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

in the west. To Sylvia it had been an inexplicably tiring day, and when they departed at length she breathed a wholly unconscious sigh of relief.
"Come for a ride!" said Burke.
She shook her head. "No, thank you. I think I will have a rest."
"All right. I'll smoke a pipe on the _stoep_," he said.
He had been riding round his land with Merston during the greater part of the afternoon, and it did not surprise her that he seemed to think that he also had earned a quiet evening. But curiously his decision provoked in her an urgent desire to ride alone. A pressing need for solitude was upon her. She yearned to get right away by herself.
She went to her room, however, and lay down for a while, trying to take the rest she needed; but when presently she heard the voice of Hans Schafen, his Dutch foreman, talking on the verandah, she arose with a feeling of thankfulness, donned her sun-hat, and slipped out of the bungalow. It was hot for walking, but it was a relief to get away from the house. She knew it was quite possible that Burke would see her go, but she believed he would be too engrossed with business for some time to follow her. It was quite possible he would not wish to do so, but she had a feeling that this was not probable. He generally sought her out in his leisure hours.
Almost instinctively she turned her steps in the direction of the kopje which she had so often desired to climb. It rose steep from the _veldt_ like some lonely tower in the wilderness. Curious-shaped rocks cropped out unexpectedly on its scarred sides and a few prickly pear bushes stood up here and there like weird guardians of the rugged stronghold. Sylvia had an odd feeling that they watched her with unfriendly attention as she approached. Though solitude girt her round, she did not feel herself to be really alone.
It took her some time to reach it, for the ground was rough and sandy under her feet, and it was farther away than it looked. She realized as she drew nearer that to climb to the round summit would be no easy task, but that fact did not daunt her. She felt the need for strenuous exercise just then.
The shadows were lengthening, and the full glare of the sun no longer smote upon her. She began to climb with some energy. But she soon found that she had undertaken a greater task than she had anticipated. The way was steep, and here and there the boulders seemed to block further progress completely. She pressed on with diminishing speed, taking a slanting upward course that presently brought her into the sun again and in view of the little cabin above the stony watercourse that had sheltered Guy for so long.
The sight of it seemed to take all the strength out of her. She sat down on a rock to rest. All day long she had been forcing the picture that Mrs. Merston had painted for her into the background of her thoughts. All day long it had been pressing forward in spite of her. It seemed to be burning her brain, and now she could not ignore it any longer. Sitting there exhausted in mind and body, she had to face it in all its crudeness. She had to meet and somehow to conquer the sickening sensation of revolt that had come upon her.
She sat there for a long time, till the sun sank low in the sky and a wondrous purple glow spread across the _veldt_. She knew that it was growing late, that Burke would be expecting her for the evening meal, but she could not summon the strength she needed to end her solitary vigil on the _kopje_. She had a feeling as of waiting for something. Though she was too tired to pray, yet it seemed to her that a message was on its way. She watched the glory in the west with an aching intensity that possessed her to the exclusion of aught beside. Somehow, even in the midst of her weariness and depression, she felt sure that help would come.
The glory began to wane, and a freshness blew across the _veldt_. Somewhere on the very top of the _kopje_ a bird uttered a twittering note. She turned her face, listening for the answer, and found Burke seated on another boulder not six yards away.
So unexpected was the sight that she caught her breath in astonishment and a sharp instinctive sense of dismay. He was not looking at her, but gazing forth to the distant hills like an eagle from its eyrie. His eyes had the look of seeing many things that were wholly beyond her vision.
She sat in silence, a curious feeling of embarrassment upon her, as if she looked upon something which she was not meant to see and yet could not turn from. His brown face was so intent, almost terribly keen. The lines about the mouth were drawn with ruthless distinctness. It was the face of a hunter, and the iron resolution of it sent an odd quiver that was almost of foreboding through her heart.
And then suddenly he turned his head slightly, as if he felt her look upon him, and like a knife-thrust his eyes came down to hers. She felt the hot colour rush over her face as if she had been caught in some act of trespass. Her confusion consumed her, she could not have said wherefore. She looked swiftly away.
Quietly he left his rock and came to her.
She shrank at his coming. The pulse in her throat was throbbing as if it would choke her. She wanted to spring up and flee down the hill. But he was too near. She sat very still, her fingers gripping each other about her knees, saying no word.
He reached her and stood looking down at her. "I followed you," he said, "because I knew you would never get to the top alone."
She lifted her face, striving against her strange agitation. "I wasn't thinking of going any further," she said, struggling to speak indifferently. "It--is steeper than I thought."
"It aways is," said Burke.
He sat down beside her, close to her. She made a small, instinctive movement away from him, but he did not seem to notice. He took off his hat and laid it down.
"I'm sorry Mrs. Merston had to be inflicted on you for so long," he said. "I'm afraid she is not exactly cheery company."
"I didn't mind," said Sylvia.
He gave her a faintly whimsical look. "Not utterly fed up with Africa and all her beastly ways?" he questioned.
She shook her head. "I don't think I am so easily swayed as all that."
"You would rather stay here with me than go back home to England?" he said.
Her eyes went down to the lonely hut on the sand. "Why do you ask me that?" she said, in a low voice.
"Because I want to know," said Burke.
Sylvia was silent.
He went on after a moment. "I've a sort of notion that Mrs. Merston is not a person to spread contentment around her under any circumstances. If she lived in a palace at the top of the world she wouldn't be any happier."
Sylvia smiled faintly at the allusion. "I don't think she has very much to make her happy," she said. It's a little hard to judge her under present conditions."
"She's got one of the best for a husband anyway," he maintained.
"Do you think that's everything?" said Sylvia.
"No, I don't," said Burke unexpectedly. "I think he spoils her, which is bad for any woman. It turns her head in the beginning and sours her afterwards."
Sylvia turned at that and regarded him, a faint light of mockery in her eyes. "What a lot you know about women!" she remarked.
He laughed in a way she did not understand. "If I had a wife," he said, "I'd make her happy, but not on those lines."
"I thought you had one," said Sylvia.
He met her eyes with a sudden mastery which made her flinch in spite of herself. "No," he said, "I've only a make-believe at present. Not very satisfying of course; but better than nothing. There is always the hope that she may some day turn into the real thing to comfort me."
His words went into silence. Sylvia's head was bent.
After a moment he leaned a little towards her, and spoke almost in a whisper. "I feel as if I have caught a very rare, shy bird," he said. "I'm trying to teach it to trust me, but it takes a mighty lot of time and patience. Do you think I shall ever succeed, Sylvia? Do you think it will ever come and nestle against my heart?"
Again his words went into silence. The girl's eyes were fixed upon the stretch of sandy _veldt_ below her and that which it held.
Silently the man watched her, his keen eyes very steady, very determined.
She lifted her own at last, and met them with brave directness. "You know, partner," she said, "it isn't very fair of you to ask me such a thing as that. You can't have--everything."
"All right," said Burke, and felt in his pocket for his pipe. "Consider it unsaid!"
His abrupt acceptance of her remonstrance was curiously disconcerting. The mastery of his look had led her to expect something different. She watched him dumbly as he filled his pipe with quiet precision.
Finally, as he looked at her again, she spoke. "I don't want to seem over-critical--ungrateful, but--" her breath came quickly--"though you have been so awfully good to me, I can't help feeling--that you might have done more for Guy, if--if you had been kinder when he went wrong. And--" her eyes filled with sudden tears--"that thought spoils--just everything."
"I see," said Burke, and though his lips were grim his voice was wholly free from harshness. "Mrs. Merston told you all about it, did she?"
Sylvia's colour rose again. She turned slightly from him. "She didn't say much," she said.
There was a pause. Then unexpectedly Burke's hand closed over her two clasped ones. "So I've got to be punished, have I?" he said.
She shook her head, shrinking a little though she suffered his touch. "No. Only--I can't forget it,--that's all."
"Or forgive?" said Burke.
She swallowed her tears with an effort. "No, not that. I'm not vindictive. But--oh, Burke--" she turned to him impulsively,--"I wish--I wish--we could find Guy!"
He stiffened almost as if at a blow. "Why?" he demanded sternly.
For a moment his look awed her, but only for a moment; the longing in her heart was so great as to overwhelm all misgiving. She grasped his arm tightly between her hands.
"If we could only find him--and save him--save him somehow from the horrible pit he seems to have fallen into! We could do it between us--I feel sure we could do it---if only--if only--we could find him!"
Breathlessly her words rushed out. It seemed as if she had stumbled almost inadvertently upon the solution of the problem that had so tormented her. She marvelled now that she had ever been able to endure inaction with