CHAPTER IV
BESSIE IS ASKED IN MARRIAGE
In due course John Niel recovered from his sprained ankle and the otherinjuries inflicted on him by the infuriated cock ostrich (it is, by theway, a humiliating thing to be knocked out of time by a feathered fowl),and set to work to learn the routine of farm life. He did not find thisa disagreeable task, especially when he had so fair an instructress asBessie, who knew all about it, to show him the way in which he shouldgo. Naturally of an energetic and hard-working temperament, he very soonfell more or less into the swing of the thing, and at the end of sixweeks began to talk quite learnedly of cattle and ostriches and sweetand sour veldt. About once a week or so Bessie used to put him througha regular examination as to his progress; also she gave him lessons inDutch and Zulu, both of which tongues she spoke to perfection; soit will be seen that John did not lack for pleasant and profitableemployment. Also, as time went on he grew much attached to Silas Croft.The old gentleman, with his handsome, honest face, his large and variedstock of experience and his sturdy English character, made a greatimpression on his mind. He had never met a man quite like him before.Nor was this friendship unreciprocated, for his host took a wonderfulfancy to John Niel.
"You see, my dear," he explained to his niece Bessie, "he is quiet, andhe doesn't know much about farming, but he's willing to learn, and sucha gentleman. Now, where one has Kafirs to deal with, as on a placelike this, you must have a _gentleman_. Your mean white will never getanything out of a Kafir; that's why the Boers kill them and flog them,because they can't get anything out of them without. But you see CaptainNiel gets on well enough with the 'boys.' I think he'll do, my dear,I think he'll do," and Bessie quite agreed with him. And so it came topass that after this six weeks' trial the bargain was struck finally,and John paid over his thousand pounds, becoming the owner of a thirdinterest in Mooifontein.
Now it is not possible, in a general way, for a man of John Niel's ageto live in the same house with a young and lovely woman like BessieCroft without running more or less risk of entanglement. Especiallyis this so when the two people have little or no outside society ordistraction to divert their attention from each other. Not that therewas, at any rate as yet, the slightest hint of affection between them.Only they liked one another very much, and found it pleasant to be agood deal together. In short, they were walking along that easy, windingroad which leads to the mountain paths of love. It is a very broad road,like another road that runs elsewhere, and, also like this last, it hasa wide gate. Sometimes, too, it leads to destruction. But for all thatit is a most agreeable one to follow hand-in-hand, winding as it doesthrough the pleasant meadows of companionship. The view is ratherlimited, it is true, and homelike--full of familiar things. There standthe kine, knee-deep in grass; there runs the water; and there growsthe corn. Also you can stop if you like. By-and-by it is different.By-and-by, when the travellers tread the heights of passion, precipiceswill yawn and torrents rush, lightnings will fall and storms will blind;and who can know that they shall attain at last to that far-off peak,crowned with the glory of a perfect peace which men call Happiness?There are those who say it never can be reached, and that the halo whichrests upon its slopes is no earthly light, but rather, as it were, apromise and a beacon--a glow reflected whence we know not, and lying onthis alien earth as the sun's light lies on the dead bosom of the moon.Some declare, again, that they have climbed its topmost pinnacleand tasted of the fresh breath of heaven which sweeps around itsheights--ay, and heard the quiring of immortal harps and the swan-likesigh of angels' wings; and then behold! a mist has fallen upon them, andthey have wandered in it, and when it cleared they were on the mountainpaths once more, and the peak was far away. And a few there are who tellus that they live there always, listening to the voice of God; butthese are old and worn with journeying--men and women who have outlivedpassions and ambitions and the fire heats of love, and who now, girtabout with memories, stand face to face with the sphinx Eternity.
But John Niel was no chicken, nor very likely to fall in love with thefirst pretty face he met. He had once, years ago, gone through thatmelancholy stage, and there, he thought, was an end of it. Moreover, ifBessie attracted him, so did Jess in a different way. Before he hadbeen a week in the house he came to the conclusion that Jess was thestrangest woman he had ever met, and in her own fashion one of the mostattractive. Her very impassiveness added to her charm; for who is therein this world who is not eager to learn a secret? To him Jess wasa riddle of which he did not know the key. That she was clever andwell-informed he soon discovered from her rare remarks; that she couldsing like an angel he also knew; but what was the mainspring of hermind--round what axis did it revolve--this was the puzzle. Clearlyenough it was not like most women's, least of all like that of happy,healthy, plain-sailing Bessie. So curious did he become to fathom thesemysteries that he took every opportunity to associate with her, and,when he had time, would even go out with her on her sketching, or ratherflower-painting, expeditions. On these occasions she would sometimesbegin to talk, but it was always about books, or England or someintellectual question. She never spoke of herself.
Yet it soon became evident to John that she liked his society, andmissed him when he did not come. It never occurred to him what a boonit was to a girl of considerable intellectual attainments, and stillgreater intellectual capacities and aspirations, to be thrown for thefirst time into the society of a cultivated and intelligent gentleman.John Niel was no empty-headed, one-sided individual. He had both readand thought, and even written a little, and in him Jess found a mindwhich, though of an inferior stamp, was more or less kindred to her own.Although he did not understand her she understood him, and at last, hadhe but known it, there rose a far-off dawning light upon the twilightof her heart that thrilled and changed it as the first faint rays ofmorning thrill and change the darkness of the night. What if she shouldlearn to love this man, and teach him to love her? To most women such athought more or less involves the idea of marriage, and that change ofstatus which for the most part they consider desirable. But Jess did notthink much of that: what she did think of was the blessed possibility ofbeing able to lay down her life, as it were, in the life of another--ofat last finding somebody who understood her and whom she couldunderstand, who would cut the shackles that bound down the wings ofher genius, so that she could rise and bear him with her as, in BulwerLytton's beautiful story, Zoe would have borne her lover. Here at lengthwas a man who _understood_, who was something more than an animal, andwho possessed the god-like gift of brains, the gift that had been acurse rather than a blessing to her, lifting her above the level ofher sex and shutting her off as by iron doors from the comprehension ofthose around her. Ah! if only this perfect love of which she had readso much would come to him and her, life might perhaps grow worth theliving.
It is a curious thing, but in such matters most men never learn wisdomfrom experience. A man of John Niel's age might have guessed that itis dangerous work playing with explosives, and that the quietest, mostharmless-looking substances are sometimes the most explosive. He mighthave known that to set to work to cultivate the society of a woman withsuch tell-tale eyes as Jess's was to run the risk of catching the firefrom them himself, to say nothing of setting her alight: he might haveknown that to bring all the weight of his cultivated mind to bear on hermind, to take the deepest interest in her studies, to implore her to lethim see the poetry Bessie told him she wrote, but which she wouldshow to no living soul, and to evince the most evident delight in hersinging, were one and all hazardous things to do. Yet he did them andthought no harm.
As for Bessie, she was delighted that her sister should have foundanybody to whom she cared to talk or who could understand her. It neveroccurred to her that Jess might fall in love. Jess was the last personto fall in love. Nor did she calculate what the results might be toJohn. As yet, at any rate, she had no interest in Captain Niel--ofcourse not.
And so things went on pleasantly enough to all concerned in this dra
matill one fine day when the storm-clouds began to gather. John had beenabout the farm as usual till dinner time, after which he took his gunand told Jantje to saddle up his shooting pony. He was standing on theverandah, waiting for the pony to appear, and by him was Bessie, lookingparticularly attractive in a white dress, when suddenly he caught sightof Frank Muller's great black horse, and upon it that gentleman himself,cantering up the avenue of blue gums.
"Hullo, Miss Bessie," he said, "here comes your friend."
"Bother!" said Bessie, stamping her foot; and then, with a quick look,"Why do you call him my friend?"
"I imagine that he considers himself so, to judge from the number oftimes a week he comes to see you," John answered with a shrug. "At anyrate, he isn't mine, so I am off shooting. Good-bye. I hope that youwill enjoy yourself."
"You are not kind," she said in a low voice, turning her back upon him.
In another moment he was gone, and Frank Muller had arrived.
"How do you do, Miss Bessie?" he said, jumping from his horse with therapidity of a man who had been accustomed to rough riding all his life."Where is the _rooibaatje_ off to?"
"Captain Niel is going out shooting," she said coldly.
"So much the better for you and me, Miss Bessie. We can have a pleasanttalk. Where is that black monkey Jantje? Here, Jantje, take my horse,you ugly devil, and mind you look after him, or I'll cut the liver outof you!"
Jantje took the horse, with a forced grin of appreciation at the joke,and led him off to the stable.
"I don't think that Jantje likes you, _Meinheer_ Muller," said Bessie,spitefully, "and I do not wonder at it if you talk to him like that. Hetold me the other day that he had known you for twenty years," and shelooked at him inquiringly.
This casual remark produced a strange effect on her visitor, who turnedcolour beneath his tanned skin.
"He lies, the black hound," he said, "and I'll put a bullet through himif he says it again! What should I know about him, or he about me? CanI keep count of every miserable man-monkey I meet?" and he muttered astring of Dutch oaths into his long beard.
"Really, _Meinheer!_" said Bessie.
"Why do you always call me '_Meinheer_'?" he asked, turning so fiercelyon her that she started back a step. "I tell you I am not a Boer. Iam an Englishman. My mother was English; and besides, thanks to LordCarnarvon, we are all English now."
"I don't see why you should mind being thought a Boer," she said coolly:"there are some very good people among the Boers, and besides, you usedto be a great 'patriot.'"
"Used to be--yes; and so the trees used to bend to the north when thewind blew that way, but now they bend to the south, for the windhas turned. By-and-by it may set to the north again--that is anothermatter--then we shall see."
Bessie made no answer beyond pursing up her pretty mouth and slowlypicking a leaf from the vine that trailed overhead.
The big Dutchman took off his hat and stroked his beard perplexedly.Evidently he was meditating something that he was afraid to say. Twicehe fixed his cold eyes on Bessie's fair face, and twice looked downagain. The second time she took alarm.
"Excuse me one minute," she said, and made as though to enter the house.
"_Wacht een beeche_" (wait a bit), he ejaculated, breaking into Dutchin his agitation, and even catching hold of her white dress with his bighand.
Drawing the dress from him with a quick twist of her lithe form, sheturned and faced him.
"I beg your pardon," she said, in a tone that could not be calledencouraging: "you were going to say something."
"Yes--ah, that is--I was going to say----" and he paused.
Bessie stood with a polite look of expectation on her face, and waited.
"I was going to say--that, in short, that I want to marry you!"
"Oh!" exclaimed Bessie with a start.
"Listen," he went on hoarsely, his words gathering force as he spoke, asis the way even with uncultured people when they speak from the heart."Listen! I love you, Bessie; I have loved you for three years. Everytime I have seen you I have loved you more. Don't say me nay--you don'tknow how I do love you. I dream of you every night; sometimes I dreamthat I hear your dress rustling, then you come and kiss me, and it islike being in heaven."
Here Bessie made a gesture of disgust.
"There, I have offended you, but don't be angry with me. I am very rich,Bessie; there is the place here, and then I have four farms in Lydenburgand ten thousand _morgen_ up in Waterberg, and a thousand head ofcattle, besides sheep and horses and money in the bank. You shall haveeverything your own way," he went on, seeing that the inventory of hisgoods did not appear to impress her--"everything--the house shall beEnglish fashion; I will build a new _sit-kammer_ (sitting-room) and itshall be furnished from Natal. There, I love you, I say. You won't sayno, will you?" and he caught her by the hand.
"I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Muller," answered Bessie, snatchingaway her hand, "but--in short, I cannot marry you. No, it is no use, Icannot indeed. There, please say no more--here comes my uncle. Forgetall about it, Mr. Muller."
Her suitor looked up; there was old Silas Croft sure enough, but he wassome way off, and walking slowly.
"Do you mean it?" he said beneath his breath.
"Yes, yes, of course I mean it. Why do you force me to repeat it?"
"It is that damned _rooibaatje_," he broke out. "You used not to be likethis before. Curse him, the white-livered Englishman! I will be evenwith him yet; and I tell you what it is, Bessie: you shall marry me,whether you like or no. Look here, do you think I am the sort of manto play with? You go to Wakkerstroom and ask what sort of a man FrankMuller is. See! I want you--I must have you. I could not live if Ithought that I should never get you for myself. And I tell you I willdo it. I don't care of it costs me my life, and your _rooibaatje's_ too.I'll do it if I have to stir up a revolt against the Government. There,I swear it by God or by the Devil, it's all one to me!" And growinginarticulate with passion, he stood before her clinching and unclinchinghis great hand, and his lips trembling.
Bessie was very frightened; but she was a brave woman, and rose to theemergency.
"If you go on talking like that," she said, "I shall call my uncle. Itell you that I will not marry you, Frank Muller, and that nothingshall ever make me marry you. I am very sorry for you, but I have notencouraged you, and I will never marry you--never!"
He stood for half a minute or so looking at her, and then burst into asavage laugh.
"I think that some day or other I shall find a way to make you," Mullersaid, and turning, he went without another word.
A couple of minutes later Bessie heard the sound of a horse galloping,and looking up she saw her wooer's powerful form vanishing down thevista of blue gums. Also she heard somebody crying out as though in painat the back of the house, and, more to relieve her mind than for anyother reason, she went to see what it was. By the stable door she foundthe Hottentot Jantje, shrieking, cursing and twisting round and round,his hand pressed to his side, from which the blood was running.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Baas Frank!" he answered--"Baas Frank hit me with his whip!"
"The brute!" said Bessie, the tears starting to her eyes with anger.
"Never mind, missie, never mind," gasped the Hottentot, his ugly facegrowing livid with fury, "it is only one more to me. I cut it on thisstick"--and he held up a long thick stick he carried, on which wereseveral notches, including three deep ones at the top just below theknob. "Let him look out sharp--let him search the grass--let him creepround the bush--let him watch as he will, one day he will find Jantje,and Jantje will find him!"
"Why did Frank Muller gallop away like that?" asked her uncle of Bessiewhen she got back to the verandah.
"We had some words," she answered shortly, not seeing the use ofexplaining matters to the old man.
"Ah, indeed, indeed. Well, be careful, my love. It's ill to quarrel witha man like Frank Muller. I've known him for many years, and he has
ablack heart when he is crossed. You see, my love, you can deal with aBoer and you can deal with an Englishman, but cross-bred dogs are hardto handle. Take my advice, and make it up with Frank Muller."
All of which sage advice did not tend to raise Bessie's spirits, thatwere already sufficiently depressed.
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