CHAPTER III
GOOD-BYE
Rachel was the first to wake, which she did, feeling cold, for the firehad burnt almost out. She rose and walked from the cave. The dawn wasbreaking quietly, for now no wind stirred, and no rain fell. So dense wasthe mist which rose from the river and sodden land, however, that shecould not see two yards in front of her, and fearing lest she shouldstumble on the lions or some other animals, she did not dare to wander farfrom the mouth of the cave. Near to it was a large, hollow-surfaced rock,filled now with water like a bath. From this she drank, then washed andtidied herself as well as she could without the aid of soap, comb ortowels, which done, she returned to the cave.
As Richard was still sleeping, very quietly she laid a little more wood onthe embers to keep him warm, then sat down by his side and watched him,for now the grey light of the dawning crept into their place of refuge. Toher this slumbering lad looked beautiful, and as she studied him herchildish heart was filled with a strange, new tenderness, such as she hadnever felt before. Somehow he had grown dear to her, and Rachel knew thatshe would never forget him while she lived. Then following this wave ofaffection came a sharp and sudden pain, for she remembered that presentlythey must part, and never see each other any more. At least this seemedcertain, for how could they when he was travelling to the Cape and she toNatal?
And yet, and yet a strange conviction told her otherwise. The power ofprescience which came to her from her mother and her Highland forefathersawoke in her breast, and she knew that her life and this lad's life wereinterwoven. Perhaps she dozed off again, sitting there by the fire. At anyrate it appeared to her that she dreamed and saw things in her dream. Wildtumultuous scenes opened themselves before her in a vision; scenes ofblood and terror, sounds, too, of voices crying war. It appeared to her asif she were mad, and yet ruled a queen, death came near to her a score oftimes, but always fled away at her command. Now Richard Darrien was withher, and how she had lost him and sought--ah! how she sought through darkplaces of doom and unnatural night. It was as though he were dead, and sheyet living, searched for him among the habitations of the dead. She foundhim also, and drew him towards her. How, she did not know.
Then there was a scene, a last scene, which remained fixed in her mindafter everything else had faded away. She saw the huge trunks of foresttrees, enormous, towering trees, gloomy trees beneath which the darknesscould be felt. Down their avenues shot the level arrows of the dawn. Theyfell on her, Rachel, dressed in robes of white skin, turning her long,outspread hair to gold. They fell upon little people with faces of a duskypallor, one of them crouched against the bole of a tree, a wizened monkeyof a man who in all that vastness looked small. They fell upon anotherman, white-skinned, half-naked, with a yellow beard, who was lashed byhide ropes to a second tree. It was Richard Darrien grown older, and athis feet lay a broad-bladed spear!
The vision left her, or she was awakened from her sleep, whichever itmight be, by the pleasant voice of this same Richard, who stood yawningbefore her, and said:
"It is time to get up. I say, why do you look so queer? Are you ill?"
"I have been up, long ago," she answered, struggling to her feet. "What doyou mean?"
"Nothing, except that you seemed a ghost a minute ago. Now you are a girlagain, it must have been the light."
"Did I? Well, I dreamed of ghosts, or something of the sort," and she toldhim of the vision of the trees, though of the rest she could rememberlittle.
"That's a queer story," he said when she had finished. "I wish you had gotto the end of it, I should like to know what happened."
"We shall find out one day," she answered solemnly.
"Do you mean to say that you believe it is true, Rachel?"
"Yes, Richard, one day I shall see you tied to that tree."
"Then I hope you will cut me loose, that is all. What a funny girl youare," he added doubtfully. "I know what it is, you want something to eat.Have the rest of that biltong."
"No," she answered. "I could not touch it. There is a pool of water outthere, go and bathe your arm, and I will bind it up again."
He went, still wondering, and a few minutes later returned, his face andhead dripping, and whispered:
"Give me the gun. There is a reed buck standing close by. I saw it throughthe mist; we'll have a jolly breakfast off him."
She handed him the _roer_, and crept after him out of the cave. Aboutthirty yards away to the right, looming very large through the dense fog,stood the fat reed buck. Richard wriggled towards it, for he wanted tomake sure of his shot, while Rachel crouched behind a stone. The buckbecoming alarmed, turned its head, and began to sniff at the air, whereonhe lifted the gun and just as it was about to spring away, aimed andfired. Down it went dead, whereon, rejoicing in his triumph like any otheryoung hunter who thinks not of the wonderful and happy life that he hasdestroyed, Richard sprang upon it exultantly, drawing his knife as hecame, while Rachel, who always shrank from such sights, retreated to thecave. Half an hour later, however, being healthy and hungry, she had noobjection to eating venison toasted upon sticks in the red embers of theirfire.
Their meal finished at length, they reloaded the gun, and although themist was still very dense, set out upon a journey of exploration, as bynow the sun was shining brightly above the curtain of low-lying vapour.Stumbling on through the rocks, they discovered that the water had fallenalmost as quickly as it rose on the previous night. The island was strewn,however, with the trunks of trees and other debris that it had broughtdown, amongst which lay the carcases of bucks and smaller creatures, andwith them a number of drowned snakes. The two lions, however, appeared tohave escaped by swimming, at least they saw nothing of them. Walkingcautiously, they came to the edge of the donga, and sat down upon a stone,since as yet they could not see how wide and deep the water ran.
Whilst they remained thus, suddenly through the mist they heard a voiceshouting from the other side of the donga.
"Missie," cried the voice in Dutch, "are you there missie?"
"That is Tom, our driver," she said, "come to look for me. Answer for me,Richard."
So the lad, who had very good lungs, roared in reply:
"Yes, I'm here, safe, waiting for the mist to lift, and the water to rundown."
"God be thanked," yelled the distant Tom. "We thought that you were surelydrowned. But, then, why is your voice changed?"
"Because an English heer is with me," cried Rachel. "Go and look for hishorse and bring a rope, then wait till the mist rises. Also send to tellthe pastor and my mother that I am safe."
"I am here, Rachel," shouted another voice, her father's. "I have beenlooking for you all night, and we have got the Englishman's horse. Don'tcome into the water yet. Wait till we can see."
"That's good news, any way," said Richard, "though I shall have to ridehard to catch up the waggons."
Rachel's face fell.
"Yes," she said; "very good news."
"Are you glad that I am going, then?" he asked in an offended tone.
"It was you who said the news was good," she replied gently.
"I meant I was glad that they had caught my horse, not that I had to rideaway on it. Are you sorry, then?" and he glanced at her anxiously.
"Yes, I am sorry, for we have made friends, haven't we? It won't matter toyou who will find plenty of people down there at the Cape, but you seewhen you are gone I shall have no friend left in this wilderness, shallI?"
Again Richard looked at her, and saw that her sweet grey eyes were full oftears. Then there rose within the breast of this lad who, be itremembered, was verging upon manhood, a sensation strangely similar, hadhe but known it, to that which had been experienced an hour or two beforeby the child at his side when she watched him sleeping in the cave. Hefelt as though these tear-laden grey eyes were drawing his heart as amagnet draws iron. Of love he knew nothing, it was but a name to him, butthis feeling was certainly very new and queer.
"What have you done to me?" he asked brusque
ly. "I don't want to go awayfrom you at all, which is odd, as I never liked girls much. I tell you,"he went on with gathering vehemence, "that if it wasn't that it would bemean to play such a trick upon my father, I wouldn't go. I'd come withyou, or follow after--all my life. Answer me--what have you done?"
"Nothing, nothing at all," said Rachel with a little sob, "except tie upyour arm."
"That can't be it," he replied. "Anyone could tie up my arm. Oh! I know itis wrong, but I hope I shan't be able to overtake the waggons, for if Ican't I will come back."
"You mustn't come back; you must go away, quite away, as soon as you can.Yes, as soon as you can. Your father will be very anxious," and she beganto cry outright.
"Stop it," said Richard. "Do you hear me, stop it. I am not going to bemade to snivel too, just because I shan't see a little girl any more whomI never met--till yesterday."
These last words came out with a gulp, and what is more, two tears camewith them and trickled down his nose.
For a moment they sat thus looking at each other pitifully, and--the truthmust be told--weeping, both of them. Then something got the better ofRichard, let us call it primeval instinct, so that he put his arms aboutRachel and kissed her, after which they continued to weep, their headsresting upon each other's shoulders. At length he let her go and stood up,saying argumentatively:
"You see now we are really friends."
"Yes," she answered, again rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand forlack of a pocket handkerchief in the fashion that on the previous day hadso irritated her father, "but I don't know why you should kiss me likethat, just because you are my friend, or" she added with an outburst oftruthfulness, "why I should kiss you."
Richard stood over her frowning and reflecting. Then he gave up theproblem as beyond his powers of interpretation, and said:
"You remember that rubbish you dreamt just now, about my being tied to atree and the rest of it? Well, it wasn't nice, and it gives me the creepsto think of it, like the lions outside the cave. But I want to tell youthat I hope it is true, for then we shall meet again, if it is only to saygood-night."
"Yes, Richard," she answered, placing her slim fingers into his big brownhand, "we shall meet again, I am sure--I am quite sure. And I think thatit will be to say, not good-night," and she looked up at him and smiled,"but good-morning."
As Rachel spoke a puff of wind blew down the donga, rolling up the mistbefore it, and of a sudden shining above them they saw the glorious sun.As though by magic butterflies appeared basking upon the rain-shatteredlily blooms; bright birds flitted from tree to tree, ringdoves began tocoo. The terror of the tempest and the darkness of night were overpast;the world awoke again to life and love and joy. Instantly this changereflected itself in their young hearts. They whose natures had as it wereripened prematurely in the stress of danger and the shadow of death,became children once again. The very real emotions that they hadexperienced were forgotten, or at any rate sank into abeyance. Now theythought, not of separation or of the dim, mysterious future that stretchedbefore them, but only of how they should ford the stream and gain itsfurther side, where Rachel saw her father, Tom, the driver, and the otherKaffirs, and Richard saw his horse which he had feared was lost.
They ran down to the brink of the water and examined it, but here it wasstill too deep for them to attempt its crossing. Then, directed by theshouts and motions of the Kaffir Tom and Mr. Dove, they proceeded upstream for several hundred yards, till they came to a rapid where thelessening flood ran thinly over a ridge of rock, and after investigation,proceeded to try its passage hand in hand. It proved difficult but notdangerous, for when they came near to the further side where the currentwas swift and the water rather deep, Tom threw them a waggon rope,clinging on to which they were dragged--wet, but laughing--in safety tothe further bank.
"Ow!" exclaimed the Kaffirs, clapping their hands. "She is alive, thelightnings have turned away from her, she rules the waters, and thelightnings!" and then and there, after the native fashion, they gaveRachel a name which was destined to play a great part in her future. Thatname was "Lady of the Lightnings," or, to translate it more accurately,"of the Heavens."
"I never thought to see you again," said her father, looking at Rachelwith a face that was still white and scared. "It was very wrong of me tosend you so far with that storm coming on, and I have had a terriblenight--yes, a terrible night; and so has your poor mother. However, sheknows that you are safe by now, thank God, thank God!" and he took her inhis arms and kissed her.
"Well, father, you said that He would look after me, didn't you? And so Hedid, for He sent Richard here If it hadn't been for Richard I should havebeen drowned," she added inconsequently.
"Yes, yes," said Mr. Dove. "Providence manifests itself in many ways. Butwho is your young friend whom you call Richard? I suppose he has someother name."
"Of course," answered that youth himself, "everybody has except Kaffirs.Mine is Darrien."
"Darrien?" said Mr. Dove. "I had a friend called Darrien at school. Inever saw him after I left, but I believe that he went into the Navy."
"Then he must be my father, sir, for I have heard him say that there hadbeen no other Darrien in the service for a hundred years."
"I think so," answered Mr. Dove, "for now that I look at you, I can see alikeness. We slept side by side in the same dormitory once five-and-thirtyyears ago, so I remember. And now you have saved my daughter; it is verystrange. But tell me the story."
So between them they told it, although to one scene of it--thelast--neither of them thought it necessary to allude; or perhaps it wasforgotten.
"Truly the Almighty has had you both in His keeping," exclaimed Mr. Dove,when their tale was done. "And now, Richard, my boy, what are you going todo? You see, we caught your horse--it was grazing about a mile away withthe saddle twisted under its stomach--and wondered what white man couldpossibly have been riding it in this desolate place. Afterwards, however,one of my voor-loopers reported that he had seen two waggons yesterdayafternoon trekking through the poort about five miles to the north there.The white men with them said that they were travelling towards the Cape,and pushing on to get out of the hills before the storm broke. They badehim, if he met you, to bid you follow after them as quickly as you could,and to say that they would wait for you, if you did not arrive before, atthe Three Sluit outspan on this side of the Pondo country, at which youstopped some months ago."
"Yes," answered Richard, "I remember, but that outspan is thirty milesaway, so I must be getting on, or they will come back to hunt for me."
"First you will stop and eat with us, will you not?" said Mr. Dove.
"No, no, I have eaten. Also I have saved some meat in my pouch. I must go,I must indeed, for otherwise my father will be angry with me. You see," headded, "I went out shooting without his leave."
"Ah! my boy," remarked Mr. Dove, who seldom neglected an opportunity for aword in season, "now you know what comes of disobedience."
"Yes, I know, sir," he answered looking at Rachel. "I was just in time tosave your daughter's life here; as you said just now, Providence sent me.Well, good-bye, and don't think me wicked if I am very glad that I wasdisobedient, as I believe you are, too."
"Yes, I am. Good comes out of evil sometimes, though that is no reason whywe should do evil," the missionary added, not knowing what else to say.Richard did not attempt to argue the point, for at the moment he wasengaged in bidding farewell to Rachel. It was a very silent farewell;neither of them spoke a word, they only shook each other's hand and lookedinto each other's eyes. Then muttering something which it was as well thatMr. Dove did not hear, Richard swung himself into the saddle, for hishorse stood at hand, and, without even looking back, cantered away towardsthe mountains.
"Oh!" exclaimed Rachel presently, "call him, father."
"What for?" asked Mr. Dove.
"I want to give him our address, and to get his."
"We have no address, Rachel. Also he is too far off, and why should yo
uwant the address of a chance acquaintance?"
"Because he saved my life and I do," replied the child, setting her face.Then, without another word, she turned and began to walk towards theircamp--a very heavy journey it was to Rachel.
When Rachel reached the waggon she found that her mother was more or lessrecovered. At any rate the attack of fever had left her so that she feltable to rise from her bed. Now, although still weak, she was engaged inpacking away the garments of her dead baby in a travelling chest, weepingin a silent, piteous manner as she worked. It was a very sad sight. Whenshe saw Rachel she opened her arms without a word, and embraced her.
"You were not frightened about me, mother?" asked the child.
"No, my love," she answered, "because I knew that no harm would come toyou. I have always known that. It was a mad thing of your father to sendyou to such a place at such a time, but no folly of his or of anyone elsecan hurt you who are destined to live. Never be afraid of anything,Rachel, for remember always you will only die in old age."
"I am not sure that I am glad of that," answered the girl, as she pulledoff her wet clothes. "Life isn't a very happy thing, is it, mother, atleast for those who live as we do?"
"There is good and bad in it, dear; we can't have one without theother--most of us. At any rate, we must take it as it comes, who have towalk a path that we did not make, and stop walking when our path comes toan end, not a step before or after. But, Rachel, you are changed sinceyesterday. I see it in your face. What has happened to you?"
"Lots of things, mother. I will tell you the story, all of it, every word.Would you like to hear it?"
Her mother nodded, and, the baby-clothes being at last packed away, shutthe lid of-the box with a sigh, sat down upon it and listened.
Rachel told her of her meeting with Richard Darrien, and of how he savedher from the flood. She told of the strange night that they had spenttogether in the little cave while the lions marched up and down without.She told of her vigil over the sleeping Richard at the daybreak, and ofthe dream that she had dreamed when she seemed to see him grown tomanhood, and herself grown to womanhood, and clad in white skins, watchinghim lashed to the trunk of a gigantic tree as the first arrows of sunrisestruck down the lanes of some mysterious forest. She told of how her hearthad been stirred, and of how afterwards in the mist by the water's brinkhis heart had been stirred also, and of how they had kissed each other andwept because they must part.
Then she stopped, expecting that her mother would be angry with her andscold her for her thoughts and conduct, as she knew well her father wouldhave done. But she was not angry, and she did not scold. She onlystretched out her thin hands and stroked the child's fair hair, saying:
"Don't be frightened, Rachel, and don't be sad. You think that you havelost him, but soon or late he will come back to you, perhaps as youdreamed--perhaps otherwise."
"If I were sure of that, mother, I would not mind anything," said thegirl, "though really I don't know why I should care," she added defiantly.
"No, you don't know now, but you will one day, and when you do, rememberthat, however long it seems to wait, you may be quite sure, because I whohave the gift of knowing, told you so. Now tell me again what RichardDarrien was like while you remember, for perhaps I may never live to seehis face, and I wish to get it into my mind."
So Rachel told her, and when she had described every detail, askedsuddenly:
"Must we really go on, mother, into this awful wilderness? Would notfather turn back if you asked him?"
"Perhaps," she answered. "But I shall not ask. He would never forgive mefor preventing him from doing what he thinks his duty. It is a madnesswhen we might be happy in the Cape or in England, but that cannot behelped, for it is also his destiny and ours. Don't judge hardly of yourfather, Rachel, because he is a saint, and this world is a bad place forsaints and their families, especially their families. You think that hedoes not feel; that he is heartless about me and the poor babe, andsacrifices us all, but I tell you he feels more than either you or I cando. At night when I pretend to go to sleep I watch him groaning over hisloss and for me, and praying for strength to bear it, and for help toenable him to do his duty. Last night he was nearly crazed about you, andin all that awful storm, when the Kaffirs would not stir from the waggon,went alone down to the river guided by the lightnings, but of coursereturned half dead, having found nothing. By dawn he was back there again,for love and fear would not let him rest a minute. Yet he will never tellyou anything of that, lest you should think that his faith in Providencewas shaken. I know that he is strange--it is no use hiding it, but if Iwere to thwart him he would go quite mad, and then I should never forgivemyself, who took him for better and for worse, just as he is, and not as Ishould like him to be. So, Rachel, be as happy as you can, and make thebest of things, as I try to do, for your life is all before you, whereasmine lies behind me, and yonder," and she pointed towards the place wherethe infant was buried. "Hush! here he comes. Now, help me with thepacking, for we are to trek to the ford this afternoon."
The Ghost Kings Page 3