CHAPTER XI
ON THE BRINK
For a few weeks after John Niel's adventure at the shooting-party no
event of any importance occurred at Mooifontein. Day followed day in
charming monotony, for, whatever "gay worldlings" may think, monotony
is as full of charm as a dreamy summer afternoon. "Happy is the
country that has no history," says the voice of wisdom, and the same
remark maybe made with even more truth of the individual. To get up in
the morning conscious of health and strength, to pursue the common
round and daily task till evening comes, and finally to go to bed
pleasantly tired and sleep the sleep of the just, is the true secret
of happiness. Fierce excitements, excursions, and alarms do not
conduce either to mental or physical well-being, and it is for this
reason that we find that those whose lives have been chiefly concerned
with them crave the most after the quiet round of domestic life. When
they get it, often, it is true, they pant for the ardours of the fray
whereof the dim and distant sounds are echoing through the spaces of
their heart, in the same way that the countries without a history are
sometimes anxious to write one in their own blood. But that is a
principle of Nature, who will allow of no standing still among her
subjects, and who has ordained that strife of one sort or another
shall be the absolute condition of existence.
On the whole, John found that the life of a South African farmer came
well up to his expectations. He had ample occupation; indeed, what
between ostriches, horses, cattle, sheep, and crops, he was rather
over than under occupied. Nor was he much troubled by the lack of
civilised society, for he was a man who read a great deal, and books
could be ordered from Durban and Cape Town, while the weekly mail
brought with it a sufficient supply of papers. On Sundays he always
read the political articles in the "Saturday Review" aloud to Silas
Croft, who, as he grew older, found that the print tried his eyes, an
attention which the old man greatly appreciated. Silas was a well-
informed man, and notwithstanding his long life spent in a
half-civilised country, had never lost his hold of affairs or his
interest in the wide and rushing life of the world in one of whose
side eddies he lived apart. This task of reading the "Saturday Review"
aloud had formerly been a part of Bessie's Sunday service, but her
uncle was very glad to effect an exchange. Bessie's mind was not quite
in tune with the profundities of that learned journal, and her
attention was apt to wonder at the most pointed passages.
Thus it came about, what between the "Saturday Review" and other
things, that a very warm and deep attachment sprang up twixt the old
man and his younger partner. John was a taking man, especially to the
aged, for whom he was never tired of performing little services. One
of his favourite sayings was that old people should be "let down
easy," and he acted up to it. Moreover, there was a quiet jollity and
a bluff honesty about him which was undoubtedly attractive both to men
and women. Above all, he was a well-informed, experienced man, and a
gentleman, in a country in which both were rare. Each week Silas Croft
came to rely more and more on him, and allowed things to pass more and
more into his hands.
"I'm getting old, Niel," he said to him one night; "I'm getting very
old; the grasshopper is becoming a burden to me: and I'll tell you
what it is, my boy," laying his hand affectionately upon John's
shoulder, "I have no son of my own, and you must be a son to me, as my
dear Bessie has been a daughter."
John looked up into the kindly, handsome face, crowned with its fringe
of snowy hair, and at the keen eyes set deep in it beneath the
overhanging brows, and thought of his old father who was long since
dead; and somehow he was moved, and his own eyes filled with tears.
"Ay, Mr. Croft," he said, taking the old man's hand, "that I will to
the best of my ability."
"Thank you, my boy, thank you. I don't like talking much about these
things, but, as I said, I am getting old, and the Almighty may require
my account any hour, and if He does I rely on you to look after these
two girls. It is a wild country this, and one never knows what will
happen in it from day to day, and they may want help. Sometimes I wish
I were clear of the place. And now I'm going to bed. I am beginning to
feel as though I had done my day's work in the world. I'm getting
feeble John, this is the fact of it."
After that he always called him John.
Of Jess they heard but little. She wrote every week, it is true, and
gave an accurate account of all that was going on at Pretoria and of
her daily doings, but she was one of those people whose letters tell
one absolutely nothing of themselves and of what is passing in their
minds. They ought to have been headed "Our Pretoria Letter," as Bessie
said disgustedly after reading through three sheets in Jess's curious,
upright handwriting. "Once you lose sight of Jess," she went on, "she
might as well be dead for all you learn about her. Not that one learns
very much when she is here," she added reflectively.
"She is a peculiar woman," said John thoughtfully. At first he had
missed her very much, for, strange as she undoubtedly was, she had
touched a new string in him, of the existence of which he had not till
then been himself aware. And what is more, it had answered strongly
enough for some time; but now it was slowly vibrating itself into
silence again, much as a harp does when the striker takes his fingers
from the strings. Had she stayed on another week or so the effect
might have been more enduring.
But although Jess had gone away Bessie had not. On the contrary, she
was always about him, surrounding him with that tender care a woman,
however involuntarily, cannot prevent herself from lavishing on the
man she loves. Her beauty moved about the place like a beam of light
about a garden, for she was indeed a lovely woman, and as pure and
good as she was lovely. Nor could John long remain in ignorance of her
liking for himself. He was not a vain man--very much the reverse,
indeed--but neither was he a fool. And it must be said that, though
Bessie never overstepped the bounds of maidenly reserve, neither did
she take particular pains to hide her preference. Indeed, it was too
strong to permit her so to do. Not that she was animated by the half-
divine, soul-searing breath of passion, such as animated her sister,
which is a very rare thing, and, take it altogether, as undesirable
and unsuitable to the ordinary conditions of this prosaic and work-a-
day life as it is rare. But she was tenderly and truly in love after
the usual young-womanly fashion; indeed, her passion, measured by the
everyday standard, would have proved to be a deep one. However this
might be, she was undoubtedly prepared to make John Niel a faithful
and loving wife if he chose to ask her to marry him.
And as the weeks went on--though, of course, he knew nothing of all
this--it became a very serious question to John whether he should not
ask her. It is not good for a man to live alone, especially in the
Transvaal, and it was not possible for him to pass day by day at the
side of so much beauty and so much grace without thinking that it
would be well to draw the bond of union closer. Indeed, had John been
a younger man of less experience, he would have succumbed to the
temptation much sooner than he did. But he was neither very young nor
very inexperienced. Ten years or more ago, in his green and gushing
youth, as has been said, he had burnt his fingers to the bone, and a
lively recollection of this incident in his career heretofore had
proved a very efficient warning. Also, he had reached that period of
life when men think a great many times before they commit themselves
wildly to the deep matrimonial waters. At three-and-twenty, for the
sake of a pretty face, most of us are willing to undertake the serious
and in many cases overwhelming burdens, risks, and cares of family
life, and the responsibility of the parentage of a large and healthy
brood, but at three-and-thirty we take a different view of the matter.
The temptation may be great, but the per contra list is so very
alarming, and we never know even then if we see all the liabilities.
Such are the black thoughts that move in the breasts of selfish men,
to the great disadvantage of the marriage market; and however it may
lower John Niel in the eyes of those who take the trouble to follow
this portion of his life's history, in the interests of truth it must
be confessed that he was not free from them.
In short, sweet and pretty as Bessie might be, he was not violently in
love with her; and at thirty-four a man must be violently in love to
rush into the near risk of matrimony. But, however commendably
cautious that man may be, he is always liable to fall into temptation
sufficiently strong to sweep away his caution and make a mockery of
his plans. However strong the rope, it has its breaking strain; and in
the same way our power of resistance to any given course depends
entirely upon the power of the temptation to draw us into it. Thus it
was destined to be with our friend John Niel.
It was about a week after his conversation with old Silas Croft that
it occurred to John that Bessie's manner had grown rather strange of
late. It seemed to him that she had avoided his society instead of
showing a certain partiality for it, if not of courting it. Also, she
had looked pale and worried, and evinced a tendency to irritation that
was quite foreign to her natural sweetness of character. Now, when a
person on whom one is accustomed to depend for most of that social
intercourse and those pleasant little amenities which members of one
sex value from another, suddenly cuts off the supply without any
apparent rhyme or reason, it is enough to induce a feeling of wonder,
not to say of vexation, in the breast. It never occurred to John that
the reason might be that Bessie was truly fond of him, and perhaps
unconsciously disappointed that he did not show a warmer interest in
her. If, however, we were to examine into the facts of the case we
should probably discover that here was the real explanation of this
change. Bessie was a straightforward young person, whose mind and
purposes were as clear as running water. She was vexed with John--
though she would probably not have owned it even to herself in so many
words--and her manner reflected the condition of her mind.
"Bessie," said John one lovely day, just as the afternoon was merging
into evening, "Bessie"--he always called her Bessie now--"I am going
down to the black wattle plantation by the big mealie patch. I want to
see how those young trees are doing. If you have done your cooking"--
for she had been engaged in making a cake, as young ladies, to their
souls' health, often have to do in the Colonies--"I wish you would put
on your hat and come with me. I don't believe that you have been out
to-day."
"Thank you, Captain Niel, I don't think that I want to come out."
"Why not?" he said.
"Oh, I don't know--because there is too much to do. If I go out that
stupid girl will burn the cake," and she pointed to a Kafir /intombi/
(young girl), who, arrayed in a blue smock, a sweet smile, and a
feather stuck in her wool, was vigorously employed in staring at the
flies on the ceiling and sucking her black fingers. "Really," she
added with a little stamp, "one needs the patience of an angel to put
up with that idiot's stupidity. Yesterday she smashed the biggest
dinner-dish and then brought me the pieces with a broad grin on her
face and asked me to 'make them one' again. The white people were so
clever, she said, it would be no trouble to me. If they could make the
china plate once, and could cause flowers to grow on it, it would
surely be easy to make it whole again. I did not know whether to laugh
or cry or throw the pieces at her."
"Look here, young woman," said John, taking the sinning girl by the
arm and leading her solemnly to the oven, which was opened to receive
the cake; "look here, if you let that cake burn while the /inkosikaas/
(lady chieftain) is away, when I come back I will cram you into the
oven to burn with it. I cooked a girl like that in Natal last year,
and when she came out she was quite white!"
Bessie translated this fiendish threat, whereat the girl grinned from
ear to ear and murmured "/Koos/" (chief) in cheerful acquiescence. A
Kafir maid on a pleasant afternoon is not troubled by the prospect of
being baked at nightfall, which is a long way off, especially when it
is John Niel who threatened the baking. The natives about Mooifontein
had taken the measure of John's foot by this time with accuracy. His
threats were awful, but his performances were not great. Once, indeed,
he was forced to engage in a stand-up fight with a great fellow who
thought that he could be taken advantage of on this account, but after
he had succeeded in administering a sound hiding to that champion he
was never again troubled in this respect.
"Now," he said, "I think we have provided for the safety of your cake,
so come on."
"Thank you, Captain Niel," answered Bessie, looking at him in a
bewitching little way she well knew how to assume, "thank you, but I
think I had rather not go out walking." This was what she said, but
her eyes added, "I am offended with you; I want to have nothing to do
with you."
"Very well," said John; "then I suppose I must go alone," and he took
up his hat with the air of a martyr.
Bessie looked through the open kitchen door at the lights and shadows
that chased each other across the swelling bosom of the hill behind
the house.
"It certainly is very fine," she said; "are you going far?"
"No, only round the plantation."
"There are so many puff-adders down there, and I hate snakes,"
suggested Bessie, by way of finding another excuse for not coming.
"Oh, I'll look after the puff-adders--come along."
"Well," she said at last, as she slowly unrolled her sleeves, which
had been tucked up during the cake-making, and hid her beautiful white
arms, "I will come, not because I want to come, but because you have
over-persuaded me. I don't know what is happening to me," she added,
with a little stamp and a sudden filling of her eyes with tears, "I do
not seem to have any will of my own left. When I want to do one thing
and you want me to do another it is I who have to do what you want;
and I tell you I don't like it, Captain Niel, and I shall be very
cross out walking;" and sweeping past him, on her way to fetch her
hat, in that peculiarly graceful fashion which angry women can
sometimes assume, she left John to reflect that he never saw a more
charming or taking lady in Europe or out of it.
He had half a mind to risk it and ask her to marry him. But then,
perhaps, she might refuse him, and that was a contingency which he did
not quite appreciate. After their first youth few men altogether
relish the idea of putting themselves in a position that gives a
capricious woman an opportunity of first figuratively "jumping" on
them, and then perhaps holding them up to the scorn and obloquy of her
friends, relations, and other admirers. For, unfortunately, until the
opposite is clearly demonstrated, many men are apt to believe that not
a few women are by nature capricious, shallow, and unreliable; and
John Niel, owing, possibly, to that unhappy little experience of his
youth, must be reckoned among their misguided ranks.
