The Lust of Hate by Guy Newell Boothby (ebook reader for pc .txt) 📖

vera long. He’d best be out of

it.”

 

“My dear fellow,” I said, a little testily I fear, for I did not

care to hear him throw cold water on Mr. Maybourne’s visit in this

fashion, “you’re always thinking the natives are going to give

trouble, but you must confess that what you prophesy never cornea

off.”

 

He shook his head more sagely than before.

 

“Ye can say what ye please,” he said, “I’m nae settin’ up for a

prophet, but I canna help but see what’s put plain before my eyes. As

the proverb says ‘Forewarned is forearmed.’ There’s been trouble

an’ discontent all through this country-side for months past, an’ if

Mr. Maybourne brings his daughter up here—well, he’ll have to run

the risk of mischief happenin’ to the lass. It’s no business o’ mine,

however. As the proverb says—’ Let the wilful gang their own

gait.’”

 

Accustomed as he was to look on the gloomy side of things, I could

not but remember that he had been in the country a longer time than I

had, and that he had also had a better experience of the treacherous

Matabele than I could boast.

 

“In your opinion, then,” I said, “I had better endeavour to

dissuade Mr. Maybourne from coming up?”

 

“Nae! Nae! I’m na’ sayin’ that at all. Let him come by all means

since he’s set on it. But I’m not going to say I think he’s wise in

bringing the girl.”

 

With this ambiguous answer I had to be content. I must

confess, however, that I went back to the house feeling a little

uneasy in my mind. Ought I to write and warn Mr. Maybourne, or should

I leave the matter to chance? As I did not intend to send off my-mail

until the following day, I determined to sleep on it.

 

In the morning I discovered that my fears had entirely vanished.

The boys we employed were going about their duties in much the same

manner as usual, and the half-dozen natives who had come in during

the course of the day in the hope of obtaining employment, seemed so

peaceably inclined that I felt compelled to dismiss Mackinnon’s

suspicions from my mind as groundless, and determined on no account

to alarm my friends in such needlessly silly fashion.

 

How well I remember Mr. and Miss Maybourne’s arrival! It was on a

Wednesday, exactly three weeks after my conversation with Mackinnon

just recorded, that a boy appeared with a note from the old gentleman

to me. It was written from the township, and stated that they had got

so far and would be with me during the afternoon. From that time

forward I was in a fever of impatience. Over and over again I

examined my preparations with a critical eye, discussed the meals

with the cook to make sure that he had not forgotten a single

particular, drilled my servants in their duties until I had brought

them as near perfection as it was possible for me to get them, and in

one way and another fussed about generally until it was time for my

guests to arrive. I had fitted up my own bedroom for Miss Maybourne,

and made it as comfortable as the limited means at my disposal would

allow. Her father would occupy the overseer’s room, that individual

sharing a tent with me at the back.

 

The sun was just sinking to his rest below the horizon when I

espied a cloud of dust on the western veldt. Little by little it grew

larger until we could distinctly make out a buggy drawn by a pair of

horses. It was travelling at a high rate of speed, and before many

minutes were over would be with us. As I watched it my heart began to

beat so tumultuously that it seemed as if those around me could not

fail to hear it. In the vehicle now approaching was the woman I

loved, the woman whom I had made up my mind I should never see

again.

 

Five minutes later the horses had pulled up opposite my verandah

and I had shaken hands with my guests and was assisting Agnes to

alight. Never before had I seen her look so lovely. She seemed quite

to have recovered from the horrors of the shipwreck, and looked even

stronger than when I had first seen her on the deck of the Fiji

Princess, the day we had left Southampton. She greeted me with a

fine show of cordiality, but under it it was easy to see that she was

as nervous as myself. Having handed the horses and buggy over to a

couple of my boys, I led my guests into the house I had prepared for

them.

 

Evidently they had come with the intention of being pleased, for

they expressed themselves as surprised and delighted with every

arrangement I had made for their comfort. It was a merry party, I can

assure you, that sat down to the evening meal that night—so merry,

indeed, that under the influence of Agnes’ manner even Mackinnon

forgot himself and ceased to prophesy ruin and desolation.

 

When the meal was finished we adjourned to the verandah and lit

our pipes. The evening was delightfully cool after the heat of the

day, and overhead the stars twinkled in the firmament of heaven like

countless lamps, lighting up the sombre veldt till we could see the

shadowy outline of trees miles away. The evening breeze rustled the

long grass, and across the square the figure of our cook could just

be seen, outlined against the ruddy glow of the fire in the hut

behind him. How happy I was I must leave you to guess. From where I

sat I could catch a glimpse of my darling’s face, and see the gleam

of her rings as her hand rested on the arm of her chair. The memory

of the awful time we had spent together on the island, and in the

open boat, came back to me with a feeling that was half pleasure,

half pain. When I realized that I was entertaining them in my abode

in Rhodesia, it seemed scarcely possible that we could be the same

people.

 

Towards the end of the evening, Mr. Maybourne made an excuse and

went into the house, leaving us together. Mackinnon had long since

departed. When we were alone, Agnes leant a little forward in her

chair, and said:

 

“Are you pleased to see me, Gilbert?”

 

“More pleased than I can tell you,” I answered, truthfully. “But

you must not ask me if I think you were wise to come.”

 

“I can see that you think I was not,” she continued. “But how

little you understand my motives. I could not–-”

 

Thinking that perhaps she had said too much, she checked herself

suddenly, and for a little while did not speak again. When she did,

it was only about the loneliness of my life on the mine, and such

like trivial matters. Illogical as men are, though I had hoped, for

both our sakes, that she would not venture again on such delicate

ground as we had traversed before we said good-bye, I could not help

a little sensation of disappointment when she acted up to my advice.

I was still more piqued when, a little later, she stated that she

felt tired, and holding out her hand, bade me “good-night,” and went

to her ‘com.

 

Here I can only give utterance to a remark which, I am told, is as

old as the hills—and that is, how little we men understand the

opposite sex. From that night forward, for the first three or four

days of her visit, Agnes’ manner towards me was as friendly as of

old, but I noticed that she made but small difference between her

treatment of Mackinnon and the way in which she behaved towards

myself. This was more than I could bear, and in consequence my own

behaviour towards her changed. I found myself bringing every bit of

ingenuity I possessed to bear on an attempt to win her back to the

old state. But it was in vain I Whenever I found an opportunity, and

hinted at my love for her, she invariably changed the conversation

into such a channel that all my intentions were frustrated. In

consequence, I exerted myself the more to please until my passion

must have been plain to everyone about the place. Prudence, honour,

everything that separated me from her was likely to be thrown to the

winds. My infatuation for Agnes Maybourne had grown to such a pitch

that without her I felt that I could not go on living.

 

One day, a little more than a week after their arrival, it was my

good fortune to accompany her on a riding excursion to a waterfall in

the hills, distant some seven or eight miles from the mine. On the

way she rallied me playfully on what she called “my unusual

quietness.” This was more than I could stand, and I determined, as

soon as I could find a convenient opportunity, to test my fate and

have it settled for good and all.

 

On reaching our destination, we tied our horses, by their reins,

to a tree at the foot of the hill, and climbed up to the falls we had

ridden over to explore. After the first impression, created by the

wild grandeur of the scene, had passed, I endeavoured to make the

opportunity I wanted.

 

“How strangely little circumstances recall the past. What place

does that remind you of?” I asked, pointing to the rocky hill on the

other side of the fall.

 

“Of a good many,” she answered, a little artfully, I’m afraid. “I

cannot say that it reminds me of one more than another. All things

considered, there is a great sameness in South African scenery.”

 

Cleverly as she attempted to turn my question off, I was not to be

baulked so easily.

 

“Though the likeness has evidently not impressed you, it reminds

me very much of Salvage Island,” I said, drawing a step closer to her

side. “Half-way up that hill one might well expect to find the

plateau and the cave.”

 

“Oh, why do you speak to me of that awful cave,” she said, with a

shudder; “though I try to forget it, it always gives me a

nightmare.”

 

“I am sorry I recalled it to your memory, then,” I answered. “I

think in spite of the way you have behaved towards me lately, Agnes,

you are aware that I would not give you pain for anything. Do you

know that?”

 

As I put this question to her, I looked into her face. She dropped

her eyes and whispered “Yes.”

 

Emboldened by my success I resolved to push my fate still

further.

 

“Agnes,” I said, “I have been thinking over what I am going to say

to you now for some days past, and I believe I am doing right. I want

to tell you the story of my life, and then to ask you a question that

will decide the happiness of the rest of it. I want you to listen

and, when I have done, answer me from the bottom of your heart.

Whatever you say I will abide by.”

 

She looked up at me with a startled expression on her face.

 

“I will listen,” she said, “and whatever question you ask I will

answer. But think first, Gilbert; do you really wish me to know your

secret?”

 

“God knows I have as good reasons for wishing you to know as any

man could have,” I answered. “I can trust you as I can trust no one

else in the world. I wish