With Edged Tools Part 12

"I do not know if you have learnt much," he answered. "But I have."

"What have you learnt?" she asked in a low voice, half-fascinated by the danger into which she knew that she was running.

"That I love you," he answered, standing squarely in front of her, and announcing the fact with a deliberate honesty which was rather startling. "I was not sure of it before, so I stayed away from you for three weeks; but now I know for certain."

"Oh, you mustn't say that!"

She rose hastily and turned away from him. There was in her heart a sudden feeling of regret. It was the feeling that the keenest sportsman sometimes has when some majestic monarch of the forest falls before his merciless rifle--a sudden pa.s.sing desire that it might be undone.

"Why not?" he asked. He was desperately in earnest, and that which made him a good sportsman--an unmatched big-game hunter, calm and self-possessed in any strait--gave him a strange deliberation now, which Millicent Chyne could not understand. "Why not?"

"I do not know--because you mustn't."

And in her heart she wanted him to say it again.

"I am not ashamed of it," he said, "and I do not see why I should not say it to you--or to any one else, so far as that goes."

"No, never!" she cried, really frightened. "To me it does not matter so much. But to no one else--no, never! Aunt Marian must not know it--nor Sir John."

"I cannot see that it is any business of Sir John's. Of course, Lady Cantourne would have liked you to marry a t.i.tle; but if you cared for me she would be ready to listen to reason."

In which judgment of the good lady he was no doubt right--especially if reason spoke with the voice of three thousand pounds per annum.

"Do you care for me?" he asked, coming a little closer.

There was a whole world of gratified vanity and ungratified curiosity for her in the presence of this strong man at her elbow. It was one of the supreme triumphs of her life, because he was different from the rest. He was for her what his first tiger had been for him. The danger that he might come still nearer had for her a sense of keen pleasure.

She was thoroughly enjoying herself, and the nearest approach that men can experience to the joy that was hers is the joy of battle.

"I cannot answer that--not now."

And the little half-shrinking glance over her shoulder was a low-minded, unmaidenly invitation. But he was in earnest, and he was, above all, a gentleman. He stood his ground a yard away from her.

"Then when," he asked--"when will you answer me?"

She stood with her back turned towards him, looking out over the smooth waters of the Solent, where one or two yachts and a heavy black schooner were creeping up on the tide before the morning breeze. She drummed reflectively with her fingers on the low stone wall. Beneath them a few gulls whirled and screamed over a shoal of little fish. One of the birds had a singular cry, as if it were laughing to itself.

"You said just now," Millicent answered at length, "that you were not sure yourself--not at first--and therefore you cannot expect me to know all at once."

"You would know at once," he argued gravely, "if it was going to be no.

If you do not say no now, I can only think that it may be yes some day. And"--he came closer--he took the hand that hung at her side--conveniently near--"and I don't want you to say no now. Don't say no! I will wait as long as you like for yes. Millicent, I would rather go on waiting, and thinking that it is going to be yes, even if it is no after all."

She said nothing, but she left her hand in his.

"May I go on thinking that it will be yes until I come back?"

"I cannot prevent your thinking, can I?" she whispered, with a tender look in her eyes.

"And may I write to you?"

She shook her head.

"Well--I--I--Now and then," he pleaded. "Not often. Just to remind you of my existence."

She gave a little laugh, which he liked exceedingly, and remembered afterwards.

"If you like," she answered.

At this moment Lady Cantourne's voice was heard in the distance, calling them.

"There!" exclaimed Millicent. "We must go at once. And no one--no one, mind--must know of this."

"No one shall know of it," he answered.

CHAPTER X. LOANGO

Faithful and hopeful, wise in charity, Strong in grave peace, in pity circ.u.mspect.

Those who for their sins have been to Loango will scarcely care to have its beauties recalled to memory. And to such as have not yet visited the spot one can only earnestly recommend a careful avoidance.

Suffice it to say, therefore, that there is such a place, and the curious may find it marked in larger type than it deserves on the map of Africa, on the West Coast of that country, and within an inch or so of the Equator.

Loango has a bar, and outside of that mysterious and somewhat suggestive nautical hindrance the coasting steamers anchor, while the smaller local fry find harbour nearer to the land. The pa.s.senger is not recommended to go ash.o.r.e--indeed, many difficulties are placed in his way, and he usually stays on board while the steamer receives or discharges a scanty cargo, rolling ceaselessly in the Atlantic swell. The roar of the surf may be heard, and at times some weird cry or song. There is nothing to tempt even the most adventurous through that surf. A moderately large white building attracts the eye, and usually brings upon itself a contemptuous stare, for it seems to be the town of Loango, marked so bravely on the map. As a matter of fact the town is five miles inland, and the white building is only a factory or trading establishment.

Loango is the reverse of cheerful. To begin with, it is usually raining there. The roar of the surf--than which there are few sadder sounds on earth--fills the atmosphere with a never-ceasing melancholy. The country is overwooded; the tropical vegetation, the huge tangled African trees, stand almost in the surf; and inland the red serrated hills mount guard in gloomy array. For Europeans this country is accursed. From the mysterious forest-land there creeps down a subtle, tainted air that poisons the white man's blood, and either strikes him down in a fever or terrifies him by strange unknown symptoms and sudden disfiguring disease. The Almighty speaks very plainly sometimes and in some places--nowhere more plainly than on the West Coast of Africa, which land He evidently wants for the black man. We of the fairer skin have Australia now; we are taking America, we are dominant in Asia; but somehow we don't get on in Africa. The Umpire is there, and He insists on fair play.

"This is not cheery," Jack Meredith observed to his servant as they found themselves deposited on the beach within a stone's-throw of the French factory.

"No, sir, not cheery, sir," replied Joseph. He was very busy attending to the landing of their personal effects, and had only time to be respectful. It was Joseph's way to do only one thing at a time, on the principle, no doubt, that enough for the moment is the evil thereof. His manner implied that, when those coloured gentlemen had got the baggage safely conveyed out of the boats on to the beach, it would be time enough to think about Loango.

Moreover, Joseph was in his way rather a dauntless person. He held that there were few difficulties which he and his master, each in his respective capacity, were unable to meet. This African mode of life was certainly not one for which he had bargained when taking service; but he rather enjoyed it than otherwise, and he was consoled by the reflection that what was good enough for his master was good enough for him.

Beneath the impenetrable mask of a dignified servitude he knew that this was "all along of that Chyne girl," and rightly conjectured that it would not last for ever. He had an immense respect for Sir John, whom he tersely described as a "game one," but his knowledge of the world went towards the supposition that headstrong age would finally bow before headstrong youth. He did not, however, devote much consideration to these matters, being a young man although an old soldier, and taking a lively interest in the present.

It had been arranged by letter that Jack Meredith should put up, as his host expressed it, at the small bungalow occupied by Maurice Gordon and his sister. Gordon was the local head of a large trading a.s.sociation somewhat after the style of the old East India Company, and his duties partook more of the glory of a governor than of the routine of a trader.

Of Maurice Gordon's past Meredith knew nothing beyond the fact that they were schoolfellows strangely brought together again on the deck of a coasting steamer. Maurice Gordon was not a reserved person, and it was rather from a lack of opportunity than from an excess of caution that he allowed his new-found friend to go up the Ogowe river, knowing so little of himself, Maurice Gordon, of Loango.

There were plenty of willing guides and porters on the beach; for in this part of Africa there is no such thing as continued and methodical labour. The entire population considers the lilies of the field to obvious purpose.

Joseph presently organised a considerable portion of this population into a procession, headed triumphantly by an old white-woolled negro whose son cleaned Maurice Gordon's boots. This man Joseph selected--not without one or two jokes of a somewhat personal nature--as a fitting guide to the Gordons' house. As they neared the little settlement on the outskirts of the black town where the mission and other European residences are situated, the veteran guide sent on couriers to announce the arrival of the great gentleman, who had for body-servant the father of laughter.

On finally reaching the bungalow Meredith was pleasantly surprised. It was pretty and homelike--surrounded by a garden wherein grew a strange profusion of homely English vegetables and tropical flowers.

Joseph happened to be in front, and, as he neared the verandah, he suddenly stopped at the salute; moreover, he began to wonder in which trunk he had packed his master's dress-clothes.

An English lady was coming out of the drawing-room window to meet the travellers--a lady whose presence diffused that sense of refinement and peace into the atmosphere which has done as much towards the expansion of our piecemeal empire as ever did the strong right arm of Thomas Atkins. It is because--sooner or later--these ladies come with us that we have learnt to mingle peace with war--to make friends of whilom enemies.