In the Whirl of the Rising Part 32

"Yes, you seemed to have got the funks to some considerable purpose,"

grumbled Fullerton. "Hang it, Lucy, I thought you had more pluck. Look at Clare, now. She was positively enjoying it."

"Oh no, she wasn't," corrected that young person, who had just entered.

"No, not in the very least. But I suppose different people take on different forms of scare. Mine took that of a sort of desperate excitement."

"Yours? Form of scare! By jingo! that's a 'form of scare' we could do with plenty of during these jolly lively days," returned Fullerton.

"Oh, and look here, d.i.c.k," went on the girl. "I must ask you not to talk about it--I mean not to go bragging around to everybody that your sister-in-law shot twenty or forty or sixty Matabele--or whatever you are going to make it--in the fight at the Kezane Store."

"Why in thunder not? Why shouldn't you have your share of the kudos as well as anyone else in the same racket?"

"Because I don't want it. Because I want to forget my share in it. The consciousness of having taken life, even in the very extremity of self-defence, can never be a subject of self-congratulation, especially to a woman. I, for one, don't want ever to hear it referred to."

"Well, you are squeamish, Clare. Let me tell you that the rest of us don't share your opinions. There isn't a man jack, from Lamont downwards, who hasn't been blowing your trumpet loud enough to wake the dead."

A softer look came into her face at the name. Perhaps her brother-in-law partially read it, perhaps he didn't.

"By the way, d.i.c.k," she went on, "I suppose by this time you have found reason for somewhat altering your opinion of Mr Lamont's courage, have you? It used to be rather unfavourable, if I remember right."

"Rather, I should think I had. I told him so too, during a lull in the scrimmage."

"Oh, you told him so. And what did he answer?"

"Nothing. He sloshed a pistol-bullet into a big buck n.i.g.g.e.r who'd romped up in the long gra.s.s to blaze into us. By George, here he is."

"Who? The 'n.i.g.g.e.r'?"

"Morning, Lamont. Come to have breakfast, of course?" for they had just sat down. "We were just talking about you."

"I'll change the subject to a more interesting one then," was the answer. "How are you, Mrs Fullerton, and did you have a restful night, for I'm sure you deserved one?"

"Not very. I'm a shocking coward, but I'm afraid it's const.i.tutional,"

answered poor Lucy. But he laughingly rea.s.sured her, and talked about the fineness of the day, and the extent of the view around Kezane, and soon got away from yesterday's battle entirely.

Lamont's morning greeting, as far as Clare was concerned, was a fine piece of acting, for they had arranged not to make public their understanding until safe back at Gandela. Yet the swift flash as glance met glance, and a subtle hand-pressure, were as eloquent as words to those most concerned.

Watching him, though not appearing to, Clare's heart was aglow with illimitable pride and love. The emergency had brought out the man beyond even her estimate of him, and that had been not small. She had read him from the very first, had seen what was in him, and her instinct had been justified to the full. She was proud to remember how she had always believed in him, and that the more detraction reached her ears the more did it strengthen rather than sap that belief. And now--and now--he was hers and she was his.

Others dropped in--Peters, and Jim Steele, and Strange the doctor, and two or three more, and soon the talk became general. At a hint from Lamont the subject of the fight of yesterday was left out, and they got on to others, just as if nothing had occurred to disturb the peace in the midst of which, a short twenty-four hours back, they had imagined themselves to dwell. But it seemed to Lamont that Grunberger's wife, a pleasant-looking Englishwoman who was taking care of their wants, was eyeing him with a mingling of covert amus.e.m.e.nt and interest. "Shall we stroll about outside, Miss Vidal?" he said, a little later, when they were out in the air again. "What do you think, Mrs Fullerton? A const.i.tutional won't hurt us."

But Lucy protested that no consideration on earth would induce her to set foot outside the gates--as they knew she would. No, no. These horrible savages had a knack of springing up out of nowhere. Clare seemed to know how to take care of herself, but she, a.s.suredly, did not.

It was in vain for Lamont to impress upon her that the ground around the place was quite open, and that there were pickets posted at intervals where the not very thick bush began. She was obdurate--as he knew she would be.

The question of making some sort of patrol had been discussed, but it had been decided that it was not worth the risk. Their force was none too strong to defend the place if attacked by numbers, which was very likely to happen, for the Kezane was one of the largest and most important stores along the line of coaches, and was always well supplied with everything likely to tempt the cupidity of the savages. A patrol might venture too far and in the wrong direction, and get cut off; then what a serious weakening of their forces that would mean. So pickets were posted instead.

"Then you haven't awoke to the conclusion you were rather hasty last night, Clare?"

"Have you?" she answered sweetly.

"Good G.o.d! Need you ask? But it is a fitting reply to an idiotic question."

"Don't be profane, and don't call yourself undeserved names, dearest.

But you don't look as if you had had any sleep. Have you?"

"Oh, I don't know. I suppose I couldn't have slept if I'd tried," he said, the soft caressing solicitude of the remark stirring through his whole being. "But that'll all come right. I'm hard as nails, remember."

"I should think you were," flas.h.i.+ng up at him another admiring glance.

"Oh, darling, I loved to see you yesterday. The sight of you went far to neutralise all the horrors of the situation."

"Don't, don't," he said, rather unsteadily, positively intoxicated with the sweetness of her tones, her looks. "Don't quite try to give me 'swelled head' as those good chaps were trying to do last night.

Because _you_ might succeed, you know."

"You could never get that. But--I have something to say to you, and I don't believe you're going to grant me the very first thing I've ever asked you."

"And that--?"

"I want you not to run into danger any more. You belong to me now--we belong to each other. If this is going to be a regular war--perhaps a long one--there can be no necessity for you to take part in it--I mean, to join expeditions, and all that. You will be helping quite enough by staying to defend Gandela, and taking care of me."

He looked troubled.

"Oh, Clare, my darling one, what shall I say? Do you know, last night all these good fellows formed themselves into the nucleus of a corps on condition that I should lead them. And I promised. How can I climb down now?"

She looked at him, for a moment, full in the eyes, and her own kindled.

"You can't. No, of course you can't. I am not such a selfish idiot as to dream of expecting such a thing. Why, it is a distinct call to usefulness, to distinction. I would not try to hold you back from it now, no, not even if I could."

"But, understand this," he went on. "I will not move in the matter until I have seen you in safety--in entire and complete safety. Then-- it is a duty. What would you think of me if I s.h.i.+rked that sort of duty? Would it not be to put a stamp of truth on the lies some of my kind friends have been spreading about me?"

"I won't say I would think nothing of you, for I can't imagine, let alone contemplate, such a contingency. But--now we are on the subject-- I would like to hear your side of--of--all these stories. Don't think that I doubt you--never think that, dearest--but I would like to be able to fling the lie in their faces."

He was silent for a few moments as they paced up and down. They were out of earshot of the stockade but in full view of all within it. To all intents and purposes they were only two people walking up and down in ordinary converse, as a couple of s.h.i.+p-board acquaintances might walk up and down the deck of a pa.s.senger s.h.i.+p.

"Some years ago," he resumed, "I had a quarrel with a man--a man who had been my friend. He had played me a dirty trick--a very dirty trick--the nature of it doesn't matter, any more than his ident.i.ty, now. I am not an angel, and have my share of original sin, which includes a temper, though since then I have tried my level best to keep it within bounds.

Well, from words we got to blows, and I was a fair boxer--" here Clare half smiled, in the midst of her vivid interest, as she remembered the tribute her brother-in-law had paid to his powers in that line, even while decrying his courage.

"In the course of the scrimmage I struck him a blow that felled him. He lay motionless, and I and others thought he was dead. We brought him round though, but he had a bad concussion of the brain, and for weeks hovered between life and death. Moreover, he has never been the same man since. If I lived for a thousand years I could never forget what I went through during that time. Well, in the result I made a vow, a most solemn vow, that never again, even under the extremest of provocation, would I lift hand in anger against anybody, except under the most absolute necessity of self-defence--or in defence of others. And I never have."

Clare's colour heightened and her eyes shone. Instinctively she put forth her hand to take his, and withdrew it instantly as she remembered that they were in full view of everybody.

"Once, not long ago, up here, I put on the gloves with another man, a first-rate performer, for a friendly spar. But even with gloves on you can do a good deal of grim slogging. Somehow it came upon me--I believe I was getting the best of it, I'm not sure--that the thing was getting too real, and a vivid recollection of that other affair seemed to rise up like a ghost, and then and there I chucked up the sponge. Again they said I had funked."

"Yes, I heard about that," she said. "But it didn't make any difference to me. I knew better all along, and told them so."

"You told them so?"

"Of course I did. You see, I knew you better than that--even though we hadn't done very much talking together, had we? And so that was your reason. Well you have adhered to your resolve--yes, grandly."

"Do you remember that morning up on Ehlatini, you were warning me about Ancram? Well, that story was nearly all true. I did think my life was too good to put in p.a.w.n for the sake of that of a peculiarly abominable specimen of the _genus_ gutter-brat--a specimen which was bound to be hung sooner or later--probably sooner. I think so still."