Smith and the Pharaohs, and other Tales

by H. Rider Haggard

  "Yes. I mean that I will this very evening propose to Madeline Crostonunder your nose, and I bet you five pounds she accepts me."

  "Impossible," said Bottles again. "Besides, if she did you don't want tomarry her."

  "Marry her! No, indeed. _I_ am not mad. I shall have to get out of thescrape as best I can--always supposing my view of the lady is correct."

  "Excuse me," said Bottles with a gasp, "but I must ask you--in short,have _you_ ever been on affectionate terms with Madeline?"

  "Never, on my honour."

  "And yet you think she will marry you if you ask her, even after whattook place with me yesterday?"

  "Yes, I do."

  "Why?"

  "Because, my boy," replied Sir Eustace with a cynical smile, "I haveeight thousand a year and you have eight hundred--because I have a titleand you have none. That you may happen to be the better fellow of thetwo will, I fear, not make up for those deficiencies."

  Bottles with a motion of his hand waved his brother's courtly complimentaway, as it were, and turned on him with a set white face.

  "I do not believe you, Eustace," he said. "Do you understand what youmake out this lady to be when you say that she could kiss me and tell methat she loved me--for she did both yesterday--and promise to marry youto-day?"

  Sir Eustace shrugged his shoulders. "I think that the lady in questionhas done something like that before, George."

  "That was years ago and under pressure. Now, Eustace, you have made thischarge; you have upset my faith in Madeline, whom I hope to marry, and Isay, prove it--prove it if you can. I will stake my life you cannot."

  "Don't agitate yourself, my dear fellow; and as to betting, I would notrisk more than a fiver. Now oblige me by stepping behind those velvetcurtains--_a la_ 'School for Scandal'--and listening in perfect silenceto my conversation with Lady Croston. She does not know that you arehere, so she will not miss you. You can escape when you have had enoughof it, for there is a door through on to the landing, and as we came upI noticed that it was ajar. Or if you like you can appear from betweenthe curtains like an infuriated husband on the stage and play whatever_role_ occasion may demand. Really the situation has a laughable side.I should enjoy it immensely if _I_ were behind the curtain too. Come, inyou go."

  Bottles hesitated. "I can't hide," he said.

  "Nonsense; remember how much depends on it. All is fair in love or war.Quick; here she comes."

  Bottles grew flurried and yielded, scarcely knowing what he did. Inanother second he was in the darkened room behind the curtains, throughthe crack in which he could command the lighted scene before him, andSir Eustace was back at his place before the fire, reflecting that inhis ardour to extricate his brother from what he considered a suicidalengagement he had let himself in for a very pretty undertaking. Supposeshe accepted him, his brother would be furious, and he would probablyhave to go abroad to get out of the lady's way; and suppose she refusedhim, he would look a fool.

  Meanwhile the sweep, sweep of Madeline's dress as she passed down thestairs was drawing nearer, and in another instant she was in the room.She was beautifully dressed in silver-grey silk, plentifully trimmedwith black lace, and cut square back and front so as to show her roundedshoulders. She wore no ornaments, being one of the few women who areable to dispense with them, unless indeed a red camellia pinned in thefront of her dress can be called an ornament. Bottles, shivering withshame and doubt behind his curtain, marked that red camellia, andwondered of what it reminded him.

  Then in a flash it all came back, the scene of years and years ago--theverandah in far-away Natal, with himself sitting on it, an open letterin his hand and staring with all his eyes at the camellia bush coveredwith bloom before him. It seemed a bad omen to him--that camellia inMadeline's bosom. Next second she was speaking.

  "Oh, Sir Eustace, I owe you a thousand apologies. You must have beenhere for quite ten minutes, for I heard the front door bang when youcame. But my poor little girl Effie is ill with a sore throat which hasmade her feverish, and she absolutely refused to go to sleep unless shehad my hand to hold."

  "Lucky Effie," said Sir Eustace, with his politest bow; "I am sure I canunderstand her fancy."

  At the moment he was holding Madeline's hand himself, and gave emphasisto his words by communicating the gentlest possible pressure to it ashe let it fall. But knowing his habits, she did not take much notice.Comparative strangers when Sir Eustace shook hands with them weresometimes in doubt whether he was about to propose to them or to make aremark upon the weather. Alas! it had always been the weather.

  "I come as a man of business besides, and men of business are accustomedto being kept waiting," he went on.

  "You are really very good, Sir Eustace, to take so much trouble about myaffairs."

  "It is a pleasure, Lady Croston."

  "Ah, Sir Eustace, you do not expect me to believe that," laughedthe radiant creature at his side. "But if you only knew how I detestlawyers, and what you spare me by the trouble you take, I am sure youwould not grudge me your time."

  "Do not talk of it, Lady Croston. I would do a great deal more than thatfor you; in fact," here he dropped his voice a little, "there are fewthings that I would not do for you, _Madeline_."

  She raised her delicate eyebrows till they looked like notes ofinterrogation, and blushed a little. This was quite a new style for SirEustace. Was he in earnest? she wondered. Impossible!

  "And now for business," he continued; "not that there is much business;as I understand it, you have only to sign this document, which I havealready witnessed, and the stock can be transferred."

  She signed the paper which he had brought in a big envelope almostwithout looking at it, for she was thinking of Sir Eustace's remark, andhe put it back in the envelope.

  "Is that all the business, Sir Eustace?" she asked.

  "Yes; quite all. Now I suppose that as I have done my duty I had bettergo away."

  "I wish to Heaven he would!" groaned Bottles to himself behind thecurtains. He did not like his brother's affectionate little ways orMadeline's tolerance of them.

  "Indeed, no; you had better sit down and talk to me--that is, if youhave got nothing pleasanter to do."

  We can guess Sir Eustace's prompt reply and Madeline's smiling receptionof the compliment, as she seated herself in a low chair--that same lowchair she had occupied the day before.

  "Now for it," said Sir Eustace to himself. "I wonder how George isgetting on?"

  "My brother tells me that he came to see you yesterday," he began.

  "Yes," she answered, smiling again, but wondering in her heart how muchhe had told him.

  "Do you find him much changed?"

  "Not much."

  "You used to be very fond of each other once, if I remember right?" saidhe.

  "Yes, once."

  "I often think how curious it is," went on Sir Eustace in a reflectivetone, "to watch the various changes time brings about, especially wherethe affections are concerned. One sees children at the seaside makinglittle mounds of sand, and they think, if they are very young children,that they will find them there to-morrow. But they reckon without theirtide. To-morrow the sands will have swept as level as ever, and thelittle boys will have to begin again. It is like that with our youthfullove affairs, is it not? The tide of time comes up and sweeps them away,fortunately for ourselves. Now in your case, for instance, it is, Ithink, a happy thing for both of you that your sandhouse did not last.Is it not?"

  Madeline sighed softly. "Yes, I suppose so," she answered.

  Bottles, behind the curtains, rapidly reviewed the past, and came to adifferent conclusion.

  "Well, that is all done with," said Sir Eustace cheerfully.

  Madeline did not contradict him; she did not see her way to doing sojust at present.

  Then came a pause.

  "Madeline," said Sir Eustace presently, in a changed voice, "I havesomething to say to you."

  "Indeed, Sir Eustace," she answered, lifting her eyebrows ag
ain in hernote of interrogation manner, "what is it?"

  "It is this, Madeline--I want to ask you to be my wife."

  The blue velvet curtains suddenly gave a jump as though they wereassisting at at spiritualistic _seance_.

  Sir Eustace looked at the curtains with warning in his eye.

  Madeline saw nothing.

  "Really, Sir Eustace!"

  "I dare say I surprise you," went on this ardent lover; "my suit mayseem a sudden one, but in truth it is nothing of the sort."

  "O Lord, what a lie!" groaned the distracted Bottles.

  "I thought, Sir Eustace," murmured Madeline in her sweet low voice,"that you told me not very long ago that you never meant to marry."

  "Nor did I, Madeline, because I thought there was no chance of mymarrying you" ("which I am sure I hope there isn't," he added tohimself). "But--but, Madeline, I love you." ("Heaven forgive me forthat!") "Listen to me, Madeline, before you answer," and he drew hischair closer to her own. "I feel the loneliness of my position, and Iwant to get married. I think that we should suit each other very well.At our age, now that our youth is past" (he could not resist this dig,at which Madeline winced), "probably neither of us would wish to marryanybody much our junior. I have had many opportunities lately, Madeline,of seeing the beauty of your character, and to the beauties of yourperson no man could be blind. I can offer you a good position, a goodfortune, and myself, such as I am. Will you take me?" and he laid hishand upon hers and gazed earnestly into her eyes.

  "Really, Sir Eustace," she murmured, "this is so very unexpected andsudden."

  "Yes, Madeline, I know it is. I have no right to take you by stormin this way, but I trust you will not allow my precipitancy to weightagainst me. Take a little time to think it over--a week say" ("by whichtime," he reflected, "I hope to be in Algiers.") "Only, if you can,Madeline, tell me that I may hope."

  She made no immediate answer, but, letting her hands fall idly in herlap, looked straight before her, her beautiful eyes fixed upon vacancy,and her mind amply occupied in considering the pros and cons of thesituation. Then Sir Eustace took heart of grace; bending down, he kissedthe Madonna-like face. Still there was no response. Only very gently shepushed him from her, whispering:

  "Yes, Eustace, I think I shall be able to tell you that you may hope."

  Bottles waited to see no more. With set teeth and flaming eyes he crept,a broken man, through the door that led on to the landing, crept downthe stairs and into the hall. On the pegs were his hat and coat; he tookthem and passed into the street.

  "I have done a disgraceful thing," he thought, "and I have paid for it."

  Softly as the door closed Sir Eustace heard it; and then he too left theroom, murmuring, "I shall soon come for my answer, Madeline."

  When he reached the street his brother was gone.

  VI

  Sir Eustace did not go straight back to the Albany, but, calling ahansom, drove down to his club.

  "Well," he thought to himself, "I have played a good many curious partsin my time, but I never had to do with anything like this before. I onlyhope George is not much cut up. His eyes ought to be opened now. What awoman----" but we will not repeat Sir Eustace's comments upon the ladyto whom he was nominally half engaged.

  At the club Sir Eustace met his friend the Under-Secretary, who hadjust escaped from the House. Thanks to information furnished to himthat morning by Bottles, who had been despatched by Sir Eustace, in apenitent mood, to the Colonial Office to see him, he had just succeededin confusing, if not absolutely in defeating, the impertinent people who"wanted to know." Accordingly he was jubilant, and greeted Sir Eustacewith enthusiasm, and they sat talking together for an hour or more.

  Then Sir Eustace, being, as has been said, of early habits, made his wayhome.

  In his sitting-room he found his brother smoking and contemplating thefire.

  "Hullo, old fellow!" he said, "I wish you had come to the club with me.Atherleigh was there, and is delighted with you. What you told him thismorning enabled him to smash up his enemies, and as the smashing latelyhas been rather the other way he is jubilant. He wants you to go to seehim again to-morrow. Oh, by the way, you made your escape all right. Ionly hope I may be as lucky. Well, what do you think of your lady-lovenow?"

  "I think," said Bottles slowly--"that I had rather not say what I dothink."

  "Well, you are not going to marry her now, I suppose?"

  "No, I shall not marry her."

  "That is all right; but I expect that it will take _me_ all I know toget clear of her. However, there are some occasions in life when one isbound to sacrifice one's own convenience, and this is one of them. Afterall, she is really very pretty in the evening, so it might have beenworse."

  Bottles winced, and Sir Eustace took a cigarette.

  "By the way, old fellow," he said, as he settled himself in his chairagain, "I hope you are not put out with me over this. Believe me, youhave no cause to be jealous; she does not care a hang about me, itis only the title and the money. If a fellow who was a lord and had athousand a year more proposed to her to-morrow she would chuck me up andtake him."

  "No; I am not angry with you," said Bottles; "you meant kindly, but I amangry with myself. It was not honourable to--in short, play the spy upona woman's weakness."

  "You are very scrupulous," yawned Sir Eustace; "all means are fair tocatch a snake. Dear me, I nearly exploded once or twice; it was betterthan [yawn] any [yawn] play," and Sir Eustace went to sleep.

  Bottles sat still and stared at the fire.

  Presently his brother woke up with a start. "Oh, you are there, are you,Bottles?" (it was the first time he had called him by that name sincehis return.) "Odd thing; but do you know that I was dreaming that wewere boys again, and trout-fishing in the old Cantlebrook stream. Idreamt that I hooked a big fish, and you were so excited that you jumpedright into the river after it--you did once, you remember--and the riverswept you away and left me on the bank; most unpleasant dream. Well,good night, old boy. I vote we go down and have some trout-fishingtogether in the spring. God bless you!"

  "Good night," said Bottles, gazing affectionately after his brother'sdeparting form.

  Then he too rose and went to his bedroom. On a table stood a batteredold tin despatch-box--the companion of all his wanderings. He opened itand took from it first a little bottle of chloral.

  "Ah," he said, "I shall want you if I am to sleep again." Setting thebottle down, he extracted from a dirty envelope one or two letters and afaded photograph. It was the same that used to hang over his bed in hisquarters at Maritzburg. These he destroyed, tearing them into small bitswith his strong brown fingers.

  Then he shut the box and sat down at the table to think, opening thesluice-gates of his mind and letting the sea of misery flow in, as itwere.

  This, then, was the woman whom he had forgiven and loved and honouredfor all these years. This was the end and this the reward of all hisdevotion and of all his hopes. And he smiled in bitterness of his painand self-contempt.

  What was he to do? Go back to South Africa? He had not the heart for it.Live here? He could not. His existence had been wasted. He had lost hisdelusion--the beautiful delusion of his life--and he felt as though itwould drive him mad, as the man whose shadow left him went mad.

  He rose from the chair, opened the window, and looked out. It was aclear frosty night, and the stars shone brightly. For some while hestood looking at them; then he undressed himself. Generally, for he wasdifferent to most men, he said his prayers. For years, indeed, he hadnot missed doing so, any more than he had missed praying Providence inthem to watch over and bless his beloved Madeline. But to-night he saidno prayers. He could not pray. The three angels, Faith, Hope, and Love,whose whisperings heretofore had been ever in his ears, had taken wing,and left him as he played the eavesdropper behind those blue velvetcurtains.

  So he swallowed his sleeping-draught and laid himself down to rest.

  * * * * *

  When Madeline Cr
oston heard the news at a dinner-party on the followingevening she was much shocked, and made up her mind to go home early. Tothis day she tells the story as a frightful warning against the carelessuse of chloral.

  LITTLE FLOWER

  I

  The Rev. Thomas Bull was a man of rock-like character with no moreimagination than a rock. Of good birth, good abilities, good principlesand good repute, really he ought to have been named not Thomas but JohnBull, being as he was a typical representative of the British middleclass. By nature a really religious man and, owing to the balance of hismind, not subject to most of the weaknesses which often afflict others,very early in his career he determined that things spiritual were of fargreater importance than things temporal, and that as Eternity is muchlonger than Time, it was wise to devote himself to the spiritual andleave the temporal to look after itself. There are quite a numberof good people, earnest believers in the doctrine of rewards andpunishments, who take that practical view. With such

  "Repaid a thousand-fold shall be,"

  is a favourite line of a favourite hymn.

  It is true that his idea of the spiritual was limited. Perhaps it wouldbe more accurate to say that it was unlimited, since he accepted withoutdoubt or question everything that was to be found within the fourcorners of what he had been taught. As a boy he had been noted for hisprowess in swallowing the largest pills.

  "Don't think," he would say to his weaker brothers and sisters,especially one of the latter whose throat seemed to be so constitutedthat she was obliged to cut up these boluses with a pair of scissors,"Don't think, but gulp 'em down!"