The Fire Trumpet Part 54

"A journey!" echoed Lilian, blank dismay in her face and in her tone.

"_You_ are not going away--to-day?" And moved by an uncontrollable impulse she looked at him, and in that look was a world of entreaty, of despair, and of love; such a look as would be with him to his dying day.

"And is it not better so?" he said, gently. "Believe me, I did not come here to make it uncomfortable for you--darling." Then, seeing the imploring look deepen in the white face, he went on in a strangely altered tone: "What? It cannot be! Oh, Lilian--tell me--am I to--?"

"Stay." The word was spoken in a low, thrilling voice. "Stay! unless you want to break my heart. It is only what I should deserve," and a great sob convulsed the beautiful frame, which was instantly locked fast in Claverton's embrace; and heart beat against heart as he covered the shrinking face and the soft hair which lay against his shoulder with wild, delirious kisses.

Then the great, golden chariot of day mounted majestically above the eastern hills, and flamed from the azure vault, darting a bright beam upon those two happy ones as if in benediction, and flooding the valley with light and gladness; and the bleat and low of the flocks and herds sounded from the fold, and the voices of humankind echoed cheerily through the morning air--and the day was begun. And in that quiet garden the birds fluttered and piped, bees droned in the sunlight as they winged their way in search of the luscious store, and now and then the leaves would tremble in a faint breeze. Birds, insects, whispering trees, all seemed but to echo one voice, one glad, joyous refrain--"We will never part again, love, never, never."

Lilian was the first to break the silence.

"Oh, Arthur, is this, too, a dream?" she murmured. "Shall I wake up in a moment and find you vanished, as I have so often done?"

"Have you, sweetest?" he replied in a tone of reverent tenderness, as if he could not speak too softly, or too gently, to her. "It is reality now--if ever anything was--sweet reality;" and at the picture which her words opened up before his mind he clasped her again to his heart as though he could never let her go.

"Let me have a look at you, darling," she said, suddenly raising her head with a bright, lovely blush, and gazing into the firm, serious face bent over hers. "You have become so brown, and you are looking ever so much older, and--"

"And am quite a battered and hardened campaigner."

"And are looking ever so much better--ever so much better than you used to. There, you don't deserve that for interrupting me," she added, with one of her most bewitching smiles.

"Let's sit down here," he suggested, as, with his arm still round her, he drew her towards a rustic seat which might be twin brother to the one under the pear-tree where that dread parting had taken place those years ago. "Now tell me all about yourself--about everything."

She did so. She told him of her life since they parted, and previous to their first meeting; told him the story of that promise which had entailed such misery upon both of them. It was the old story--a former suitor--and the promise had been most solemnly given beside her mother's deathbed. The man was worthless to the core, selfish, dissipated, and unprincipled, but he was fascinating both in manner and appearance; and Lilian, at any rate, fancied him genuine. Over her mother he had cast the spell of an extraordinary infatuation, and Mrs Dynevard had not a little to do with the bringing about of her daughter's engagement.

Certain it was that nothing else prevented that daughter from breaking it, for when--her stepfather dying shortly afterwards--Lilian could no longer make her home at Dynevard Chase, this fair-weather suitor kept aloof. He was obliged to leave England, he explained, in order to better his fortunes, which were in a very bad way. By this time, however, Lilian had gained some insight into his real character, and then the weight of that rash promise began to make itself felt. Once she appealed to him to release her from it, but met with a decided refusal, and, as though to rivet the bond still tighter, the man reminded her that her promise was not only given to him but also to her dead mother. So poor Lilian clung fast to her only hope, which was that he might not think it worth his while to claim its fulfilment.

Meanwhile she sacrificed herself to sentiment--as men and women have so sacrificed themselves at the f.a.ggot pile, or helpless and defenceless before ravening beasts in the arena. Then, like a lightning flash, had come the consciousness of real love, but still she immolated herself to the sacredness of a rash promise.

Let us leave them there, those two, in the sunny garden, amid the unclouded glory of the new-born day. Their cup is full--full and br.i.m.m.i.n.g with such happiness as this world rarely affords. Let them revel in it while they may, for a dark cloud is rolling up, gathering as it rolls--a cloud whose edges are red with blood, and whose gruesome shadow is fraught with desolation, with ruin, and with Death.

"Payne," quietly remarked Claverton, two hours later, as he and his host were standing at the gate of one of the sheep-kraals, the latter counting: "I wonder if I shall succeed in astonis.h.i.+ng you directly--by what I'm going to tell you."

"Twenty-three--five--seven--thirty-two--six," counted Payne. "Don't speak to a man on his stroke--or count. Nine--forty-one--forty-four-- seven hundred and forty-four. Right, Booi. Now, off you go, and keep away from old Smith's boundary. He's a cantankerous beggar, and I don't want to have a tiff with him. What were you saying, Claverton?" he continued, making a playful cut at a native urchin with his whip, which the boy dodged, and gambolled away swinging his sheepskin kaross and grinning from ear to ear.

"I was saying--would it surprise you greatly to learn that I am about to perpetrate matrimony?"

Payne whistled. "N-no--I don't know--most fellows fall victims sooner or later. And after all the knocking about you've had it'll do you good to settle down for a bit. By the way--if it's not an impertinent question--who's the lady?"

"Lilian Strange."

"Eh?"

"Lilian Strange."

"The devil!"

"No--nothing of the kind. That's deuced uncomplimentary of you when I tell you a piece of news before I've imparted it to any one else. In fact, I call it downright shabby," replied Claverton in a tone of mock remonstrance, while his eyes sparkled with suppressed merriment. For Payne was staring blankly at him as if he distrusted his sense of hearing.

"But--but--Hang it all, how do you know she'll have you? Why, you never set eyes on her till yesterday."

Claverton laughed. "I know it because I have it from the very best authority--her own lips. And I knew her--well, long before I had the advantage of first beholding the light of your supremely honest and genial old countenance," he said, quietly. "Come, don't stare at a fellow as if you thought him a candidate for a gla.s.s-case, but say something decent. Make us a speech, you know."

"Why, of course, I congratulate you, old chap, and all that sort of thing; but you've taken one a little aback. Hang it, it's as good as a play. Aha! that's what we get up so dismally early for, hey?"

And, indeed, honest Payne was so taken aback by the announcement that he walked beside the other speechless, with his hands in his pockets, and whistling.

Never before had the duties of the schoolroom seemed so irksome to Lilian as this morning. The warm, sunny air streamed in at the open windows, and just audible was the hum of male voices in conversation, and her heart thrilled as every now and then her ear caught a low, gleeful laugh, which she had learned to know so well. Once, indeed, she went to the window, in the hope of catching a glimpse of the talkers, or rather of one of them; but the result was lamentable, for she found herself dogmatically a.s.serting to her pupils that Pekin, not Paris, was the capital of France--they staring the while as if they did not quite know what to make of her.

"Miss Strange," exclaimed the eldest girl, "do let's have the map of this country instead. France and Germany, and all those, are so stupid.

We can see where all the Kafirs live, who are coming to fight us."

"They're not going to fight us," struck in Harry, somewhat indignantly.

"Pa says they're not. They're funky."

Lilian smiled at this retort, and nipped in the bud an argument, which promised to wax warm, by producing a large map of the Eastern Province.

"Now look here, Harry," she said; "here's the River Kei, and here are we. Here are all the Kafirs and--"

"But where's Fountain's Gap?" inquired Rose, aged nine.

"It isn't marked. Look. We'll put a pencil spot for it. Here's King Williamstown."

"What, all that way off?" said Harry.

"Yes. It is a long way off."

"But we should have to run there if the Kafirs came," protested that doughty youth.

"Aha! Who's funky now? Who wants to run away now--eh?" jeered his sister.

"Hus.h.!.+" said Lilian, in that sweet, soothing way of hers, that stood her in far better stead than any amount of sternness. "You mustn't quarrel now, you know." Suddenly the urchin fixed his gaze upon her, and, with mischief gleaming from his blue eyes, exclaimed:

"I saw you this morning--you and that man."

Lilian felt herself flus.h.i.+ng all over. She tried to direct his attention to the lesson, but the imp, with that mixture of mulishness and malice which seems the invariable attribute of the infant prodigy oft-times petted, continued:

"I did. I saw you ki--"

"Harry!" cried Rose, making as if she would rush upon the delinquent.

"I'll go and tell mamma about you, at once. Send him out of the room, Miss Strange--do!"

Poor Lilian! Her delicate, sensitive nature was indeed undergoing acute laceration at the tongue of this urchin, on whom she had lavished nothing but tenderness and care. Whether from perversity, or with a savage enjoyment of the pain he was inflicting, the cub went on:

"I don't care, Rose! I did see them. They were--"

What they were or were not doing remained unsolved, for the door opened, and Mrs Payne entered.

"I want you to give them a holiday to-day, Lilian," she said. "Now then, children, run away out into the garden. You can put your books away after. Out you go--quick."

They obeyed with double alacrity. For their mother, in spite of her warm-heartedness, had a very decided will of her own at times. And Rose, taking into consideration all the circ.u.mstances, deemed it advisable to say nothing about Master Harry's ill-conditionedness.