Part 19 (1/2)

”H'm, that's unfortunate, because there's nothing to eat unless we fall to on the stirrup-leathers. Wait a bit, though. By Jove!” He fumbled in one of the numerous pockets of his shooting-coat, and produced a packet done up in whitey-brown paper, which being unfolded, disclosed a large and somewhat demoralised sandwich, considerably the worse for wear. ”Not a very inviting morsel,” he remarked, surveying the battered comestible. ”Yet it may do at a pinch to keep the wolf from the door.

Though,”--he added to himself--”that amiable quadruped is likely to give the door a deuced wide berth considering the mortal funk he was in when he shot through it just now.”

The girl laughed, quite in her old joyous, light-hearted way. ”I should think so,” she cried. ”We'll go halves.”

”We'll do nothing of the sort,” said her companion. ”I'll give you ten minutes, and if there's a crumb left of that antique sandwich by then I'll--well, I'll go out again and see how the horses are getting on.”

”But--”

”No 'buts.' Really I'll go.”

This awful threat was effective, and being ravenously hungry, Ethel speedily made short work of the sandwich, protesting to the last against the other's decision. But he was firm.

”Two people under one umbrella, both get wet,” he observed, sententiously. ”What will feed one will starve two. I'm going to have a pipe instead. Lucky that greedy beggar Jack didn't know I had any more provender yesterday, or he would inevitably have cadged it. I had forgotten it myself till this moment.”

”I wonder what has become of the others,” said Ethel.

”Safe at home, long ago. They'll think we went back to Van Rooyen's,”

he replied.

”But we might, you know; the storm seems to be over now.”

”Not to be dreamt of,” answered he, decisively. ”It's pitch dark, and raining in a way that would set the patriarch Noah spinning yarns about old times if he were with us. We should be wandering about the _veldt_ all night, instead of being snug by a good fire.”

”I suppose so,” acquiesced the girl, ”and, do you know, I'm getting so sleepy.”

”Glad to hear it,” was the reply; and placing one of the saddles near the fire, Claverton arranged a corner of his ample cloak over it so as to form a pillow. ”Lie down here,” he said, ”you can imagine yourself in a railway carriage or anywhere else that's infamously uncomfortable;”

and as she obeyed he wrapped the cloak well round her, and returned to his former place.

Presently she opened her eyes--”Arthur.”

”Well?”

”Promise you won't leave me--or I shan't be able to sleep a wink.”

”Why, I thought you were fairly off. It's twelve o'clock.”

”No--I'm not--Promise!”

”All right--I won't budge.”

”Thanks;” and in a few moments her regular breathing told that she had forgotten her troubles in sleep.

Claverton piled some more wood on to the fire and drew in closer, s.h.i.+vering slightly, the fact being that he was nearly wet through-- having given up his cloak as we have seen. Then he proceeded to fill his pipe.

”Poor little thing,” he mused, contemplating the slumbering form of his companion in adversity. ”What a fright she was in--and small blame to her. Wonder what the beast could have been,” and getting up, he went and examined the soft ground by the door to see if it had left any spoor. ”Yes--I thought so: a wolf, and a d.a.m.ned big wolf, too.” [Note 1.]

He returned to his seat by the fire and sat dreamily smoking. ”What a pretty picture she makes,” he thought; and in good truth she did, as the long lashes lay in a dark semicircle on the rounded cheek, while the full red lips were parted ever so lightly, and the firelight danced and flickered with a ruddy glow on the golden head of the sleeper.

”Very good fun now, no doubt, that is if it were not so infernally cold,” he went on, ”but the situation may begin to look awkward in the morning, when we are besieged by the kind inquiries of friends.

However, the gentle s.e.x knows devilish well how to take care of itself, that's one comfort. 'Self-preservation is the first law of woman,' I truly believe to have been the original rendering of the proverb--the reason of its alteration is but too obvious. But a.s.suredly the child would have been dead, or deuced near it, by morning if we hadn't found this place, whereas now, in half-a-dozen hours' time she'll wake up fresh as paint, and probably abuse me like the prince of pickpockets, and swear it would have been much better to have slept out in the _veldt_ all night. That's the way of them.”