coming up from the yard near the creek where the goats were herded, maud neville stood a moment in the darkened dining-room; and, standing there, she heard selwyn begin his story. she dreamed while the first words were spoken, soothed by the change from sunlight to the shadows and quiet of indoors; then understanding arrived, and she stood wide-eared to the end.
waiting by the table, clad in a cool dress, with a wide straw hat upon her head, she happened upon the telling of that tale, and stood listening until the final word was spoken. in that space life lived and done with. a book opened; the story read. truth told which could not be untold. and she must rouse herself from daydreaming in this quiet room, for outside a sun was shining, and earth still rolled through high heaven.
she lingered among the shadows a little while yet, while the greedy sunlight crept under the verandah roof seeking a way to climb in. her light fingers moved among the household gods, settling and re-settling them with old skill.
give her strength to find the way into the sunlight white and fiery. winter must thaw there, and these tongues of slander wither and roll up black. he loved her! who dared to deny he loved her? yet now he came less often. he came with gloomy face and brow old with frowns. truth was too true! love had learned unloving.
stay, he loved her a little still and therefore he grieved to speak the truth. he came and came again that he might kill her gently, and lay dead love to sleep upon its broken flowers. let her thank him for this kindness which had kept her glad a little while. surely death thus gently come was not a fearful visitor?
she shook. this was rage assailing her. hot rage, this moment. this moment, icy hate. come and gone in fierce breaths. now storm had passed away, and she stood quiet, trembling a little.
not to-day this message. let him love her once more to-night. let him kiss back her kisses, and she would be strong to-morrow.
a world rolling through its day, and she dreaming in this cool room. wake up from dreaming. outside sunlight woos the red earth, and bronze lizards sit upon the stones.
she showed no signs of hurt when presently she came out of the quiet and began the tasks set to do in the brief space of morning that remained. one asked her were she tired. one warned her summer was but begun, and only those who started prudently would last through to the end. she laughed and said she would cause all to look to their laurels. when lunch was ended, to prove the heat of the day had small fright for her, she renounced the verandah for her bedroom, and her cool dress for a habit. at the last moment, when there remained only the saddling, she sought out her father and told him she would be away until sundown. the old man cocked his head to one side in dismay.
"what's taken ye, girl?" he said. "why not wait for evening and the cool?"
"i'm sick of indoors. i am going now, father."
"well, it's you to do the riding, girl, and not me. don't be stopping out after sunset and scarin' us. where are you going?"
"to the river."
the old man grunted, and she turned and left the house. she saddled stockings, the chestnut with four white legs, she mounted him, and he moved freely down the road, reefing a little at the beginning from good spirits. she checked him to a walk, and presently he ceased to fret and plodded down the way with head drooping lower as each mile was put behind. presently hills stood between the camp and her. presently she was far into the plain. the sun was high up in the sky; the air was hot and without breeze. the red hill sides glared back into the sun's face. the baked bunches of spinifex pushed up their spears from the ground. at the end of several miles she began to fag, although all her task was to sit astride this big horse. purpose held her moving along the road. the green belt of the river grew up upon the horizon.
rage and bitterness had spent their hours in her heart and had passed to where such things pass. now care came, a lonely child, to suck at her breast. came too this desire to look upon that beauty which could command men to cast all away and follow—a desire to stare upon it from her high seat on this beast.
the green belt marking the river came out across the plain. the big horse carried her into the shabby country which sheltered the higher trees from the broad face of the land. rubbish of old floods, long run to the sea, waited in the branches, and here and there high watermark showed above her head. now she rode among the nobler timber.
it was gentle here among the trees, where quiet shadows laid their cheeks against the path. a lonely bird fluted in the boughs. water peeped ahead through bending branches. it seemed the pool had shrunken much after these rainless months.
presently, when she had passed a long way through the trees, she pulled up stockings on the bank and looked down into the water. the face of the pool stared back into her own, and she could mark the lean fishes lolling in cool places, and discover a world of weeds nodding below. last great lilies of the year bloomed lonely upon the brow of the water. to right hand, to left hand, the face of the pool extended. guardian ranks of trees followed all the way, bending over in many places to stare at their countenances. sunlight slipped among their tops, and tumbled into the gloom of their boughs, and splashed upon the water with noiseless splashes. shadows with dusky faces peered round the tree trunks to know who came thus to look with sad face upon the slumbers of an afternoon.
she had drawn quietly to the bank, and now she discovered wild birds dozed upon the bosom of the pool. fat ducks floated, with bills laid to rest in gorgeous plumes. divers paddled in loneliest places and sank among the weeds.[pg 226] strange birds shovelled in the hot soft mud. and in all corners—melodiously hidden—butcher birds called and called again, tiny birds with canary breasts flitted in the boughs, and sharpened their bills on the roughness of the bark; and kingfishers skimmed the water on shining, whirring wings.
she laid the reins upon the neck of the big horse which stood so still, and as she looked the message of peace laid a quiet finger upon her heart. she told herself the beautiful child who had so harmed her had a home by this gentle place, and so she could not be a stranger to kindness. she would undo the damage wrought. he who had wandered away after false gods saw every day this fair scene, and his heart must still have understanding. she turned stockings from the pool right-handed, and threaded a way along the bank. she began to wonder what to do when she would find herself face to face with the girl. she wondered if rumour had mistold of her beauty, and she grew bitter with her own poor body which could ill afford challenge. what would she say to this child if she had to speak to her—tell her to go down to the pool and there find a book printed with much learning? she would tell her gently she had played robber, and this stranger had ridden across the plain to receive back what she had lost. it was[pg 227] simple to give back where value was not. value was not? a new thought to stab. this young girl who lived among the silences of the timber might love too, and fight for her love with the weapons of the savage. beauty and passion come to do battle against her own dowdy armour.
what a coward heart she held! here was the camp coming through the trees. did she arrive on the service of love to peer and eavesdrop, and to smile out of her white face while rage filled her heart? ah, there the child lived. what a lowly house the man she loved had stooped to knock at! her own stout roof and safe walls could not keep him. her nerves were tight drawn to-day. stockings had whinnied loud, and the blood raced to her heart. the hut was not deserted. an unfriendly dog ran out to challenge the approach. in a moment the girl might cross the threshold, and find her without wit or speech. stockings neighed again—and was that a horse answering beyond the hut? a horse was there. a horseman must be here. shame! his horse stood there. she was near the doorway. she must ride on or turn back. she might be found there. such thing must never be. he might find her there, and think she spied upon him. he might come outside, and with him the child who had stolen him away.[pg 228] they two might look fondly at each other. no—not that.
she was clumsy. she had waited too long. he stood in the doorway. he was coming outside. he stood still. he had seen her. they were staring into each other's eyes. it seemed they could not leave off looking. they looked into each other's hearts and read all that was written there. his face had grown hard; he was frowning, his face black. come, she must rouse herself from enchantment. she could not speak to him now, and there was only left to turn stockings on the road home.
ah, who is this come out beside him? tall, like a young tree. who is this come to stand beside him and stare out of wide eyes? eyes set under a brow harnessed with thick brown coils of hair. young and careless and lovelier than all the beauty that slumbers through this summer afternoon. what fields of lilies yearn for her to seek them, that her slim white feet may crush among their stems, and they meet death from one lovelier than themselves? what woods of greedy violets sigh for her to pass among them that they may steal her fragrance and make the world sick with a sweeter sweetness? ah, what a poor tongue has legend. this was she whom rumour said bloomed lovely by the river. beauty born humbly, but not so[pg 229] humble that pale pilgrims did not glide through the silences to lift the clapper of her door. beauty housed humbly in a shabby temple; but beauty itself not humble. the flame that burnt! ah, rescue him!
she drew tight a rein and turned away; and as she passed again among the trees the birds were fluting in the boughs and on one hand the face of the waters twinkled in sunshine and in sleep. once she thought his voice came after her, commanding her to wait; but she scorned to turn about lest imagination mocked, and again she saw that hut set among the trees. it seemed stockings turned sluggard for this homeward journey, and in rage she plunged sudden spurs into his sides. he snorted loud and rose high into the air, and she must lean upon his wither to persuade him to earth. thereafter he turned fretful, seeking to reef the reins from her hands. they passed among the trees until the last ribbons of water were hidden. hark! on the edge of the timber and the empty land a hurry of hoofs reached her ears. quickly it grew loud. some madman rode. it was he come after her. he would ride at her side in a moment. give her strength to meet him manfully. fool he to seek her out now. she hated him with a hate as great as the love he had murdered.
[pg 230]
"i called out i would ride back with you. i had to saddle up. what was the hurry?"
"to tell the truth i didn't know i was needed. i set out to ride alone, and thought to finish the journey alone. but we can ride together now if you wish. the way lies side by side a mile or two. as well to practise again this art of riding side by side, lest it be quite forgotten. one—two—three—weeks, since we had last lesson. and once we used half the days of the week in mastering the art. why these scowls, friend jim?"
"come, don't talk riddles, maud. i'm not in humour to read them. if you have things to say, say them now while we have the place to ourselves. say what must be said. big words can drop and break here, and lie well broken. my ears are on edge for listening. but don't give me riddles."
"'jim power has tied himself up in a knot with some girl on the river.' soft words, jim, to have flung at me this morning.... oh, how could you do this?"
"gently, maud."
"gently? no, any word but that. speak up, jim. what knots your tongue? cry at me doubter, liar, shabby tattler of tales. the bitterer your words, the sweeter i shall hear them. where is your tongue? say you are[pg 231] sick with me for doubting. say the taste of this day will never leave your mouth, jim. frowns won't feed me."
"stop. i am at the end of what i can bear."
"you won't answer? jim, it isn't true?"
then fell upon those two riding side by side in the radiant afternoon the majesty and the melancholy of that wide red land. the little sounds of passage were born and died and put away forgotten. there lived upon the breast of time the sharp steps of two horses crossing the rubble on the ground. there lived the clink of bits when heads were tossed. there lived the tiny groans of leather. and in the bunches of spinifex punctual insects tuned their throats against the evening. but he and she passed away from all these things, and after much journeying came hand in hand into some rare atmosphere where they kneeled together, two mourners at the bier of dead love. he who was so quickly moved to anger, she who but a space ago had been cold in rage, felt now only a great purifying pity move through them that such a fair comrade had been laid in a narrow bed. desires, remorses, rages, strifes—those ragged clothes his spirit must often wear—were laid aside on the threshold of this high wide chamber, and he was re-robed in cool garments for the hour of vigil. as their spirits waited[pg 232] there, on either side of the bier where love was laid out among her fading blossoms, their bodies rode across the plain, and presently the long road lay before them, where she must turn right-handed to surprise and he ride left for kaloona. there they stayed a little while and spoke together.
