One day the scouts reported the arrival of a stranger, and Hume watched him come--a mounted man with a servant behind, leading a spare horse.
"This is some traveller," said Hume--"some chance traveller who has entered the valley. I will hide till he goes."
But it was Webster, and the little son of Umkomaas led him up to the stones, led him to where a battered figure of a man lay face downward on the ground.
"Frank!" rang out the familiar voice, "what ails you, my lad? are you asleep?"
But Hume rose and stood before his friend, thin, long-haired, gaunt, with a fierce, almost defiant, glare in his hollow eyes.
"My G.o.d, Hume! you are ill."
Hume looked long at the big, healthy, handsome man before him, and he shuddered.
"No," he said in a hoa.r.s.e voice, "I am not ill. I"ve been waiting"--he paused and looked round--"but I did not expect you."
Webster put his hand to his throat, for there was that in the forlorn figure before him that told its own story.
"Why did you come?"
"Frank, old friend, how can you ask me that?"
"For the gold, eh? Well, it is there, in three calabashes--the dust, the coa.r.s.er, and the nuggets. You can take two: one for you, one for-- for her."
"d.a.m.n the gold!" said Webster, as the blood mounted to his face.
"And so you have come?" Hume went on.
"Yes," said Webster hopelessly; "I have come. You don"t seem glad to see me."
"Yes, I am glad--why shouldn"t I be?" he added with a sudden flare. "I suppose you are hungry. I think there is something in my hut. Let us see."
"Wait a minute, Frank. I have been looking forward to this meeting so long, and now you almost repulse me. What is it? have you anything on your mind?"
"No," said Hume, looking around.
"Is it," said Webster sternly, "that you have grown to love your gold?
If so, learn that I will have none of it."
"You must have your share. It is yours; you cannot refuse it."
"So it is that?" said Webster quietly. "Ah, my poor friend, I can understand how in your loneliness you must have felt yourself neglected, and that your thoughts may have dwelt for compensation on the wealth you have earned; but, man, believe me, I care not if I never see it, still less possess it."
"Neither do I," muttered Hume.
"Then what the devil is it?"
The two stood looking at each other, and the contrast between them was painful, and so obvious that Hume seemed to shrink within himself.
"Ah," continued Webster, while a sudden smile broke the cloud on his face, "you think of Laura! Come, Frank, you trusted me. Can you believe that I would abuse it--more especially when you were left behind?"
"Then," said Hume, meeting his friend"s convincing glance, "you have not asked her?"
"No, my lad," said Webster gently; "and if I had asked her, it would have been of no use. She loves you."
"Loves me!" cried Hume with a wild laugh--"loves me! Look at me--you can see what I am."
"You require a wash," said Webster gravely, "and a shave, and a new rig."
Hume started back, as though he had been stung, with a forbidding look on his face; but presently he began to laugh. "Thank G.o.d!" muttered Webster.
"Ay, thank G.o.d!" said Hume solemnly; "if it had not been for the mercy of that laugh, Jim, I would have flown at you."
They went down to the village, and soon after Hume reappeared properly clad and groomed. Sirayo, already growing sleek, joined them, and Klaas, who had followed his master back, sat with his eye on a comely maid.
Soon after that they left the valley with half a dozen men, and these they sent back to the valley with a goodly number of cows, and goods dear to Kaffir girls. Klaas remained to settle down in Sirayo"s kraal.
Five months later the two friends saw Miss Anstrade in London, but she was so changed from the woman who, in a short skirt and gaiters, had tramped beside them in the wilds that their hearts sank within them.
It was absurd to suppose that brilliant, magnificent woman, with those wondrous eyes and that imperious bearing, could condescend to hear them.
Yet they went, and for courage they went together.
"Oh, merciful Lady!" she said, between crying and laughter, "I could not marry both of you."
"No, I suppose not," said Webster, stroking his fair beard and looking hard at Hume. "Perhaps I should not have spoken, but Frank would have me come."
"It is a conspiracy," she said, with a flash in her eyes. "You have come together out of some absurd notion of honour."
"No," said Frank, turning red under her glance, "we thought it was hopeless, yet we came to show that we loved you."
"And what are you going to do now?" she said, biting her lip.
"Ah! I see someone in the street," muttered Webster. "I will see you again;" and he darted out hurriedly.
Hume looked as though he would follow, but was arrested by a faint sound, and, turning his head, he saw that she was laughing.
"It is no crime for a brave man to love you," he said, "and he deserves something more than laughter."
"I am not laughing at him," she said.
"At me, then? Am I, then, an object of ridicule?"
"You never could understand," she said.
"No," he said with a smile of courage; "I never did understand you, and I never shall. I love you. Must I go also?"
"My friend," she said, with a sad smile about her lips, "I have been wanting to call on Miss Webster; do you remember Captain Pardoe? You must come with me."
"And Jim?" he whispered.