She went down, down into that deep place. She stumbled through a valley of awful desolation till she came to that which she sought;--a fallen horse, a rider with gla.s.sy eyes upturned.
But the hand of Death had wiped out every distinguishing mark. Was it Guy? Was it Burke? She knew not. She turned from the sight with dread unspeakable. She went from the accursed spot with the anguish of utter bewilderment in her soul. She was bereft of all.
She walked alone in a land of strangers.
CHAPTER XI
THE CROSS-ROADS
When Sylvia started awake from that terrible dream it was to hear the tread of horses" feet outside the house and the sound of men"s voices talking to each other. As she listened, these drew nearer, and soon she heard footsteps on the _stoep_ outside. It was drawing towards sunset, and she realized that she had slept for a long time.
She felt refreshed in spite of her dream and very thankful to regain possession of her waking senses. Her knee too was decidedly better. She found with relief that with care she could use it.
The smell of tobacco wafted in, and she realized that the two men were sitting smoking together on the _stoep_. One of them, she felt sure, was Burke Ranger, though it very soon dawned upon her that they were conversing in Dutch. She lay for awhile watching the orange light of evening gleaming through the creeper that entwined the comer of the _stoep_ outside her window. Then, growing weary of inaction, she slipped from her bed and began to dress.
Her cabin-trunk had been placed in a corner of the bare room. She found her key and opened it.
Guy"s photograph--the photograph she had cherished for five years--lay on the top. She saw it with a sudden, sharp pang, remembering how she had put it in at the last moment and smiled to think how soon she would behold him in the flesh. The handsome, boyish face looked straight into hers. Ah, how she had loved him.
A swift tremor went through her. She closed her eyes upon the smiling face. And suddenly great tears welled up from her heart.
She laid her face down upon the portrait and wept.
The voices on the _stoep_ recalled her. She remembered that she had a reputation for courage to maintain. She commanded herself with an effort and finished her dressing. She did not dare to look at the portrait again, but hid it deep in her trunk.
Mary Ann seemed to have forsaken her, and she was in some uncertainty as to how to proceed when she was at length ready to leave her room. She did not want to intrude upon Burke and his visitor, but a great longing to breathe the air of the _veldt_ was upon her. She wondered if she could possibly escape unseen.
Finally, she ventured out into the pa.s.sage, and followed it to an open door that seemed to lead whither she desired to go. She fancied that it was out of sight of the two men on the _stoep_, but as she reached it, she realized her mistake. For there fell a sudden step close to her, and as she paused irresolute, Burke"s figure blocked the opening. He stood looking at her, pipe in hand.
"So--you are up!" he said.
His voice was quite friendly, yet she was possessed by a strong feeling that he did not want her there.
She looked back at him in some embarra.s.sment. "I hope you don"t mind," she said. "I was only coming out for a breath of air."
"Why should I mind?" said Burke. "Come and sit on the _stoep_! My neighbour, Piet Vreiboom, is there, but he is just going."
He spoke the last words with great distinctness, and it occurred to her that he meant them to be overheard.
She hung back. "Oh, I don"t think I will. I can"t talk Dutch.
Really I would rather----"
"He understands a little English," said Burke. "But don"t be surprised at anything he says! He isn"t very perfect."
He stood against the wall for her to pa.s.s him, and she did so with a feeling that she had no choice. Very reluctantly she moved out on to the wooden _stoep_, and turned towards the visitor. The orange of the sunset was behind her, turning her hair to living gold. It fell full upon the face of the man before her, and she was conscious of a powerful sense of repugnance. Low-browed, wide-nosed, and prominent of jaw, with close-set eyes of monkeyish craft, such was the countenance of Piet Vreiboom. He sat and stared at her, his hat on his head, his pipe in his mouth.
"How do you do, Mrs. Ranger?" he said.
Sylvia checked her advance, but in a moment Burke Ranger"s hand closed, upon her elbow, quietly impelling her forward.
"Mr. Vreiboom saw you with me at Ritzen yesterday," he said, and she suddenly remembered the knot of Boer farmers at the hotel-door and the staring eyes that had abashed her.
She glanced up at Burke, but his face was quite emotionless. Only something about him--an indefinable something--held her back from correcting the mistake that Vreiboom had made. She looked at the seated Boer with a dignity wholly unconscious. "How do you do?"
she said coolly.
He stretched out a hand to her. His smile was familiar. "I hope you like the farm, Mrs. Ranger," he said.
"She has hardly seen it yet," said Burke.
There was a slight pause before Sylvia gave her hand. This man filled her with distaste. She resented his manner. She resented the look in his eyes.
"I have no doubt I shall like it very much," she said, removing her hand as speedily as possible.
"You like to be--a farmer"s wife?" questioned Piet, still freely staring.
She resented this question also, but she had to respond to it. "It is what I came out for," she said.
"You do not look like a farmer"s wife," said Piet.
Sylvia stiffened.
"Give him a little rope!" said Burke. "He doesn"t know much. Sit down! I"ll get him on the move directly."
She sat down not very willingly, and he resumed his talk with Vreiboom in Dutch, lounging against the wall. Sylvia sat quite silent, her eyes upon the glowing sky and the far-away hills. In the foreground was a _kopje_ shaped like a sugar-loaf. She wished herself upon its summit which was bathed in the sunset light.
Once or twice she was moved to glance up at the brown face of the man who leaned between herself and the objectionable visitor. His att.i.tude was one of complete ease, and yet something told her that he desired Piet"s departure quite as sincerely as she did.
He must have given a fairly broad hint at last, she decided; for Piet moved somewhat abruptly and knocked out the ashes of his pipe on the floor with a noisy energy that made her start. Then he got up and addressed her in his own language. She did not understand in the least what he said, but she gave him a distant smile realizing that he was taking leave of her. She was somewhat surprised to see Burke take him unceremoniously by the shoulder as he stood before her and march him off the stoep. Piet himself laughed as if he had said something witty, and there was that in the laugh that sent the colour naming to her cheeks.
She quivered with impotent indignation as she sat. She wished with all her heart that Burke would kick him down the steps.
The sunset-light faded, and a soft dusk stole up over the wide s.p.a.ces. A light breeze cooled her hot face, and after the lapse of a few minutes she began to chide herself for her foolishness.
Probably the man had not meant to be offensive. She was certain Burke would never permit her to be insulted in his presence. She heard the sound of hoof-beats retreating away into the distance, and, with it, the memory of her dream came back upon her. She felt forlorn and rather frightened. It was only a dream of course; it was only a dream! But she wished that Burke would come back to her. His substantial presence would banish phantoms.
He did not come for some time, but she heard his step at last. And then a strange agitation took her so that she wanted to spring up and avoid him. She did not do so; she forced herself to appear normal. But every nerve tingled as he approached, and she could not keep the quick blood from her face.
He was carrying a tray which he set down on a rough wooden table near her.
"You must be famished," he said.
She had not thought of food, but certainly the sight of it cheered her failing spirits. She smiled at him.
"Are we going to have another picnic?"
He smiled in answer, and she felt oddly relieved, All sense of strain and embarra.s.sment left her. She sat up and helped him spread the feast.
The fare was very simple, but she found it amply satisfying. She partook of Mary Ann"s b.u.t.ter with appreciation.
"I can make b.u.t.ter," she told him presently. "And bake bread?"