Part 43 (2/2)

”Driscoll's just sent over to say he can take you down to see that place of his to-day. I advise you to ride over there and go with him.

It's a good place, and going for a mere song. I'd think twice, if I were you, before letting it slip.”

”You're right; I'll go over and see it. But could you come too, and give me the benefit of your experience?”

”I can't to-day, I'm afraid. It's a long way, and I don't feel up to it. Still, you have a good eye to the capabilities of a place, I should say. Anyhow, go and look at it.”

On second thoughts, Claverton was rather glad. He would be more the master of his own movements if alone, and would be able to return as soon as possible, whereas, at the ordinary regulation speed, the undertaking would carry him through the whole day.

”Have you far to go?” asked Lilian, as after breakfast he sat buckling on his spurs in the pa.s.sage.

”Yes; it's a good way. I may not be back till nearly dark,” he answered, ruefully, taking down his riding-crop from the peg. ”But to-day I'm going to imagine myself riding another fellow's horse with my own spurs. I may as well be off, there's that little chatterbox, Gertie, bearing down upon us. Good-bye.”

He mounted and rode off in a very discontented frame of mind. What did he care if any one made him a present of the whole continent of Africa, if he were not to win _her_? The days were so precious and so few now, and here he was throwing away a whole one for the sake of a wretched ”bargain.” He wouldn't go--he would let the thing slide--he would turn back. And his face, as he rode, wore an aspect of troubled preoccupation.

Turning from the door, Lilian encountered Gertie Wray in the pa.s.sage.

”Oh, there you are, Lilian,” exclaimed that volatile young lady. ”I was just coming to look for you. Do come and teach me that lovely song you promised to, last night. We shall have it all to ourselves. Ethel and Laura are fixed for the morning with Mrs Brathwaite, making dresses or something.”

”Very well, dear,” a.s.sented Lilian, always ready to oblige others. She was not feeling inclined just then to sit hammering out accompaniments for a not very apt learner to murder a song to; but self came second with her. So she did her best to instil the desired accompaniment into the other's understanding; but in about half an hour her pupil got tired of it.

”I think I shall sit indoors and read,” said Gertie. ”It's too hot to go out.”

”Is it? I like the heat,” said Lilian. ”I think I shall go for one of what you call my 'somnambulisms.'”

”And a very good name for them,” laughed the other. ”To see you walking along, so still and stately, any one would think you were walking in your sleep, but that your eyes are open. Well, go for your 'somnambulism,' my peerless Lilian, only don't get too much in the sun or you'll get freckles,” and the speaker nestled down comfortably in a chair in a cool corner to while away the morning over a novel.

”You silly child,” replied Lilian, laughing as she bent down to kiss her. ”You'll be asleep yourself, really and in good effect, in about half an hour at that rate. Good-bye.”

She went out, and paused for a moment on the _stoep_ with head gracefully poised and the beautiful figure erect as she stood gazing, with eyes opened wide, upon the glories of the sun-steeped landscape.

Then she picked up a volume which lay on a chair under the verandah.

”I'll sit and read a little on that comfortable old seat under the large pear-tree when I'm tired,” she thought, and, with the book in her hand, she pa.s.sed on, down between the orange-trees, and out through the gate in the wooden fence, where the great scarlet-cactus blossoms twined in all their prismatic gorgeousness. Now and then she would stop and bend down to pick a wild flower or to examine some queer insect, and the warm glow of the summer morning seemed to favour her scheme of solitude and meditation. It was hot, but she loved the warmth, there was nothing of enervation in it to her; on the contrary, her thoughts and intellect never had clearer or freer play than on a day like this.

Dreamily and in meditative mood, Lilian wandered on; along the wall of the mealie-land, where the tall stalks spread their broad, drooping leaves, and many a white tufted ear, just bursting through its vernal husk, gave promise of an abundant crop; past the dam, where she lingered a moment to mark the clear shadows in its burning waters now cleft into ripples as, one by one, the mud-turtles, who had been basking on the bank, shuffled their slimy, flat shapes in with an ungainly slide; then by the ostrich camp, whose fierce occupant lazily ambled towards the wall, and then stopped half-way as if changing his mind. Dreamily still she leaned, looking over the wall, her taper fingers gathering together little fragments of stone, which, hardly knowing what she did, she threw into the enclosure, as if enticing the bird to approach. Then turning to pursue her way, behold, a high quince hedge barred it.

”How tiresome!” she said to herself. ”I shall have to go such a long way round.”

But she had not. A friendly gap opened a few yards further down, and, pa.s.sing through it, she found herself in a wild, seldom visited part of the garden. Here tangled gra.s.s flourished in delightful confusion; and tall fig-trees, branching overhead, cast the sunlight in a network upon the shadowy ground, while among the topmost boughs a few spreuws lazily piped to each other as they revelled in the purple fruit. Then an open bit and suns.h.i.+ne, and the boughs of a large peach-tree swept nearly to the earth, as though to lay its load at her feet. She plucked off one of the peaches, and pressed its blus.h.i.+ng, velvety skin against her own soft cheek.

”It seems almost a pity to eat such lovely fruit,” she murmured. ”They look so smooth and delicate.”

Still turning over the peach in her hands, she swept aside the long drooping boughs of a great espalier. A rustic seat was fixed to the trunk, forming a shady nook--though sun-pierced here and there in a qualified degree--and on this she sat down. The surrounding branches falling around, shut in the spot as if it were a tent.

”It is delicious here, after that glare. I wonder who made this seat,”

mused Lilian, throwing off her hat and preparing to discuss her peach and otherwise enjoy to the full the glories of the golden noontide.

Mechanically she opened the book she had caught up as she came out; but without attempting to read. The call of birds echoed through the leafy arches; bees droned in subdued murmur; now and again a tree-cricket broke the quietude with a shrill screech; the air, though not close or sultry, was rich and warm and languorous, and presently Lilian's thoughts began to get confused; her eyes closed; then the book slid from her lap. The influences of the prevailing calm had conquered--she slept.

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