"You are no good veld traveller, Clifford, my friend; one more step of those silly beasts, and down below there would have been two red heaps with bits of bones sticking out of them--yes, there on the rocks five hundred feet beneath. Ah! you would have slept soundly to-night, both of you."
"Where is the place?" asked Mr. Clifford in a dazed fashion. "Leopard"s Kloof?"
"Yes; Leopard"s Kloof, no other. You have travelled along the top of the hill, not at the bottom. Certainly that was a good thought which came to me from the lady your daughter, for she is one of the thought senders, I am sure. Ah! it came to me suddenly; it hit me like a stick whilst I was searching for you, having found that you had lost the waggon. It said to me, "Ride to the top of Leopard"s Kloof. Ride hard." I rode hard through the rocks and the darkness, through the mist and the rain, and not one minute had I been here when you came and I caught the lady"s bridle."
"I am sure we are very grateful to you," murmured Benita.
"Then I am paid back ten thousand times. No; it is I who am grateful--I who have saved your life through the thought you sent me."
"Thought or no thought, all"s well that ends well," broke in Mr.
Clifford impatiently. "And thank Heaven we are not more than three miles away from home. Will you lead the way, Jacob? You always could see in the dark?"
"Yes, yes," and he took hold of Benita"s bridle with his firm, white hand. "Oh! my horse will follow, or put your arm through his rein--so.
Now come on, Miss Clifford, and be afraid no more. With Jacob Meyer you are safe."
So they began their descent of the hill. Meyer did not speak again; all his attention seemed to be concentrated upon finding a safe path on which the horses would not stumble. Nor did Benita speak; she was too utterly exhausted--so exhausted, indeed, that she could no longer control her mind and imagination. These seemed to loose themselves from her and to acquire new powers, notably that of entering into the secret thoughts of the man at her side. She saw them pa.s.s before her like living things, and yet she could not read them. Still, something she did understand--that she had suddenly grown important to this man, not in the way in which women are generally important to men, but otherwise.
She felt as though she had become interwoven with the objects of his life, and was henceforth necessary to their fulfilment, as though she were someone whom he had been seeking for years on years, the one person who could give him light in his darkness.
These imaginings troubled her, so that she was very thankful when they pa.s.sed away as swiftly as they had arisen, and she knew only that she was half dead with weariness and cold; that her limbs ached and that the steep path seemed endless.
At length they reached level ground, and after travelling along it for a while and crossing the bed of a stream, pa.s.sed through a gate, and stopped suddenly at the door of a house with lighted windows.
"Here is your home at last, Miss Clifford," said the musical voice of Jacob Meyer, "and I thank the Fate which rules us that it has taught me to bring you to it safely."
Making no answer she slid from the saddle, only to find that she could not stand, for she sank into a heap upon the ground. With a gentle exclamation he lifted her, and calling to two Kaffirs who had appeared to take the horses, led her into the house.
"You must go to bed at once," he said, conducting her to a door which opened out of the sitting-room. "I have had a fire lit in your chamber in case you should come, and old Tante Sally will bring you soup with brandy in it, and hot water for your feet. Ah! there you are, old vrouw.
Come now; help the lady, your mistress. Is all ready?"
"All, Baas," answered the woman, a stout half-breed with a kindly face.
"Come now, my little one, and I will undress you."
Half an hour later Benita, having drunk more brandy than ever she had done in her life before, was wrapped up and fast asleep.
When she awoke the sun was streaming through the curtained window of her room, and by the light of it she saw that the clock which stood upon the mantelpiece pointed to half-past eleven. She had slept for nearly twelve hours, and felt that, notwithstanding the cold and exposure, save for stiffness and a certain numb feeling in her head--the result, perhaps, of the unaccustomed brandy--she was well and, what was more, quite hungry.
Outside on the verandah she heard the voice of Jacob Meyer, with which she seemed already to have become familiar, telling some natives to stop singing, as they would wake the chieftainess inside. He used the Zulu word Inkosi-kaas, which, she remembered, meant head-lady or chieftainess. He was very thoughtful for her, she reflected, and was grateful, till suddenly she remembered the dislike she had taken to the man.
Then she looked round her room and saw that it was very pretty, well furnished and papered, with water-colour pictures on the walls of no mean merit, things that she had not expected in this far-off place. Also on a table stood a great bowl of arum lilies. She wondered who had put them there; whether it were the old half-breed, Sally, or Jacob Meyer.
Also she wondered who had painted the pictures, which were all of African scenery, and something told her that both the flowers and the pictures came from Jacob Meyer.
On the little table by her bed was a handbell, which presently she rang.
Instantly she heard the voice of Sally calling for the coffee "quick,"
and next minute the woman entered, bringing a tray with it, and bread and b.u.t.ter--yes, and toast and eggs, which had evidently been made ready for her. Speaking in English mixed with Dutch words, she told Benita that her father was still in bed, but sent her his love, and wished to know how she did. Then, while she ate her breakfast with appet.i.te, Sally set her a bath, and subsequently appeared carrying the contents of the box she had used upon the waggon, which had now arrived safely at the farm. Benita asked who had ordered the box to be unpacked, and Sally answered that the Heer Meyer had ordered it so that she might not be disturbed in her sleep, and that her things should be ready for her when she woke.
"The Heer Meyer thinks a great deal about other people," said Benita.
"Ja, ja!" answered the old half-breed. "He tink much about people when he want to tink about them, but he tink most about himself. Baas Meyer, he a very clever man--oh! a very clever man, who want to be a great man too. And one day, Missee, he be a great man, great and rich--if the Heer G.o.d Almighty let him."
VI
THE GOLD COIN
Six weeks had gone by since the eventful evening of Benita"s arrival at Rooi Krantz. Now the spring had fully come, the veld was emerald with gra.s.s and bright with flowers. In the kloof behind the house trees had put out their leaves, and the mimosas were in bloom, making the air heavy with their scent. Amongst them the ringdoves nested in hundreds, and on the steep rocks of the precipice the red-necked vultures fed their young. Along the banks of the stream and round the borders of the lake the pig-lilies bloomed, a sheet of white. All the place was beautiful and full of life and hope. Nothing seemed dead and hopeless except Benita"s heart.
Her health had quite come back to her; indeed, never before had she felt so strong and well. But the very soul had withered in her breast. All day she thought, and all night she dreamed of the man who, in cold blood, had offered up his life to save a helpless woman and her child.
She wondered whether he would have done this if he had heard the answer that was upon her lips. Perhaps that was why she had not been given time to speak that answer, which might have made a coward of him. For nothing more had been heard of Robert Seymour; indeed, already the tragedy of the ship _Zanzibar_ was forgotten. The dead had buried their dead, and since then worse disasters had happened in the world.
But Benita could not bury her dead. She rode about the veld, she sat by the lake and watched the wild fowl, or at night heard them flighting over her in flocks. She listened to the cooing of the doves, the booming of the bitterns in the reeds, and the drumming of the snipe high in air.
She counted the game trekking along the ridge till her mind grew weary.
She sought consolation from the breast of Nature and found none; she sought it in the starlit skies, and oh! they were very far away. Death reigned within her who outwardly was so fair to see.
In the society of her father, indeed, she took pleasure, for he loved her, and love comforted her wounded heart. In that of Jacob Meyer also she found interest, for now her first fear of the man had died away, and undoubtedly he was very interesting; well-bred also after a fashion, although a Jew who had lost his own faith and rejected that of the Christians.
He told her that he was a German by birth, that he had been sent to England as a boy, to avoid the conscription, which Jews dislike, since in soldiering there is little profit. Here he had become a clerk in a house of South African merchants, and, as a consequence--having shown all the ability of his race--was despatched to take charge of a branch business in Cape Colony. What happened to him there Benita never discovered, but probably he had shown too much ability of an oblique nature. At any rate, his connection with the firm terminated, and for years he became a wandering "smouse," or trader, until at length he drifted into partnership with her father.
Whatever might have been his past, however, soon she found that he was an extremely able and agreeable man. It was he and no other who had painted the water-colours that adorned her room, and he could play and sing as well as he painted. Also, as Robert had told her, Mr. Meyer was very well-read in subjects that are not usually studied on the veld of South Africa; indeed, he had quite a library of books, most of them histories or philosophical and scientific works, of which he would lend her volumes. Fiction, however, he never read, for the reason, he told her, that he found life itself and the mysteries and problems which surround it so much more interesting.
One evening, when they were walking together by the lake, watching the long lights of sunset break and quiver upon its surface, Benita"s curiosity overcame her, and she asked him boldly how it happened that such a man as he was content to live the life he did.
"In order that I may reach a better," he answered. "Oh! no, not in the skies, Miss Clifford, for of them I know nothing, nor, as I believe, is there anything to know. But here--here."
"What do you mean by a better life, Mr. Meyer?"
"I mean," he answered, with a flash of his dark eyes, "great wealth, and the power that wealth brings. Ah! I see you think me very sordid and materialistic, but money is G.o.d in this world, Miss Clifford--money is G.o.d."
She smiled and answered: "I fear, then, that he is likely to prove an invisible G.o.d on the high veld, Mr. Meyer. You will scarcely make a great fortune out of horse-breeding, and here there is no one to rule."
"Do you suppose, then, that is why I stop at Rooi Krantz, just to breed horses? Has not your father told you about the great treasure hidden away up there among the Makalanga?"
"I have heard something of it," she answered with a sigh. "Also that both of you went to look for it and were disappointed."
"Ah! The Englishman who was drowned--Mr. Seymour--he spoke of it, did he not? He found us there."
"Yes; and you wished to shoot him--do you remember?"
"G.o.d in Heaven! Yes, because I thought he had come to rob us. Well, I did not shoot, and afterwards we were hunted out of the place, which does not much matter, as those fools of natives refused to let us dig in the fortress."
"Then why do you still think about this treasure which probably does not exist?"
"Why, Miss Clifford, do you think about various things that probably do not exist? Perhaps because you feel that here or elsewhere they _do_ exist. Well, that is what I feel about the treasure, and what I have always felt. It exists, and I shall find it--now. I shall live to see more gold than you can even imagine, and that is why I still continue to breed horses on the Transvaal veld. Ah! you laugh; you think it is a nightmare that I breed----"
Then suddenly he became aware of Sally, who had appeared over the fold of the rise behind them, and asked irritably:
"What is it now, old vrouw?"