The Fire Trumpet: A Romance of the Cape Frontier

by Bertram Mitford

  VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

  "MINGLE SHADES OF JOY AND WOE."

  The long dining-room is in a blaze of light, such as it has not sparkledwith for some considerable time, and only then on rare and specialoccasions such as the present one. The polished floor reflects the glowof numerous candles, and, as Hicks vigorously puts it, the decks arethoroughly cleared for action. Expectant groups stand about the room orthrong the doorways--for the fun has not yet commenced, and meanwhiletalk and laughter goes on among the jovial spirits there foregathered,and the graver ones, when not the subjects of rally, are intent oncontemplating the floor, the ceiling, the fireplace, or anything ornothing. The party might be an English one to all appearances. You maydescry the usual phases in its ingredients. There is shy humanity,confident humanity, blatant humanity, fussy humanity, even pompoushumanity. There, however, the resemblance ends. Of stiffness there isnone. Everybody knows everybody, or soon will--meanwhile acts as if itdoes. Then, in the little matter of attire, many of the "lords ofcreation" are arrayed in orthodox evening costume and white-chokered,others in black coats of the "go-to-meeting" order, while three or fourDutchmen, bidden to the festivity on neighbourly grounds, sport raimentfearfully and wonderfully made, whose effect is enhanced by terrificneckties, varying in shades from scarlet to green. The company iscomposed almost entirely of the settler class. Jolly old fellows whohave come to look on at the enjoyment of their extensive andwell-looking families in various stages of adolescence, and who, inspite of their white hair and sixty or seventy summers, seem more thanhalf inclined not to remain passive spectators of the fun. One or twoof these, by the way, judging from nasal rubicundity and other signs,will, I trow, be found more frequently hovering around the charmedcircle where flows the genial dram, than in the immediate neighbourhoodof the giddy rout. Middle-aged men, bronzed and bearded, lookingserious as they contemplate what is expected of them, for assuredly weEnglish, in whatever part of the world we be, "take our pleasuressadly." Young settlers are there, stalwart fellows, several of whomhave ridden from far, carrying their gala array in a saddle-bag, and whoby the time they return will have been three days away from home. Butdistance is nothing; their horses are strong and hardy, and the roadsare good, and if not, what matters? Life is nothing without itsenjoyments, and accordingly they intend to enjoy themselves, and do.

  Of the fair sex there is a goodly muster--though fewer in proportion tothat of the men, as is frequently the case at frontier dances--consisting of the wives and daughters of the settlers. Some are pretty,some plain; some are bright and lively, and nicely dressed; others againare badly attired, and neither bright nor lively; and at present theyare mostly gathered together in the room opening out of the one which isto be the scene of the fray.

  "Now then, Hicks, Armitage, some of you fellows, let's set the ballrolling," cried the jovial voice of Jim Brathwaite, as a volunteerpianist (the orchestral department must be worked entirely by volunteeragency) sat down at the instrument and dashed off a lively galop. "Comealong, Arthur, give these fellows a lead," he went on.

  Claverton was standing in the doorway. He turned as Jim addressed him."Well, if it's all the same, I think I'll cut in later. Fact is, I'mnot much of a dancer. Besides, it's a ridiculous exercise."

  "Aren't you! `England expects,'" said Ethel, maliciously, as shefloated by, a dream-like vision in pink gauziness. Her golden hair,confined by some cunning device at the back of her head, flowed inshining ripples below her waist, and the deep blue eyes flashedlaughingly into his as she made her mocking rejoinder.

  "Does it? Expectations are notoriously unsafe assets," was the quietreply.

  "Well, we must make a start or we shall never get these fellows tobegin," said Jim. "Come along, Ethel, you promised me the first dance.If you didn't you ought to have."

  They glided off, and Claverton stood and followed them mechanically withhis glance; but, as a matter of fact, he hardly saw them. He waswondering what on earth had become of Lilian Strange. The dance woreon, and then the next, still Claverton stood in the doorway, which coignof vantage he held conjointly with an uncouth-looking Dutchman and aburly but bashful compatriot, and still _she_ did not appear. Atlength, while crossing the inner room with a vague idea of putting anartless and roundabout inquiry or two to Mrs Brathwaite as to whyLilian did not appear, he heard himself hailed by his host. Turningquickly he perceived the latter sitting in confab with a contemporary inage, but vastly different in appearance.

  "Arthur, this is an old friend of mine, Mr Garrett."

  Then arose a queer-looking old fellow, short, rotund of person, andwhose exceeding rubicundity of visage betokened, I fear, anything butaversion for ardent spirits. Running one stubby hand through hisbristly grey hair, he extended the other to Claverton.

  "'Ow do--'ow do? Not been long in the country, have you? My word, butit's a fine country, this is--fine country for young fellers like you."

  Claverton thought the country contained also some advantages for thespeaker; and he was right. Here was old Joe Garrett, who never knew hisfather, if he had one, and who, having early in the century desertedfrom a two-hundred-ton merchant brig lying in Algoa Bay, had started incolonial life as a journeyman carpenter. By hook or by crook he hadmade his way, and now, by virtue of the four fine farms which he owned,he deemed himself very much of a landed proprietor, and every whit theequal of Walter Brathwaite, "whose ancestors wore chain-armour in thefourteenth century," as some one or other's definition of a gentlemanruns.

  "I was jest such a young feller as you once," went on this embodiment ofcolonial progress. "I landed in this country in nothin' but the clothesto my back, and look at me now. Now, I'll tell you what I did," and theoracle, slapping one finger into the palm of the of her hand, looked upinto his victim's face with would-be impressive gravity, "I worked;that's what I did--I worked. Now, you may depend upon it, that for ayoung feller there's nothin' like a noo country--and work!"

  "I suppose so," acquiesced Claverton, horribly sick of this biography.

  "Now a noo country," went on the oracle, "a noo country, sez I, ain't anold one. 'Ere you're free; there," flinging out a stubby hand in theimaginary direction of Great Britain, "nothing but forms and sticklin'.Now, 'ere I can sit down to dinner without putting on aswallow-tail-coat and a white choker, for instance. No; give me a noocountry and freedom, sez I."

  "Quite right, Mr Garrett. A swallow-tailed coat plays the mischiefwith the digestion, and science has discovered that a white chokertarnishes the silver. Something in the starch, you know--arsenic, theysay."

  "No! You don't say so now?" returned the other, open-mouthed, and notdetecting the fine irony of his banterer's tone.

  "Yes, of course. And now excuse me. I must go and find my partner."

  "Certainly--certainly. You young fellers! I was a young feller once,ha, ha, ha!" And old Garrett winked, and contorted his visage in thedirection of his recent interlocutor in such wise as should meanvolumes.

  "This is ours, Miss Strange."

  Lilian had just come in. She had passed close behind the speaker whilehe was talking to old Garrett, and her entrance did not remain longundiscovered.

  "Do you know, I had quite begun to fear you were not going to appearto-night--that you were tired or unwell," he said, as they made theirway to the dancing-room.

  "Bight and wrong. I was tired, and so rested instead of dressingearlier. Now I am all right again, and never felt so well in my life."

  "Nor looked it."

  It slipped out. The slightest possible flush came into Lilian's face.

  "You must not pay me compliments, Mr Claverton," she said, gravely, butwith a smile lurking in her eyes. "They are what you men call `badform.'"

  "But consider the provocation."

  "Again? What am I to do to you? I know. I shall scold you. This isthe second time to-day that you have reproached me for being late. Thismorning and now."

  _Certes_ the provocatio
n was excessive. She was looking surpassinglybeautiful this evening, in creamy white, with a velvety rose of deepestcrimson on her breast; another bud, a white one, nestling among thethick coils of her bronze-tinted dark hair. Many a glance of astonishedadmiration greeted her entrance, and followed her about the room; butthe quiet repose of the lovely face was devoid of the least sign ofself-consciousness.

  "By Jove!" remarked Armitage to his partner, a chubby little "bunch"with big blue eyes and a button mouth. "Claverton's a sly dog._That's_ why he was in no hurry to begin. Oho, I see now."

  "She _is_ pretty. How well they look together!" was the reply, as thetwo stood against the wall to watch them.

  Ethel, whirling by with the Civil Commissioner's clerk, caught the lastremark. She would have given much to have been able to box poor littleGertie Wray's ears severely, then and there. That young lady babbledon, utterly void of offence.

  "I say, though," said her partner. "She cut you out. Claverton wasjust on his way to ask you when she came in. He was, really."

  "Was he? Then he should have asked me before. My programme's fullnow."

  Meanwhile let us follow the pair under discussion.

  "Who was that poor old man you were chaffing so, just now?" Lilian wassaying.

  "Only a curious specimen of natural history. But how do you know I waschaffing anybody?"

  "Because I heard you. Who is he?"

  "What perception you have got! `He' is old Garrett, hight Joe, whomigrated hither in the year one, to escape the terrible evil of havingto dress for dinner."

  Lilian could not speak for laughing.

  "Fact, really; he's just been telling me all about it. Bother! Thisdance is at an end. We are down for some more together, though."

  "Too many."

  "I claim priority of right. I claim your sympathy as a fellow sojournerin a far country. I appeal to your compassion to rescue me fromstanding out in the cold, in that you are the only one with whom I cangravitate round this festal room without peril to my neighbours' elbowsand shins, and they know it, and shunt me accordingly."

  "I don't believe a word of it," laughed Lilian. "It is you who shuntthem."

  "No, I am telling you solemn truth. And now have I not made it clear toyou that it is your bounden duty to take pity on me and help theproverbial lame dog over the ditto stile?"

  "Well then, I'll see what I can do for you. Now find me a seat--there,thank you--and go and `victimise' some one else," she added, flashing upat him a bright, mischievous glance.

  "Not yet. Have pity on--the public elbow and shin. I want to rest,too, after discharging my recent heavy responsibility without disaster;"and he made a move towards the seat beside her.

  "No. You are not to shirk your duty. Go and do as I wish, or I shallconsider it my duty to lose my programme. That means a new one, blank,and then memory is not a trustworthy guide." And as at that moment someone came up to ask her for a dance, Claverton was constrainedunwillingly to obey, or rather, partially to obey, for he fell back onhis old position in the convenient doorway, whence his eyes followed herround and round the room, to the complete exclusion of the other scoreof revolving couples.

  "Mr Claverton, do prove a friend in need, and save me from the clutchesof that awful Dutchman bearing down upon me from over there," said aflurried, but familiar voice at his elbow. "I promised him in a weakmoment, and now he's coming. Say you've got me down for this, andpersuade him it's his mistake. Quick! here he comes."

  "All right. But you told me once you'd rather go round with a chair,you know, than with me."

  "Did I? Never mind; don't be mean and rake up things," replied Ethel,and away they went, while the defrauded Boer, thinking his own sluggishbrain was at fault in the reckoning, adjourned to a certain corner ofthe other room in order to solace his wounded feelings with a _sopje_(dram).

  "How about England's disappointment?" said Ethel, maliciously, during apause.

  "That affliction has been indefinitely averted. By the way, I neverthought to see Allen so screwed."

  "Er--I'm not screwed," mildly objected that long-suffering youth, whohad pulled up with a swaying jerk alongside of them.

  "Aren't you? My good fellow, a man who is capable of mistaking mysubstantial and visible means of support for this exceedinglywell-polished floor, must be in a critical condition."

  "Oh--ah--er--was that you I trod upon? I didn't know--I'm awfullysorry."

  Half-a-dozen bystanders exploded at this, and the dance over, Clavertonbegan to think he had done a considerable share of duty, and sought anopportunity of claiming an instalment of the promised reward; but histurn had not yet come. Presently he overheard a girl near him say:

  "What do you think of that Miss Strange?"

  He recognised in the speaker one Jessie Garrett, a daughter of Joe ofthat ilk.

  "Well, she's very pretty, there's no doubt about that," answered herpartner, a stalwart young ostrich-farmer from the Graaff Reinetdistrict.

  "Should you admire her as much as Ethel Brathwaite?"

  "No; I don't think she's a patch on Miss Brathwaite; but there'ssomething awfully fetching about her, for all that."

  "Well, there's no accounting for tastes. I think she's too colourless--washed-out looking,"--a fault the speaker herself could in no wise pleadguilty to. She was a pretty girl herself, in the florid, barmaid style,but as different a creature to Lilian Strange as a plump dabchick to anArctic tern.

  Claverton's lips curled as he looked from the offending couple to theobject of their remarks.

  _She_ to be discussed according to the clod-hopping ideas of louts andscullery-maids. He turned away disgusted. Suddenly he heard himselfhailed in loud and jovial tones, and, looking up, found himself in thevicinity of the refreshment table, where three or four ancient settlerswere exchanging reminiscences, and occasionally clinking glasses.Prominent among them was old Garrett, his rubicund visage now nearlypurple.

  "I sh-shay, C-Claveringsh!" called out this worthy. "C-come and have awhat-sh-may call a eye-opener--hic!"

  "All right."

  "Thas righ'sh. Told yer 'ee ain't proud," cried the old fellow, beamingtriumphantly on the rest, and attempting to bestow upon Claverton afriendly slap on the back, which the latter quietly evaded. Hecontemplated the individual before him with vast amusement, andspeculated as to how soon this worthy's early retirement would becomeimperative.

  The rout went on, and presently Naylor and his violin were pressed intothe service to second the piano. In the passage outside a number of theHottentot servants, emulative of their betters, had got up a dance oftheir own and waxed merry, and laughed and chattered exceedingly, tillat last Jim Brathwaite, hearing the row, sallied forth and cleared themall out summarily.

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  The hours wear on apace. In the silence of the garden the air isfragrant with the cool breaths of night distilling from the myrtle andthe flowering pomegranate. High in the heavens hangs a gold half-moonwhose lustre pierces a leafy canopy, scattering a network of filmy lightupon the shaded earth. In and out of the gloomy shadows of the orangetrees a firefly or two trails in mid air a floating spark. All is rest.Now and again a burst of voices and music is borne from the house, yethere it penetrates but feebly, and Night--silver, moon-pierced,star-studded Night--is queen amid the mysterious silence of her witchingcourt.

  Two figures wandering down the orange walk in the alternate light, andgloom, and dimness. Listen! That low, melodious voice can belong to noother than Lilian Strange.

  "I am so glad we came out here for a little. I had no idea there couldbe such a night as this except in books."

  "Perhaps it strikes you the more, contrasted with the row and junketingindoors," said her companion.

  "No. In any case it would be delicious. And yet there is something ofawe about a night like this--don't laugh at me--it always seems amysterious shadow-land connecting us with another
world."

  "Laugh at you! Why won't you give me credit for a capability ofentering into any of your ideas?"

  "But I do. You are more capable of it than any one I know. There."

  "Thanks for that, anyway."

  "Don't stop my rhapsodies, but listen. Doesn't it seem--standing herein this stillness--as if the world lay far beneath one's feet; that allthe littlenesses and prosaic worries of every-day life could not entersuch an enchanted realm? Ah-h!"

  She uttered a little cry and instinctively drew closer to him as thesudden, yelping bark of a jackal sounded from the bush apparently withinfifty yards of them, but really much further off, the stillness and aslight echo adding loudness to the unlooked-for and ill-sounding "bay."

  "Don't be afraid," he said, reassuringly. "It's only a jackal. Whatwould you have done if it had been a wolf?"

  "I should have been dreadfully frightened. What a coward I am!"

  "At any rate, this time I am not the author of the scare, which issubject-matter for gratulation," he said.

  She laughed. "No; but the interruption came in most opportunely, intime to stay my flights. Here am I, inveighing against, and thinking torise superior to the prosaic commonplaces of life, when a sound, a meresound, fills me with an overwhelming impulse to rush headlong back intothe despised prose. What a step from the sublime to the ridiculous!"

  "I was thinking something of the kind," replied Claverton, with a halfsmile; and his voice grew very soft as he looked at her sweet, seriousface. "But don't be in the least afraid. A jackal is about asformidable or aggressive as a tabby cat, though he does make adiabolical row; and as for wolves, they are very scarce, and even morecowardly; and a yet bolder animal would flee from two such unwontedapparitions in the South African bush," he added, with a laugh, as heglanced at the regulation "evening-dress" of his companion and himself."Come this way."

  He opened a small gate in the high quince hedge, and they passed outinto a narrow bush path which, wound along through the _spekboem_ andfeathery mimosa.

  "Don't be in the very least afraid," he repeated, as they wandered on."I want you thoroughly to appreciate and enjoy about the most perfectnight I ever knew--and I've seen a good many--and you can't do so ifyou're expecting a wolf or a tiger to spring out of every bush."

  She laughed. "I'll try and be less of a coward, and keep my too-vividimagination under control." Yet the light hand which rested on his armseemed to lean there with ever so increased a pressure of trust ordependence, or both.

  Is it the movement of bird or beast in the adjoining brake, or is it thetread of a stealthy foot, that makes Claverton suddenly turn and gazebehind him? "I could swear I heard some one," he thinks to himself; butnot a word of this does he say to his companion. Then he laughs athimself for a fool. But he sees not a tall, shadowy figure standingback beneath the shelter of a mimosa tree, watching them over the spraysof the lower scrub. He hears not again that cautious footfallfollowing--following silently as they wend their way along the moonlitpath. And what should be farther from his thoughts than danger, real orimaginary?

  Presently the plash of falling water is heard, and they emerge from thepath on to a high, open bank. Beneath, the moon is reflected in thedepths of the still, round pool, whose rocky sides throw a black shadowon the surface, while a small cascade slides from a height of ten ortwelve feet, and, glancing like a silver thread through festoons ofdelicate maidenhair fern fringing the polished face of the rock,plunges, with a bell-like plash, into the glassy depths.

  "That's pretty, isn't it?" said Claverton. "In the daytime it isn'tmuch to look at, but by moonlight it shows up rather well."

  "It's lovely! A perfect picture!"

  "I thought you'd like it. Sit down there," he continued, pointing tothe smooth, sloping sward, which he has narrowly scrutinised to makesure that no noxious reptile, whether serpent or centipede, is at hand.Yet may he have overlooked the presence of deadlier foe than serpent orcentipede, ay, and wolf or leopard, in that peaceful retreat. "How doyou think you'll like being here?"

  "Very much. I like it already. It is so different to any kind of lifeI have ever known before--so strange, and wild, and interesting. Andthen every one here is so kind. Why, I might be a very near relativeinstead of only a recent acquaintance! The worst of it is, I fear itwill spoil me by the time I have to go back to my work."

  Her listener bit his lip until the blood flowed. His quick perceptionhad detected the faintest possible sigh of wearyful import which escapedher.

  "It shall be no fault of mine if you do go back to that same miserabledrudgery," he thought. But it was too early yet to utter the thoughtaloud, even he felt that. So he only said--and there was a world oftender sympathy in his tone:

  "I'm afraid you have been working much too hard, and I don't believe youare in the least fitted for it."

  "You must not try and make me discontented, Mr Claverton," was theanswer, with a sad little smile. "The fact is, I do feel the change agreat deal more than I ought. Only lately I had a very dear and happyhome, now I am entirely alone in the world."

  Again that irresistible impulse came over her auditor. Was it reallytoo soon? Why, it seemed as though he had known her for ages. Yetforty-eight hours ago he had not set eyes upon her. For a few momentshe could hardly trust himself to speak. Then he said, gently:

  "Tell me about your old home." The bush behind them parts, suddenly,noiselessly. A head rises; a great grim black head, with distendedeyeballs rolling in the moonlight. Then it sinks again and disappears,but they have not seen it.

  "I suppose I have no right to feel leaving the old place as I did," wenton Lilian. "We were in a way interlopers, for it belonged to mystepfather, not to our family. I lived there, though, ever since I canremember, and my mother died there. We were very happy but for onething: I had a stepsister about my own age who detested me. In short,we couldn't get on together, hard though I tried to like her. So whenMr Dynevard died--"

  "Who?"

  "Mr Dynevard. My stepfather," repeated Lilian.

  "Of Dynevard Chase, near Sandcombe?"

  "Yes. Why, you don't mean to say you know it?" cried Lilian, lost inwonder.

  "I wish I did. I'm afraid my utmost acquaintance with it lies in havingdriven past the place once or twice. Some distant relatives of minelived not far from Sandcombe years ago. So that's where you used tolive?"

  "Yes. This is a surprise. I shall make you talk to me such a lot aboutit," she cried, gleefully. "You will soon be heartily tired of thesubject, and will wish you had preserved a discreet silence."

  Claverton remembered the reluctance to dwell upon home topics which shehad expressed when the two of them were driving up from the town, and itwas with an extraordinary sense of relief that he did so. There wasnothing more behind it than the painfulness of her change ofcircumstances to a proud and sensitive nature.

  "After my stepfather's death," went on Lilian, "I thought it best torelieve Eveline Dynevard of my presence, and did so. There you have thewhole of my history."

  "And then you struck out a line for yourself, and thought to open thatmiserably hard old oyster, the world, with the blade of a miniaturepenknife. How enterprising of you!"

  "No, not at once--at least--at the first, that is--" and she hesitatedslightly and the colour rose to her face, as at some painfulrecollection. Her trepidation was not lost upon her listener, on whomit threw a momentary chill.

  Again that grim head rises from the bushes, ten yards behind theunsuspecting couple, followed this time by a pair of brawny darkshoulders bent forward in an attitude of intense watchfulness--theattitude of a crouching tiger. Again the moonbeams fall upon a fiercevisage and eyes glaring with vengeful hate. They fall on somethingmore--on the gleaming blade of a great assegai, and then the mightyframe of a gigantic savage slowly begins to emerge from the covert.

  Claverton sees not the baleful stare of his deadly foe, for he is toointent upon gazing at the lovely preocc
upied eyes before him, andwondering what is their exact colour, changing as it ever does in thevarying light. His companion sees it not, for she is living again inthe past. And no zephyr quivers through the silvered leaves or rufflesthe pool at their feet, no cloud comes over the calm, fair beauty of thenight, no shadow warns of a secret and terrible death hovering overthose two, who sit there beneath the witching influences of restfulcalm, of moonlight, and to one of them--of love.

  "Confound it!" angrily exclaims Claverton, half rising as the sound ofapproaching voices and laughter is borne upon the stillness. Thethreatening form of the watcher disappears--but they have not seen it--and the voices draw nearer. "Our retreat is a retreat no longer. Thewhole lot of them are bearing down upon us. Always the way."

  "Always the way." So it is. As in small things so in great; we see notthe finger of Providence in fortune's hardest knocks. Yet it must beadmitted that these seldom wear the guise of blessings, and we mortalsare weak--lamentably weak--and our foresight is simply nil. You two,who resent the intrusion of your fellows into this slumbrous retreat,you little reck that that intrusion is the saving of the life of atleast one of you.

  "But anyhow we must be going back now. As it is they will be wonderingwhat has become of as," said Lilian, rising.

  "I suppose we must," assented her companion, ruefully. He thought hecould have sat for ever in that enchanted glade, gazing into thebeautiful face and listening to the modulation of that low, tunefulvoice. "Ah, well. Now for the madding crowd again."

  He wrapped her shawl around her, and they wandered back along the narrowpath and beneath the orange trees again. Then as they gained the lastgate and the sound of music and laughter betokened that they were closeto the house, Lilian lingered a moment to look back towards the moonlitpool.

  "It is a sweet place, and we have had a lovely walk," she said. "I didenjoy it so. Thanks so much for bringing me."

  What did she mean? Was she blind? He paused with his hand on thehalf-open gate, and glanced at her with a curious expression.

  A small runnel of water coursed along at their feet, shining and glowingin the moonlight, and she was standing on the single plank that spannedit. Was she blind, that she failed to read even one-tenth of what thatlook expressed? But he made some ordinary remark, and they passed on.

  "Why, where in the world have you two been?" said Mrs Brathwaite asthey entered.

  "Playing truant. Miss Strange had a slight headache, and I recommendedfresh air as a counteracting influence. Then we discovered that we hadbeen near neighbours for some years without knowing it, and got talkingEnglish `shop'," answered Claverton. The latter half of his statementwas not strictly historical, but the speaker salved his conscience withthe trite reflection that "all's fair in love and war."

  "How curious!" said the old lady, in her interest in the coincidencelosing sight of the delinquency and forgetting mildly to scold himtherefor. "But it's astonishing how small the world is, when one comesto think of it."

  "Mr Claverton," said Lilian, reproachfully, an hour later. "I'msurprised at you. How could you say we were neighbours for `some years'when you knew we were not?"

  He laughed. "Were we not? Then we ought to have been. It was themerest accident of time and place that precluded it." He could not maketo her the excuse he had made to his own conscience--at least--not yet.

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  Pass we again to the silence of the garden. Who is this leaning againstyonder fence alone and gazing with stony, set face straight in front ofher? Can it be Ethel? Yes, it is. The laughing, saucy lips, so readywith badinage and repartee, are closed tightly together, and the blueeyes, erewhile flashing and sparkling with light-hearted mirth, nowstart forth with a hard stare. Must we, in the interests of our story,partially withdraw the curtain from her reflections? Even so, let us doit as gently as possible.

  "He never looked at _me_ like that," she murmured, referring to the twoon the little plank bridge. "Ought I to have betrayed my presence? Idon't know. I couldn't, somehow; and they weren't saying anything. Butthat look--how plainly I saw it! O, God! if only it had been given tome--to _me_," she went on, passionately, "I would cheerfully have diedat this moment."

  She paused, and slowly the tears welled to the swimming eyes, andglistened in the moonlight. "All the walks and rides we've hadtogether; all the time we have been thrown together! Good God! if Icould but live it over again! Since the very moment I saw him come in,and he looked me up and down in that calm, searching way of his--itseems only like yesterday. He never thought of me but as something toamuse him--a pretty plaything--to be thrown aside for a better. No, Iam wronging him; never by word or look did he deceive me. It is I whoam a fool--an idiot--and must pay the penalty of my folly; but--howcould I help it?"

  And the sounds of revelry came ever and anon from the lighted windows;and, without, all nature slept in a tranquil hush, and the pale starsgleamed in the sky--gleamed coldly down upon the lonely watcher.

  "How I flouted you, and said hard, sharp things to you, darling; everyone of them goes through me like a knife as I remember it. Yet that wasat first, and--how could I tell?" and a great sob shook the delicateframe. "But help me, my pride! Oh, love, you will never know. Thesame roof will cover us, and I must talk and even laugh with you asbefore--and see you and her together; but--you will never know. Ah!what a deal it takes to break one poor little heart! And--how I hate_her_!"

  A voice intrudes upon her reflections, quick, gruff, and horriblyfamiliar. "Oh, there you are, Miss Brathwaite," it says, "I've beenlooking for you everywhere."

  The voice acts upon her even as the trumpet blast upon the proverbialcharger. Not a trace of any recent emotion is visible as she turns andfaces her persistent but unwelcome admirer, Will Jeffreys.

  "And you've found me. What can I do for you?"

  The young fellow is staggered. The fact is that, warmed by theexhilarating exercise and the yet more exhilarating stimulant which hehas imbibed pretty freely in the course of the evening, he has screwedup his courage to the sticking point, and intends to throw the dice ofhis fate with Ethel before the said exalted quality has time to cool,which process of refrigeration, it may be remarked, has already begun.

  "Well, there _is_ something you can do for me," he says.

  "What is it? Do you want a partner for the next dance?--because, I'llbe in directly," she asks, quickly.

  The very tones of her voice ought to have brought home to Jeffreys theinexpediency of pursuing his subject for the present; but some personsare singularly deficient in a sense of the fitness of things or oftimes, and he was one.

  "No; it isn't that. I want to say something--something about me--andabout you," he blunders, lamely; but she will give him no help, "and--Imust--say it--to-night--Ethel!" he jerks out.

  "For goodness' sake don't say it to-night, or at any other time,"replies she, decisively, putting out her hand, with a gesture as if tostop him. It has the desired effect. Even Jeffreys' dull wits arealive to the conviction that his is not merely a losing game, but a lostone; and the reflection exasperates him.

  "Oh, I might have known," was the sneering reply. "Of course--no onehas been fit to speak to since that fellow Claverton came."

  She turned upon him, her face white with wrath in the moonlight."Wilfred Jeffreys, you are a brave fellow. You have found me herealone, and have taken the opportunity of insulting me. Now what do youthink I am going to do?"

  "What?"

  "I am going in to ask uncle to put away the brandy decanter," said she,in tones of bitter scorn; and without another word she walked away,leaving him standing there looking and feeling, from the crown of hishead to the soles of his feet, a thorough fool.

  Within doors the fun is kept up with a zest characteristic of suchentertainments. There are no shy ones left now, all are merged in theranks of the confident.

  Crash!

  Down comes
Hicks like a felled tree, right in the middle of the room.Matters are at a momentary standstill, and the unlucky one slowly andshamefacedly picks himself up, red and wrathful and covered withconfusion. He is muttering maledictions on the head of the guilelessAllen, which ass, he declares, not content with cannoning against him,tripped him up.

  "Never mind, jump up. Lucky it's _before_ supper," laughs jovial JimBrathwaite.

  "Hicks, old man, I _told_ you to draw the line at that fourth glass,"says the irrepressible Armitage in a mighty stage whisper as he whirlsby, grinning with malicious delight. The truth being that Hicks is themost abstemious wight in the world. But the remark does not passunheeded, and a laugh, varying in tone from open guffaw to suppressedtitter, further exasperates and discomfits the luckless stumbler, whovows vengeance on his tormentor.

  Then comes supper, which must be attended to in relays, space beinglimited. A Dutchman is desperately anxious to make a speech, and iswith difficulty quelled; while Jack Armitage, who has a bet on with someone that old Garrett being too far gone to detect the fraud, he willmake him drink three tumblers of water under the impression that it isgrog, is using the noble spur, emulation, to induce that worthy toswallow the third, and winks and grins triumphantly at the loser as hesucceeds. Meanwhile piano and violin never flag, till at length thewaning summer night begins to hint pretty broadly that it is time toknock off.

  Then a great deal of inspanning and saddling up; of hunting for straysaddle-cloths and bridles which have gone adrift; not a little wranglingamong the coloured stable hands belonging to the place or to the guests,and finally most of the latter are gone. The residue will tarry for ashakedown and a rest.

  "Good-night--at sunrise!"

  A pressure from a soft, taper hand; a sweet glance from a pair of rathertired eyes, and the door closes on a tall vision in soft creamydraperies.

  The recipient of that pressure of the hand, that playful glance, turnsaway like a man in a dream. Half instinctively he makes his way toHicks' quarters. Here he is enthusiastically hailed.

  "Hallo, Arthur. Come and blow a cloud before you turn in. All thesechaps are asleep already."

  "All right," was the reply, and the speaker, picking his way amongseveral slumbering wights who rolled in blankets had compassed impromptushakedowns on the floor of Hicks' room, seated himself at the foot ofthe latter's stretcher. "Give us a fill."