The Top of the World, Ethel May Dell [best book series to read .txt] 📗

evening suffer her thoughts voluntarily to turn in his direction. Soberly she took up the burden of life. She gathered up the reins of government, and assumed the ordering of Burke Ranger's household. She did not again refer to Guy in his presence, though there were times when his step, his voice, above all, his whistle, stabbed her to poignant remembrance.
He also avoided the subject of Guy, treating her with a careless kindliness that set her wholly at ease with him. She learned more and more of the working of the farm, and her interest in the young creatures grew daily. She loved to accompany him on his rides of inspection in the early mornings showing herself so apt a pupil that he presently dubbed her his overseer, and even at last entrusted her occasionally with such errands as only a confidential overseer could execute.
It was when returning from one of these somewhat late one blazing morning that she first encountered their nearest British neighbours from a farm nearly twelve miles distant. It was a considerable shock to her to find them in possession of the _stoep_ when she rode up, but the sight of the red-faced Englishman who strode out to meet her reassured her in a moment.
"How do you do, Mrs. Ranger? We've just come over to pay our respects," he announced in a big, hearty voice. "You'll hardly believe it, but we've only recently heard of Burke's marriage. It's been a nine days' wonder with us, but now I've seen you I cease to marvel at anything but Burke's amazing luck."
There was something so engagingly naive in this compliment that Sylvia found it impossible to be formal. She smiled and slipped to the ground.
"You are Mr. Merston," she said. "How kind of you to come over! I am afraid I am alone at present, but Burke is sure to be in soon. I hope you have had some refreshment."
She gave her horse to a Kaffir boy, and went with her new friend up the steps of the _stoep_.
"My wife!" said Merston in his jolly voice.
Sylvia went forward with an eagerness that wilted in spite of her before she reached its object. Mrs. Merston did not rise to meet her. She sat prim and upright and waited for her greeting, and Sylvia knew in a moment before their hands touched each other that here was no kindred spirit.
"How do you do?" said Mrs. Merston formally.
She was a little woman, possibly ten years Sylvia's senior, with a face that had once been pink and white and now was the colour of pale brick all over. Her eyes were pale and seemed to carry a perpetual grievance. Her nose was straight and very thin, rather pinched at the nostrils. Her lips were thin and took a bitter downward curve. Her hair was quite colourless, almost like ashes; it had evidently once been light gold.
The hand she extended to Sylvia was so thin that she thought she could feel the bones rubbing together. Her skin was hot and very dry.
"I hope you like this horrible country," she said.
"Oh, come, Matilda!" her husband protested.
"That's not a very cheery greeting for a newcomer!"
She closed her thin lips without reply, and the downward curve became very unpleasantly apparent.
"I haven't found out all its horrors yet," said Sylvia lightly. "It's a very thirsty place, I think, anyway just now. Have you had anything?"
"We've only just got here," said Merston.
"Oh, I must see to it!" said Sylvia, and hastened within.
"Looks a jolly sort of girl," observed Merston to his wife. "Wonder how--and when--Burke managed to catch her. He hasn't been home for ten years and she can't be five-and-twenty."
"She probably did the catching," remarked his wife tersely. "But she will soon wish she hadn't."
Sylvia returned two minutes later bearing a tray of which Merston hastened to relieve her.
"We're wondering--my wife and I--how Burke had the good fortune to get married to you," he said. "You're new to this country, aren't you? And he hasn't been out of it as long as I have known him."
Sylvia looked up at him in momentary confusion. Then she laughed.
"We picked each other up at Ritzen," she said.
"Ritzen!" he echoed in amazement, "What on earth took you there?" Then hastily, "I say, I beg your pardon. You must forgive my impertinence. But you look so awfully like a duchess in your own right, I couldn't help being surprised."
"Well, have a drink!" said Sylvia lightly. "I'm not a duchess in my own right or anything else, except Burke's wife. We're running this farm together on the partner system. I'm junior partner of course. Burke tells me what to do, and I do it."
"You'll soon lose your complexion if you go out riding in this heat and dust," said Mrs. Merston.
"Oh, I hope not," Sylvia laughed again. "If I do, I daresay I shan't miss it much. It's rather fun to feel that sort of thing doesn't matter. Ah, here is Burke coming now!" She glanced up at the thudding of his horse's hoofs.
Merston went out again into the blinding sunlight to greet his host, and Sylvia turned to the thin, pinched woman beside her.
"I expect you would like to come inside and take off your hat and wash. It is hot, isn't it? Shall we go in and get respectable?"
She spoke with that winning friendliness of hers that few could resist. Mrs. Merston's lined face softened almost in spite of itself. She got up. But she could not refrain from flinging another acid remark as she did so.
"I really think if Englishmen must live in South Africa, they ought to be content with Boer wives."
"Oh, should you like your husband to have married a Boer wife?" said Sylvia.
Mrs. Merston smiled grimly. "You are evidently still in the fool's paradise stage. Make the most of it! It won't last long. The men out here have other things to think about."
"I should hope so," said Sylvia energetically. "And the women, too, I should think. I should imagine that there is very little time for philandering out here."
Mrs. Merston uttered a bitter laugh as she followed her in. "There is very little time for anything, Mrs. Ranger. It is drudgery from morning till night."
"Oh, I haven't found that yet," said Sylvia.
She had led her visitor into the guest-room which she had occupied since her advent. It was not quite such a bare apartment as it had been on that first night. All her personal belongings were scattered about, and the severely masculine atmosphere had been completely driven forth.
"I'm afraid it isn't very tidy in here," she said. "I generally see to things later. I don't care to turn the Kaffir girl loose among my things."
Mrs. Merston looked around her. "And where does your husband sleep?" she said.
"Across the passage. His room is about the same size as this. They are not very big, are they?"
"You are very lucky to have such a home," said Mrs. Merston. "Ours is nothing but a corrugated iron shed divided into two parts."
"Really?" Sylvia opened her eyes. "That doesn't sound very nice certainly. Haven't you got a verandah even--I beg its pardon, a _stoep_?"
"We have nothing at all that makes for comfort," declared Mrs. Merston, with bitter emphasis. "We live like pigs in a sty!"
"Good heavens!" said Sylvia. "I shouldn't like that."
"No, you wouldn't. It takes a little getting used to. But you'll go through the mill presently. All we farmers' wives do. You and Burke Ranger won't go on in this Garden of Eden style very long."
Sylvia laughed with a touch of uncertainty. "I suppose it's a mistake to expect too much of life anywhere," she said. "But it's difficult to be miserable when one is really busy, isn't it? Anyhow one can't be bored."
"Are you really happy here?" Mrs. Merston asked point-blank, in the tone of one presenting a challenge.
Sylvia paused for a moment, only a moment, and then she answered, "Yes."
"And you've been married how long? Six weeks?"
"About that," said Sylvia.
Mrs. Merston looked at her, and an almost cruel look came into her pale eyes. "Ah! You wait a little!" she said. "You're young now. You've got all your vitality still in your veins. Wait till this pitiless country begins to get hold of you! Wait till you begin to bear children, and all your strength is drained out of you, and you still have to keep on at the same grinding drudgery till you're ready to drop, and your husband comes in and laughs at you and tells you to buck up, when you haven't an ounce of energy left in you! See how you like the prison-house then! All your young freshness gone and nothing left--nothing left!"
She spoke with such force that Sylvia felt actually shocked. Yet still with that instinctive tact of hers, she sought to smooth the troubled waters. "Oh, have you children?" she said. "How many? Do tell me about them!"
"I have had six," said Mrs. Merston dully. "They are all dead."
She clenched her hands at Sylvia's quick exclamation of pity, but she gave no other sign of emotion.
"They all die in infancy," she said. "It's partly the climate, partly that I am overworked--worn out. He--" with infinite bitterness--"can't see it. Men don't--or won't. You'll find that presently. It's all in front of you. I don't envy you in the least, Mrs. Ranger. I daresay you think there is no one in the world like your husband. Young brides always do. But you'll find out presently. Men are all selfish where their own pleasures are concerned. And Burke Ranger is no exception to the rule. He has a villainous temper, too. Everyone knows that."
"Oh, don't tell me that!" said Sylvia gently. "He and I are partners, you know. Let me put a little _eau-de-cologne_ in that water! It's so refreshing."
Mrs. Merston scarcely noticed the small service. She was too intent upon her work of destruction. "You don't know him--yet," she said. "But anyone you meet can tell you the same. Why, he had a young cousin here--such a nice boy--and he sent him straight to the bad with his harsh treatment,--_sjamboked_ him and turned him out of the house for some slight offence. Yes, no wonder you look scandalized; but I assure you it's true. Guy Ranger was none too steady, I know. But that was absolutely the finishing touch. He was never the same again."
She paused. Sylvia was very white, but her eyes were quite resolute, unfailingly steadfast.
"Please don't tell me any more!" she said. "Whatever Burke did was--was from a good motive. I know that. I know him. And--I don't want to have any unkind feelings towards him."
"You prefer to remain blind?" said Mrs. Merston with her bitter smile,
"Yes--yes," Sylvia said.
"Then you are building your house on the sand," said Mrs. Merston, and turned from her with a shrug. "And great will be the fall thereof."


CHAPTER III
THE BARGAIN

THE visitors did not leave until the sun was well down