As the preparations progressed, and the time for the start drew near, it seemed to Laurence Stanninghame that more and more was the old life a mere dream, a dream of the past. Sometimes in his sleep he would be back in it, would see the dinginess of the ramshackle semi-detached, would hear the vulgar sounds of the vulgar suburban street; and he would turn uneasily in his dreams, with a depressing consciousness of dust and discord, and a blank wall as of the hopelessness of life drawn across his path. Feeling? Pooh! Who would miss him out of the traditional "charm" of the family circle? A new toy, costing an extra shilling or so, would quite knock out all and any recollection of himself. There were times when in his dreams he had even returned to the domestic ark, and in the result a day of welcome and comparative peace, then discord and jangling strife as before, and the ever weighing-down, depressing, crushing consciousness of squalid penury for the rest of his natural life. From such visions he had awakened, awakened with a start of exultant gratulation, to find the glow of the African sun streaming into the room; every nerve tingling with a consciousness of strength and braced-up vigour; his mind rejoicing to look forward into the boundless possibilities held out by the adventure in which he was involved; that other ghastly horror, which had haunted him for so long, now put far away. Risk, excitement, peril, daring, to be rewarded by wealth, after long years of unnatural stagnation. The prospect opened out a vista as of boundless delight.
Yet was this dashed--dashed by an impending parting. The certainty of this would ever intrude and quench his exultation. Sweet Lilith! how she had subtilely intertwined herself within his life! Well, he was strong; he could surely keep himself in hand. It should be a part of his training. Still, though the certainty of impending separation would quench his exultation, on awakening to the light of each new day, which brought that parting nearer, yet there was another certainty, that at least a portion of every such day should be spent with her.
But even he, with all his strength, with all his foresight, little realized what the actual moment of that parting should mean.
CHAPTER XI.
"AT THE TWELFTH HOUR."
He was there to say good-bye.
As he sat waiting, the soft subdued hush of the shaded room, in its cool fragrance, struck upon his senses as with an influence of depression, of sadness, of loss. He had come to bid farewell. Farewell! Now the moment had arrived he, somehow, felt it.
Would she never come in? His nerves seemed all on edge, and ever upon the glowing midday heat, the jarring thump of the Crown Reef battery beat its monotonous time. Then the door opened softly, and Lilith entered.
Never had she seemed to look more sweet, more inviting. The rich, dark beauty, always more enthralling, more captivating when warmed by the constant kiss of its native southern sun; the starry eyes, wide with earnestness; the sad, sweet expression of the wistful lips; the glorious splendour of the perfect form, in its cool, creamy white draperies.
Laurence Stanninghame, gazing upon her, realized with a dull, dead ache at the heart, that all his self-boasted strength was but the veriest weakness. And now he had come to say farewell.
"I can hardly realize that we shall not see each other again," Lilith said, after a transparently feeble attempt or two on the part of both of them to talk on indifferent subjects. "When do you expect to return?
How long will you be away?"
""It may be for years, and it may be for ever,"" quoted Laurence, a bitter ring in his tone. "Probably the latter."
"You must not say that. Remember what I told you, more than once before.
I am always hopeful, I never despair, even when things look blackest--either for myself or other people. Though, I dare say, you are laughing to yourself now at the idea of things being anything but bright to me. Well, then, I predict you will come back with what you want. You will return rich, and all will look up then for you."
She spoke lightly, smilingly. He, listening, gazing at her, felt bitter.
He had been mistaken. Well, he had found out his mistake, only just in time--only just. But even he, with all his observant perceptiveness, had failed to penetrate Lilith"s magnificent self-command.
"Let us hope your prediction will prove a true one," he said, falling in with her supposed mood. "The one thing to make life worth living is wealth. I will stick at nothing to obtain it--nothing! Without it, life is a h.e.l.l; with it--well, life is at one"s feet. There is nothing one cannot do with it--nothing."
His eyes glowed with a sombre light. There was a world of repressed pa.s.sion in his tone, the resentful snarl, as he thought of the past squalor and bitterness of life, mingling with the savage determination and unscrupulous recklessness of the born adventurer.
"There is one thing you cannot obtain for it," she said. "That is--love."
"But it can bring you all that will cause you to feel no longing for that deceptive illusion. You can forget that such a thing exists--can forget it in the renewed exuberance of vitality which is sheer enjoyment of living. Well, wish me luck. "Good-bye" is a dreadful word, but it has to be said."
He had risen and stood blindly, half-bewilderedly. The shaded room, the sensuous fragrance of her presence, every graceful movement, the fascination of the wide, earnest eyes, all was more than beginning to intoxicate him, to shatter his chain-armour of bitterness and self-control. He, the strong, the invulnerable, the man in whom all heart and feeling was dead--what sorcery was this? He was bewitched, entranced, enthralled. His strength was as water. Yet not.
They stood facing each other, glance fused into glance. At that moment heart seemed opened to heart--to be gazing therein.
"Good-bye," he said. "Don"t quite forget me, Lilith dear. Think a little now and then of the times we have had together." Then their lips met in a long kiss. And she said--nothing. Perhaps she could not. The flood-gate of an awful torrent of pent-up, bravely controlled grief may be opened in the utterance of that word "good-bye."
Laurence Stanninghame seemed to walk blindly, staggering in the strong sunlight. Was it the midday heat, or the strong glare? The ever-monotonous beat of the Crown Reef stamps seemed to hammer within his brain, which seethed and swirled with the recollection of that last long kiss. He would not look back. Impervious to the furnace-like heat, he stepped out over the veldt at a pace which, by the time he reached the corner of the Wemmer property, caused him to look up wonderingly, that he should already be entering the town.
"Oh, there you are, Stanninghame," sung out a voice, whose owner nearly cannoned into him. Laurence looked up.
"Here I am, as you say, Holmes," he answered, quite coolly and unconcernedly. "But where are you bound for, and what"s the excitement, anyway?"
"Why, I thought I"d see if I could meet you. Hazon said you had gone down to Booyseus this morning. What do you think? I"ve got round him, and I"m going with you."
Laurence stared, then looked grave.
"Going with us, eh? I say, youngster, have you made your will?"
"Haven"t got anything to leave. But, Stanninghame, I"m awfully obliged to you, old fellow. It"s all through you I"ve got round the old man."
"Have you any sort of idea what our program is?"
"None. And I don"t care."
Laurence whistled.
"See here, Holmes," he said, "this thing has got to be looked into. In fact, it can"t go on."
"Yes it can, and it shall. Don"t be a beast, now, Stanninghame. I"d go anywhere with you two fellows, and I"m dead off this waiting for a boom that never comes. I shall be as stony broke as the rest of them if I hold on any longer. So I"m going to realize at a loss, and go with you.
Come along, now, to Phillips" bar and we"ll split a bottle of cham. to the undertaking."
"You don"t need to buzz to that extent, Holmes. I hate "gooseberry."
"John Walker" is good enough for me."
They reached Phillips", and found that historic bar far from empty; and young Holmes, who was full of exhilaration over the prospects of this trip, was insisting that many should drink success thereto. Laurence, silent amid the racket of voices, was curiously watching him. This joyous-hearted youngster, would he ever come to look back upon life as a thing that had far better have never been lived? And he smiled queerly to himself as he thought what would be the effect upon Holmes of the experiences he would bring back with him from that trip to which he was looking forward so joyously, so hopefully--if he returned from it at all, that was--if, indeed, any of them did. But throughout the racket--the strife of tongues, the boisterous guffaw over some cheap "wheeze"--the recollection of the shaded room, of that last good-bye in the cloudless noontide pressed like a living weight upon his heart.
Never would it be obliterated--never.
Throughout the afternoon Laurence busied himself greatly over the final preparations. He did not even feel tempted to ride over to Booyseus, on some pretext. Lilith would not be alone. There was always a host of people there of an afternoon--callers, lawn-tennis players, and so forth. The ineffably sweet sadness of that last parting must be the recollection he was to carry forth with him.
It was evening. The wagons had been started just before sundown, and now their owners were riding out of the town to overtake them. Young Holmes, suffering under an exuberance of exhilaration begotten of multifold good-byes effected to a spirituous accompaniment, was not so firm in his saddle as he might have been; but on the hardened heads of the other two the effect of such farewells had been nil. They were just getting clear of the town when they became aware of a panting, puffing native striving to overtake them.
"Why, it"s John," said Hazon, recognizing one of the coloured waiters at their hotel.
The boy ran straight up to Laurence, and held out an envelope.
"For you, baas," he said. "The baas forgot to give it you. Dank you, baas!" catching, with a grin, something that was flung to him.
It was a delicate-looking envelope, and sealed. What new surprise was this? as he took in the puzzling yet characteristic handwriting of the address.
"I _must_ see you once more," he read. "I cannot let you go like this, Laurence, darling. Come to me for one more good-bye. I shall be alone this evening. Come to me, love of my heart. L."
"Pho! Of course it was not! It was too ridiculous. It was not as if all heaven had opened before his eyes. Of course not!" he told himself.
But it was.