ANNA HOWARTH I •9 \ JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. \ a JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. BY ANNA HOWARTH. LONDON: SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15, WATERLOO PLACE, 1897. (AM rights reserved.') Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2019 with funding from University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill https://archive.org/details/janafrikanderOOhowa JAN: AN AFRIKANDER CHAPTER I. It was a still, breathless midsummer night in the end of January, on the southern coast of Africa. The wide, interminable stretches of sand along the shores of Algoa Bay were dark and empty; the air, with its faint salt fragrance, was moist and motionless; the sky was starless ; and the only sounds were the long wash of the receding tide and the occasional low mutterings of distant thunder. At one spot on this lonely shore two women were walking slowly, close to the water’s edge. They had left their hotel—a large solitary house standing among the sand-hills—and were seeking beside the waves a coolness which, however, was nowhere to be found. Their faces were turned towards the lights of Port Elizabeth, which were dimly visible through the haze, five miles away. The two women were mother and daughter; they B 2 JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. strolled along with pleasant alternations of intimate conversation and equally intimate silence. After one of the latter, the daughter said reflectively— “ There were two new-comers at the hotel to-day, both of whom puzzled me rather.” “ I know one,” said her mother—“ the young English¬ man who sat next to us at dinner.” “Yes,” replied the girl; “he seems such a curious mixture of exclusiveness and frankness—so very aris¬ tocratic and so very unsophisticated.” “I thought so too,” agreed her mother; “and the other ? ” “ The other was that lumpish young Dutchman, with surprised eyebrows and an immense upper lip, who kept on looking over his shoulder.” The elder woman laughed a little at this graphic description. “ He seemed very uneasy,” she observed—“ as if he expected some one who did not come. But he went back to Port Elizabeth by the six-o’clock train.” “ Oh, well, he didn’t give the impression of having spent a very happy day,” said her daughter; and then she added, in a lower voice, “ Why, I believe here is our young Englishman sitting on the wreck.” They were approaching the remains of an old wreck, almost buried in the sand, and covered over with JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. 3 mussels, whelks, barnacles, and sometimes oysters. The slight, well-knit figure of a young man was just visible, seated on the old timber, and facing towards the sea. It was Reginald Carson, the young English¬ man of whom the two ladies had been speaking. As they came up he rose and lifted his cap. In spite of the darkness he recognized them ; he had sat next to them at the table, and had exchanged a few courteous commonplaces with them ; but he did not know their name, nor they his. They all sat down on the wreck, and made a few remarks about the sultriness of the night and the climate of the South African sea-coast. And then the elder lady said quite easily— “ I think it will be pleasanter if we introduce our¬ selves. My name is Mrs. Robertson, and this is my daughter May.” The young man lifted his cap again and bowed. “ I am Reginald Carson; at your service,” he replied— a little stiffly, May thought. She could not distinguish his features now; but she had a distinct impression of him as fair and refined looking, with eager grey eyes and a sensitive mouth. His manner was polished, and yet boyish. Reginald could also recall his two companions. Mrs. Robertson was a fair, small woman, slightly deaf, with 4 JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. a pleasant, rather serious face, and a very quiet voice. Her daughter May was much taller, upright and grace¬ ful, not pretty, but attractive—with the attractiveness of fresh, natural, unspoilt youth. Her clear brown eyes, sweet-tempered mouth, and firm round chin were full of character. Eeginald thought them the most, if not the only, ladylike women in the hotel; but he had had few opportunities of judging of women. “ You have not been very long in the colony, have you, Mr. Carson ? ” Airs. Bobertson asked. “ About three months only,” he replied. “ I came out last October.” “ English people generally come out at the beginning of winter, rather than the beginning of summer,” observed May. “ I dare say it would be pleasanter,” said Eeginald; “ but I had a particular object in view, and I never thought about the season. Besides, I am strong, and I don’t mind heat.” “ And you get the benefit of the fruit and flowers in the summer-time,” said Airs. Eobertson. “ I suppose you combine some pleasure and sight-seeing with your business ? ” u 01i yes, I think I have seen a good deal in the short time 1 have been out,” replied Eeginald. He JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. paused a moment, and then continued, “ I think I will tell you the object of my journey. I tell every one I meet, because I never know where I may find the person who can help me.” “ If I can be of any service to you, I shall he glad,” said Mrs. Eohertson, courteously, in a tone betraying neither surprise nor curiosity, though she felt both. “ Thank you,” said Eeginald. “ I will make my story as short as possible. I am looking for some trace of an uncle of mine, who came out here twenty-seven years ago, and has not been heard of for twenty-five years. Every effort has been made to trace him, a great deal of money has been spent on advertisements, police agents, etc., but he has completely disappeared. Now I have come out myself, with the rather forlorn hope of hitting upon some clue that every one else has missed.” ■ “Is his name the same as yours ? ” asked Mrs. Eohertson. “No,” said Eeginald; “he is my mother’s brother. The name is Fairbank.” “ Perhaps he changed it,” observed May. “ Very likely. And perhaps he left the country and went to Australia or America. And perhaps he is dead. Oh, there are a thousand chances against me.” “ Was he married ? ” asked May. (*, JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. “Not that we know of,” replied Eeginald; “ that is another point. If he is dead, and has left children, I must try and find them.” “ Yon speak as if it was a matter of serious im¬ portance ? ” Mrs. Eobertson put the remark as a query. “Well, it is,” said Eeginald; “especially for myself. This is how I am placed. My father died when I was only a year old, and my mother then went back to live with her own father, Sir Eichard Fairbank. His only other child was this uncle, my mother’s elder brother. I believe he was wild and dissipated, and once my grandfather threatened to turn him out of the house. So then he said he would not wait to be turned out, and he went off to South Africa. He wrote two or three times from Capetown, but he did not say what he was doing. Then he left off writing altogether, and was never heard of afterwards. My mother fretted about it always—I believe it was as great a grief to her as the loss of my father. She and I have always lived with my grandfather; he had a large property in the west of England. Well, last February he died, and, according to his will, the property is all left to my uncle, who, if he is alive, is now Sir John Fairbank. If he is dead, but has a son, the property goes to that son—if he can be found.” JAN : AN AFRIKANDER. “ There are a great many ‘ ifs/ ” said May. “Yes,” said her mother; “and there is another. If your uncle is dead without issue, the property, I suppose, is yours ? ” “ Yes; but if I can’t arrive at any certainty,” said Eeginald, “ I have to wait five years before taking possession.” “ And who looks after it so long ? ” asked May. “ Oh, I must look after it, of course,” said Eeginald. “ And my mother still lives in the old house.” “ I think we had better be going hack,” observed Mrs. Eobertson, and they all rose and began to stroll homewards along the sands. After a few minutes of silence, the elder lady said— “ Have you nothing at all to help you in your search, Mr. Carson ? ” “ I have a photograph of my uncle, taken just before he left England; he was only twenty-four years old then. I have heard the name already three times out here, but all the clues have ended in smoke. One took me up to Cradock, where I found a most respect¬ able family grocer—no connection with my mother. Another was a captain of the Salvation Army in Capetown. I found her—it was a woman—preaching from a tub on Saturday night in Water Kant Street, which I am told is one of the most disreputable streets 8 JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. in Capetown. No connection with my mother either, I am glad to say.” Both the ladies laughed, but May thought to her¬ self— “ If he only knew it, his uncle is just as likely to have been a grocer as anything else, out here.” “ The third clue,” continued Reginald, “ has brought me here. I hear that a boy of the name of Fairbank used to board here, and that the present proprietor of this hotel, Mr. McKinnon, knows him. It seems that this boy, or young man, is gone up to Yryburg; but McKinnon will write to him for me, and I shall stay here until he gets an answer.” “ I am afraid you will find it dull,” said May. “ It does seem an out-of-the-way place,” Reginald agreed; “but I can go into Port Elizabeth every day if I like.” “ Mr. Carson,” said Mrs. Robertson, presently, “ you must take care that you are not imposed upon.” “ In what way ? ” asked Reginald, surprised. “ By people who will pretend to find your uncle for you, and make capital out of it.” “You mean that some one might personate him— like Tickborne,” said Reginald. “ Well, I really never thought of that.” “ Without undertaking such a gigantic fraud as that,” JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. 9 said Mrs. Eobertson, “ an ill-disposed person might try to get money from yon by professing to help you.” “ I suppose he might,” said Eeginald, evidently reflecting on a totally new idea; “ but then, Mrs. Eobertson, I must tell people what I am looking for. What other chance have I ? ” “You must tell the proper people,” she replied— “magistrates, superintendents of police, and so forth. Not every chance stranger. And there is no need to tell any one that there is property at stake.” “ That is true,” said Eeginald ; “ but I have not told that to every one. And you won’t make me suspect you, Mrs. Eobertson.” They laughed again. May hardly knew whether to despise or to be attracted by his extraordinary sim¬ plicity. How could he have been brought up ? she wondered. On this point he presently enlightened her. “I know you are thinking me a great simpleton, Mrs. Eobertson,” he said, as they turned up the steep sandy path leading to the hotel; “ and indeed I think so myself. You see, my mother was so unhappy about her brother—she thought it was going to public school and college that led him into evil ways. She had only me, and she was so terribly afraid that I should grow 10 JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. up like him. I think that would have killed her. So she never sent me away, but always kept me at home, and had a tutor for me. Of course, the other hoys in the neighbourhood all went to school, so that I had no companions, except in the holidays; but I was very happy at home,” he added hastily, as if afraid that he had cast some reflection on his mother. “ And I was very well taught, too; only, of course, I am ignorant of the world. I had very hard work to persuade my mother to let me come out here alone. She thought I must have some one to look after me.” “You will find it only too easy to dispel your ignorance,” said Mrs. Eobertson, quietly. “ It is better to have too little knowledge of the world than too much.” They had reached the hotel, and stood a moment on the verandah before parting for the night. The air still hung like a wet blanket over the earth, but the muttering of the thunder was nearer. Eeginald wished the ladies good evening, and left them. “What a very unsophisticated young man,” said JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. 11 CHAPTEE II. The Good Hope hotel stood quite alone on a sand-hill facing the sea. The nearest inhabited house was a solitary police-station about a mile away; further away still was a solitary farm. The railway, however, passed within half a mile of the hotel, and there was a siding at the nearest point where any train would stop if the would-be passenger stood on the platform and waved a red flag, provided for the purpose, as soon as the train appeared round the curve. There was a perfectly empty and rather unclean waiting-room at this siding, but no ticket-office or officials of any sort. It was nothing but a siding. There was a heavy thunder-shower during the night following the incidents recorded in the last chapter, and the world w r as refreshed thereby. The air was percep¬ tibly lighter, the sober green sea-coast bushes were sprinkled with diamond drops, and the unfathomable sand looked less sandy than usual. May Eobertson was going into Port Elizabeth by the 12 JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. nine-o’clock train to do some shopping; her mother was disinclined to go, and she went alone. Eeginald, who had no inclination for a whole day on the solitary shore, or sitting on the verandah listening to the ladies’ gossip, had decided to go by the same train. He started a few minutes later than Miss Eobertson, not knowing that she was going, but his long strides soon brought him up to her. They exchanged a few remarks about the beauty of the morning, and then Eeginald asked his companion if she lived in Port Elizabeth. “ Oh no,” said May, “ we live up-country, on the way to Graaff Eeinet. My father has a large farm in what is called the Karoo.” “ I have heard of the Karoo,” said Eeginald. “ Isn’t it rather a dreary region to live in ? ” “ I don’t think so,” said May, with a bright smile; “ but then, it is my home. I dare say it might seem dreary to English people, because there is no grass or large trees, and water is scarce.” “ Hon’t you call yourselves English people ? ” said Eeginald, rather abruptly. “ Yes, of course, we are—English colonists. And my parents were both born in England. But for the sake of distinction we call people like ourselves colonists, and those who come out from home English people.” JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. 13 Eeginald asked some questions about her home, aud whether she had brothers and sisters. “ Oh yes, a splendid supply,” laughed May. “ l am one of ten. I am the eldest girl; but some of the boys are older than I am. Two of my brothers do not like farming, and they keep a store in Petrusville, a village about eight miles from our farm. They are getting on very well, too.” Eeginald had been long enough in the colony to find out that class distinctions are not as in England, and that gentlemen take to every kind of occupation, and are found behind the counter and in the workshop without undergoing that mysterious process known as “ losing caste.” Nevertheless, he was aristocrat to the backbone, and it gave him a disagreeable shock to learn that the pleasant, lady-like girl he was walking with had two brothers who kept a shop. May knew perfectly well that she had shocked him ; she had told him the fact with deliberate intention, and mischievously enjoyed the pause that followed. They were not far from the siding, and were walking leisurely, as they had plenty of time. Between them and the railway ran the high-road into Port Elizabeth; and on this side of the road were two cottages standing together. Eeginald asked who lived in them. “ They are quite empty,” replied May. “ But in the 14 JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. summer they are often taken—when the hotel is full— by people who come with a large party. Then, of course, they bring their own furniture and every¬ thing/’ “ By train ? ” said Beginald. “ More often by waggon. They only bring absolute necessaries—such as bedding, pots and pans, and a few boxes to serve as tables and chairs. It is much like camping out.” “ It must be,” observed Beginald. “ I am just going to take a peep inside.” The cottages were merely wooden buildings of one story, and the windows were about waist-high from the ground. Beginald and May went up to the nearest window and looked in. They stood transfixed. A man with disordered clothes lay on his back on the fioor. For one moment they thought that he was asleep or drunk; the next moment they knew that he was dead. Neither of them spoke. Beginald tried the window ; it was not fastened, and he pushed it up and got into the room. He knelt down by the body, laid his ear to the breast, felt it, looked at it. “ Do not move him, Mr. Carson! ” said May, in a low voice. “ I am not going to,” said Beginald. After a JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. 15 moment’s pause he added, “ He has been dead some hours; he is quite cold; and—he has been strangled!” May felt cold shudders running down her from head to foot; she moved to one side, and caught a glimpse of the dead man’s face. It was blue and distorted, but she recognized it at once. “ Why! ” she exclaimed, “ it is that young Dutchman who was at the hotel all day yesterday ! ” “Yes, it is,” said Eeginald, quietly; “and it looks like foul play.” He came hack and got through the window again, closing it after him. “ Where is the nearest police-station, Miss Eobertson ? ” he asked. “ Do you know ? ” “There is one not far off, across the flat,” she replied. “ If you will come back a little way I can point it out to you.” Just then they heard the whistle of the train as it came round the curve into the siding. There was no one on the platform, so it did not stop, but w T ent on with a rush and a roar. Eeginald and May were scarcely aware of it; all thought of going into town had vanished from their minds. “Do you feel able to walk back alone, Miss Eobert¬ son, or shall I come with you first ? ” asked Eegi¬ nald, turning and looking for the first time at her white, shocked face. JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. i<; “ Oh no,” slie said bravely, though she was fighting against a deadly sickness and faintness that came over her. “ Oh no, Mr. Carson, I am quite able to go back alone; you must let the police know as quickly as possible.” She was dimly conscious that Reginald was acting in a much more manly and self-controlled manner than she would have expected of him, and that she was receiving a new set of impressions concerning him; but this consciousness was overlaid by the shuddering, sick horror that possessed her. Reginald offered her his arm, and walked back with her until they came in sight of the police-station, when he left her, and strode off rapidly across the fiats. May went slowly on to the hotel, and sought the refuge of her mother’s sympathy. The event, of course, aroused a great sensation in the whole neighbourhood, especially as a halo of mystery surrounded it. Ho possible motive for the murder— for murder it undoubtedly was—and no clue to the murderer could be found. The victim was a young Dutchman of good family, resident in Port Elizabeth, by name Wilhelm van der Piet. He had no enemies, and no quarrel with any one, as far as was known. He had a share in his father’s business, was well off, and generous with his money. JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. 17 On the day he met his death, which was Wednesday, the 29th of January, he went out to the Good Hope hotel by a morning train, merely saying he wanted a day’s outing; he gave no other reason for this proceed¬ ing, which was rather an unusual one for him, as he did not care for going out alone. He spent the whole day at the hotel, sitting on the verandah and smoking, talking to no one, but looking about him from time to time as if half expecting some one, or as if he had some cause for uneasiness. Several people in the hotel had noticed this, but no reason could be assigned for it. He had left the hotel shortly before six o’clock, intending to return to Port Elizabeth by a train that passed the siding at six; that was the last time he was seen until Mr. Carson and Miss Robertson found his body on the following morning. He had evidently been strangled, but not, apparently, with anything that he had about his person. He had struggled hard for life, but there were no footmarks or signs of a struggle anywhere near the cottage. The heavy rain of the night following would, however, have obliterated them. It seemed probable that the deed had been committed outside, and the body subse¬ quently put through the window. Mr. McKinnon, the proprietor of the hotel, said that the windows of these c 18 JAN: AN AFRIKANDER, cottages were seldom fastened, and the lock of that one had been broken for some time. It was a daring murder, committed in broad day¬ light, and the murderer had vanished into thin air. No one had been on the siding that evening; no one had been seen anywhere in the neighbourhood on whom suspicion could possibly fall. Every one in or about the hotel was able to give a satisfactory account of himself or herself on that evening. No clue could be found of any sort. The young man’s family vowed terrible vengeance, but their most strenuous efforts failed to bring anything further to light. The whole affair, from beginning to end, was, and remained, a complete mystery. One of its side results was to cement the friendship between Mr. Carson and the Eobertsons. Eeginald showed himself in a new light over this matter. He appeared older, more reticent, and more self-reliant. He was most considerate towards May, who had really suffered from the shock, and, much against her will, had to give evidence at the inquest; and he avoided the subject in conversation, with a refinement of feeling in marked contrast to the craving for sensa¬ tional details manifested by every one else in the place. The Fairbank who lived in Yryburg turned out to be, as Eeginald observed, “ again no connection of my mother’s; ” and he resolved to prosecute his inquiries in Port Elizabeth. The ltobertsons were returning home; but before they parted they had extracted a promise from Eeginald that he would shortly make an excursion up-country and pay them a visit at their farm. 20 JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. CHAPTER III. It was the last day of March. A hot wind had been blowing all day since sunrise—a hot wind, every breath of which in one’s face was like a blast from a burning hery furnace; which roared continuously across the wide veldt, bearing clouds and clouds of fine sand, which hid every living thing under a uniform brown cloak of dust, which swirled and eddied along the broad straight street of Petrusville, which forced itself into every chink and cranny of every house, and piled itself up on every available square inch of surface without and within. There is nothing so disabling as a hot wind. It reduces every living creature to the condition of a limp rag, it makes the grasshopper a burden, and the smallest piece of work too great a labour to be undertaken. Every one in Petrusville had collapsed gradually as the burning day went by. The white people disappeared into the coolest corners of their sand-smothered dwellings; the coloured people walked JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. 21 forlornly on their errands, or lay asleep in every little bit of shade they could find; the very dogs lay stretched on their sides, with all their legs spread out for coolness, and their tails hanging disconsolate. Into the midst of this universal apathy and limpness broke the cheerful, unmusical flourish of the post¬ horn, shortly followed by the thud of hoofs and rolling of wheels in the sandy ruts of the high-road. It was an ordinary, double-seated Cape cart, with two brown horses driven by a Kafir boy, clad in what had no doubt been a white suit when he started, but was now the prevailing colour of sand. Its arrival roused the village from its state of collapse; the sleepers arose and came out of their corners, the dogs began to prance and give tongue, the dwellers in houses looked forth with interest, and prepared for an expedition to the post-office to fetch their letters and papers. At the post-office, a very modest and retiring little building, the post-cart drew up with another flourish on the horn, and her Majesty’s mails, sealed up in canvas bags, were duly delivered to the postmaster. It then proceeded to the hotel, a straggling, one-storeyed building, with a deep verandah running round two sides of it, to deposit the passengers. There were only two passengers in the post-cart on this afternoon. One was Eeginald Carson; the other 22 JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. was a small, round, elderly lady, who, as Eeginald discovered, to his great surprise, in the course of con¬ versation, was travelling about the country giving temperance lectures. Her appearance and manner were so meek and gentle that it was about the last thing in the world he would have expected to find her doing. She was a quiet, not a very entertaining companion, and Eeginald was heartily tired of the dusty, wearisome journey by the time they drove into Petrusville. There were two men standing on the verandah of the hotel as the cart drove up. One was the proprietor, Mr. Simeon, a black-liaired, obsequious Jew; the other was a tall, sandy-haired, genial-looking Scotchman, whom Eeginald at once knew to be Mr. Eobertson, and whom he expected to meet him here. Mr. Eobertson, on his part, had no difficulty in recognizing Eeginald, and greeting him with hearty cordiality. “ I am afraid you have had a very disagreeable journey, Mr. Carson,” he said, as they went inside. “ Mould you rather remain here to-night, and drive out to the farm to-morrow morning ? ” ‘‘Oh no, thank you,” said Eeginald; “unless you wish to remain yourself. I am not tired, only sandy.” “ That goes without saying,” laughed Mr. Eobertson. “ Mell, if you would rather drive out this evening, then JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. 23 I will have my cart inspanned at once. Before we start I have to go down to my son’s store to fetch a parcel, so perhaps you will excuse me for a few minutes.” “ I will come with you,” said Reginald. He took stock of Petrusville as they went, and was not particularly prepossessed. It consisted, like all Dutch villages at their commencement, of one very broad, perfectly straight street, with small trees planted on either side of the roadway. The houses were mostly rather large, with deep verandahs, and gardens or yards at the back. There was only one house of two stories in the whole street—that was the Dutch minister’s residence, and stood opposite the Dutch church, which was as ugly as the severest Christian could wish. On a pleasanter day, after a good shower of rain, there might have been much that was picturesque to be found even here; but at present, when everything was drooping and shrivelled, all the creepers and bushes brown with sand and parched with thirst, there was no loveliness to strike the eye, and Reginald, with a memory of green English fields, saw nothing to admire. The store of Robertson Brothers was the largest and best in the street. It had a good window, well arranged, and a very fair assortment of goods of all 24 JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. kinds within. One of the brothers was tall and broad- shouldered like his father, but much darker in hair and complexion; the other was small and fair, and Eeginald instantly perceived a strong likeness to the mother. This one came to the door when he saw his father and Eeginald. His coat was off, and his shirt¬ sleeves were rolled up to his elbow, displaying a pair of muscular, sunburnt arms. Perhaps Eeginald had never in his life shaken hands with a man who served behind a counter, as his equal, and it was not his fault that he was conscious of it. He spoke in a very friendly manner to young Eobertson, and was really not in the least aware that he was a little bit “ stand-offish.” The elder brother was engaged in serving a customer, and Eeginald, while waiting, had his atten¬ tion attracted to this man. He was very tall and splendidly proportioned, but his figure was not shown to advantage by the loose clothing he wore. Eeginald glanced at the white calico jacket, fiannel shirt, and thick cord trousers which made up his costume, and wished he could see him in football attire, for instance, or got up for a prize-fight; “ that w r ould be an exhibition of muscle worth seeing,” he thought. Just at that moment Eobertson moved away to look for something, and his customer turned round, leaning sideways against the counter, and facing Eeginald. At JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. 25 the same time he removed his broad-brimmed felt hat, and pushed back the hair from his brow, with a sigh at the heat. He had a handsome face, much bronzed by sun and wind, blue eyes beneath a square brow, fair hair in crisp curls all over his head, and a heavy fair moustache. But although it was in itself a striking- face, that was not why Beginald gazed at it almost beyond the bounds of .good manners. Either he had seen that face before, which was scarcely possible, or else it bore a strong resemblance to some other face which was familiar to him. He gazed and wondered, till Mr. Bobertson, returning, announced that he was ready to start, whereupon they took leave of the two young men and walked back to the hotel. Beginald was still haunted by that resemblance, which eluded him the more he tried to grasp it. “ Who is that fine-looking young fellow who was in the store just now ?” he asked. “ That is Jan Vermaak, who has the next farm to mine,” replied Mr. Bobertson; “ a very clever, enter¬ prising young fellow, but keeps very much to himself- Makes lots of money, I think, even now, so he will be a rich man when he is older. He is only twenty-four.” “ Is he a Dutchman ? ” said Beginald, surprised. “ Partly, I suppose. I really don’t know what he is, but I am sure he has English blood in him.” JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. 20 “ The name is Dutch.” “ Yes; but you can’t tell anything from that. We get so mixed up in this country. Not that there is any mixture, as yet, in my family, I am glad to say. Pure Scotch.” “ Should you object to your sons marrying into Dutch families ? ” said Eeginald. “ Well, I shouldn’t like it,” owned Air. Eobertson. “ I shouldn’t stop it, if there was no other objection, because I don’t believe in that sort of thing. And then, you must remember, we have not the best class of Dutch people here in the Karoo.” “ It always seems to me a pity when persons of different nations intermarry,” observed Eeginald ; “but I suppose that is a very narrow-minded idea.” “ I don’t see any objection to it in the case of equals,” said Air. Eobertson, “ but I do where one is distinctly inferior to the other; as when a white man marries a Kafir woman, for instance.” “ Oh, but that is horrible ! ” exclaimed Eeginald. “ It seems incredible that any white man could do such a thing.” “Yet it has been often done,” said Air. Eobertson, glancing at him with some amusement. “ And, more wonderful still, white women have married coloured men. That, I confess, is beyond me altogether. Now, JAN: AN AFRIKANDER 27 I see that my cart is inspanned and waiting, so if you are ready, Air. Carson, we will start.” Eeginald enjoyed the drive out to the farm. The wind had suddenly gone down, the dust was less / aggressive, and the air was refreshingly cool. Moreover, the aspect of the country was new to him, and he keenly enjoyed everything that was new. In his host lie had a sensible and well-informed companion, who had read much, and took an intelligent interest in politics and all the events of the day. The eight-mile drive seemed short, although the road was none of the smoothest, and it was almost dark when they reached Brakplaat, which was the name of the farm. At the first gate they came to were three small boys, all sturdy, sandy-haired Eobertsons, who, with many shouts of delight, disposed themselves about the cart, in front and behind. They were all three decidedly touzled and untidy, but they pulled off their caps and offered their grimy little hands to Eeginald with ready politeness. “ Six boys and four girls, that is my quiver full, Air. Carson,” said Air. Eobertson, cheerfully. “The baby is a boy, and there are three girls younger than Aiay, whom you know.” “ So many children must be a good deal of anxiety,” observed Eeginald. 28 JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. “ Well, yes, sometimes ; but they are a great pleasure too,” said the father, with a beaming smile. “ I hope Miss Eobertson has got over the shock of that unpleasant affair at Good Hope,” said Eeginald. “ Oh yes, I think so, thank you. She is too healthy- minded to brood over it, or anything of that sort. I suppose nothing has ever transpired concerning it ? ” “ No, I think not. It seems quite a mystery,” said Eeginald. They now approached the homestead—a large, low, whitewashed building, with a corrugated iron roof, and a wooden stoep, or verandah, on three sides. Every door and window stood open to admit the cool evening air, and everybody belonging to the place—mistress, children, servants, and dogs—seemed to be outside. Eeginald thought it a pleasant, liomely-looking place, not unlike many farm-houses he had seen in England, though the surroundings were totally different. It was a real pleasure to him to meet Mrs. Eobertson and May once more, and their pleasure seemed equal to his. The innumerable olive-branches were duly introduced to him, leaving on his mind a confused impression of sandy hair, smiling sunburnt faces, and general disorder as to dress. There was no disorder, however, when they all sat down to supper, an hour later, in the large dining-room. JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. 29 The children were all there except the baby, who was in bed, and the two elder boys in Petrusville; there was no undue noise, no confusion, no bad manners, and a word or a look from either father or mother was instantly obeyed. Good temper and innocent fun seemed the prevailing characteristics, and Eeginald came to the conclusion that they were a very nice family indeed. He wished he could transplant them bodily to the best farm on his grandfather’s property at home. “ You can never be dull here at home,” he observed to May, who sat next to him. “ Ho, indeed,” she replied, smiling; “ we have neither time nor inclination to be dull. There is too much work and too much fun going on.” Eeginald thought of his solitary childhood, and wondered if he should have enjoyed this kind of life more. He was quick in observation, and on this first evening took in a good deal of his surroundings, and made notes thereon. There was little comfort, according to his ideas of comfort, in the arrangements of the house. The rooms were carpetless, and some of them curtainless. “ It is too dusty a country for carpets and curtains,” Mrs. Eobertson explained to him one day. There were no conveniences, such as he considered to 30 JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. be everyday necessaries. No water laid on, no gas, no conches and easy-chairs, no appliances for saving trouble of any sort. The Eobertsons were poor, and made no pretence of being anything else. They had a good many visitors, and did their best to entertain them by simply making them quite at home. They kept one servant, and did the rest of the work themselves. Eeginald thought it a hard life, but they evidently did not think so themselves. Hard work was a matter of course, and they did not let slip any pleasure that they could have by the way. “ I believe in having your fun while you are young,” Mr. Bobertson would say. “ You can’t enjoy it when you are old.” Every one was up and about at five on the following morning, and Eeginald, who had always preferred early rising, was up too, rather to his host’s surprise. He went about the farm with Mr. Eobertson, interested in everything he saw, while Mr. Eobertson was no less interested to hear about English methods of farming, in which Eeginald was well versed. “ Your estate must be an immense interest to you, Mr. Carson, and give you plenty of occupation too.” “ I love every stick and stone on it,” said Eeginald, earnestly; “ but it is not mine,” he added con¬ scientiously. JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. Q1 oL “Well, I hope it will be some day, for I am sure it ought to be,” said his host. “ You have not found any trace of your uncle yet ? ” “ Not the very slightest,” said Reginald. “ I feel > inclined to give it up sometimes, for I really don’t know what to try next.” His tone expressed sincere disappointment, and Mr. Robertson gave him a curious and admiring glance. “ I am afraid I have no advice to offer you,” he said. “ So many young men come out to this country for the purpose of losing themselves ; they change their name, and destroy every connection with the old country. After so many years, I am afraid it is rather a hopeless quest.” “ My mother frets so about him,” said Reginald. “ For her sake I would give anything and do anything to find out what had become of him.” “ I can quite understand that,” said Mr. Robertson, heartily. “ I wish I were able to help you.” They had returned to the house for breakfast, and found May sitting on the stoep with a large dishful of raw coffee. Reginald had never even seen coffee in the bean, and at first did not know what it was. He was surprised to hear that they roasted and ground it themselves. 32 JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. “ When this dishful is roasted it will last us for a week,” said May. “ It is not at all difficult to do, but of course it can be badly done.” “ You know how to do a great many things,” said Reginald, with a glance at her strong, capable hands. “Things of this sort—yes,” replied May; “but not things I should really like to know.” “ What sort of things ? ” he asked. “ Oh, drawing, and playing the violin, and languages, and everything else,” she replied, laughing, as she got up and carried the dish of coffee into the house. “ Breakfast is ready, Mr. Carson.” After breakfast all the children disappeared. Reginald asked May where they were. “ They are gone to school,” she said. And when he inquired the whereabouts of the school, she replied, “ It is what we call a farm school. We and some of our neighbours join together to get a good teacher, and we have a grant from Government. The school-house is about a mile from here. There are thirty children now, boys and girls, Dutch and English, of all ages from five to eighteen.” “ It must be very difficult to teach them all together,” said Reginald. “Yes, it is; but it is the only way to manage in these country districts, unless each one had a private JAN : AN AFRIKANDER. 33 governess or tutor, which we cannot all afford. There is a school in Petrusville, but that is too far.” Reginald perceived that education, like other things, was attended with difficulties in a new country, which no longer existed in the old. Perhaps, for that reason, it was more valued. He was beginning to see that a life in which nothing was provided for you without your own effort, might he beneficial in the formation of character. 34 JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. CHAPTER IV. Reginald stayed on at the farm because he liked it. He was always fond of an outdoor life, but here there was a freedom, an absence of conventionality, which no kind of life in England could afford, and which compensated for the lack of some refinements and advantages. He said something of this one day to May. They were out riding, several of them together. “ You would miss them in the long run, though,” she said in reply. “ I mean, if you tried to lead this kind of life altogether.” “ Yes, I dare say I should,” said Reginald, frankly. “ And of course I must live in England; but I should always like to take a trip to the colony whenever I got a chance.” “ And you will always be welcome here when you do, Mr. Carson,” said Mr. Robertson, who was riding on the other side, “ as long as there is a Robertson on the place.” “ I am sure I should always enjoy myself here,” said JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. 35 Reginald, heartily ; and yet something in his tone jarred on May; she fancied a trace of patronage in it. She was apt to fancy this when talking to Reginald. She expressed this feeling one evening to her father and mother when Reginald had retired to write letters for the English mail, and the children were gone to bed. Air. Robertson spoke in hearty praise of the young man, to whom he had taken a great liking. “ Yes, he is very nice,” said May, “ if only he were not quite so—superior.” “ Well, I have never thought him conceited,” said her father. “ He seems to me so natural and unaffected.” “He is not conceited,” said Alay, “but he thinks himself a cut above us; and, without! meaning it, I dare say, he shows it.” “ Well, from his point of view he is a cut above us,” said her father. “ You must remember that he was born in a class which for generations has considered itself privileged, and that he took in these ideas from baby¬ hood ; he has had a most exclusive bringing-up, by his own account, which, in my opinion, has left him wonderfully unspoilt. His mother and grandfather evidently made a little god of him. As to education, he is undoubtedly superior to any of us.” “ He has had more opportunities,” said Alay, quickly. This was rather a sore point with her. 36 JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. '* And he lias made a good use of them, which we have not all done,” putin her mother. “ And, after all,” she added, “ these are very little things, and quite on the surface. What strikes me more than anything about Mr. Carson is, that he is practically heir to an estate which has always been his home, and to which he is deeply attached, and yet he has come out here of his own accord, and is spending time, trouble and money in order to find an uncle who is probably a disreputable scoundrel, and who, if he does turn up, will deprive the young man of all his prospects. And there is no doubt that Mr. Carson’s disappointment at not finding any trace of him is quite sincere and genuine.” “ Yes, and chiefly on his mother’s account,” said Mr. Robertson ; “ he seems to have no thought of himself in the matter. I quite agree with you, Mary; I think he is a fine character.” May felt rebuked, and determined to feel more justly towards Mr. Carson. She did not know that her mother was arguing against herself as much as against her daughter, but so it was. Several times, when she had watched Reginald chatting in quite a friendly, natural manner with May, she had known, as well as if he had said it to her in so many words, that such a thing as an alliance between himself and the daughter of a Cape JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. 37 farmer had never entered liis mind as a possibility, and would be looked upon with complete disapproval by bis relations at borne. Not that she wished linn to marry her daughter, in the least; she would have thought such a match very unsuitable, and had no idea that it would confer any honour upon the family ; but she knew that May was quite good enough for him, perhaps too good, and it irritated her to know that he, or that any one, would not think so. She had kept these thoughts entirely to herself, however, and nothing of the feeling had ever shown itself in her manner; so that May blamed herself for being prejudiced and fanciful, and resolved to be so no more. She had an opportunity of putting her resolves into practice on the following day. It was Saturday, and the two brothers from Petrusville had come over, as they often did, to spend Sunday at the farm. The younger one, Ealph, was going to : drive over to the next farm to arrange about a purchase of mohair with Jan Vermaak, and Eeginald was to accompany him. While waiting for the cart, he seated himself on the stoep beside May, who was busy with needlework, of which there was never any lack in that house¬ hold. “ I wonder, since coloured labour is so cheap,” he 38 JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. observed, ‘‘that you don’t keep a tribe of servants, as people do in India.” “ I should be very sorry if we did,” said May, laugh¬ ing; “ these natives are not like the Hindoos, I imagine. The more servants you keep here, the more work and worry you have.” “ How so ? ” asked Reginald. “ Oh, because they are so untrustworthy, and so dirty, and so transcendently stupid. Yesterday I told the girl to chop some suet, and she fetched a hammer and hammered it into a flat mass.” “ I think that showed originality,” said Reginald, dryly. “ I would rather be spared their originality, then,” said May, laughing again. “ But really, Mr. Carson, you, who are accustomed to trained white servants, have no idea what it is to work with these people. You never seem to get any further with them, and in the end you would rather do the work your¬ self.” “ I am afraid I should leave it undone,” observed Reginald. “ What lovely figures the women have, though,” he added, as he watched two of them who were walking up from the river with buckets full of water poised upon their heads. “ Yes, haven’t they ? ” said May. “ I suppose it is JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. 39 partly because they are accustomed to carry such heavy weights on their heads, from babyhood almost. You see little mites of four and five years old carrying great loads of wood that way. It makes them so upright, and so perfectly balanced in every part.” “ I saw a Kafir woman in the street one day in Port Elizabeth,” said Reginald; “ I could not help turning to look at her. She was not such a very young woman, but so extremely graceful, and she walked like a queen. What also struck me was, that she was leading a child by the hand, which looked like her own. I mean, it was dressed like a Kafir child, and yet it was nearly white. A little girl of about six years old, with quite fair hair.” “Very likely it was her own,” said May, quietly, “ if the father was a white man. It often happens.” “ I should not have thought the child of a Kafir woman could be so white as that under any circum¬ stances,” said Reginald. “ Oh yes,” replied May; “ where the two races inter¬ marry, it is most curious how the difference shows itself. One child in a family will be quite white, and its brother or sister coal black, and so on for generations afterwards. The coloured blood never seems to be eliminated once it is introduced. Sometimes,, in a family which has quite forgotten its one dark-skinned 40 JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. ancestor, a member will suddenly appear who is a most unpleasant reminder.” “ It is a great calamity,” said Eeginald, with energy, “ and a most wicked thing for any white man or woman to do.” Colonists, as a rule, are less tolerant of the native than people fresh from England; but Reginald’s fastidious nature shrank from actual contact with the dark-skinned race. May was quite at one with him in this, and yet somehow it irritated her to discuss the subject with him. She was glad when Ralph, driving round in the cart, put an end to the con¬ versation. Presently the children, who had a half-holiday from school, came round her, clamouring for a walk, and May put away her work to go with them. She was a child herself with the children, enjoying their games, and entering into all their interests as much as they did themselves, yet able to exercise authority over them when needful. The days were drawing in, and it was already growing dark when they returned from their walk. There was a coloured boy on horseback talking to Mr. Robertson, who had a note in his hand. May thought nothing of it until she came close to them, and then she saw at once by her father’s face that something was amiss. JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. 41 “ What has happened, father ? ” she asked, standing beside him. He handed her the note. “ There has been an accident, my child,” he said. “Ealph does not seem to be much hurt, but Mr. Carson, I grieve to say, has broken his leg. It happened close to Vermaak’s gate, and he is lying at his house.” The note was from Jan Vermaak, and stated briefly what Mr. Eobertson had just repeated, adding that Mr. Carson could not be moved, and that the messenger was to go on at once to Petrusville for the doctor. While May was reading it, her mother came out and joined them. “ May,” she said, “ your father is going to take me over to Mr. Vermaak’s to-night. I shall have to stay and nurse Mr. Carson, and Ealph, if he needs it. I must leave you in charge. Harold will stay with yon until your father comes back.” “ Yes, mother; that will be all right,” said May, composedly. “ But how are you going ? ” “ Vermaak is sending his own cart and horses for us,” put in Mr. Eobertson, “ so this boy tells me ; but they had to send for the horses; I dare say it will be here soon. I must give this fellow a fresh horse to go on to Petrusville.” He went away to see about it, and May hastened 42 JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. indoors to put together what things her mother would need to take with her. Both mother and daughter were calm, collected, and prompt, so that Mrs. Eobert- son was quite ready to start when Mr. Yermaak’s cart drove up, about ten minutes later. “ There is no absolute necessity for you to go with me, James,” she said to her husband ; “ the boy will drive me all right.” “ I would rather come,” he replied, “ and see how things are for myself. Then I can bring Ealph home to-morrow, if he is able to come.” Hasty good-byes passed between parents and children, with a few last directions, and then the horses’ heads were turned round again, and the cart presently disappeared in the gathering darkness, the whole family straining their eyes to watch it as they stood grouped on the verandah. “ What a comfort it is,” said Mrs. Eobertson to her husband, “ that Harold and May are two such reliable, good children! ” “ Yes, indeed,” he replied heartily; “they are both so steady and sensible, one can leave them in charge without any misgivings. But, Mary, I feel terribly upset about poor Carson.” “ So do I,” she replied ; “ it is worse, in one way, than if the accident had happened to Ealph. And I shall have to write to his mother, I suppose.” JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. 43 They questioned the boy who was driving them, but he could give them no information, and they had to wait for further satisfaction until they reached Ver- maak’s farm. Ralph came out to meet them, to their great relief. He walked stiffly, and had an ugly cut on his lip, but was not, as he assured them, seriously hurt. He was in great distress of mind, however, about Regi¬ nald, whose leg was broken ; and about his horses, both of which were lamed, while the cart was badly broken. “We had just passed the camp gate,” he said, in telling them how it happened, “ and where the road goes along the side of the kopje, we met a waggon. It is an awkward place, but I should have got by all right, only the fool of a driver must needs crack his whip and yell, and that made old Bob shy. I was not expecting it; he made a sudden rush to the side, and over the kranz we went, right on to the stones. Carson was underneath, and got the worst of it; but I did not fall on him; I was thrown quite clear, and fell about three yards beyond him. He got his leg in the wheel somehow, that’s how it got broken.” Jan Vermaak came out to them and brought them in. He was full of concern and anxiety to help. They must not think of moving Mr. Carson, he said; he was not fit for it, and he was quite welcome to 44 JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. the shelter of his roof, and to all that he could do for him for as long as it should he necessary, and Ealph also. “ You are very good, Mr. Vermaak,” said Mrs. Eobertson; “ and I fear we shall have to trespass on your hospitality for some time. I will stay and nurse Mr. Carson ; but I expect Ealph will be able to go home with his father to-morrow.” “ Arrange everything just as you think best,” said Jan. “ My cart and horses are at your disposal when¬ ever you want them. Your horses can stay in my stable, and I will send your cart to Petrusville on Monday to be repaired.” “ We are very much indebted to you, Vermaak,” said Mr. Eobertson, heartily ; “ but we must not give you too much trouble.” “No trouble at all,” said Jan, courteously. “Will you come and see Mr. Carson now ? ” They found Eeginald quite conscious, and though in great pain he spoke bravely and cheerfully. He was full of gratitude to Jan Vermaak, and to Mrs. Eobert¬ son for coming to nurse him; and he was most anxious to exonerate Ealph—who was very down-hearted— from all blame. The accident, he said, was purely an accident, and no one could justly be blamed, unless it was the driver of the waggon, who was thoughtless. JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. 45 “ In which he is like the rest of his kind,” said Mr. Eobertson. “Well, Mr. Carson, we are very much grieved about it, but we will be thankful it is no worse. And everything that we can do for you shall be done.” “ I am sure of that,” said Eeginald. The doctor came late at night and set the leg. Jan had already put it into temporary splints, and the doctor was surprised to see how cleverly it was done. He told Jan he ought to be a surgeon. “ A Cape farmer must be a little of everything,” said Jan. So it came to pass that Eeginald was laid up for some time in the house of a stranger, and thereby unknow¬ ingly entered on a fresh phase of life, which brought to him experiences and trials hitherto undreamed of. 46 JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. CHAPTER Y. Jan Vermaak lived alone on his farm of Bosnian’s Kloef. His house was well built, and contained four rooms: two bedrooms, which he gave up to Mrs. Robertson and Reginald, a living-room, and a kitchen. An old Hottentot woman cooked for him, and kept his house in order after a fashion of her own. Certainly there were many little deficiencies in cleanliness and tidiness which offended Mrs. Robertson’s house-wifely eye, and she contrived in an unobtrusive manner to effect various small improvements during her stay in Jan’s house. Reginald became sincerely attached to Mrs. Robertson. She was an ideal nurse, even-tempered, quiet, and companionable. Quick and dexterous, without ever being fussy, she always seemed to know at once what he wanted, often when he did not know himself, and she was never put out by the small annoyances and inconveniences inseparable from nursing an invalid in a colonial bachelor’s farm-house. Reginald missed the JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. 47 comforts of home and the care of his mother far less than he would have expected. On the other hand, Reginald himself was a good patient. He was naturally sweet-tempered, and anxious not to give trouble; and he was a stoic in bearing pain, considering it quite disgraceful to complain. In nurs¬ ing him, Mrs. Robertson quite overcame, and indeed forgot, the slight prejudice she had had against him before, and thus a mutual good understanding was established between them. In his host Reginald found a fruitful subject of speculation. He was accustomed to systematic and reasonable habits of thought; but, until he left England, his experience had been so narrow that he had become acquainted with but few types of character or modes of life, differing much from his own, and thus he found it very difficult to “ place ” his new friend. Jan’s highest virtue, apparently, was hospitality. This was to him a sacred duty, and in its exercise he spared no pains. It was sufficient that Reginald and Airs. Robertson were his guests, though uninvited, for him to show them every attention in his power; sympathy for his guest’s suffering and helplessness did not appear to be nearly so strong a motive with him as the simple fact that he was living, for the time, under his roof. 48 JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. The young farmer was excessively reserved, perhaps from shyness, and not very sociable. His manner was brusque, sometimes to rudeness, yet this never seemed to be intentional. Eeginald, however, would certainly have taken offence more than once, had he not felt too keenly the obligations under which he lay to his host. One day, for instance, Jan had related how a man he knew, by an ingenious lie had converted what would have been a loss to him of some pounds into a con¬ siderable gain at another man’s expense. Eeginald’s expressive face showed strong disapproval. “ Was the man a Dutchman ? ” he asked. “No,” said Jan; “he was an Englishman. An English gentleman, I believe.” “ An English gentleman ,” said Eeginald, with proud emphasis, “ always speaks the truth, whatever it may cost him.” “An English gentleman is a fool, then,” replied Jan, abruptly. Eeginald flushed and bit his lip, but natural courtesy and gratitude kept him silent. Mrs. Eobertson was not in the room, or she would probably have found some way of smoothing over the incident. In spite of his cold exterior, Jan had a passionate temper. Eeginald more than once heard him swearing freely at his servants; and on one occasion, when some 49 JAN; AN AFRIKANDER. coloured children who lived on the place had been doing some mischief, Reginald, lying on his couch by the open window, saw Jan chasing them with a sjambok. The first one he caught would no doubt have had a sound thrashing, but for a little Kafir girl, who ran boldly up to Jan and caught hold of his arm, evidently begging him to spare them. To Reginald’s surprise, Jan dropped his hand, and, after administering a rebuke in no very gentle terms to the other children, turned away. Reginald several times noticed this Kafir child. She appeared to be about nine years old, and was better dressed than the other coloured children, whose costume was frequently very similar to the Emperor of China’s new clothes in Andersen’s famous tale. She also seemed to be privileged beyond the rest, for she came into the kitchen whenever she liked, and Mrs. Robertson observed one day that she believed the child slept there. Old Leentje, the Hottentot servant, never slept in the house, but went to her own hut. On one occasion Reginald saw a little incident which greatly astonished him, and showed Jan in quite a different aspect. Erom his couch by the window he commanded a good space in front of the homestead, and made various observations. One afternoon he saw Jan coming home on horseback; he had been into E 50 JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. Petrusville. Jan was a splendid horseman, and Reginald watched with pleasure his easy, graceful attitude as he came at a slow canter up the road. When he was about a hundred yards from the house, this little Kafir girl came running out to meet him. Jan reined in his horse, and stooped down to lift her up in front of him; then, holding her firmly with his arm, he bent down and kissed her two or three times with great appearance of affection, after which he rode slowly on to the stables, disappearing round the corner of the house. “Well, I couldn't bring myself to do that! ” thought Reginald; and when he related the incident to Mrs. Robertson, she seemed equally surprised. “ The child always looks clean and well-kept,” she observed; “ but that is really a little too much. Mr. Yermaak is a strange man in some ways.” “ You do not know him well ? ” asked Reginald. “ I scarcely knew him at all until now. He only bought this farm about eight or nine months ago, and I had never been in his house until I came to nurse you.” “ He is strange,” said Reginald, thoughtfully. “ Sometimes I cannot make him out at all.” A fresh light was thrown on the subject the next time the doctor from Petrusville paid his periodical JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. 51 visit. Reginald looked forward to these visits, for the doctor was a pleasant, chatty fellow, and a thorough gentleman. He had lived for some years in England, and happened to know friends of Reginald’s. On the present occasion, the professional part of the conversa¬ tion being over, the doctor sat talking on various subjects, and Mrs. Robertson presently joined them. They saw Jan starting out for his kraals with his long swinging stride. O O O “ What a splendid-looking fellow he is! ” said Reginald, admiringly. “ Yes, a perfect Hercules,” agreed the doctor. “ He does not show the least trace of being off-coloured, does he ? ” “ Off-coloured! What do you mean ? ” exclaimed Reginald. “ Oh, there is no doubt he has coloured blood in him,” replied the doctor, “ though I don’t know to what extent. It is on the mother’s side, for his father was certainly a white man, and, I believe, an Englishman.” “ Who took a Dutch name ? ” said Mrs. Robertson. “ Yes, I suppose so. You can see some signs of the intermixture in this man, too, if you know how to look for them. That very crisp hair, for instance, although it is light-coloured, and his eyes, when he is excited, 52 JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. betray him. Look at liis finger-nails if you get a chance.” “ I have heard of that,” said Mrs. Robertson. “ The arch at the base of the nail is dark-coloured, is it not ?” “Yes, it has a blue tinge instead of being white,” said the doctor. “Oh, there is no hiding it, in the long run.” “ Has Mr. Vermaak any relations living ? ” asked Reginald. The disclosure had been a shock to him, and he had been silent for some minutes. “Yes; I believe they live in Port Elizabeth,” said the doctor. “ His father is dead, I know ; but I do not know about his mother, or what family he may have.” “They must be well off,” observed Mrs. Robertson. “ Mr. Yermaak paid a long price for this farm.” “So I heard,” replied the doctor. “It is a curious fact,” he added, “ that that young Dutchman, Yan der Riet, who was found dead at Good Hope a few months back, was very anxious to buy this farm. It was put up to auction, but Yermaak, who was determined to have it, bought it by private purchase two days before¬ hand. That is why he had to give so much for it. Van der Riet was furiously angry, and swore that lie would be even with him one day; but he never had the chance, poor fellow ! ” “ So it was he who had a grudge against Mr. JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. 53 Vermaak ? ” said Mrs. Eobertson, as if following out a train of thought in her own mind. “Yes, not Yermaak against him,” said the doctor, rising. “Well, I must he off. Yermaak has a com¬ fortable little shanty here. He added to it when he bought the farm, I think ? ” “Yes, he built on this bedroom in. which we are sitting,” said Mrs. Eobertson. “ Old Leentje, the servant, tells me that there was some idea at the time that he was about to be married, but that seems to be only a tale.” “ Oh, it will come some day, no doubt,” said the doctor, who was recently married himself. “ Good-bye, Mrs. Eobertson; good-bye, Mr. Carson,” and away he went. “ That little Kafir girl is probably some relation of Mr. Yermaak’s,” Mrs. Eobertson observed quietly that evening. “ Yes, I suppose she is,” said Eeginald, with some disgust. o 54 4AN: AN AFRIKANDER. CHAPTEE YI. The discovery that there was something of the original savage in Jan’s nature was a help to Reginald in understanding his character. It was comprehensible that to him hospitality was the highest virtue, while truth was no virtue at all. His sudden and uncon¬ trollable bursts of passion were also accounted for, as w T ell as a certain vindictiveness which Reginald . thought he had observed in him. He did not seem to care about money once he had obtained it, though he was sharp euough in obtaining it; and he was recklessly generous, but without judgment. And in spite of this strange mixture of qualities, Reginald could not help liking him; some attraction beyond gratitude for his uniform kindness to himself drew him to this man, and it was strengthened, no doubt, by the fact that it was mutual. Jan had also, and evidently, taken a great liking to Reginald. That haunting likeness to some familiar face Reginald often saw, perhaps more often as he became JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. 55 more familiar with his host’s features. It w T as a likeness mostly in expression, and came out suddenly and strongly at all sorts of odd moments; but whom he resembled Reginald could never determine, though he often pondered over it. When Reginald was fairly on the road to con¬ valescence, Mrs. Robertson went home for a few days to see how things were going on, and relieve May of some of her responsibilities. Jan willingly undertook meanwhile to do everything that was necessary for the invalid, and kept his word by waiting on him hand and foot. Under these conditions he showed himself in his best light, and Reginald left off criticizing him, and heartily liked him. About two days after Mrs. Robertson’s departure, Reginald received the usual weekly letter from his mother by the mail. They exchanged letters by every mail, and Reginald had kept this up even all through his illness. It was only a month since his accident, so that this letter of his mother’s had been written before she heard of it. Mrs. Carson was a prolix writer, and fond of details. Her pen, like her thoughts, travelled freely, making various little excursions into side paths as it went along, one incident or reflection calling up another. She was an ideal letter writer in one respect, however, JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. 56 that she wrote not what interested herself only, but whatever she thought likely to interest her corre¬ spondent ; and Eeginald settled down to read this one with his usual pleasurable anticipations. Jan had gone out, and he was alone. “ I have a most curious tale to relate to you,” began the second page of the letter, “ a most romantic one too, and will interest you, particularly as it occurred in the very country you are now visiting. First of all, I must tell you that I have the most charming girl stay¬ ing with me, by name Gertrude Lisle. She is an orphan, and a protegee of dear old Lady Duncan’s—you must remember her well. The poor old soul had a paralytic stroke not long ago, and this girl, who is living with her, nursed her most devotedly. When I was last in town I went to call at the house, and found that Mrs. Everett, Lady Duncan’s married daughter, had only just arrived from Hungary, or some such out-of-the-way place, where the news of her mother’s illness did not reach her for some days. Poor Miss Lisle was quite knocked up with anxiety and watching, and Mrs. Everett asked me if I would mind taking her home with me for a few days’ rest, which I gladly did the very next day. She has been with me a week, and a most delightful companion she is ; I hope not to part with her yet, for I hear that dear Lady Duncan is much JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. better, though, of course, she cannot ever entirely recover, which is very sad to think of. “ My dear hoy, I wish you were at home—I always wish that, of course, only supposing that your mission were successfully accomplished—but I mean I should so like you to become acquainted with Gertrude Lisle. I am sure you would be charmed with her as much as I am; there is really no fault to be found in her dis¬ position— so amiable and obliging, and always the same. But I must really get on to my story, or you will think it is never coming. “ It seems that Miss Lisle v 7 as suffering from a deli¬ cacy of the chest some time ago, and the doctors ordered her to South Africa for a year. They say the climate is so good for consumptive people; and cer¬ tainly Miss Lisle was quite set up hy it, and stood the cold winds this spring remarkably well. You never had anything the matter with your chest, I am thank¬ ful to say; but I have no doubt the change will do you good all the same. “Well, it seems that during the last three months of her stay, Miss Lisle was with some friends in Port Elizabeth, with whom she had arranged to return home. They were sailing in the Scot, at the end of January— that is last January—which was a bad time of year for her; but she was quite recovered, and very anxious to 58 JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. travel with them, so it was settled. However, it happened that at their house she met a young man, a Mr. Vermaak, who was partly Dutch and partly English, she was told, and who must have fallen in love with her at first sight—at which I do not wonder, for she is a very pretty girl, and attractive in every way. “ It has just occurred to me that you might easily have met her yourself in Port Elizabeth—and I only wish you had. However, this young Yermaak—I could not spell the name till she told me how—after three weeks’ acquaintance only, made her an offer of marriage, accompanied with the most passionate declaration of his feelings for her. She, poor girl, was quite over¬ whelmed, and did not know what to say. She put him off for another fortnight, and then accepted him. She says he was one of the handsomest men she ever saw, a magnificent figure, and quite young—not five and twenty. I think she was really fond of him too, for she cried when she told me about it; and she had quite made up her mind to go and live in some terribly remote place on a farm which he had bought. “ She still kept to her plan of going home with her friends, intending to buy the things she required in England, and to go out again to he married in March or April. She wanted to wait longer, but he was so JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. 59 impatient she had to give in ; and he could not bear parting with her even for that short time. “ Well, on the morning of the day before they were to sail—early, about seven o’clock—she was told that a young man was waiting to see her, who would not give his name, but said his business was of the utmost importance. Mysterious, was it not ? She had him shown up, and interviewed him in the presence of her friend, Mr. Sinclair. It was a young Dutchman—he would not say who he w r as, but asked her most earnestly if it was true that she was engaged to be married to Mr. Yermaak. On her replying that it was, he asked her if she was aware that Mr. Yermaak’s mother was a Kafir woman, and that he had several brothers and sisters who were quite black ! Only imagine, my dear Reginald! “ Miss Lisle w r as very angry, and would not believe it, for Mr. Yermaak had told her that his mother w^as a Dutch lady of good family, that she had been dead some years, and that he had no near relations living. This young man, how r ever, was so serious and so much in earnest, that she could not help listening to him. Finally, lie offered to take her to see Mr. Yermaak’s mother, so that she might ask what questions she liked of her, and convince herself that what he said was true. At first she refused, but afterwards she consented, 60 JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. provided Mr. Sinclair went too, which, of course, he agreed to do. You see, she had known Air. Yermaak but a short time, and she could not help thinking that he might have deceived her. He, I must tell you, was away at his farm, but was coming down by the train that evening, so as to see her off the next day. “ Well, they went with this young Dutchman, who refused to tell them his name, because he was afraid of Air. Yermaak, who, it seems, was a very passionate man. Hot that Gertrude would ever have betrayed him, had she known his name, or Air. Sinclair either. He took them to a little cottage in a side street—a neat, clean place—and there they found a Kafir woman, quite black, but a lovely figure, Gertrude says, nicely dressed, and could speak and understand English fairly well. Of course, she knew nothing of Gertrude, and had not the least idea that she was engaged to Mr. Yermaak. They pretended that they had expected to find him there, and that they had some business with him; and by a few adroit questions Air. Sinclair easily proved beyond a doubt that she was indeed Mr. A r ermaak’s own mother. The father was an English¬ man—what a horribly degraded Englishman !—and one of the little girls was very white, with fair hair, and so like Air. Yermaak himself, that there could be no doubt she was his sister. And even the black ones were like JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. G1 him too, which made poor Miss Lisle feel quite sick when she thought what a narrow escape she had had. “The young Dutchman would not come into the house with them, or show himself; and when they came out he only waited to hear that they were convinced of his truthfulness, and then took leave of them at once. Miss Lisle went back to the hotel, where she wrote an indignant note to Mr. Yermaak, reproaching him for his base deception, and refusing ever to see him again. After that they went on board the Scot at once, leaving the note with the hotel manager to give to Mr. Yermaak when he called that evening. They fully expected that he would come to them on board, but he never did, and they were greatly relieved when they sailed without seeing him again. She has never heard of him since, nor, indeed, had any news from the Cape since she came home. “ The poor child was much distressed over the whole affair. I was the only person, she said, except, of course, the Sinclairs, to whom she had told it. I told her very kindly that I thought she had been rash in engaging herself to a man of whom she knew so little, and she owned that it was so, but said that she was quite touched and carried away by his excessive devotion to herself, which is not surprising in such a young girl, and shows a tender heart. 62 JAN: AN AFRIKANDER. “ My dear boy, I hope you will not fall foul of any of these wild people; do take care of yourself. I shall not he really happy till you are safe at home again. “ I am writing this late at night, for it must go by the early post to-morrow morning, to catch the mail. So, as I am very tired, I will say good-bye, and God bless you and give you success, my dearest boy, is the continual prayer of “ Your most loving mother,