The Claw Part 12

In a few moments we had reached the shop--a galvanised-iron building with "Hunloke and Dennison" painted in huge black letters across its roof. The others had already arrived with the keys, and we were admitted into a perfect paradise of tinned goods. Candles were hastily burst from their packets and stuck in lighted rows along the counter, and the general public was invited by the owners of the shop to "pay their money and take their choice." This, however, was a mere form of speech. Apparently no one paid for anything in happy-go-lucky Mashonaland.

Mrs Skeffington-Smythe was helped up on the counter and walked along it, inspecting the things on the top shelves and handing them down. The rest of us made dives at anything we liked the look of, and the _winkel_ of Messrs. Hunloke and Dennison resounded with shouts of glee and triumph.

"Olives!"

"This lovely pink curly bacon--just the thing to make bicycles for my apostles to ride on. _Banzai_!"

"Hooray! here are some anchovies!"

"Say! Six cans of oysters!" cried Mr Hunloke himself. "I didn't know we had these left, Tommy. I'll shew you fellows how to make clam chowder. I've _got_ to show you."

"Who says tinned pineapples?"

"Fids I gloat! _Sardines a l'tomate_. All we want now is the toast--_that's_ easy!"

"You've still a case of Pommery-and-Greno left, Tommy, my man. Trot it out!"

"Yes, and what about that Ba.s.s's ale you and Hunloke keep all to your own cheek?"

"Oh, Miss Saurin, I've found some crystallised fruit! And hurrah!

here's a big bottle of eau-de-cologne!"

Every one howled with delight at this artless testimony from Mrs Skeffington-Smythe that in her at least the legitimate business of foraging for commissariat had become merged in the wild spirit of the filibuster. Some one began to softly sing,--

"Loot! Loot! Loot!"

At last, after selecting about two waggon-loads of articles, including champagne and claret for "cup," a large bottle of eau-de-cologne, a box of toilette soap, and several strings of blue beads, we stood and gazed with the eyes of conquerors upon the wondrous heaps. The question then arose as to who was to carry these things to the theatre of war. There was great argument about this. A peculiarity about African men is that they have a great objection to carrying anything. They would far rather argue about it for two hours and then spend another two looking for a boy. Eventually three wild men engaged to find boys for the task.

"Yes! even if we have to pull them out of kingdom come," they averred.

The rest of us started for home. How it came about that Anthony Kinsella and I were once more alone together I cannot tell. Mrs Skeffington-Smythe disappeared into the moonlight with Mr Hunloke and some others. Mrs Brand was ahead again with Gerry Deshon, though I could not but observe that the direction of her march was not in the direction of home. Her voice came floating back to me:

"Don't go in without me, will you? Remember that you are chaperoning me."

"Will you mind if I call at the post-office?" asked my companion suddenly, out of the silence that encompa.s.sed us. "I expect an important wire from headquarters."

Of course I did not mind. I minded nothing but that this enchanted hour must soon be over. Slowly we sauntered onwards through the silver night, and came at last, however much we loitered, to the post-office.

It was closed, but a light shone in a window, and Major Kinsella rapped and hailed the mad postmaster by name:

"Bleksley, hullo!" Instantly the window was opened, and the divine performer upon banjos put out his blond rumpled head: "Wire come, Bleksley?"

"Not yet, but the mails from Victoria are just in by runner. If you could wait a few minutes until I unseal them and sort out the private letters--"

Major Kinsella hesitated, looking at me.

"Of course--certainly wait," I said hastily. "I don't mind."

"Thank you," he said. "If it were my own business it could rip--but it's the country's."

"I shan't be more than five or six minutes," said the postmaster.

"Would you like to go up into the watch-tower to wait?"

He handed out a key through the window. The watch-tower adjoined the post-office, and had been built for the double purpose of overlooking the prison-yard and for the wide outlook it afforded of the surrounding native kraals. The view from there was notoriously charming, and I had heard all about it from several people and been told that I should see it by moonlight. This seemed to be a good opportunity.

"Will you come?" said Anthony Kinsella abruptly. "The view is supposed to be very fine."

Mr Bleksley had already closed the window and returned to his work.

"On such a night as this it should be perfect," I said. So we climbed the dark, steep stair together.

The instant we put our feet on the first step he took my hand which hung at my side, interlacing his fingers through mine. Hands can tell each other so much. I suddenly knew things I had never dreamed of before with the feel of Anthony Kinsella's warm, strong hand clasping mine, and from the close contact of his palm against mine some wonderful, strange message flew up my arm to my heart and brain, flooding me with a thrilling ecstasy I could hardly bear. When we reached the tower's top I think we both knew all there was to say though no word had been spoken. We leaned against the low enclosing walls and looked down upon a land awash with silver moonlight and far-off ebony hills draped with scarves of mist.

"Deirdre!"

He spoke my name with all the crake gone from his voice, and again it was as if I heard the music of an old song I had known all my life. I could not answer him. Faintness stole over me and a strange trembling sweetness held me in thrall. My heart glowed like a red-hot coal with a cool wind blowing on it.

"Deirdre!--what a name for a man's wife. Deirdre, I love you! I want your heart and body and soul. Look at me, darling."

I turned to him, and our eyes met in a long glance. Then mine fell as always before his, as if weighted with little heavy stones.

"Give me your soul, Deirdre," he said, and with my eyes still closed, unhesitatingly, unswervingly, I put out my two hands and laid them in his with all my heart and soul in them; and he kissed them, and my hair, and my lips. He took me in his arms and kissed my eyes.

"I have loved you from the moment I first saw you," he said. "Haven't you felt my kisses on your eyelids whenever I looked at you, Deirdre?"

So I knew at last what it was in his burning glance that had always closed my eyes.

"You are like an exquisite flower," he muttered, "too beautiful to be worn in my soiled heart. But I _will_ wear you," he fiercely added.

"'Who loves flowers loves sorrow.'" The old French proverb came uncalled to my lips.

"You and I cannot love without sorrow," he said, branding the words on my lips with his.

Ah! G.o.d knows I was all woman then, throbbing, aching woman in the arms of the man I loved.

"Let me see your eyes," he said, and his voice thrilled like a violin bow across the strings of my heart. "I shall go mad if you do not open your eyes."

And I opened them to the beauty of his face.

Ah, yes, he was beautiful! He had the beauty of the G.o.ds. If I were half so beautiful at that moment it was no wonder that his lips were pale though they burnt like flame, that his hands shook and his voice stammered.

"Speak to me!" he cried. "Say that you love me!"

"I think I have always loved you, Anthony--ever since that night I first saw you, when you beguiled me with your sweet words to come to this strange land. Yes, I know now it was for you I came across the sea--for you--to you."

"Heart of my heart! For you I will go back to my boyhood's dreams--to the old sweet creeds! I will wipe my life clean of sins, and make it worth your beauty and purity--"

Ah! It is a most wonderful and exquisite thing to be alone in the empty, silent, moonlit world with the man you love and who loves you.

But our gracious dream was soon interrupted. The postmaster called out at the foot of the stairs, and we distinguished the approaching voices of Mrs Brand and some others.