The Lust of Hate, Guy Newell Boothby [essential books to read .txt] 📗
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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
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