Aletta Part 20

"Oh, I like the life, Stepha.n.u.s. Since I have known Aletta, I have liked it more. By the way, I am under no sort of a cloud at home, if that is what you are thinking about. I could go and set up in London to-morrow if I wanted."

"I was not thinking otherwise, _ou' maat_," said Stepha.n.u.s heartily.

"Let us go in and tell the wife."

Mrs De la Rey gave both of them a good-humoured scolding. She ought to have been told first, not Stepha.n.u.s. Girls belonged first of all to their mother. She, too, was delighted. But the cream of the joke came when they broke the news to old Tant' Plessis.

"Colvin going to marry Aletta?" cried the latter sharply. "What nonsense are you telling me, Gertruida? Why, Colvin is going to marry Wenlock's sister. She is the only English girl here, and he is the only Englishman, so of course he is going to marry her. I have heard Mynheer--no, I mean everybody--say so."

"But it isn't true, Tanta, I tell you," explained Mrs De la Rey. "It is Aletta--our Aletta."

"Aletta?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the old woman, upon whom it began to dawn.

"Aletta! _Oh, mijn Vaterland_! Why, he is nearly old enough to be her father!"

"That's a nasty one!" whispered Colvin to Stepha.n.u.s, who was nearly losing his life in his superhuman efforts to repress a great roar. It was too much for Andrina and Condaas, who at the other end of the room were pretending to work. They precipitately fled, and, in a moment, splutters and squeals, m.u.f.fled by a closed door, became faintly audible to those who remained. Aletta had made herself scarce long before.

"Nearly old enough to be her father, and an Englishman!" repeated Tant'

Plessis, wagging her head. "An Englishman! _Oh, goeije_! Was not one of her father's people good enough for her? There, Gertruida. See what comes of sending her among the English to learn their ways. She comes home, and wants to marry an Englishman."

The air, half of horror, half of resignation, wherewith the old woman uttered these words was irresistibly comic.

"Well, Tanta, he isn't a bad sort of an Englishman, as Englishmen go,"

cut in Stepha.n.u.s, winking the while at his wife. "Besides, remember whom he is descended from, and shake hands and congratulate him,"

shoving Colvin forward as he spoke.

"_Ja_, that is true," replied Tant' Plessis, somewhat mollified. "After all, his grandfather was the great and good Calvinus. Well, nephew, follow in his footsteps, and you will be happy. But--Aletta! _Oh, mijn lieve Heer_! who would have thought it--Aletta!"

CHAPTER ONE.

BOOK II--THE REFUGEE TRAIN.

The last refugee train was drawn up at the down-country departure platform at Park Station, Johannesburg.

The scene upon the platform was one of indescribable hubbub and confusion. Pa.s.sengers, representing all ages and s.e.xes, vociferated in various tongues, and tumbled over piles of luggage, and swore, or snapped or whimpered according to s.e.x or age. Some, belated, thanks to a final call at the refreshment bar, charged furiously through the clamourous crowd by main force, panic-stricken lest they should lose their seats. Seats? They were lucky to get any accommodation at all.

Carriages and compartments, cattle vans and open trucks alike, were literally crammed. The enforced republicanism of the hour and the situation crowded all cla.s.ses together indiscriminately; and the man of wealth and luxurious living was jostled and shouldered by the roughest mine hand, who in habits and ideas rose little, if at all, above the level of the savage. The densely packed compartments afforded scenes and sounds of wild weird Babel, being resonant with the squalling of children and the altercations of hustled and excited women, and in the open trucks men elbowed and cursed and fought for mere standing room.

The while, jeering Zarps, [Note 1], posted about the platform by twos and threes, stood enjoying the fun. They felt no call to keep the peace on this occasion, to interfere in quarrels between the enemies of their land. Let these accursed Uitlanders settle their own differences. They would have plenty of time to do it in before they got clear of the country, decided the guardians of law and order with a certain grim satisfaction.

The train, which was of vast length, began to move slowly out of the station, and as it did so somebody, with more patriotism than sense of humour, conceived the idea of striking up "Rule, Britannia." It took, and the chorus rolled forth l.u.s.tily from the fleeing crowd, mighty in volume, but varied--exceedingly--as to time and tune, causing the Zarps, who understood English, to break into boisterous and derisive laughter, and to call out after the singers that, whatever Britannia ruled, it was not the Transvaal, and if she thought otherwise she had better hurry up her _rooi-baatjes_ [Redcoats] and try. Which comment, after all, was not without pertinence.

Upon others, however, the effect of the parting challenge was different.

A group of armed burghers had been standing at the end of the platform, surveying, with glances of hatred and contempt, the swirling confusion of the crowd of refugees. Now, as they grasped the burden of the song, several were seen to slap cartridges into their rifles, with many a threatening scowl in the direction of the train. The latter, very fortunately, had got sufficiently under way, for already several rifles were pointed at the receding trucks full of packed fugitives. The burghers were in an ugly mood, and racial feeling had reached its highest point of tension. Something of a ma.s.sacre might easily at that moment have resulted from the display of rash and ill-timed defiance.

The result of a volley poured into those closely crowded trucks would have been too ghastly for anything.

Few indeed were the Uitlanders who remained upon the platform as the train disappeared, and such as did wore a grave and anxious expression of countenance; and well they might, for the hour of retreat was past, and they had deliberately and of their own free will elected to stay in the Republic and face the horrors and risks of war, and that at the mercy of the enemies of their countrymen. Such being the case, it may be imagined that the seeing-off contingent attendant upon the departure of the last train was not large.

Conspicuous among it were two persons--a man and a girl. They were not together. They were not, apparently, acquainted, and they were unmistakably English. Yet they were looking at each other--and had been for some time--now furtively, now openly, now in a would-be casual fas.h.i.+on that deceived neither.

The man's attention was drawn to the girl because she was very pretty.

The girl's attention might have been drawn to the man, because he represented the masculine equivalent of that form of attractiveness in her. He was of a good height, well set up, with clean-cut features and brown eyes, clear and searching, lighting up a healthy sun-browned face; a good-looking man beyond the ordinary, and one likely to attract the attention of the other s.e.x.

But the expression of countenance worn by this member of the other s.e.x seemed to convey more than the idea of a mere casual attraction, for it pa.s.sed through varying phases. Now a puzzled frown knitted the brows, now the velvety-blue eyes dilated in a gaze of fixed scrutiny, then brightened into a gleam as of one who has solved a perplexing riddle, and has solved it to her complete satisfaction. Then she came right up to the other, putting forth her hand, as she said demurely:

"Well, this is a surprise! Why, whenever did you come up here?"

But the stranger responded with something of a stark. The expression of his face conveyed astonishment, plain and undiluted.

"Pardon me," he said, slightly raising his hat. "I think there must be--er--some mistake."

It was the girl's turn to exhibit amazement. Then her face flushed, hardening into a set look of sullen indignation.

"Some mistake?" she echoed. Then witheringly, "Yes, I think there must be. Pardon _me_, Mr Kershaw. I am very dense. I ought to have seen that you did not wish to know your friends in another country and under different circ.u.mstances."

"Yes, that is my name. But--er--really it is very remiss of me--but-- Where did we meet?"

May Wenlock stared, as well she might.

"What part are you trying to act now?" she blazed forth indignantly.

Then softening: "But only tell me, Colvin. Is it perhaps that you have reasons for not wanting them to know who you are?" with a quick anxious side glance around, as though fearful of being overheard.

"Pardon me again," was the reply. "But my name is not Colvin."

"Not Colvin?" was all poor May could gasp in her bewilderment.

"Certainly not I was christened Kenneth."

"But--you said your name was Kershaw?"

"So it is. Kenneth Kershaw. Now you mention it, though, I have a relative named Colvin: er--a first cousin."

"First cousin? Why, you might be his twin brother," burst forth May impulsively. "Why, the voice--even your way of talking--No, I never saw such a wonderful likeness in my life." And then, catching a curious expression in the other's eyes, she suddenly remembered the position, and flushed hotly, realising how completely she must have given herself away. The man, looking at her, was thinking to himself, "What a pretty girl! What a devilish pretty girl! Lucky Colvin, wherever he may be!

Lucky as usual." But aloud he said:

"Is that so? I believe we used to be considered rather alike, but we haven't seen each other for quite a number of years. Have you seen him lately, Miss--er--Miss--"

"Wenlock," supplemented May.

"Miss Wenlock--thanks. Now we know each other, and I cannot sufficiently appreciate the good fortune that drew me here this morning to see that trainload of fools off."

Even then May could hardly believe her senses. The look, the voice, the easy and perfectly unembarra.s.sed manner, every inflection of tone even, was simply Colvin reproduced. Could it really be himself, trying how completely he could take her in? Yet something told her it could not be. He was not addicted to practical jokes--indeed, rather disliked them.

"Why do you call it a trainload of fools, Mr Kershaw?" she said; "I am more inclined to think that is the word for some of us who are left behind."

"Oh, they are. For instance, it is strange how spa.r.s.ely distributed is a sense of humour and of the eternal fitness of things! As if race feeling is not at sufficiently high pressure already, those idiots must needs flourish the red rag in the Dutchmen's faces. The patriotic song may be all right in its proper place, but it doesn't come well from a crowd engaged in running away as fast as its legs--or, in this case its wheels--can carry it. For two pins those fellows over there,"

designating the group of sullen, scowling burghers, "would have blazed into the whole mob."

The group referred to comprised one unit to whom the speaker was clearly an object of very great interest indeed; not on account of the words just uttered, for they had been spoken in by no means a loud tone, and the distance was great enough to render them quite inaudible. This man had been among the first to level his rifle at the receding train, and the contemptuous hatred stamped upon the countenances of the group had in no instance been shown more plainly and uncompromisingly than upon that of this one. But from the moment he had caught sight of these two conversing at the other end of the platform, that sinister expression had perceptibly deepened. At the same time he had drawn back into the centre of his fellow-burghers, as though desirous of remaining un.o.bserved, while continuing to watch, and that narrowly, the object of his rancour. The latter, serenely unconscious of being a disturbing factor in the equanimity of anybody, went on:

"I suppose you and my--er--cousin are pretty friendly--eh, Miss Wenlock?"