The Sign of the Spider

"I was. You are only just in time – only just. But I won't now that you have come."

"On the contrary, I want you to. I want you to come out with me, and at once, before an irruption of bores renders that manœuvre impracticable. Will you?"

"Of course I will. Which way shall we go? Up to the town?"

"Not much. Right in the opposite direction, and as far away from it as possible. Are you alone?"

"Not quite alone. Aunt is having her afternoon sleep; but May and George went to the town this morning. They intended to have lunch at the Stevensons', and then go on to the cricket ground. There's a match or something on to-day. George was cross because I wouldn't go too; but I had a touch of headache, and went to sleep instead. And oh, Laurence, I had such a horrible dream. It was about you."

"Oh, was it?" The words rapped themselves out quickly, nervously, more so than she had ever heard him talk before. But the awful and ghastly crisis of the morning was recalled by her words. "About me? Tell it to me."

"I can't. It was all rather vague, and yet so real. I dreamed that you were in the face of some strange, some horrible danger, against which I was powerless to warn you. I struggled to, even prayed. Then I was able. I warned you, and the danger seemed to pass. And oh, Laurence, I woke up crying!"

"Your dream was a true one, my Lilith. No, I will not tell you how or in what way. And will you always be empowered to warn me – to save me, my sweet guardian angel? I shall need it often enough during the next – er – in the time that is coming."

His face had taken on an unwonted expression, and his tones were suspiciously husky. Lilith looked wonderingly at him, and her own expression was grave and earnest. The sweet eyes became dewy with unshed tears.

"You know I will, if I may," she answered, stealing a hand into his for a sympathetic pressure, as they walked side by side.

They had been walking at a good pace over the open, treeless veldt, and the roofs of Booyseus were now quite dwarfed behind them.

"But, tell me," she continued, "are things any better? Oh, it is dreadful that you should have come all this way only to be more completely ruined than before – dreadful! I am always thinking about it. Yet I am of a hopeful disposition, as I told you. I never despair. Things will take a turn. They must."

"They have taken a turn, Lilith, but not in the direction you mean. I am going away."

She started. She knew that those words must one day be spoken. Now that they had been, they hurt.

"Back to England?"

The words came out breathlessly, and with a sort of gasp.

"No, not there. I am going up country, into the interior."

"Oh!"

There was relief in the ejaculation. For the moment she lost sight of all that was involved by such a destination. They would still be in the same land. That was something – or seemed so.

Now all the latent instincts, never half drawn forth, surged like molten volcano fires through Laurence Stanninghame's soul. The dead and stormy nature, slain within him, revivified, burst forth into warm, pulsating, struggling, rebellious life. This striving of heart against heart, this desperate effort still to patch up the rents in the flimsy veil, moved him infinitely. The veldt on the Witwatersrand is as open and devoid of cover as a billiard-table. The two were visible for miles. But for this he knew not what he might have done – rather he knew full well what he certainly would have done.

They took refuge in practical topics; they talked of the up-country trip.

"You are very friendly with that Mr. Hazon, are you not, Laurence? Nobody else is, and there are strange stories, not told, but hinted about him. He is a man I should be almost afraid of, and yet half admire. He strikes me as one who would be a terrible and relentless enemy, but as true as steel, true to self-sacrificing point, to a friend."

"That's exactly my opinion. Now, Hazon and I suit each other down to the ground. I have an especial faculty, remember, for getting on with unpopular individuals."

Thus they talked, and at length time forced them to turn their steps homeward. And as the sun rays began to slant golden upon the surrounding veldt, it seemed to Laurence that even that triste wilderness took on a glow that was more than of earth. How that afternoon, that walk, would dwell within his memory, stamped there indelibly! He thought how the day had opened, of that gnawing mental struggle culminating in – what? But for this girl at his side he would now be – what? She had saved him, she alone – her confidence in him, her high opinion of him, and – her love. Yes, her love. He looked upon her as she walked beside him, entrancing beyond words in her rich, warm beauty, a perfect dream of grace and symmetry. Even the hot sunlight seemed to linger, as with a kiss, upon the dark, brilliant loveliness of her eyes, on the soft curve of her lips.

"You are cruel, sorceress," he broke forth. "You have made yourself look especially enchanting because soon I shall see you no more. You are looking perfect."

She flashed a bright smile upon him, but it seemed to fade into a shadow, as of pain.

"Am I? Well, Laurence, one knows instinctively when one is looking one's best. It would be affectation to pretend otherwise. And I love to make myself look bright and sweet and attractive for you. And now – oh, dear, we are nearly home again. Come in with me now and stay the evening. We shall not be alone together again, I fear – this evening, I mean. But you will be going away so soon now, and I must see as much of you as I can."

He needed no persuasion. And as Lilith had said, they were not alone together again. But even the jealous George, who came back from the town more cantankerous than ever on learning of this addition, found balm in Gilead. That brute Stanninghame was going away up-country soon, he put it. Heaven send a convenient shot of malaria or a providential assegai prod to keep him there forever!

CHAPTER X.

PREPARATION

The days went by and Hazon's preparations were nearly completed, and it became patent to the Rand at large that "The Pirate" intended to relieve that delusive locality of his unwelcome presence; for a couple of waggons appeared on the scene, bearing his name, and in charge of a mysterious native of vast proportions and forbidding physiognomy, who seemed not to be indigenous to those parts, nor, indeed, to hail from anywhere around. And Hazon, in his quiet, thorough way, was very busy in fitting out these waggons, loading them with articles suitable for up-country trade, eke with munitions of sport, and, if need be, war. Wherein he was ably assisted by Laurence Stanninghame.

On learning that the latter was a party to the undertaking, whatever it was, the Rand shrugged its shoulders, and whispered; and the burden of its whispering consisted mainly of the ancient innuendo relating to those who had heretofore accompanied Hazon anywhere. This one – would he not travel the same dark road as others had done, whatever that road might be? But that was his own lookout, and he had been warned. And the two men would hold long and earnest confabs together; but those which were the most earnest were held in the course of long rides away into the veldt. Then they would dismount at some sequestered spot, where, secure from all interruption, weather-beaten maps and plans and darkly written memos., also ciphers, would be produced and long and carefully discussed. Of this, however, the Rand knew nothing; yet from such Laurence would return feeling a trifle graver, for even he had to accustom himself to such a road to wealth as was here held out. But his case was desperate. He was utterly ruined, and to the same extent reckless. It was sink or swim, and not his was the mind to elect to go under when the jettison of a last lingering scruple or two would keep him afloat. As for potential – nay, certain – risk, that did not enter into his calculations.

Now, while these preparations were in progress, Holmes was going about with a very gloomy countenance; more than hinting, indeed, at a desire to take part in the trip. Finally, he put it plainly to Laurence himself.

"Take my advice and watch it," the latter decisively replied. Then remembering that the ostensible object of the undertaking was sport and native trade, he went on, "You see, Holmes, it's going to be a hard business. Not just three or four months up in the bush-veldt and so forth, but – well, Heaven only knows where the thing will end, let alone how."

"I don't care about that. Why, it's just the very thing that'll suit me down to the ground. I say, Stanninghame, I know you don't mind, but Hazon? I've always stood up for Hazon, and we seem to get on all right? Do put it to Hazon. I could pay my shot, of course."

There was a despondency of manner and tone that was extremely foreign to the mercurial Holmes, and this, together with certain signs he had read of late, caused Laurence to look up with a queer half smile.

"Why are you so anxious to clear from here, Holmes? Rather sudden, isn't it?"

"Oh, I'm dead off waiting for a 'boom' that never comes. It's dashed sickening, don't you know."

"It is. And what else is dashed sickening? That isn't all."

The other stared for a moment, then, as though he were bringing it out with an effort, he burst forth:

"Oh, well, hang it all, Stanninghame, I don't see why I shouldn't tell you. The fact is I've – I've got the chuck."

Laurence laughed inwardly. He understood.

"Why, I thought you were bringing it on all right," he said.

"So did I; but when I put it to her, she was dead off," said Holmes, disconsolately savage.

"Sure?"

"Cert."

"Well, give her another show. Some women – girls especially – like that sort of application twice over. They think it enhances their value in some inexplicable way," said Laurence, with a touch of characteristic satire. "I don't, but that's a matter of opinion. And, I don't want to hurt your feelings, Holmes, but is this one worth it?"

"I don't know," answered the other savagely, driving his heel into the ground. "It's that beast Barstow. What the deuce she can see in him, bangs me."

"Yes, unless it is that you hold a quantity of unsaleable scrip and he doesn't," rejoined Laurence, who had been secretly amused in watching the progress of pretty Mabel Falkner's latest preference. "But in any case I think you'd better not touch it, or you'll find yourself on the one horn or other of this dilemma; if she is coming the 'playing off' trick, why, that is despicable, and in fact not good enough; if she means business, why, you can't go begging to her for what she has given to the other Johnny without any begging at all. See?"

"Oh, yes, I see," was the rueful rejoinder. "By the Lord, Stanninghame, I used to think you a deuced snarling, cynical beggar at first, but now, 'pon my soul, I believe you're right."