistened. Bess had left the library and was coming across the\ncourtyard, where one of the other servants met her and asked some\nquestion that Barbara did not catch. The answer in Bess\u2019s ringing \nvoice was clear enough. \n\n\u201cLord!\u201d she said, \u201cthey always gave me the wild colts to\nbreak upon the farm. It is a matter of eye and handling, that\u2019s all.\nHe nearly got me with that plaster thing, so I went for him and boxed\nhis ears till he was dazed. Then I kissed him afterwards till he\nlaughed, and he\u2019ll never be any more trouble, at least with me. That\nmother of his don\u2019t know how to handle him. She\u2019s another breed.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said the questioner, \u201cthe mistress is a lady, she is,\nand gentle like the squire who\u2019s gone. But how did they get such a one\nas Master Anthony?\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t know,\u201d replied Bess, \u201cbut father says that when\nhe was a boy in the Fens they\u2019d have told that the fairy folk changed\nhim at birth. Anyway, I like him well enough, for he suits me.\u201d\n\nBarbara went back to her sitting-room, where not long afterwards the boy\ncame to her. As he entered the doorway she noted how handsome he looked\nwith his massive head and square-jawed face, and how utterly unlike any\nArnott or Walrond known to her personally or by tradition. Had he been\na changeling, such as the girl Bess spoke of, he could not have seemed\nmore different. \n\nHe came and stood before her, his hands in his pockets and a smile upon\nhis face, for he could smile very pleasantly when he chose.\n\n\u201cWell, Anthony,\u201d she said, \u201cwhat is it?\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing, mother dear, except that I have come to beg your pardon. You\nwere quite right about the coursing meeting; they are a low lot, and I\noughtn\u2019t to mix with them. But I had bets on some of the dogs and\nwanted to go awfully. Then when you said I mustn\u2019t I lost my\ntemper.\u201d \n\n\u201cThat was very evident, Anthony.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, mother; I felt as though I could have killed someone. I did try\nto kill Bess with that bust of Plato, but she dodged like a cat and the\nthing smashed against the wall. Then she came for me straight and gave\nme what I deserved, for she was too many for me. And presently all my\nrage went, and I found that I was laughing while she tidied my clothes.\nI wish you could do the same, mother.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you, Anthony? Well, I cannot.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know. Where did I get my temper from, mother? Not from you, or my\nfather from all I have heard and remember of him.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour grandfather would say it was from the devil, Anthony.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, and perhaps he is right; only then it is rather hard luck on me,\nisn\u2019t it? I can\u2019t help it\u2014it comes.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen make it go, Anthony. You are to be confirmed soon. Change your\nheart.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll try. But, mother dear, though I am so bad to you, you are the\nonly one who will ever change me. When that wild-cat of a girl got the\nbetter of me just now, it was you I thought of, not her. If I lost you\nI don\u2019t know what would become of me.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe have to stand or fall alone, Anthony.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps, mother. I don\u2019t know; I am not old enough. Still,\ndon\u2019t leave me alone, for if you do, then I am sure which I shall\ndo,\u201d and bending down he kissed her and left the room.\n\nAfter this scene Anthony\u2019s behaviour improved very much; his reports\nfrom school were good, for he was quick and clever, and his great skill\nin athletics made him a favourite. Also his grandfather, who prepared\nhim for confirmation, announced that the lad\u2019s nature seemed to have\nsoftened. \n\nSo things remained for some time, to be accurate, for just so long as\nthe girl Bess was a servant at the Hall.\n\nAnthony might talk about his mother\u2019s influence over him, and without\ndoubt when he was in his normal state this was considerable. Also it\nserved to prevent him from breaking out. But when he did break out,\nBess Catton alone could deal with him. Naturally it would be thought\nthat there was some mutual attraction between these young people. Yet\nthis was not so, at any rate on the part of the girl, who had been\noverheard to tell Anthony to his face that she hated the sight of him\nand \u201cwould cut him to ribbons\u201d if she were his mother.\n\nAt any rate, there were others, or one other, of whom Bess did not hate\nthe sight, and in the end her behaviour caused such scandal that\nBarbara was obliged to send her out of the house.\n\n\u201cAll right, ma\u2019am,\u201d she said, \u201cI\u2019ll go, and be\nglad of a change. You may ring your own bull-calf now and I wish you joy\nof the job, since there\u2019s none but me that can lead him.\u201d\n\nA few days later Anthony returned from school. With him came a letter\nfrom the head master, who wrote that he did not wish to make any\nscandal, and therefore had not expelled the boy. Still, he would be\nobliged if his mother would refrain from sending him back, as he did\nnot consider him a suitable member of a public school. He suggested, in\nthe lad\u2019s own interest, that it might be wise to place him in some\nestablishment where a speciality was made of the training of unruly\nyouths. He added that he wrote this with the more regret since\nAnthony\u2019s father and grandfather had been scholars at \u2014\u2014 in their\nday, and her son possessed no mean intellectual abilities. This would\nbe shown by the fact that he was at the head of his class, and might\ndoubtless under other circumstances have risen to a high place in the\nsixth form. \n\nThen followed the details of his misdoings, of which one need only be\nmentioned. He had fought another boy, who, it may be added, was older\nthan himself, and beaten him. But the matter did not end there, since\nafter his adversary had given up the fight Anthony flew at him and\nmaltreated him so ferociously before they could be separated, that for\na while the poor lad was actually in danger of collapse.\n\nWhen reproached he expressed no penitence, but said only that he wished\nthat he had killed him. This he repeated to his mother\u2019s face;\nmoreover, he was furious when he found that Bess Catton had been sent\naway and demanded her return. When told that this was impossible he\nannounced quietly that he would make the place a hell, and kept his\nword. \n\nFor a year or more before this date Barbara had not been well. She\nsuffered from persistent colds which she was unable to shake off, and\nwith these came great depression of spirit. Now in her misery the poor\nwoman went to her room, and falling on her knees prayed with all her\nheart that she might die. The burden laid upon her was more than she\ncould bear. Only one consolation could she find, that her beloved\nhusband had not lived to share it, for she knew it would have crushed\nhim as it crushed her. \n\nHer father was now very old, and so feeble that everyone screened him\nfrom trouble so far as might be. But this particular trouble could not\nbe hid, and Barbara told him all.\n\n\u201cDo not give way, my dearest daughter,\u201d he said, \u201cand above\nall do not seek to fly from your trial, which doubtless is sent to you\nfor some good purpose. Troubles that we strive to escape nearly always\nrecoil upon our heads, whereas if they are faced, often they melt away.\nIf you remain in the world to watch and help him, your son\u2019s nature,\nbad as it seems to be, may yet alter, for after all I know that he\nloves you. But if you give up and leave the world, who can tell what\nwill happen to him when he is quite uncontrolled and in possession of\nhis fortune?\u201d \n\nBarbara recognised the truth of her father\u2019s words, and while he lived\ntried to act up to them. But as it happened Mr. Walrond did not live\nlong, for one evening he was found dead in the church, whither he often\nwent to pray. \n\nAbout this time the doctors told Barbara that her condition of health\nwas somewhat serious. It seemed that her lungs also showed signs of\nbeing affected. Perhaps she had contracted the disease from her\nhusband, and now that she was so broken in spirit, it asserted itself.\nThey added, however, that if she took certain precautions, and above\nall went away from Eastwich, there was every reason to hope that she\nwould quite recover her health. \n\nIn the end Barbara did not go away. At the time Anthony was being\ninstructed by a tutor who resided at the Hall to prepare him for the\nUniversity and ultimately for the Army. Needless to say, she was\nemployed continually in trying to compose the differences between him\nand this tutor. How then could she go away and leave that poor\ngentleman and her old mother, who when she was not staying with one of\nher other married daughters now made her home at the Hall?\n\nThus she argued to herself, but the truth was that she did not wish to\ngo. Her dearest associations were in the churchyard yonder, the\nchurchyard where she hoped ere long she would be laid. She hated life,\nshe sought and craved for death. This was her sin.\n\nNight by night she lay awake and thought of Anthony, her darling, her\nbeloved. She remembered that dream of his about a home that awaited him\nin another world, and she loved to fancy him as dwelling in that place\nof peace and making ready for her coming.\n\nNobody thought of him now except herself and his old dog Nell. The dog\nthought of him, she was sure, for it would sleep beneath his empty bed,\nand at times sit up, look at it and whine. Then it would come and rest\nits head upon her as she slept, and she would wake to find it looking\nat her with a question in its eyes. One night in the darkness it did\nthis, then left her and broke into a joyous whimpering, such as it used\nto make when its master was going to take it out. She even heard it\njumping up as though to paw at him, and wondered dreamily what it could\nmean. \n\nWhen she woke in the morning she saw the poor beast lying stiff and cold\nupon the bed that had been Anthony\u2019s, and though she wept over it,\nher tears were perhaps those of envy rather than of sorrow, for she was\nsure that it had found Anthony.\n\nMore and more Barbara threw out her soul towards Anthony. Across the\nvoid of Nothingness she sent it travelling, nor did it return with\nempty hands. Something of Anthony had greeted it, though she could not\nremember the greeting, had spoken with it, though she could not\ninterpret the words. Of this at least she was sure, she had been near\nto Anthony. \n\nOnce she seemed to see him. In the infinite, infinite distance, millions\nof miles away, the sky opened as it were. There in the opening was\nAnthony talking with one whom she knew for their daughter, the baby\nthat had died, talking of her. In a minute they were gone, but she had\nseen them, she was sure that she had seen them, and the knowledge\nwarmed her heart. \n\nSo there was no error, the Bible was true, more or less; Faith was not\nbuilt on running water or on sand. Life was not a mere hellish mockery,\nwhere tiaras turned to crowns of thorn and joy was but an inch rule by\nwhich to measure the alps of human pain. Life was a door, a gateway.\nThe door dreadful, the gate perilous, if you will, but beyond it lay no\ndream, no empty blackness. Beyond it stretched the Promised Land\npeopled with the lost who soon would be the found.\n\nBarbara\u2019s last illness was rapid. When she began to go she went\nswiftly. \n\n\u201cCan\u2019t you save her?\u201d asked her son of one of the doctors.\n\n\u201cThe disease has gone too far,\u201d he answered. \u201cMoreover, it is\nimpossible to save one who seeks to die.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy does she seek to die?\u201d blurted Anthony, glaring at him.\n\n\u201cPerhaps, young gentleman, you are in a better position to answer that\nquestion than I am,\u201d replied the doctor, who knew of Anthony\u2019s\ncruel conduct to his mother and had reproached him with it, not once but\non several occasions.\n\n\u201cYou mean that I have killed her,\u201d said Anthony savagely.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d replied the doctor, \u201cshe is dying of tuberculosis of\nthe lungs. What were the primary causes which induced that disease I\ncannot be sure. All I said was that she appears to welcome it, or\nrather its issue. And I will add this on my own account, that when she\ndoes die the world will lose one of the sweetest women that ever walked\nupon it. Good morning.\u201d \n\n\u201cI know what he means,\u201d said Anthony to himself, as he watched the\nretreating form. \u201cHe means that I have murdered her, and perhaps I\nhave. She is sick of me and wants to get back to my father, who was so\ndifferent. That\u2019s why she won\u2019t go on living when she might. She is\ncommitting suicide\u2014of a holy sort. Well, what made me a brute and her\nan angel? And when she\u2019s gone how will the brute get on without the\nangel? Why should I be filled with fury and wickedness and she of whom\nI was born with sweetness and light? Let God or the devil answer that\nif they can. My mother, oh! my mother!\u201d and this violent, sinister\nyouth hid his face in his hands and wept.\n\nBarbara sank down and down into a very whirlpool of nothingness. Bending\nover it, as it were, she saw the face of her aged mother, the faces of\nsome of her dear sisters, the face of the kindly doctor, and lastly the\nagonised face of her handsome son.\n\n\u201cMother! Don\u2019t leave me, mother. Mother! for God\u2019s sake come\nback to me, mother, or we shall never meet again. Come back to save\nme!\u201d \n\nThese were the last words that Barbara heard.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\nTHE ATONEMENT\n\n\nNow these are the things that seemed to happen to Barbara after her\nearthly death. Or rather some of the things, for most of them have\nfaded away and been lost to her mortal memory.\n\nConsciousness returned to her, but at first it was consciousness in an\nutter dark. Everywhere was blackness, and in it she was quite alone.\nThe whole universe seemed to centre in her solitary soul. Still she\nfelt no fear, only a kind of wonder at this infinite blank through\nwhich she was being borne for millions and millions of miles.\n\nLights began to shine in the blackness like to those of passing ships\nupon a midnight sea. Now she was at rest, and the rest was long and\nsweet. Every fear and sad thought, every sensation of pain or\ndiscomfort left her. Peace flowed into her.\n\nPresently she became aware of a weight upon her knee, and wondered by\nwhat it could be caused, for it reminded her of something; became aware\nalso that there was light about her. At length her eyes opened and she\nperceived the light, though dimly, and that it was different to any she\nhad known, purer, more radiant. She perceived also that she lay upon a\nlow couch, and that the weight upon her knee was caused by something\nshaped like the head of a dog. Nay, it _was_ the head of a dog, and one\nshe knew well, Anthony\u2019s dog, that had died upon his bed. Now she was\nsure that she dreamed, and in her dream she tried to speak to the dog.\nThe words that her mind formed were: \n\n\u201cNell! Is that you, Nell?\u201d but she could not utter them.\n\nStill they were answered, for it appeared to her that the dog thought,\nand that she could read its thought, which was:\n\n\u201cYes, it is I, who though but a dog, having been the last to leave\nyou, am allowed to be the first to greet you,\u201d and it lifted its head\nand looked at her with eyes full of a wonderful love.\n\nHer heart went out towards the faithful beast in a kind of rapture, and\nher intelligence formed another question, it was:\n\n\u201cWhere am I, and if you, a creature, are here, where are the\nothers?\u201d\n\n\u201cBe patient. I only watch you till they come,\u201d was the answer.\n\n\u201cTill they come. Till who come?\u201d she murmured.\n\nSomething within told her to inquire no more. But oh! was it possible\n\u2014was the earth dream coming true?\n\nA long while went by. She looked about her, and understood that she was\nlying in a great and beautiful room beneath a dome which seemed to be\nfashioned of translucent ivory or alabaster. At the end of the room\nwere curtains woven of some glittering stuff that gave out light. At\nlength these curtains were drawn, and through them, bearing a cup in\nher hand, passed a shape like to that of a mortal woman, only so\nradiant that Barbara knew that had she been alive with the old life she\nwould have felt afraid. \n\nThis shape also was clad in garments that gave out light, and in its\nhair were jewelled flowers. It glided to her side and looked at her\nwith loving, mysterious eyes. Then it held the cup to her lips, and\nsaid, or rather thought, for the speech of that land declared itself in\nthought and vision: \n\n\u201cDrink of this new wine.\u201d\n\nShe drank of the wine, and a wonderful life fell upon her like a glory.\n\n\u201cWho are you, O Vision?\u201d she asked, and by way of answer there rose\nup within her a picture of herself, Barbara, leaning over a cot and\nlooking at the white face of a dead child in a certain room in London.\nThen she knew that this was her daughter, and stretched out her arms\ntowards her and received her in her arms.\n\nPresently she looked again, and there around the bed appeared four other\nshapes of beauty.\n\n\u201cYou have forgotten us, Barbara,\u201d said one of them, \u201cbut we\nare your sisters who died in infancy.\u201d\n\nFor the third time she looked, and behold! kneeling at her side, just as\nhe had been found kneeling in the church, was her adored father, grown\nmore young. Once more she looked, and last of all, breathing ineffable\nlove, came her lost darling, Anthony himself.\n\nFrom heart to heart flashed their swift thoughts, like lightnings from\ncloud to cloud, till all her being was a very sea of joy. Now the great\nroom was full of presences, and now the curtains were gone and all\nspace beyond was full of presences, and from that glorious company of a\nsudden there arose a song of welcome and beneath the burden of its\nsweetness she swooned to sleep. \n\nBarbara dwelt in joy with those she loved and learned many things. She\nlearned that this sweet new life of hers was what she had fashioned on\nthe earth with her prayers and strivings; that the seeds of love and\nsuffering sown down in the world\u2019s rank soil had here blossomed to\nthis perfect flower. Now she knew what was meant by the saying that the\nkingdom of Heaven is within you, and by the other saying that as man\nsows so shall he reap. She learned that in this world beyond the world,\nand that yet itself was but a rung in the ladder of many universes, up\nwhich ladder all souls must climb to the ultimate judgment, there was\nsorrow as well as bliss, there were both suffering and delight. \n\nHere the sinful were brought face to face with the naked horror of their\nsins, and from it fled wailing and aghast. Here the cruel, the\ncovetous, the lustful and the liar were as creatures dragged from black\ncaverns of darkness into the burning light of day. These yearned back\nto their darkness and attained sometimes to other coverings of a mortal\nflesh, or to some land of which she had no knowledge. For such was\ntheir fate if in them there was no spark of repentant spirit that in\nthis new world could be fanned to flame. \n\nUpwards or downwards, such is the law of the universe in which nothing\ncan stand still. Up from the earth which Barbara had left came the\nspirit shape of all that lived and could die, even to that of the\nflower. But down to the earth it seemed that much of it was whirled\nagain, to ascend once more in an age to come, since though the stream\nof life pulses continually forward, it has its backwash and its eddies.\n\nBarbara learned that though it is blessed to die young and sinless, like\nto that glorious child of hers with whom she walked in this heavenly\ncreation, and whose task it was to instruct her in its simpler\nmysteries, to live and to repent is yet more blessed. In this life or\nin that all have sinned, but not all have repented, and therefore, it\nappeared to Barbara, again and again such must know the burden of the\nflesh. \n\nAlso she saw many wonders and learned many secrets of that vast,\nspiritual universe into which this world of ours pours itself day by\nday. But if she remembers anything of these she cannot tell them.\n\nOh! happy was her life with Anthony, for there, though now sex as we\nknow it had ceased to be, spirit grew ever closer to spirit, and as\nbelow they dreamed and hoped, their union had indeed become an altar on\nwhich Love\u2019s perfect fire flamed an offering to Heaven. Happy, too,\nwas her communion with those other souls that had been mingled in her\nlot, and with many more whom she had known aforetime and elsewhere and\nlong forgotten. For Barbara learned that life is an ancient story of\nwhich we spell out the chapters one by one. \n\nYet amidst all this joy and all the blessed labours of a hallowed world\nin which idleness was not known, nor any weariness in well-doing, a\ncertain shadow met Barbara whichever way she turned.\n\n\u201cWhat is it?\u201d asked Anthony, who felt her trouble.\n\n\u201cOur son,\u201d she answered, and showed him all the tale, or so much of\nit as he did not know, ending, \u201cAnd I chose to leave him that I might\ntake my chance of finding you. I died when I might have lived on if I\nhad so willed. That is my sin and it haunts me.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe are not the parents of his soul, which is as ancient as our own,\nBarbara.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, but for a while it was given into my hand and I deserted it, and\nnow I am afraid. How can I tell what has chanced to the soul of this\nson of ours? Here there is no time. I know not if I bade it farewell\nyesterday or ten thousand years ago. Long, long since it may have\npassed through this world, where it would seem we dwell only with those\nwhom we seek or who seek us. Or it may abide upon the earth and there\ngrow foul and hateful. Let us search out the truth, Anthony. There are\nthose who can open its gates to us if the aim be pure and good.\u201d\n\n\u201cAfter I died, Barbara, I strove to learn how things went with you,\nand strove in vain.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot altogether, Anthony, for sometimes you were very near to me, or\nso I dreamed. Moreover, the case was different.\u201d\n\n\u201cThose who search sometimes find more than they seek, Barbara.\u201d\n\n\u201cDoubtless. Still, it is laid on me. Something drives me on.\u201d\n\nSo by the means appointed they sought to know the truth as to this son\nof theirs, and it was decreed that the truth should be known to them.\n\nIn a dream, a vision, or perchance in truth\u2014which they never\nknew\u2014they were drawn to the world that they had left, and the reek of\nits sins and miseries pierced them like a spear.\n\nThey stood in the streets of London near to a certain fantastic gateway\nthat was familiar to them, the gateway of \u201cThe Gardens.\u201d From\nwithin came sounds of music and revelling, for the season was that of\nsummer. A woman descended from a carriage. She was finely dressed, dark\nand handsome. Barbara knew her at once for the girl Bess Catton, who\nalone could control her son in his rages and whom she had dismissed for\nher bad conduct. She entered the place and they entered with her,\nalthough she saw them not. Bess sat down, and presently a man whom she\nseemed to know drew out of the throng and spoke to her. He was a tall\nman of middle age, with heavy eyes. Looking into his heart, they saw\nthat it was stained with evil. The soul within him lay asleep, wrapped \nround with the webs of sin. This man said: \n\n\u201cWe are going to have a merry supper, Bess. Come and join us.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019d like to well enough,\u201d she answered, \u201cfor I\u2019m\ntired of my grand life; it\u2019s too respectable. But suppose that Anthony\ncame along. He\u2019s my lawful spouse, you know. We had words and I told\nhim where I was going.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, we\u2019ll risk your Anthony! Forget your marriage ring and have a\ntaste of the good old times.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll right. I\u2019m not afraid of Anthony, never was, but others are.\nWell, it\u2019s your look-out.\u201d\n\nShe went with the man to a pavilion where food was served, and\naccompanied him to a room separated by curtains from the main hall. It\nhad open windows which looked out on to the illuminated garden and the\ndancing. In this room, seated round a table, was a company of women\ngaudily dressed and painted, and with them were men. One of these was a\nmere boy now being drawn into evil for the first time, and Barbara\ngrieved for him. \n\nThese welcomed the woman Bess and her companion noisily, and made room\nfor them in seats near to the window. Then the meal began, a costly\nmeal at which not much was eaten but a great deal was drunk. The\nrevellers grew excited with wine; they made jests and told doubtful\nstories. \n\nBarbara\u2019s son Anthony entered unobserved and stood with his back\nagainst the curtains. He was a man now, tall, powerful, and in his way\nhandsome, with hair of a chestnut red. Just then he who had brought\nBess to the supper threw his arm about her and kissed her, whereat she\nlaughed and the others laughed also.\n\nAnthony sprang forward. The table was overthrown. He seized the man and\nshook him. Then he struck him in the face and hurled him through the\nopen window to the path below. For a few seconds the man lay there,\nthen rose and ran till presently he vanished beneath the shadow of some\ntrees. There was tumult and confusion in the room; servants rushed in,\nand one of the men, he who seemed to be the host, talked with them and\noffered them money. The woman Bess began to revile her husband.\n\nHe took her by the arm and said:\n\n\u201cWill you follow that fellow through the window, or will you come with\nme?\u201d\n\nGlancing at him, she saw something in his face that made her silent.\nThen they went away together.\n\nThe scene changed. Barbara knew that now she saw her Aunt Thompson\u2019s\nLondon house. In that drawing-room where she had parted from Mr.\nRussell, her son and his wife stood face to face.\n\n\u201cHow dare you?\u201d she gasped through her set lips, glaring at him\nwith fierce eyes.\n\n\u201cHow dare _you?_\u201d he answered. \u201cDid I marry you for\nthis? I have given you everything, my name, the wealth my old aunt left\nto me; you, you the peasant\u2019s child, the evil woman whom I tried to\nlift up because I loved you from the first.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen you were a fool for your pains, for such as I can\u2019t be lifted\nup.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you,\u201d he went on, unheeding, \u201cgo back to your mire and\nthe herd of your fellow-swine. You ask me how I dare. Go on with these\nways, and I tell you I\u2019ll dare a good deal more before I\u2019ve done.\nI\u2019ll be rid of you if I must break your neck and hang for it.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou can\u2019t be rid of me. I\u2019m your lawful wife, and you can\nprove nothing against me since I married. Do you think I want to be such\na one as that mother of yours, to have children and mope myself to the\ngrave\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019d best leave my mother out of it, or by the devil that made\nyou I\u2019ll send you after her. Keep her name off your vile lips.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy should I? What good did she ever do you? She pretended to be such\na saint, but she hated you, and small wonder, seeing what you were. Why\nshe even died to be rid of you. Oh, I know all about it, and you told\nme as much yourself. If my child is ever born I hope for your sake it\nwill be such another as you are, or as I am. You can take your\nchoice,\u201d and with a glare of hate she rushed from the room.\n\nOn a table near the fireplace stood spirits. The maddened husband went\nto them, filled a tumbler half full with brandy, added a little water\nand drank it off. \n\nHe poured more brandy into the glass and began to think. To Barbara his\nmind was as an open book and she read what was passing there. What she\nsaw were such thoughts as these: \u201cMy only comfort, and yet till\nwithin two years ago, whatever else I did, I never touched drink. I\nswore to my mother that I never would, and had she been alive\nto-day\u2014\u2014. But Bess always liked her glass, and drinking alone is no\ncompany. Ah! if my mother had lived everything would have been\ndifferent, for I outgrew the bad fit and might have become quite a\ndecent fellow. But then I met Bess again by chance, and she had the old \nhold on me, and there was none to keep me back, and she knew how to play\nher fish until I married her. The old aunt never found it out. If she\nhad I shouldn\u2019t have 8,000 pounds a year to-day. I lied to her about\nthat, and I wonder what she thinks of me now, if she can think where\nshe is gone. I wonder what my mother thinks also, and my father, who\nwas a good man by all accounts, though nobody seems to remember much\nabout him. Supposing that they could see me now, supposing that they\ncould have been at that supper party and witnessed the conjugal\ninterview between me and the female creature who is my legal wife, what\nwould they think? Well, they are dead and can\u2019t, for the dead don\u2019t\ncome back. The dead are just a few double handfuls of dirt, no more,\nand since no doubt I shall join them before very long, I thank God for \nit, or rather I would if there were a God to thank. Here\u2019s to the\ncompany of the Dead who will never hear or see or feel anything more\nfrom everlasting  to everlasting. Amen.\u201d    \n\nThen he drank off the second half tumbler of brandy, hid his face in his\nhands and began to sob, muttering:\n\n\u201cMother, why did you leave me? Oh, mother, come back to me, mother,\nand save my soul from hell!\u201d\n\nBarbara and Anthony awoke from their dream of the dreadful earth and\nlooked into each other\u2019s hearts.\n\n\u201cIt is true,\u201d said their hearts, which could not lie, and with\nthose words all the glory of their state faded to a grey nothingness.\n\n\u201cYou have seen and heard,\u201d said Barbara. \u201cIt was my sin which\nhas brought this misery on our son, who, had I lived on, might have been\nsaved. Now through me he is lost, who step by step of his own will must\ntravel downwards to the last depth, and thence, perhaps, never be\nraised again. This is the thing that I have done, yes, I whom blind\njudges in the world held to be good.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have seen and heard,\u201d he answered, \u201cand joy has departed\nfrom me. Yet what wrong have you worked, who did not know?\u201d\n\n\u201cCome, my father,\u201d called Barbara to that spirit who in the flesh\nhad been named Septimus Walrond, \u201ccome, you who are holy, and pray\nthat light may be given to us.\u201d\n\nSo he came and prayed and from the Heavens above fell a vision in answer\nto his prayer. The vision was that of the fate of the soul of the son\nof Anthony and Barbara through a thousand, thousand ages that were to\ncome, and it was a dreadful fate.\n\n\u201cPray again, my father,\u201d said Barbara, \u201cand ask if it may be\nchanged.\u201d\n\nSo the spirit of Septimus Walrond prayed, and the spirits of his\ndaughters and of the daughter of Anthony and Barbara prayed with him.\nTogether they kneeled and prayed to the Glory that shone above.\n\nThere came another vision, that of a little child leading a man by the\nhand, and the child was Barbara and the man was he who had been her\nson. By a long and difficult path\u2014upwards, ever upwards\u2014she led\nhim, and the end of that path was not seen.\n\nThen these spirits prayed that the meaning of this vision might be made\nmore clear. But to that prayer there came no answer.\n\nBarbara went apart into a wilderness where thorns grew and there endured\nthe agony of temptation. On the one hand lay the pure life of joy\nwhich, like the difficult path that had been shown to her, led upwards,\never upwards to yet greater joy, shared with those she loved. On the\nother hand lay the seething hell of Earth, to be once more endured\nthrough many mortal years and\u2014a soul to save alive. None might\ncounsel her, none might direct her. She must choose and choose alone.\nNot in fear of punishment, for this was not possible to her. Not in\nhope of glory, for that she must inherit, but only for the hope\u2019s\nsake that she might\u2014save a soul alive. \n\nOut of her deep heart\u2019s infinite love and charity thus she chose in\natonement of her mortal sin. And as she chose the great arc of Heaven\nabove her, that had been grey and silent, burst to splendour and to\nsong. \n\nSo Barbara for a while bade farewell to those who loved her, bade\nfarewell to Anthony her heart\u2019s heart. Once more, alone, utterly\nalone, she laid her on the couch in the great chamber with the\ntranslucent dome and thence her spirit was whirled back through\nnothingness to the hell of Earth, there to be born again in the child\nof the evil woman, that it might save a soul alive. \n\nThus did the sweet and holy Barbara\u2014Barbara who came back\u2014in\natonement of her sin.\n\nFor her reward, as she fights on in hope, she has memory and such\nvisions as are written here.\n\nTHE END","title":"Smith and the Pharaohs, and other Tales","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":83196}