UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 H. E. Miller
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 SIMON CALLED PETER 
 
 "With a ruthless plainness, an almost bitter lack 
 of false sentiment, and a truthfulness that is, at 
 times, quite literally stark, Mr. Keable sets out this 
 soul-Odyssey. It is a human and humanizing experi- 
 ence." The Sketch. 
 
 "A novel of real distinction." Boston Herald. 
 
 "Very well written, in a clear and vigorous style." 
 The New York Times. 
 
 "A queer jumble of heaven and hell. The novel is 
 tremendously human and shows great literary power." 
 The Dundee Advertiser, 
 
 "In spite of the candour with which some of the 
 love scenes are described, the book is by no means 
 gross, and the story is very well told and extremely 
 interesting." Truth. 
 
 E. P. BUTTON & COMPANY.
 
 THE 
 
 MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 A NOFEL OF AFRICA 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT KEABLE 
 
 AUTHOR OF "SIMON CALLED PETER," "STANDING BY," ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 E. P. BUTTON fcf COMPANY 
 681 FIFTH AVENUE
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1922, 
 
 BY E. P. DUTTON tc COMPANY 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 First printing February, 1022 
 
 Second " August. 1922 
 
 Third " " 1922 
 
 Fourth " " IQ22 
 
 Fifth " " 1922 
 
 Sixth " " 1922 
 
 Seventh " M 1922 
 
 Eighth " " 1922 
 
 Ninth " " 1922 
 
 Printed In the Unite! States of America
 
 U 
 
 AUTHOR'S NOTE 
 
 ; THERE has not appeared to me to be any necessity to dis- 
 guise in this book the names of many of those places about 
 which this story centres and whose very real beauty I have 
 endeavoured as faithfully as possible to describe; but in 
 this (matter I "have reserved to myself a certain liberty. Thus 
 a reader may pick out the Umtamvuna on the map, and, if 
 the river gods be propitious, may go a-spearing the mullet 
 in its waters, but I do not guarantee that he will find Pamela 
 Urfurd's cave a few miles from its mouth. It therefore, 
 however, becomes necessary for me to insist that the prin- 
 cipals of the story Cecil and Hugh, Pamela and Chris- 
 are entirely fictitious. I will not deny that a reader wight 
 hit on 'Springfontein' farm (and be as lucky in that event 
 as I was), but I do assert that he would not meet the Sin- 
 clairs there or anywhere. 
 
 When, nevertheless, the 'Mallorys' and the 'magistrate 
 and his wife* I have placed at Butha-Buthe discover their 
 houses in this book, and when the latter recognise some of 
 the features of that lovely mountain trail we once took 
 together, I trust they will understand that I have so written 
 because I can recall neither Qacha's Nek nor Butha-Buthe 
 without remembering them with the utmost gratitude and 
 affection. They luwe cheered so many of my days that 1 
 perhaps they will permit me to offer them this book in an 
 attempt to beguile some idle hour. 
 
 R. K. 
 
 * 4070; 
 
 a
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PART I 
 
 YAGB 
 
 IE CHILD i. ..... . . M ,.- IT ir m K i 
 
 PART II 
 THE WIFE ,.., ...... w lf JOT 
 
 m - 241
 
 PART I 
 THE CHILD
 
 THE 
 MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 CECIL had hardly spoken for the last fifteen miles. At 
 first, on leaving Durban, she had been gay enough, and 
 her father had been amused at her questions and vivacity. 
 She had laughed at that city's greatest shops with the inso- 
 lence of a Londoner, and it tickled him to remember how, 
 six years before, she had hardly dared to enter them alone. 
 Also, he reflected, in six months or so they would be marvels 
 again, but for the time being he kept that reflection to him- 
 self. She had been enraptured by the masses of colour in the 
 Berea the purple of bougainvillea, the scarlet of flamboy- 
 ants and the delicate blue of plumbago. Six years ago she 
 had not had a second glance for them. And farther out she 
 had acclaimed the glimpses of the sparkling blue ocean seen 
 through the clearings of the thick-set bush, taken in eagerly 
 the details of the little coast towns, and gone into raptures of 
 mingled mirth and enjoyment over the corrugated iron villas 
 draped in creepers and bowered in trees that stood back from 
 the beach. Even he, accustomed to it all, had enjoyed the 
 glory of the morning, with the great sun blazing over-head 
 and the car humming smoothly beneath them. The air was 
 fresh, the sea-breeze strong, and South Africa at her best. 
 
 But Cecil had gradually grown quiet. Her father found 
 himself doing all the talking and discovered that his daughter 
 had now no more than monosyllables in which to reply. He 
 had glanced at her and queried : "Bit tired, dear ?" but she 
 
 3!
 
 4 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 had looked quickly at him and exclaimed : "Oh no ! I wish 
 this might go on for ever," and something in her face made 
 him smile secretly and look away. Even in the Club 'Jim' 
 Eldred grumbled at Africa less than most, and he knew in his 
 heart of hearts how much he loved her. He was watching, 
 now, the weaving of the spell over his daughter. For six 
 years she had been in England, at a select and irreproach- 
 able school. His wife had selected it, and he had agreed 
 because he supposed that she, and not he, 'must have the say 
 in such a matter ; but he had never liked the school. Secretly 
 he had wondered what effect it would have on Cecil, girl of 
 thirteen as she had been then, keen, eager, brown as a berry, 
 and -half a savage as his wife used to protest. He had 
 quieted his misgivings with the thought that he knew his 
 daughter even better than her mother did, and that the school 
 could not, after all, entirely cabin her. 
 
 Perhaps he had not realised, however, how much he had 
 come to count on this return that the war had delayed over 
 long. At the docks, he had hardly known her^ and she had 
 been shy with him. In the hotel, she had got over that, but 
 she was plainly far removed from the colonial girl of the old 
 days, and curiously enough, for all her long skirts and fash- 
 ionably-dressed hair and grown-up ways, she seemed 
 younger. But now they were really in Africa, leaving the 
 civilised air of Durban far behind, throwing off even the 
 clinging townships of the South Coast, hurrying ever nearer 
 the blue-piled mountains on the far horizon, glimpsing, here 
 and there, the huts of the natives, and skirting tracts of un- 
 tamed bush. And, sure enough, the spell was settling on 
 Cecil. 
 
 As for the girl herself, she could not have put it into 
 words. In England, she had always been the colonial, and 
 her friends had envied her tales of the free life out there. 
 She had seemed an African to them and had known herself 
 very far from English. She could even remember how, on 
 first coming, she had hated the perpetually green grass and 
 longed for the brown veld, and felt imprisoned in the endless
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 5 
 
 streets, and out of place in drawing-rooms. The remem- 
 brance that she had once felt so had long remained, but the 
 strangeness of her new environment had naturally worn off. 
 Now what had been a romantic story in which she had 
 played a dream part was unfolding itself again before her 
 eyes, and her heart was crying to her that this was her home. 
 
 But that was not quite all. There was another message in 
 the reeling miles. Sometimes they spun through the thick 
 forests of wattle plantations, the trees gleaming silver in the 
 sun that filtered between their leaves, and she took in every 
 detail the piled logs in the clearings, the stripped bark 
 arranged in long rows to dry, the acres of young trees, and 
 the burnt patches of old ones. But there lurked a mystery, 
 it seemed to her, in those lonely plantations. Or again they 
 climbed out on to the hills of a native reserve, and she looked 
 out over the undulating veld, the rounded kopjes and the 
 deep-cut valleys. Little patches of unfenced cultivation 
 clung to the sides of them, and on the crests clustered the 
 brown thatched huts silent and deserted in the sun. She 
 wanted to get out and look in. At school, the girls had 
 listened entranced to her casual references to 'boys' and 
 black folk, but back here the fact that she was living among 
 an alien race who set her standard of conventionalities at 
 defiance, suddenly confronted her as a new thing. 
 
 Once, at a turn of the way, they had come on a group of 
 three Zulus, two girls and a man, who were talking at the 
 edge of a plantation. She had stared, and turned her head 
 to look as they passed, and then glanced, half ashamed, at 
 her father, who apparently had not seen anything more 
 unusual than he would have seen if three beasts had been by 
 the side of the road. But she had taken in the strong lithe 
 grace of the man as he stood there, naked except for his loin- 
 cloth, posed for a sculptor, with his sticks in his hand. The 
 sun glistened on the shining black back and the gleaming 
 muscles. And the girls one had a pot balanced on her head 
 and wore only a grass girdle and some beads. She had big 
 firm breasts and thick well-oiled thighs, and had been laugh-
 
 6 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 ing, white teeth shining and her strange face radiant. The 
 other, in a dirty blanket, leaned on a log that she was plainly 
 bearing home, and looked sullen. Cecil had a sudden sense 
 of fear, gone in a moment, but real enough. But it was not 
 that she feared the savages ; it was that she realised that she 
 was looking on life, naked and unashamed, and that she felt 
 suddenly that school had taught her less than she would have 
 learned if she had stayed at Elandskop. 
 
 The car purred to the top of a little hill and her father 
 slowed to a standstill. "There," he said, "let's get out that 
 thermos and see what the Royal has done in the sandwich 
 line. There's no finer place for lunch on all the road. Do 
 you remember any of this, Cecil ?" 
 
 The girl looked round, and her gaze rested seawards. 
 "Isn't Port Shepstone down there, dad?" she enquired 
 eagerly. 
 
 "Right! So you haven't forgotten in all these years, my 
 dear. Yes, that's Shepstone, in among the trees you can 
 see the lighthouse. Harding's away yonder, to the right of 
 that big mountain from here, and that's the Ingeli range. 
 We follow the coast more or less. Those peaks right ahead 
 are in Pondoland, and somewhere this side of them is the 
 Umtamvuna. That river below us is the Umzimkulu. 
 There's no view better than this all the way. Are you glad 
 to see it again?" 
 
 Cecil did not reply at once. She sat back and drank in the 
 surpassing beauty of the sun-drenched panorama, following 
 the ragged green line of the coast with its white fringe 
 where the breakers of the Indian Ocean rolled in from the 
 vast unbroken world of sea that stretched immense before 
 her, allowing her eyes to roam over the folds of the hills that 
 stretched inland to the feet of the grey mountains far away 
 about whose summits clung soft clouds, and drinking in the 
 fresh, dry, cool air that seemed its very self to gleam in the 
 sun about her. Then she turned and looked at him. "Oh, 
 dad," she cried on an impulse, "why did you send me away ?" 
 
 He laughed. "Well, Ces/' he said, "someone had to teach
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 7 
 
 you how to be a lady and there was no one here to do it. 
 Your mother was determined that you should not grow up a 
 savage, and she was quite right. But I'm glad you take to 
 all this again, for I want you to love Africa." 
 
 Cecil nodded sagely. "Yes," she said, "I'd have grown up 
 differently here, dad, but somehow or another it makes me 
 wonder if I've really learned the right things." She paused, 
 suddenly discovering that it was not easy to talk to him. 
 
 He seemed wholly unaware. "You've seen a bit of the 
 world, too," he said, "and that's all to the good. I want you 
 to feel that South Africa is your mother-land, Cecil, but I 
 want you to realise that England is away there too, very old 
 and wise and rich and strong, Cecil. It's good to love the 
 home, but one ought to know and respect the family, my 
 girl. It's a pity there are not more young people about here 
 who realise that." 
 
 Cecil heard him vaguely. She was suddenly aware that 
 they were talking of different things, and it irritated her. 
 "I didn't see half enough," she said. "They kept us in cot- 
 tonwool at that old school. We used to be taken to see 
 Shakespeare's plays and a panto at Christmas, and when we 
 were in town Miss Alice always insisted on our going some- 
 where 'instructive' too to St. Paul's, or Westminster or the 
 National Gallery. But you can't see things with a mistress 
 behind you, dad. I did long so much for you to have been 
 there, and that we might have gone to an hotel in town for a 
 bit and pried round together. Miss Alice always watched us 
 like a cat. She was very nice, of course, but I did so hate her 
 old statues and churches. I never could remember which 
 was which. I liked it best when we went to Liberty's or 
 Self ridge's to buy Christmas presents. I got lost in Sel- 
 f ridge's once, dad," and she laughed at the recollection. 
 
 "Tell me," said Eldred, amused. 
 
 "Oh it was in the model houses. They were great fun 
 like a maze. Steph was with me you know Stephanie, 
 Colonel Haverill's daughter, my great pal, oh! you would 
 love her, daddy, and suddenly we found we were lost.
 
 8 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 We'd gone in at the 100 house and now we'd got to the 
 2,000 or something like that, and we hadn't an idea where 
 Miss Alice was. Well, Steph said, 'Let's go and see the 
 evening-dresses: then we can come back and no one will 
 know where we've been,' so we went off to try and find them. 
 But of course we couldn't. Instead, after pushing through 
 thousands of people, we found the tea-room, and Steph said, 
 'Oh what fun, let's have tea !' So we sat down at a table and 
 she ordered tea she knew just what to do and we ate no 
 end of chocolate buns and things. And then came the awful 
 thing. Steph got out her purse to pay, and she hadn't got 
 enough. She was sixpence short. I hadn't a sou I'd spent 
 all my money. Steph went as white as the table-cloth, and I 
 wanted to die. It was awful, dad. And then, what d'you 
 think happened? An awfully nice man at the next table 
 leant over and said to Steph : 'Excuse me, but I see what's 
 happened. I was once in the same boat myself. Do let me 
 lend you sixpence.' " 
 
 She stopped for breath. "Yes," said Eldred, "and what 
 then?" 
 
 "Oh, we said we couldn't take it, but of course we had to. 
 And then he came out with us, and we told him about Miss 
 Alice and how we'd lost her, and he took us back to the 100 
 house and there we saw Miss Alice, looking awfully worried. 
 He was awfully nice and said he'd slip off so that we needn't 
 tell about the tea, and he did, and we just said we'd been lost. 
 But it -was fun while it lasted, and I wished we could have 
 seen the gentleman again." 
 
 Eldred laughed. He was conscious of a shade of relief 
 for all that she was nineteen, she was still only a girl. Then 
 he glanced at his watch. "Well, if you've finished, I reckon 
 we'd best get on. We've still forty miles or so to do. In 
 this clear air, it doesn't look very far to those mountains, but 
 we've got to go up hill and down dale and the road at the end 
 is a bit of a teaser. What do you say?" 
 
 "Oh I've finished, dad," she said. "And I'm longing to get 
 home and see mother. Do let's get on."
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 9 
 
 Eldred cranked up and they sped off. Cecil relapsed again 
 into silence, but this time for other reasons. She was think- 
 ing of the school and the friends she had left, and, truth to 
 tell, feeling suddenly a bit homesick. This would be lovely, 
 if Steph were here, Steph who was staying on another year 
 and would be captain of hockey in her place. She visualised 
 their little study, and the playing field with its sweet scent of 
 new-cut grass and its deep-shadowed elms. Africa seemed 
 foreign all at once, and then the road dipped and ran down 
 to a spruit and they came suddenly upon a straining team of 
 fourteen span of oxen, and a Kaffir with a huge whip, and a 
 white man in coarse collarless shirt and trousers, who cursed 
 him in ugly language. Her father put on the brakes and they 
 waited to allow the wagon to get clear, and Cecil watched 
 while the patient beasts under the yoke started to one side at 
 the lash, the span of them writhing like a snake and then 
 straining at the heavy weight. The white man ran forward 
 and crashed a stick on the bony hind-quarters of the nearer 
 ox, and the brute backed heavily, twisting its head, with its 
 big dewy eyes. "Oh !" gasped the girl involuntarily, but her 
 father took it coolly enough, speeding up the moment he was 
 able and calling a greeting to the man who stood staring at 
 her brazenly she thought. They were past and away in a 
 moment, but she was conscious of a tingling in her blood, 
 though why she had not an idea. But she thought again of 
 the suave folk in the drawing-rooms of "The Lindens," and 
 smiled involuntarily. If they could see her now ! 
 
 An hour later they raced through a thinning wattle- 
 plantation and out on to a level stretch of road high up on 
 the sloping back of the veld. Her father, holding the wheel 
 easily, turned to her. "There, Ces," he said, "you can see 
 Elandskop now." 
 
 "Oh where?" she exclaimed, leaning forward, and then: 
 "Oh I see. Oh, dad!" 
 
 It was still some miles away, but it lay in miniature below 
 her, and recollections flooded back upon her mind. She had 
 known no other home. 'Jim' Eldred had obtained the
 
 io THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 concession when it was bare veld and bush, and the wagon 
 that brought him had plumped down his- few good^and his 
 two boys and gone off leaving him absolutely alone. That 
 first night he had grouped the boxes into a square and cov- 
 ered them with a sail-doth for a tent. Cecil knew the story, 
 and the exact spot, for Eldred had made a rose-garden of it, 
 with great circling bushes of trees growing in turf and en- 
 closing a central open space with a sun-dial. Bit by bit he 
 had cleared land and built the homestead, adding room to 
 room. If was long and thatched, and Cecil could remember 
 the extensions and improvements the making of the tenrtis- 
 court) the birflcling qf barns and stables, the taking-in of new 
 lands. She shared her father's love of and pride in the 
 place, and in a way it meant more to her than an ancestral 
 home often means to an Englishman. She had envied her 
 brother Harbld the inheritance that would be his, and now, 
 as she saw it again, the old love and pride surged up in her. 
 There was the house, standing above the little stream in- its 
 rocky bed, with the great bluff thickly sown with palms and 
 wild bananas and bush which had been left in its untafoed 
 glory, a home of a tribe of monkeys, rising from the sea 
 across, the Stream. North of the homestead, a break-wind 
 of Madagascar pines sang always in the breeze, and from it 
 sloped the open veld below the garden to the fringe of bush 
 above the shore, not three minutes' walk from their gate, 
 with the sand and rocks and limitless sea beyond. Far in- 
 land, sheltered in folds of the country-side, were the mealie- 
 lands, and for miles northward stretched the pastures of her 
 father's herds. Once out of the gardens, not a fence ringed 
 them in for miles. One could mount and gallop away 
 parallel to the sea, with the wind whistling by and the cease- 
 less thunder of the surf for ever in one's ears. 
 
 "How the pines have gsown, dad," she exclaimed, as the 
 car moved on, and then a djp in the road hid the view. 
 
 "Why, yfca, they were only a few feet high when you left, 
 Ces, weren't they? Do you remember our planting mem, the 
 year after the locusts cleared us out? We haven't had
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 11 
 
 locusts since," he added, "thanks to the Government meas- 
 ures that the old fossils grumbled about. And the cattle are 
 fine this year, my girl. Why, of course, you haven't seen the 
 Hereford bull yet by Jfcve, he'll please you.** And then, as 
 they swung off the main road on to a much rougher track, 
 "Do you remember the turn? We're on our own lands 
 now." 
 
 "Rather, dad," cried the girl excitedly, "and look, isn't 
 that old Jacob? He hasn't changed a bit. Lumela* Jacob," 
 she called gaily, "how are you ?" 
 
 The Mosuto herdsman, who had been with Eldred a quar- 
 ter of a century, grinned all over his face as the car swept by. 
 "Lumela, Missus," he shouted back, "how's Missus?" 
 
 "Oh dad," cried Cecil, "it's all coming back to me. Do you 
 know I'd almost forgotten Jacob till I saw him then; and I 
 haven't said Lumela for six years. I didn't know I remem- 
 bered it. But I've forgotten mostly all my Kaffir." 
 
 "It'll come back, Ces," said her father. "Why you talked 
 Kaffir before you talked English. I can see you now, a little 
 brat in a thethana,^ with old Emily as proud of you as if 
 you'd been one of her own kids. She's dead, you know," he 
 added. "Died in the Flu, that cleared off so many old faces. 
 But I'm glad it spared Jacob." 
 
 "So am I," said Cecil. "I must make him show me the 
 farm again he'll love it. Do you remember how he used 
 to gather amatungulu $ for me when I was a kid, and how he 
 taught me to spear fish, too, dad, and to ride? Oh I hope I 
 haven't forgotten that ! Is Semena alive ?" 
 
 "He's alive, but he's a pensioner, Ces. You can get on his 
 back if you like, but you mustn't use him much. Still I'll 
 have him groomed up, and I daresay he'll do you round the 
 pla"ce. You'll like to have him, for old acquaintance' sake. 
 But I've got you a new pony, dear, a beauty ; got him up in 
 Kokstad last Show ; and I've kept him for you." 
 
 * Lumela (Scsuto), a familiar greeting = Good-morning. 
 
 t Thethana (Sesuto), a girl's narrow fringe worn as a petticoat 
 
 t Anwtungulu (Zulu), native wild fruit like a small plum.
 
 12 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 "Oh, dad, you darling. I shall love to see him. Oh, but 
 we're home now ! Oh look, dad, there's mother waving on 
 the stoep !" And Cecil lapsed into sudden silence. 
 
 The car turned in at a gate, held open by a grinning boy in 
 a shirt and loin-cloth, new to Cecil, and indeed only a couple 
 of years or so on the farm. But already she was his 
 "missy," and he almost as eager to see her as old Jacob had 
 been. They crept across the wide space where the cattle 
 gathered at night, flanked with barns and stables; swung 
 round the belt of the pines ; ran along a hedge of aloe, and 
 up a drive to the creeper-covered stoep. Mrs. Eldred saw 
 the car stop and her daughter rush towards her, but could 
 hardly realise that the tall well-set woman was her little 
 Cecil. But in a moment, arms about her neck and kisses 
 showered upon her, told their own story. Her own daughter 
 was home again. 
 
 In a buzz of talk the family entered the sitting-room. 
 Gwen, three years her sister's junior, could not contain her 
 excitement. "Let's see her, mother," she cried. "Make her 
 stand up and let's look at her. Oh, Ces, where did you get 
 that dress ? Have you many like that ? Oh I do wish I had 
 been to London !" 
 
 "Yes, look at her, mother," said Eldred. "I hardly knew 
 her on the Balmoral Castle. That's what The Lindens' has 
 done!" 
 
 Laughing and blushing, Cecil stood away from them all 
 and glanced down at herself. Her mother took in the 
 shapely figure, the jet black hair she knew so well, but done 
 up so sedately now, and the English look of the fashionable 
 sports-coat and skirt. "Oh but she is still my Ces!" she 
 cried. 
 
 "I think Leonard's grown the most," said Cecil. "I 
 honestly don't think I'd have known him if we had met in 
 Croydon. You look so much more grown-up," she added, 
 "than English boys of eighteen." 
 
 A servant girl brought in tea, dropping a funny half-
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 13 
 
 curtsey to her new young mistress. "Who's that?" de- 
 manded Cecil, when she had gone out. "She looks white." 
 
 "Who?" queried her mother. "Oh, Fanny why, of 
 course, you don't know her. She's half white, but her 
 mother was a Griqua. She's been with us some time. The 
 years have flown, Cecil, in a way, but you'll find we haven't 
 changed much, perhaps. I hope you won't find us all very 
 slow, dear, after England. There are no shops here, and 
 no theatres and no libraries, at least not nearer than Dur- 
 ban," she added. 
 
 "Rubbish, mother," laughed Cecil. "Isn't the store still 
 here ? I must go to-morrow and see Mr. Shenk. But you're 
 right in a way. I think I shall have to learn to know you 
 all again." 
 
 Her mother caught her hand. "No, no, no, Cecil," she 
 cried. "We haven't changed that much, dearest, and 
 mothers don't change, my darling. Kiss me again and then 
 let's have tea. If only Harold were here, that we might 
 be a complete party. Last mail he sent more photographs 
 of his Rhodesian farm which you'll like to see." And Mrs. 
 Eldred sighed a little, though Cecil did not notice it par- 
 ticularly. 
 
 There was time, afterwards, for an inspection of the 
 place, and they went round together. To Cecil, things 
 seemed smaller than she had imagined them, and she caught 
 herself allowing her eyes to rove round the rooms with a 
 smile. The stained boards, the home-made windows, 
 steamer chairs, skins, karosses, horns all the common fur- 
 nishings of a South African homestead, seemed curiously 
 rough to her now, and yet very homely. There was the 
 old cuckoo-clock that she remembered from her baby days, 
 and she glanced at her father almost shyly, remembering 
 how, as a little thing, he had lifted her up to see the carved 
 bird bob out and bow and call. The books in their old- 
 fashioned glass-fronted cases greeted her as old friends ; not 
 many had been added in six years. She picked up a novel.
 
 14 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 "That's the last from England, Ces; have you seen it?" 
 asked her brother. 
 
 She glanced up and laughed. "Oh you quaint folk !" she 
 said. "I read that six months ago!" 
 
 For hours they talked, and Cecil must tell again and again 
 of her doings at school and of her impressions of England. 
 Mrs. Eldred, for the most part, sat placid, her eyes follow- 
 ing Cecil's every movement. Eldred himself, deep in his 
 favourite armchair, smoked his Boer pipe and tobacco with 
 even more silent complacency. Leonard chiefly asked ques- 
 tions which his sister could not answer, but he departed 
 after a while to the stables where a mare was in foal and 
 needed attention. While supper was being laid, the two 
 sisters wandered out into the garden, and Gwen's endless 
 questions dwelt lovingly on the ship and the voyage. Even 
 the things commonplace to Cecil interested her. And as for 
 Cecil, she heard the saga of the new bull, the story of the 
 increase of the sheep and the commonplaces of the farm, 
 with equal interest, but with wonder and a little quickening 
 of her town-accustomed heart. 
 
 Later on Gwen took her up to bed ; to the old room with 
 the things that she had counted treasures still there, where 
 she had left them. She wandered round. "Oh, here's my 
 old racquet, dear old thing. But it's no use now, I'm 
 afraid. And fancy mother's leaving the old monkey-skins 
 up ! It seems generations ago since Harold shot them while 
 I hid behind a rock and felt terrified. And my old books 
 Henty's! All this lot will have to go. Heavens! fancy 
 the days when I read Henty!" 
 
 "I like them," said Gwen shortly. 
 
 Cecil laughed. "Then you can have them all, my dear, 
 for I'm afraid I don't. I must explore the book-cases down- 
 stairs, and especially the one dad always kept locked. Thank 
 goodness, I'm grown up now." 
 
 Gwen jumped up from the bed on which she had been 
 sitting and put an arm round her. "I believe you really 
 are, Ces," she cried. "Do you know everything? Oh, what
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 15 
 
 talks we must have! Besides, you know, in a few months 
 I'm to go now, and you must tell me heaps and heaps about 
 'The Lindens.' There's so much I want to know and about 
 London and dances and plays. Have you been to many, 
 Ces?" 
 
 Cecil yawned. "Oh, my dear, it's too late to begin now, 
 but I haven't been to so many. More than you, though, I 
 suppose. To-morrow we'll wander right along the shore, 
 just you and I. I'm longing to see it again, and I'll tell you 
 all I know. There! will that satisfy you?" 
 
 Gwen looked at her, with the troubled eyes of a colonial 
 girl of sixteen. "Yes," she said, "if you mean it." 
 
 A couple of hours later, Cecil ran up her blind and leaned 
 out of the open window. A glorious sheen of moonlight 
 flooded the world, which seemed alive beneath it. Cicalas 
 were shrilling in the garden and the sea booming on the 
 beach. Far out, a line of lights told of a liner passing 
 towards the Cape. Cecil, her thick black hair plaited into 
 two long queues and in her white nightgown, looked very 
 young. She drew a deep breath as she took it all in, and a 
 little lump rose in her throat. Then she stretched her bare 
 arms out, threw her head back and stared up at the misty 
 stars, letting the breeze play with the laces at her breast 
 
 "Now to be free and to live," she whispered.
 
 CHAPTER H 
 
 WHAT a blessing it is not to have to wonder if it's 
 going to be fine!" exclaimed Cecil at breakfast. 
 "Gwen and I, mother, are going to have a wander on the 
 shore all by ourselves this morning. You don't mind, do 
 you? We've heaps to talk about, and I simply must see 
 the river and the beach again at once." 
 
 Mrs. Eldred smiled at her eagerness. "You haven't 
 changed so much, Ces," she said, "after all. It was always 
 'must' with you. But as you can't unpack, for your heavy 
 luggage won't arrive till to-morrow at earliest, there's no 
 reason why you shouldn't go." 
 
 "Suppose I meet you by the boat for lunch," suggested 
 Leonard. "I'll bring the skoff, and then we can row a bit 
 up-stream in the afternoon. I must see to the shearing 
 first, but I can cut down across country about one o'clock. 
 How will that suit ?" 
 
 "Oh Len, how splendid ! You are a dear !" cried Gwen. 
 "And there's a cold chicken, if mother will part with it." 
 
 "Mother will," said Mrs. Eldred, getting up, "but if you 
 two want a long morning, you had better get off at once. 
 Take care of your head in the sun, though, dear," she added, 
 kissing Cecil as she passed her chair. "You're not so used 
 to it as Gwen is, and it's hot just now." 
 
 Ten minutes later the two girls pushed open the garden 
 gate and stepped out on to the rough grass of the veld. A 
 track led away from the gate across the grass, almost dis- 
 appearing in the belt of wild bananas and bush above the 
 high-tide mark, but giving on to the sand and rocks of the 
 fore-shore. Cecil pushed quickly through the trees, and 
 
 16
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 17 
 
 stepped out on to the beach. "Oh, Gwen," she exclaimed, 
 "how perfect it is !" 
 
 She might well say so. Great masses of tumbled rock 
 upon which the sea beat in a continuous roar, were broken 
 by beaches of shining sand and shell-fragments. To the 
 south, not a hundred yards from where they stood, the little 
 stream which flowed past the house debouched into a small 
 lagoon that brimmed over a sandy bar to the ocean, and 
 beyond it rose the thickly wooded bluff. Beyond that, 
 again, in a great shining curve, the shore sloped away to 
 a distant point some five miles off, a point that glimmered 
 in the heat and a mist of spray; nor could you make out 
 from here that well on this side the point, the Umtamvuna 
 flowed into the sea. On Cecil's left, to the north, she could 
 only see half a mile or so, for masses of jutting rocks hid 
 the farther curve of the shore. The whole panorama lay 
 bathed in soft sunshine; the sea glistened blue and foamy 
 white ; the sand and rocks and trees sparkled and glowed in 
 the rich light ; and the ragged banana leaves rustled in what 
 seemed a whisper of welcome. 
 
 Gwen glanced about her unconcernedly. "Is it so dif- 
 ferent from England, then?" she asked. 
 
 Cecil was silent a minute. Then she gave a little sigh 
 and sat down on the sand, digging her fingers into it and 
 staring out before her. "You've no idea how different," 
 she said. "There's a taste in the air that is different, and 
 a light in the sun, but above all there's a feeling that we 
 might be miles and miles from a house and lone on a 
 desert island. You won't understand, but England is tamed. 
 You always feel restrained over there. Of course I expect 
 there are wild and lonely places in England somewhere, and 
 I know this is tame enough really, but it's different. Fancy 
 all that coast and not a person on it! I feel as if I could 
 just shout for sheer love of being free." 
 
 "Very likely there are natives somewhere," said Gwen 
 practically, "though probably not just now. They come 
 down at low tide to get shell-fish, but not when it's high
 
 i8 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 like it is to-day. Besides this isn't the time of low tides. 
 But come on! You're not going to sit the,re all day, are 
 you?" 
 
 Cecil jumped up. "Oh no," she exclaimed, 'let's get on. 
 Which way shall we go ?" 
 
 "Well, if we're to meet Len at one o'clock on the river, 
 it had better be that way." And the two sauntered off to- 
 gether to the south. 
 
 It was a slow progress. Cecil had to renew acquaintance 
 with every tree and shell and beast. Now she examined 
 the tracks of the king crabs and now the spoor of monkeys. 
 Together they bent over rock pools and hunted out hermit 
 crabs and sea-anemones and sea-urchins, a mass of slow- 
 waving spines of lovely hues. When the seas broke with 
 a roar and foamed up the beach, they caught shell-fish from 
 the mouths of whose shells waved a great pinky sail of flesh 
 that seemed to writhe aimlessly about if you picked it up, 
 but burrowed at once into the soft wet sand if let alone. 
 Now they strayed up the foreshore and tasted the tiny wild 
 dates, or picked sweet-scented yellow wild-flowers, or ex- 
 amined strange seed-pods. It was all magical to Cecil, and 
 Gwen had the delight of playing showman. And all the 
 time she kept up a running fire of questions as to the Eng- 
 land she had never seen and the wonders of London. Cecil 
 could not answer half her questions, but to the younger 
 girl, the elder seemed still a much travelled and perfectly 
 informed woman of the world. 
 
 Half way to the river, Gwen clambered up a big rock 
 and surveyed a little all but enclosed bay at her feet. The 
 sea ran in between great piles of rock which opened out on 
 to a beach of smooth sand. The entrance was a tumbled 
 mass of foam from half -hidden rocks, but within them was 
 a sheet of comparatively smooth water some five feet deep 
 at most which shelved gently to the beach. It was one of 
 her favourite spots. You could go far out on the arms of 
 rock, and, high up on them, see for a mile or more in either 
 direction. You could fish from here and throw the line
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 19 
 
 beyond the surf, or better still, at this time of the tide, 
 bathe in perfect security and isolation. It was this idea 
 that was in her head now. 
 
 "Let's bathe, Ces," she called to her sister who was walk- 
 ing on the sand below her. "It's a glorious place and quite 
 safe." 
 
 Cecil looked up. "But we haven't towels or costumes," 
 she objected. 
 
 Gwen laughed merrily. "My dear, you're not in England, 
 now," she said. "What do you want a costume for? There 
 isn't a soul for miles and miles, and unless someone actually 
 came along, they couldn't see you. There isn't anyone com- 
 ing, either; I can see from here. And what do you want 
 a towel for? The wind and sun will dry you in two twos. 
 Besides, I thought you wanted to be wild. I'm going in, 
 anyway." And she jumped down and began to pull off her 
 jersey in the shade of a great rock. "You have grown up," 
 she called. 
 
 Cecil's gaze passed from her to the invitation of the smil- 
 ing sea, and then she turned her back on it and walked 
 slowly up to her sister. "What about my hair?" she de- 
 manded. "It's all very well for you!" 
 
 "Let it down and plait it," cried Gwen. "Here, I'll do 
 it." And in a moment the black masses were tumbling 
 down and being as quickly twisted into a thick plait. 
 "There!" she exclaimed. "Now let it get wet if it likes. 
 It'll soon dry. Oh, hurry up ; I'm longing to be in." 
 
 She slipped off her remaining garments and ran swiftly 
 to the sea, a long-legged overgrown creature, but very sweet 
 and gay, leaping in to the soft creamy water like a young 
 colt. 
 
 Cecil undressed slowly, the lonely beautiful African beach 
 calling her, the years of prim England slowly loosening their 
 grip. A few yards out, Gwen's long arms beat the warm 
 water into foam and she could be heard ecstatically exclaim- 
 ing at the delight of it. Cecil hesitated no longer, and in a 
 minute was running down the sunny beach. She too leapt
 
 20 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 in, the water splashing about her, and, thigh deep, flung 
 herself forward to its embrace. "Oh," she gasped, out of 
 breath, "how heavenly. Oh how good to be alive!" 
 
 Joining her sister, the two girls clasped hands and waded 
 out until the water was shoulder-high. There Gwen slipped 
 suddenly free, and dived like a Samoan. Cecil shrieked as 
 she felt her ankles seized, but the next instant was ducked 
 and down in a smother of water. She came up laughing 
 and spluttering, racing for Gwen who was swimming quickly 
 away with a fast side stroke and calling: "Now what about 
 your old hair, my lady !" 
 
 Twenty minutes later, they waded out and up the hot 
 sand, Gwen flinging herself down in an abandonment of 
 delight. Cecil stood by her, passing her hands down her 
 limbs and shaking off what water she could, and Gwen, flat 
 on her back, lay regarding her. "You've a glorious figure, 
 Ces," she said suddenly and coolly. "I hope I'll be as 
 beautiful as you are, one day." 
 
 Cecil smiled and sat down by her, heaping the warm sand 
 over her thighs and legs. "Oh I don't know," she said 
 vaguely. 
 
 The younger girl caught her hand and kissed it, splut- 
 tering the next moment because of the sand that was cling- 
 ing to it. "Pig!" she said, "but, Ces, come here, I want to 
 talk to you." 
 
 Cecil leant back on her arm, amused. "What do you 
 want to talk about?" she demanded. 
 
 "Oh, lots of things. I'm so glad you're back, you know. 
 It's rotten being one girl alone, and there isn't anyone near 
 except Pamela Urfurd and she's eight miles away at Three 
 Springs farm and no good either. She's always reading, it 
 seems to me. I've been longing for you, because I remem- 
 ber you as being ripping, and now you're grown up, you'll 
 know everything. There's such an awful lot that puzzles 
 me. Ces, do you want to marry ?" 
 
 Cecil played with sand and stared out to sea. "Every- 
 body does," she said evadingly.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 21 
 
 "I know," said Gwen, "that's just it. Everybody does, or, 
 if they don't, they do worse things. Fanny had a baby 
 last year." 
 
 "Fanny?" queried Cecil dubiously. Then she remem- 
 bered. "Oh, the new Griqua maid. Did she, Gwen? I 
 didn't know she was married." 
 
 "Of course not, silly," said Gwen. 
 
 Cecil looked vaguely bewildered. "But if she isn't mar- 
 ried . . ." she began. "Oh Gwen, how could she?" 
 
 "Could ?" queried Gwen carelessly ; "easily enough, I sup- 
 pose. What do you mean? Kaffirs often do that, and after 
 all Griquas are very like Kaffirs. They're all very much 
 like animals, you know. I sometimes wonder why they 
 don't get half a dozen babies at once, but at any rate they 
 come so quickly that it almost looks like it." 
 
 Cecil felt the hot blood ebb and flow in her cheeks. Gwen 
 was her sister, but her cool discussion of things one did not 
 talk about to anyone unless one had to, horrified her. For 
 a fleeting second she pictured Miss Alice making a third in 
 this conversation, and the mere thought was too much 
 for her. If she could have seen the two of them lying as 
 they were on the sand, and if she could have heard Gwen's 
 words. . . . She rolled over, convulsed with silent laughter. 
 
 Gwen regarded her with increasing pique. At last she 
 got to her feet, and stood coolly looking down on her elder 
 sister. Cecil shot a glance up at her standing there, sand 
 clinging to her body, her arms akimbo on her hips, and set 
 off again. "Oh Gwen," she cried hopelessly, "really I can't 
 help it!" 
 
 Gwen's face relaxed. She sat down again. "But you 
 might tell me the joke," she said. 
 
 "M-miss Al-lice!" gasped Cecil. 
 
 Cecil wiped one hand clean of sand by the simple expedi- 
 ent of rubbing it on her person, and became more normal. 
 "You've no idea how shocked she'd be," she explained. 
 
 "Shocked?" queried Gwen, puzzled. 
 
 Cecil nodded, sober now. "You are not supposed to talk
 
 22 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 of such things," she said. "You did it so calmly, and Miss 
 Alice would have had a fit." 
 
 "But why?" asked Gwen. "These things go on and it's 
 not possible never to think about them. Of course one can't 
 talk to anybody about them, but I did think I might to you. 
 There's Harold, for example; have you never thought why 
 he went to Rhodesia? Weren't you surprised?" 
 
 "Harold," whispered Cecil, and stopped, not daring to 
 put her thought into words. 
 
 Gwen glanced at her curiously, struck by her tone. Then 
 she smiled. "Fanny's baby wasn't his, if you mean that," 
 she said. 
 
 Cecil flushed at the correctness of her sister's guess at 
 her thought. "Of course not," she said hastily. 
 
 A shade almost of contempt passed over Gwen's freckled 
 face. "But he was sent away," she added bluntly. "Father 
 wanted him to stay and farm Elandskop, but there was a 
 row, and he went." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "I don't know exactly. I think he was flirting with 
 Fanny though." 
 
 To Cecil the thing seemed as incredible and monstrous 
 as the other. It was as if some shadow of horror had fallen 
 suddenly across the bright day. Silence fell on them both. 
 Gwen was digging restlessly with her fingers in the sand, 
 and Cecil lay on her back, pleasantly warm in the sun, star- 
 ing out to sea. She saw her big, rather hulking brother 
 again, and visions that she could not have named floated 
 through her mind. Tears gathered in her eyes. "Oh Gwen," 
 she said at last, "how could he?" 
 
 "I imagine he couldn't help it," said Gwen calmly. "He 
 felt like it, I suppose, and after all Fanny is half white and 
 quite pretty. No wonder father sent him away. She would 
 have let him do whatever he wanted to, as like as not. Still, 
 he was a bit of a fool. He might have chosen somebody 
 decent and got married if he felt like that. He was twenty.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 23 
 
 I shall marry at twenty, I know. Don't you want to marry, 
 Ces? How would you like to have a baby?" 
 
 Cecil heard her in a kind of dream. Dimly she had a 
 feeling that it could not be quite real. Gwen, her baby 
 sister as she thought of her, was coolly putting her most 
 secret occasional thoughts into words, touching lightly on 
 mysteries which Miss Alice and six years at "The Lindens" 
 had blanketed around and hidden away from sight People 
 got married, of Bourse, and women had children, but # was 
 not a subject for so definite a conversation even with one's 
 sister, and as for what she tailed in her own mind the 
 tragedy of HaroUd, h was too awful. Her own brother even 
 looking twice at a Griqua woman 1 ThaJ, at any rate, was 
 clear enough. This was a strange new world into which 
 she had returned. But she knew what to do. She spoke 
 firmly. 
 
 "Gwen, I zvon't believe such an awful thing of my own 
 brother, and you're not to thinlf of it or speak of it again. 
 i shall forget all about it. And as for marrying, dear, don't 
 you trouble about that yet awhile. I'm glad you're going 
 to 'The Lindens' yourself before Christmas. Lessons and 
 games will take up air your time then. Promise me you 
 won't think of such things, Gwen." 
 
 The younger girl threw her sandy arms round her sister's 
 neck and kissed her. Then she slipped her arm round her 
 waist and played with the Wg plait of hair that fell over her 
 shoulder. "I won't, Ces," she said. "But I had to talk 
 to you. I've bottled things up for so long. And you 
 mustn't hate me. It comes from being alone, I expect. But 
 haven't you ever been in love, Ces?" 
 
 "No," said Cecil, smiling, "not in love. There was a 
 nice man on board ship, and I rather liked Steph's brother 
 Archie she was my great chum, you know but I didn't 
 love any of them, I've had too much else to mink about. 
 Come on, let's dress." 
 
 Gwen was reluctant to more, "I thought you'd know
 
 24 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 all about it," she said gravely, "but I don't believe you do. 
 Haven't you ever been kissed, Cecil ?" 
 
 Cecil laughed heartily at last, and was glad to be able 
 to do so. "Yes," she said, "once, by Archie under the 
 mistletoe, and that doesn't count. Why, have you?" 
 
 Gwen jumped up hastily, but Cecil was too quick for her 
 and caught her by the arm. "Tell me, Gwen," she said. 
 
 "Oh, it's nothing," said the younger girl, not looking at 
 her "only a joke, anyway. Yes, let's dress ;" and she shook 
 her sister off and ran to her clothes, brushing sand off as 
 she went. 
 
 Cecil followed quietly, until, half way over, she realised 
 suddenly that there she was, coolly walking across an open 
 beach with less on than a Kaffir. She glanced round with 
 the instinct of civilisation and ran hastily to her rock. 
 "We'll be late for lunch," called Gwen, struggling into her 
 things. "Oh I won't be a minute," said Cecil. "Isn't it 
 perfectly glorious here? I feel tingly all over after that 
 dip." 
 
 But she glanced at her sister once or twice as she dressed, 
 and registered a decision. She woulcf open up the latter 
 part of the subject again, one day, anyhow. She ought to 
 do, she told herself, because she was the elder and Gwen 
 might be getting herself into trouble. She wanted to do so, 
 she knew deep down, because she felt strangely ignorant 
 and Gwen seemed to know so much. But she was half 
 ashamed of that, and the two finished their dressing almost 
 in silence. ^ . 
 
 Half a mile on, the slight cliff of the shore receded and 
 thick flat scrub took its place. The sand widened and 
 deepened here, and it was plain it had been piled up by 
 the meeting of the sea and river. So sure enough it had, 
 and the two girls, stumbling heavily through the loose stuff, 
 climbed a bank of it and discovered the estuary beyond. 
 The Umtamvuna is a fine river, and if not as beautiful at 
 its mouth as a mile or two up where it winds between cliffs 
 a thousand feet high and clothed with semi-tropical forest,
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 25 
 
 still it was a glorious sight to Cecil. "Oh," she exclaimed, 
 "it hasn't changed a bit. Do you still keep the boat under 
 the old mangrove tree?" 
 
 "Can't any more," said Gwen, "for it blew down last year. 
 But there's a sort of shelter under a rock a little higher 
 up, and it's quite shut in by bushes from the shore. We 
 keep it up there, and it's a splendid picnic place too. Len's 
 there now." 
 
 "How do you know that?" demanded Cecil. 
 
 Gwen laughed. "Where are your eyes, my dear? Look 
 along the river-bank now, past that banana-clump that stands 
 out a bit on the shore. Now, can't you see smoke among 
 the leaves beyond?" 
 
 "Oh yes, of course I do. How stupid of me ! Let's race." 
 
 "Right, I'll beat you," shouted Gwen, and was away 
 like a flash. 
 
 But "The Lindens" had taught Cecil something useful 
 anyway. Not for nothing had she captained the hockey and 
 won prizes for sports. Half way along she passed her 
 sister, and was half a dozen yards in front when she bent 
 herself almost double and dived in among the trees. Out 
 of breath and hot, her hair in her eyes and her hat on her 
 neck, she failed to see a man who was gathering some 
 sticks for the fire, and stumbled up against him. 
 
 "Oh Len," she gasped, "we've had glorious bathe, and 
 
 I can still race Oh!" And she broke off. "Oh, I 
 
 beg your pardon !" 
 
 But Gwen was close behind her. "Hullo! you here, 
 Hugh," she panted. "How topping. Where's Len?" 
 
 The man was facing them now and smiling broadly. 
 "Morning, Gwen," he said. "Yes, I'm here. I turned up 
 over some cattle, and Len brought me along. He's gone for 
 water. But don't you think you ought to introduce me to 
 your sister?" 
 
 "Of course not," said Gwen, throwing herself down by 
 the fire. "You know her, or at least you did. Ces, this is 
 Hugh Sinclair of Springfontein. Don't you remember?"
 
 26 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 Sinclair held out his hand. "You weren't much more 
 than eleven or twelve when I saw you last, Miss Eldred," 
 he said, "and as I'm eight years older than Harold, you 
 know, I don't suppose you do remember me. I should 
 hardly have known you again, anyhow, I confess. You've 
 changed out of all knowledge." 
 
 Cecil had recovered herself, and had pushed back her 
 hair and set her hat on her head. "How do you do?" she 
 asked, shaking his hand. "Oh yes, I do remember you now. 
 You don't look a day older. But I thought Springfontein 
 was miles away." 
 
 "Well, it's no nearer than it used to be, but we've a decent 
 road and motors in these days, you know. You can do it 
 in a day. I hope I'll be able to show you soon. But I started 
 a bit late and slept at Murchison Flats on the road down 
 yesterday, leaving there after breakfast this morning. It 
 was an early breakfast, though, and I confess I'm looking 
 forward to that chicken. Thank goodness, here's Len." 
 
 Len came in with the kettle. "Hullo, you two, on time 
 are you ? Been bathing ? How do you like the water, Ces ? 
 Bit warmer than England, isn't it?" 
 
 "Oh it was lovely," cried Cecil. "I've never enjoyed a 
 bathe so much." 
 
 "We hadn't towels or anything," said Gwen -coolly, "and 
 we dried in the sand afterwards. Cecil thought it wasn't 
 proper at first." 
 
 "Gwen!" gasped Cecil, scarlet. 
 
 Sinclair came to the rescue. "It's much the best way 
 of bathing," said he, taking the kettle from Leonard and 
 going to the fire. "I'm all for a dip like that when I get 
 a chance. But get out of the way, Gwen, and let me put 
 the kettle on, unless you'd rather do it yourself. I don't 
 know if you've discovered how lazy your sister is, Miss 
 Eldred," he added. 
 
 Gwen moved to one side and gathered her feet up under 
 her, clasping her hands round her knees. "The first thing
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 27 
 
 to remember about Hugh, Ces, is that he never means what 
 he says," she announced. 
 
 The kettle on, Sinclair pulled up a half-log for Cecil and 
 sat down beside it himself. While they ate, she was rather 
 silent, but the others talked so fast that no one seemed to 
 notice it. What her sister had told her of her eldest brother, 
 refused to be banished, and she could not look at the two 
 men near her without thinking of it. Somehow she felt 
 she could fit it on to what she remembered of Harold, a big 
 fellow even at sixteen as he was when she had gone to 
 school. He had grown up on the farm, old beyond his 
 years, and his father had taught him all he knew. It was 
 the example of Harold before her, that had urged Mrs. 
 Eldred to send her second child and elder daughter away 
 to England, determining that what she could hardly have 
 helped in his case, she would certainly not allow in Cecil's. 
 But Hugh Sinclair was of a different make altogether. He 
 was English born, and if he had left home and a public 
 school too young for much education, and knocked about 
 the world a good deal since, at any rate he had kept the 
 stamp of a gentleman. Strong and finely built, if a little 
 heavy, he was very courteous to her. Sitting here, by the 
 camp fire, her mug of tea planted in the fallen leaves and 
 sand, and the sun filtering through the boughs overhead, 
 she could hardly believe that a couple of months before 
 she had been in Miss Alice's drawing-room. The contrast 
 delighted her. She burst into a laugh, suddenly, at the idea. 
 
 Len looked up. "What's the joke, Ces?" he demanded. 
 
 "Nothing," she said, a little confused and conscious that 
 Hugh Sinclair's eyes were on her. "Only this is such a 
 contrast to 'The Lindens.' You haven't an idea. Why in 
 the world does anyone stay in England, I wonder!" 
 
 "You didn't enjoy yourself much over there, then, Miss 
 Eldred?" said Hugh. 
 
 "Oh yes I did," she declared. "I wouldn't have missed 
 going for anything in a way. But I think I should have been
 
 28 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 less content if I had realised that you people were doing 
 this sort of thing every day. Even as it was, I used to feel 
 stifled at times. Sometimes, when they were bored with 
 life, the girls used to make me tell them tales of Africa, and 
 just talking about it made me long to get out again." 
 
 Hugh nodded. "That's the call of the blood," he said. 
 "But it's curious some people have it and some haven't. 
 My people were English bred and had lived in England all 
 their lives, but yet I felt that I must smell the blue sea and 
 get .out of the old country. I took the. first chance and 
 came, though I expect I would have stuck there if I hadn't. 
 But you will never be sorry that you were at 'The Lindens/ 
 Miss Eldred. I'm always wishing I'd had more education. 
 You feel it when you mix with fellows who have." 
 
 "That's rot, Hugh," asserted Gwen. "I'd sooner have 
 you than any of those idiots who make you feel as if you 
 had never read anything or been anywhere." 
 
 Len chuckled. "She's proposing to you, Sinclair," he 
 said. 
 
 Gwen flushed suddenly beneath her tan and kicked out 
 at him across the embers with her foot. "Don't talk rot," 
 she said. "Hugh knows what I mean." 
 
 Hugh got to his feet. "I think I do, Gwen," he said, 
 "and it's good of you to say it. But you're not right, for 
 all that. However, the day's going. Let's get the boat 
 out and pull up the river. What do you say, Miss Eldred ?" 
 
 "Oh rather," cried Cecil, springing up. "I'm dying to 
 see the river again and it will be a perfect afternoon. 
 Where's the boat? Come on, Len." 
 
 That worthy got up with a sigh. "I've only just settled 
 that skoff down," he said. "You two are in a confounded 
 hurry. Still there's no rest for the wicked, I suppose. Give 
 Gwen a hand with the sculls, Ces, and Sinclair and I will see 
 to the boat. Come on, Sinclair." 
 
 The sculls were hidden cleverly up the boughs of a big 
 tree, and when the girls emerged with them, the men had 
 already got the boat afloat from its place among some
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 29 
 
 bushes. Sinclair was in her, his coat off and his sleeves 
 rolled up. He helped Cecil in and she took the tiller. "I'll 
 steer," she said. 
 
 "Right," said Hugh, "and I'll scull her up, anyway. Get 
 over there by your sister, Gwen, and trim her. I believe 
 you're heavier than Miss Eldred." 
 
 Len pushed the light boat off with a vigorous shove, leapt 
 on board, and curled himself up in the bows. Hugh paused 
 a minute to light his pipe, and then began to pull leisurely 
 up stream. 
 
 Silence settled down on them. In a little the river nar- 
 rowed, and soon they were gliding under the great krantzes, 
 thick with bush except where the naked rock stood out, and 
 by the cultivated patches of native land wherever, for a 
 few yards, the cliffs stood back from the" water. Toucans 
 called from the thickets, and now and again a green and 
 blue and gold kingfisher regarded them solemnly from his 
 perch or skimmed up-stream before their approach. Far 
 oif, from somewhere high up on the rocks, a baboon barked 
 to its mate, and Cecil dreamily wondered if Paradise itself 
 had been more lovely.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE morrow was Saturday, and at breakfast, when Sin- 
 clair referred to his return, there was a chorus of dis- 
 approval. Eldred, with colonial hospitality and brusqueness, 
 set the suggestion aside at once. "Oh rubbish," he said. 
 "It's weeks since you were here, and you can stay over the 
 week-end anyhow. You needn't tell me that it is so impor- 
 tant as all that for you to get back." And his wife sup- 
 ported him. "Oh yes, do stay, Mr. Sinclair," she said. 
 "You'll help us to break Cecil in to the quietness of Elands- 
 kop." 
 
 He smiled. "Well," he said, "my shearing's done, it's 
 true, but I can't help thinking that you want Miss Eldred 
 to yourselves just at present. After six years, you'll have 
 so much to say to each other that a stranger will be in 
 the way." 
 
 "A stranger might, but you're no stranger, Hugh," put 
 in Gwen. 
 
 "Gwen," said her mother, "you ought not to call Mr. 
 Sinclair 'Hugh.' You're not a child any longer. You should 
 snub her, Mr. Sinclair." 
 
 "Oh please don't say that, Mrs. Eldred," said Hugh. 
 "We've known each other too long for ceremony. Miss 
 Eldred, it's your fault. You make us all feel intensely 
 proper." 
 
 Cecil laughed easily. "For goodness' sake, don't say that," 
 she cried. "I'm beginning to feel already as if I had never 
 been away, and then you suggest fearful things like that! 
 Do stay, anyway, and get over it." 
 
 "There you are, Sinclair," said Eldred. "The meeting's 
 nem. con. against your going, and you've plainly a reason 
 for staying. You can't go now." 
 
 30
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 31 
 
 "I don't feel I can," he said lightly, but he glanced at 
 Cecil as he spoke and she felt instantly that the words 
 meant more than appeared. A ripple of feeling ran 
 through her, and her blood danced. She felt suddenly 
 that it was amazingly good to be alive and pretty and nicely 
 dressed. It was a first taste of power and was far more 
 vivid than she would have allowed. 
 
 "That's settled then," she said, pushing her chair back. 
 "Now, please, outline the programme." 
 
 Eldred got up. "Count me out this morning, anyway," 
 he said, "and Len, I shall want you. Jacob says some of 
 the cattle are sick and you had better go and look at them. 
 But what do you say to spearing some fish to-night? The 
 mullet are thick in the river and the tide will be just right. 
 We've got a new grains, Cecil, and you might like to see 
 the fun." 
 
 "Oh, dad, how splendid," she cried. "You are a dear for 
 thinking of it. What do you say, Mr. Sinclair?" 
 
 "Topping," he said. "That's a thing you don't get my 
 way. Len's a Trojan at it, but the last time I tried, I threw 
 myself overboard as well as the spear." 
 
 "You did," said Gwen in her cool way, "but you went 
 over very nicely, Hugh, if you remember, and when we fished 
 you out, we found you had your fish all right." 
 
 They all laughed, and the thing was settled. Eldred and 
 his son went off to the farm, and Mrs. Eldred to the kitchen. 
 The other three strolled out into the garden and Hugh pro- 
 duced his cigarette case. "Do you smoke, Miss Eldred?" 
 he said, offering it. 
 
 "No, thanks," she replied. 
 
 "I'll have one, though, Hugh," said Gwen, "thanks very 
 much." 
 
 "I'm sorry," he apologised. "I thought you kept that 
 for more private occasions." 
 
 "Well, I do," she replied. "But everybody's gone, and 
 besides I want one. Don't look so shocked, Ces," she added. 
 
 Cecil felt absurdly nettled. "I'm not," she said; "you
 
 32 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 can smoke if you want to. It seems to me that you do most 
 of the things you want to do, anyhow." 
 
 Gwen pulled on her cigarette and blew out the smoke like 
 a boy, but with a curious grace that characterised her. "Do 
 I, Hugh?" she demanded evenly. 
 
 He laughed, slightly self-consciously Cecil thought. 
 "You've ruled the roost I think," he said. "It's a good thing 
 your sister has come home. But what's to be the programme, 
 Miss Eldred ? It's up to you to choose." 
 
 "I hardly know what's possible," she replied. "What do 
 you think, Gwen?" 
 
 "I've a mind to think nothing," retorted that young lady, 
 "but go off by myself with a book till Hugh seeks me out 
 with chocolates and apologies. However, I'll be merciful. 
 Wherefore I suggest what you hinted at yesterday : a stroll 
 through the gardens and over the veld to the store. Then 
 back and a ba*he before lunch. As Hugh will be with us, 
 you can put on your most chic costume this time, Cecil. And 
 you can wear one of Len's, Hugh." 
 
 " 'Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings,' " Sinclair 
 said gravely, poking fun at her; "but really it's a splendid 
 plan. And possibly old Shenk may have the very chocolates 
 of which you speak. What do you say, Miss Eldred ?" 
 
 "Gwen justifies her existence, I think," said Cecil. "Let's 
 get hats and stroll off at once." And she pushed her arm 
 into her sister's. 
 
 They followed a little path through the pines down to the 
 stream, over its boulders, and up the side of the hill through 
 a fruit garden of pine-apples, oranges, bananas and man- 
 goes. It was hot, but only deliciously so, and they walked 
 slowly. To Cecil every step of the way brought back mem- 
 ories. 
 
 "I remember old Jacob beginning this garden," she ex- 
 claimed. "He had a Kaffir to help him, and complained to 
 father, after a bit, that the Kaffir did nothing but wait with 
 an old gun to shoot monkeys which he alleged came to steal 
 the fruit and sweet potatoes. Do they still come, Gwen?"
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 33 
 
 "Oh, yes, but not so many," said Gwen. "Several have 
 been shot over there on the edge of those orange trees, and I 
 think they're frightened of the place a bit. Or perhaps we 
 have so much fruit now that we don't miss it." And she 
 stooped to pick up a ripe fallen mango as she spoke. 
 
 "Keep that to eat in the sea," said Hugh. "They say 
 you can only eat these things in a bath, Miss Eldred." 
 
 "Rot lend us your knife, Hugh," said Gwen, and she 
 deftly cut the fruit, peeled away the skin, and sucked it 
 gingerly. Then, making a grimace, she threw it away. 
 "Turpentiney," she explained. "Come on; we shall never 
 get to the store." 
 
 She set off ahead, up the steep path and on to the flat veld 
 at the top. The other two followed more slowly, finding 
 plenty to talk about and something at every step that Cecil 
 wanted to examine. She asked innumerable questions, and 
 Hugh had to confess himself beaten more often than not. 
 She picked a small wild scarlet zinnia and demanded its 
 name. 
 
 "I don't know," he confessed. "I fear you'll find us all 
 terrible duffers, Miss Eldred. I can tell you the grasses 
 that are good for cattle and give you a lecture on mealies 
 and Kaffir corn, cattle and sheep, but I'm stumped beyond 
 that. We don't think about other things much, and some- 
 how there isn't time." 
 
 Cecil liked his candour. "You've bigger things to do," 
 she said. "That's what I like about African men. You can 
 do things, if you don't know much. Oh, at least, I don't 
 mean that " 
 
 "Yes, you do," he cut in. "And you're quite right. What's 
 more, we ought to know more than we do. But one lives so 
 much among poor whites and natives, and talks farm shop 
 whenever one meets a neighbour, that other things get for- 
 gotten. That's why it's so jolly meeting you. You're so 
 different from girls that have never been home." 
 
 "Am I ?" queried Cecil. "I wonder. What's the good of 
 half the things one learned over there? You don't know how
 
 34 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 prim and proper they kept us. Even Gwen makes me feel 
 as if I were her age and she were mine. I've learned some 
 French and German (and not enough of them to be of any 
 real use) but I don't know about life at all. Gwen can run 
 the house ; I shouldn't even know how to order the dinner !" 
 
 He laughed. "Gwen's an awfully good sort and a great 
 pal of mine," he said, "but you show her up. You make me 
 feel, suddenly, that riding and farming and shooting are not 
 everything. Do you know you make me realise that my 
 people are the Sinclairs of West Haven. This isn't snob- 
 bishness, Miss Eldred please don't think it is. And I hope 
 to goodness that I haven't forgotten I was born a gentleman, 
 though of course one doesn't talk about it. But you make a 
 fellow pull himself together, somehow. You remind me of 
 my sisters and home. And it's very good to be reminded." 
 
 Cecil did not look at him. She felt quaintly happy, but 
 she could not have put her feelings into words. She bent 
 forward and pulled at a long grass. "Tell me about your 
 life out here," she said softly. 
 
 "I came out thirteen years ago," said Hugh, "and I've 
 never been home since. I was only seventeen then. I came 
 out to a farmer near Maritzburg, a friend of my father, and 
 I had a pretty rough time, I can tell you. I've trekked right 
 through East Griqualand, many a time, and there weren't 
 so many roads then. I used to go off alone with some boys 
 and buy cattle in Pondoland and in Basutoland. I got to 
 know your father then : he was just getting settled here, and 
 you were a tot of a girl who always stared strangers out of 
 countenance with those big eyes of yours. Then came a Zulu 
 rising, and I joined up for that and got a liking for the life, 
 went up to Rhodesia in the police, and stayed there several 
 years. But it was awfully rough and slow work most of the 
 time, and, besides, it led to so little. So I came back here, 
 and had a chance to buy Springfontein. It was your father 
 who advised me to take it. I came down to see him and 
 got his advice a few months before you left for England,
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 35 
 
 but I only stayed for one night and I don't suppose you 
 remember." 
 
 "You sat out on the stoep smoking cigars," said Cecil 
 gravely, "and a native came in the middle and said your 
 horse was sick. And you said something rather hastily and 
 went off to see." 
 
 Sinclair laughed shamefacedly. "Oh I say, that's too 
 bad," he exclaimed. "But where in the world were you? 
 And how do you know?" 
 
 Cecil smiled. "It's curious how I remember," she said. 
 "I was on a kaross in the corner all the time, and I was 
 listening because you were telling father about lions in 
 Rhodesia. I'd clean forgotten, but I remember perfectly 
 plainly now." 
 
 He nodded. "So I was," he said. "It's a good omen, 
 Miss Eldred. Anyhow I took the farm, six years ago now, 
 and I'm doing quite well. I hope you'll come and see it soon. 
 But I live alone, and it's not much of a place for a lady 
 as it is. Wouldn't you like a trek over into Basutoland? 
 If your father and Gwen came, I could easily arrange it." 
 
 "What's that about me?'' demanded Gwen, who had 
 waited for them almost concealed by a bank of rushes where 
 the path crossed a tiny feeder of the main stream and 
 ascended to the store on the sky-line. 
 
 "Oh, Gwen, you quite scared me !" cried Cecil. 
 
 "Yes, you and Hugh seemed mighty thick," said Gwen. 
 "But what were you saying about me, anyhow?" 
 
 Sinclair turned to her eagerly: "I was just suggesting 
 that you two might like a trek into Basutoland," he said, 
 "and that if your father brought you to my place, I could 
 get it up." 
 
 "How perfectly priceless," cried Gwen. "When, Hugh? 
 Next week?" 
 
 The others both laughed. "That's a bit soon for Miss 
 Eldred, I expect," said Hugh. "You'll want to get your 
 luggage up first and settle in, won't you? However, even
 
 36 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 next week wouldn't be too soon for me, and anyway we 
 ought not to wait too long or it will be getting cold on the 
 Range by night. The end of April would be perfect that's 
 a good month." 
 
 Cecil nodded. "Yes, I must get my things straight," she 
 said, "and besides we can hardly trek off the mo'ment I am 
 back. Remember mother." 
 
 "Bring her, too," interjected Hugh. 
 
 "She wouldn't care about it," said Gwen decidedly. "As 
 to your things, Ces, they won't .take any time, but certainly 
 you couldn't leave motfier all at once. Let's settle the end 
 of April, and switch on to it carefully at home. Hugh, give 
 me another cigarette, there's a dear." 
 
 Cecil walked on as the two stopped for Hugh to light 
 her sister's cigarette, but she had sharp ears. "You've never 
 asked me," said Gwen, in her low distinct voice. Sinclair 
 made a reply which she could not hear, and the next minute 
 they joined her. Sinclair was a little silent, Cecil thought, 
 but Gwen took up the running. 
 
 "There's a crowd at the store," she said. "Several Kaffirs 
 went by while I waited for you, so you'll be able to renew 
 your acquaintance with niggers, Ces. Don't you forget the 
 chocolates, Hugh. Shenks keeps some particularly nice 
 chocolate peppermint creams. I hope you like peppermint, 
 Cecil at least I'm not sure; perhaps I hope you don't. 
 Then there'll be more for me. There! Didn't I say there 
 was a crowd ?" 
 
 Their path had led thefti round a big rondhavel and out 
 to an open space in front of the rough iron building of the 
 store. It was a scene of immense animation and apparent 
 excitement. Under a willow across the yard, a dozen or 
 more horses with bags of grain slung across them were being 
 off-loaded. In the centre, a little to one side of the door 
 and under the projecting iron roof, a white man stood behind 
 a scale with a crowd of natives before him. He had a pencil 
 in his hand and a book, and was noting names and figures 
 in it as a black boy, who weighed the grain, called them out.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 37 
 
 A man would stagger up with a sack and sling it on to the 
 scale, and the black assistant would carefully slide along the 
 weight, a dozen pairs of eyes on him. He would call out a 
 name and figure, and the white man would repeat both and 
 add a price which he then wrote on a second slip of paper, 
 tore off and handed to the man. The fellow would stare 
 at it, his black face one huge grin, and perhaps join the 
 expectant crowd to see how his neighbour fared, or perhaps 
 go at once into the store to commence the lengthy job of 
 selecting goods. All the time a babble of sound arose from a 
 miscellaneous crowd of women and children, all talking at 
 once and nineteen to the dozen into the bargain. 
 
 Shenk came forward the moment he saw them. "How do 
 you do, Sinclair," he said. "What are you getting for 
 mealies up your way? Finished shearing yet? How do 
 you do, Miss Gwen. Is this your sister? How do you do, 
 Miss Eldred. I heard you were expected back this week, 
 but I didn't expect to see you here so soon. I'm afraid I'm 
 very busy and very dirty. Is it six years since I saw you? 
 I don't think I should have known her, Miss Gwen." 
 
 "Probably not," said Gwen. "I'm not sure any of us do. 
 She's the latest London fashion, you know." 
 
 Cecil and Shenk laughed, but not Sinclair. The girl's 
 words hurt him somehow. "Well, you're busy, just at the 
 moment, I can see," he said to Shenk. "We'll go in and have 
 a look round. We've some purchases to make." 
 
 "Right-ho," said Shenk. "You'll have a cup of tea, Miss 
 Eldred? Masupa!" he shouted, "Masupa!" and then, as a 
 black head appeared round the corner of the store, "Tea ! 
 
 three cups. Well, if you will excuse me for a moment " 
 
 And he went back to the scales. 
 
 The three of them entered the store. Round three sides 
 ran a broad counter, and behind the counter, piled up on 
 shelves almost to the roof, were trade goods: all kinds of 
 material, trousers, jackets and blankets shelves and shelves 
 of blankets ; then grocery goods, tinned meat, sardines, can- 
 dles, matches, beads, small looking-glasses, and a score more 
 
 407035
 
 38 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 things. From the roof were hung frames which held sad- 
 dlery, boots, hats and caps, and umbrellas. On either side of 
 the door were large mirrors, concave and convex respec- 
 tively, so that in them the reflection of a man was ludicrously 
 comic, either very thin or very fat. 
 
 The place was half full of natives, mostly women and 
 children. The women's hair was in many cases greasy and 
 hanging in revolting 'tails' of red ochre and fat, their skin 
 oiled and glossy, their garments often mere rags. Some were 
 examining the 'rugs' of common native wear, however, with 
 the knowledge and criticism of ladies in Bond Street, and 
 others were discussing purchases and exchanging news. 
 Cecil's attention was caught by a group of children, the eldest 
 intent on the purchase of half a bottle of paraffin, some sugar 
 and some matches, the rest eagerly waiting for the gift of 
 half a handful of common sweets that was the bonne bouche 
 reserved for the end of every purchase. 
 
 "Funny little beggars, aren't they?" said Sinclair behind 
 her. 
 
 She turned towards him smiling. "Yes," she said, "but 
 very like children in a village shop at home." 
 
 "Not much resemblance in the women though," he said, 
 glancing at them. 
 
 Cecil followed his glance with her eyes, and for a moment 
 forgot her companion in a sudden shock of surprise. "Oh !" 
 she exclaimed, "Fanny!" 
 
 Over in a corner, laughing and talking with a group of 
 native women, was the half-caste servant-girl. In the house 
 she had seemed to Cecil reserved and far more akin to 
 whites than blacks, but here the situation was reversed. She 
 was on the best of terms with the natives, and at the moment 
 taking a sticky lump of sweet from a black woman's hand. 
 She half turned, too, at the moment, and then Cecil saw, 
 hung in the shawl on her back, a baby, its face staring aim- 
 lessly out. Harold flashed into her mind, and what might 
 have been. 
 
 A sense almost of physical sickness swept over her. The
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 39 
 
 heat, the smell of the natives, and the surprise, were more 
 than she could stand. It was almost as if she had been 
 struck a sudden blow, and she went white beneath the 
 shock. Hugh saw her change colour, and in a moment had 
 seized a folding chair from its place by the wall, set it up 
 and placed it for her. "It's the heat," he exclaimed. "I'm 
 so sorry; I ought to have thought of it. Thank goodness, 
 Shenk sent that boy for tea he won't be many minutes. 
 Can you wait? Or would you like some water?" 
 
 Cecil gripped tight hold of herself and smiled mechani- 
 cally up at him. Time seemed to be standing still and giving 
 her opportunity to think. "It was awfully stupid of me, 
 Mr. Sinclair," she said. "I don't know why I suddenly felt 
 so faint. But I shall be all right in a moment. Oh look, 
 there's the tea. That's all I want." 
 
 The boy brought the tea in rough cups, slopped over into 
 their saucers, and the sugar-basin was the scuttle with which 
 the sugar was served from its bin. Shenk came up with 
 apologies, and Cecil threw herself into the fun of the thing, 
 so new to her, and kept both the men about her, laughing, 
 talking and plainly admiring. Out of the corner of her eyes, 
 however, she saw Fanny leave the shop carrying a big can of 
 oil for which she had doubtless been sent from the home- 
 stead, and not until the Griqua had had time to get ahead 
 did she suggest a move. Then she and Gwen (munching 
 chocolates) went out of the shop first, while the two men 
 followed, and Cecil was able to speak a word to her sister. 
 She felt curiously hard, as if she could face anything, and 
 Gwen looked up surprised as she said in a low voice : "Thank 
 you, my dear." 
 
 Gwen stared at her, and then smiled. "Sorry I swore, 
 Ces," she said. For in the moment of discovery, when 
 Sinclair had gone for the chair, Gwen had whispered sav- 
 agely, "Don't be a damned fool, Ces." 
 
 The sisters did not speak to each other again all the way 
 back or even as they went to their rooms to change for the 
 bathe. Cecil was last down, in a bathing-dress and a
 
 40 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 kimono, and carrying a towel, and she found the two others 
 waiting for her on the stoep. Gwen was in a one-piece 
 costume, old, nondescript in colour and patched, without a 
 wrap, swinging a towel and sitting on the rail, her bobbed 
 hair giving her a boyish appearence. 
 
 "There you are," she called. "You've been ages. Come 
 on." 
 
 "You haven't been any time, really," said Hugh. "Gwen's 
 no guide. She can change quicker than I can." 
 
 "She won't when she's my age," laughed Cecil, "and 
 especially not within a week of her return from England. 
 And there's heaps of time." 
 
 "You must take a parasol," said Hugh, "if you don't wear 
 a hat." Gwen, bareheaded in the sun, looked back and 
 agreed, and Cecil picked up from the hall a new one from 
 home, of flaming-patterned cretonne. She had braided her 
 black hair, and if she had not known how good she looked 
 as she walked down the path, Sinclair's eyes would have 
 told her. 
 
 He discoursed of bathing as they went down, but she 
 hardly listened. His warnings about going out too far, of 
 rocks, of cross-currents and of sharks, hardly reached her. 
 It was Gwen's impatient: "Really, Hugh, you're too fussy 
 by half," that brought her back to present events. By the 
 rocks Hugh put down Cecil's towel which he had carried, 
 saying: "This'll do for you, I think," and went round 
 another to leave his own and his cap. Gwen, who had tossed 
 her towel to the sand and had nothing else at all to discard, 
 looked after him mockingly. "Good Lord," she exclaimed, 
 "poor old Hugh!" 
 
 "What do you mean?" demanded Cecil, busy with her 
 shoes. 
 
 "Well," said Gwen, "I've bathed about a hundred times 
 with Hugh. We always chuck our towels on the sand to- 
 gether and go in. But to-day, he walks off round a rock, 
 smiling like a mandarin."
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 41 
 
 "Don't be silly, Gwen," said Cecil, tucking her hair into 
 her cap, and glancing sideways at her. 
 
 Gwen met her eyes boldly, but there was no laughter in 
 them. "No," she said, "I won't be." 
 
 The sea was much rougher than it had been the day before, 
 and the breakers thundered in, giving no chance to get 
 entirely outside them even if it had been safe. Though 
 without surf-boards, they got the greatest fun out of surfing. 
 You wait just beyond the breaking point of a wave, and, as 
 it picks you up, throw yourself forward into it, hands 
 extended before you and head down. If you are bold 
 enough, it will sweep you right up the beach, the air and 
 water bubbling in your ears and your skin tingling with its 
 power. After a few attempts, Cecil excelled at this. She 
 loved swimming passionately, and had no fear. Her lithe 
 young body shot fearlessly into the wave and seemed to be a 
 mere cork upon it. And the surfing gave her the one moment 
 of the bathe which she never forgot. 
 
 Hugh had ridden a wave before her and had not landed 
 when she started. Moreover, unnoticed by either of them, 
 a third came right on the heels of the other two, and not 
 only was Cecil carried forward blindly so that she was on 
 top of Hugh before she knew it, but also, as they laughingly 
 tried to recover their footing, this third rushed upon them. 
 Both were bowled clean over. Cecil clutched Hugh des- 
 perately, her body pressed to his, and Hugh flung his right 
 arm across her breast to hold her. She was for a moment 
 in the closest embrace, and even in the roar and surge of 
 the sea, the physical joy of it thrilled her. All her fem- 
 ininity, long suppressed or controlled, asserted itself. Splut- 
 tering and laughing, the two of them staggered up the beach 
 together, Cecil intoxicated without knowing why. "Oh," 
 she exclaimed, throwing out her arms to the breeze and 
 sun and gazing at him through the film of salt-water that 
 still streamed down her face, "how divine ! I feel like a 
 Greek goddess. Oh. what a thing it is to be alive !"
 
 42 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 "You look like one too," said Hugh, openly admiring her. 
 
 "Don't," laughed Cecil. "It's impossible to live up to it, 
 you know." 
 
 The night was a fitting climax to the day. After a late 
 tea, they all of them Mr. Eldred, Cecil, Len, Gwen and 
 Sinclair tramped off to the boat, Gwen carrying the grains, 
 or three-pronged fish-spear, and Len the lantern, a patent 
 arrangement which gave a brilliant light with paraffin gas 
 and was perfection for the operations, except that it needed 
 a good deal of paraphernalia in the shape of a bottle of 
 spirits, a sort of brush for lighting purposes, and a pump. 
 They walked along the baach barefoot on the wet sands, 
 with the spume of the waves warm beneath their feet and 
 the stars glowing over sea and land and on the wet surface 
 before them. The launch in the river was a mysterious 
 business, Cecil thought, standing back to let the men and 
 Gwen (in shorts, a diminutive skirt and a sweater) do the 
 work. Then she t6ok the tiller, her father sitting by her. 
 Len pulled. Gwen lay full length in the bows, holding the 
 lantern so shielded that its light illuminated the water but 
 did not shine on the figure of Sinclair standing above her, 
 the spear poised in his arms. Slowly and silently, Len 
 pulled up the broad stream. The cry of an owl from the 
 banks or the leap of a fish somewhere higher up alone broke 
 a silence that did not seem disturbed by the ceaseless 
 distant roar of the sea on the bar. Stars above and below, 
 they seemed to float in a velvet dark between heaven and 
 earth. 
 
 "There's one !" exclaimed her father in a sibilant whisper. 
 "Oh where?" she breathed. 
 
 "Sorry; too late," said Hugh. "Watch the left, Miss 
 Eldred." 
 
 Another long minute, and then almost magically as it 
 seemed to her, two long silvery fish swam into the bright 
 light, all but charging the bows of the boat, and simulta- 
 neously Hugh dived the spear at them. "Got one," he 
 shouted, eagerly, and pulled in the heavy weapon by the line
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 4 3 
 
 attached to his wrist. Len leant back and detached the fish, 
 dropping it to flap feebly in the boat at his feet. 
 
 After a while, Cecil took her sister's place, and Len the 
 grains. With all his skill, he was less successful than Hugh, 
 but it seemed they were, if anything, too high up the river 
 by now. Cecil felt she would not have cared if no more fish 
 had been seen, for they had plenty, and it was enchanting to 
 lie there so near the water and gaze deep into its lit depths, 
 seeing weed swaying with the current, and tiny fish, and now 
 and again the bigger mullet. However they turned and her 
 father took the spear, she and Hugh sitting together on the 
 rudder-seat. And near the bar, its thunder in her ears, she 
 almost started as Sinclair laid his hand on her arm. "Look," 
 he said ; "over there, to the right." 
 
 She half turned and looked. 
 
 "Oh," she gasped, "how marvellous !" 
 
 The African moon was sailing into view over the kopjes 
 on the Pondoland side. While they watched, the serene 
 light flooded the trees on the opposite bank and fell on the 
 placid river, save where the great shadows rested, in one of 
 which they lay. Out to sea, it fell on the spray and shone 
 in a luminous mist. And even while they watched, their boat 
 glided out of the darkness into that silver light, and Hugh 
 took his hand from her arm. 
 
 "That's all," said Mr. Eldred. "We shan't catch more 
 to-night. Pull in, Len. Well, Cecil, enjoyed it?" 
 
 She nodded, almost afraid to speak lest she should shatter 
 a dream.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 CECIL was not as yet given to introspection, but she was 
 getting into the bad habit. This morning, with Hugh 
 Sinclair (whose stay had been prolonged a week) three days 
 gone, she was lying in a hammock which he had hung for 
 her, and pretending to read. Hugh had chosen a place on 
 the edge of the pine plantation, sufficiently far from the 
 house to be out of the sound of ordinary doings there, and 
 yet within call. The trees murmured above her, their thin 
 needles rustling gently together as if they whispered of days 
 in far Madagascar, and she lay well within their shadow. 
 Yet the view lay uninterrupted below her. She could see the 
 busy little stream tumbling angrily among the great rocks of 
 its course to the sea, the bluff beyond, and the line of break- 
 ers framed between its bold outline and the bush across the 
 lagoon. On the sea, there was not a sail in sight, but two or 
 three naked native children were bathing in the shallow 
 water of the lagoon itself. 
 
 Cecil was very far from thinking busily, indeed she was 
 perhaps hardly aware that she thought at all. If she had 
 realised exactly upon what her thoughts were dwelling, she 
 might have been disconcerted, but it was characteristic of her 
 in those days that she did no such thing. So a flower opens 
 to the sun, it must be supposed, without conscious thought, 
 every sensitive cell of it, however, responding to the warmth 
 and light. Cecil, then, was aware that a fortnight ago she 
 had been a school-girl eagerly anticipating home, but that 
 now she was a school-girl no more at all and that her home 
 was already a secondary matter. She was lazily reviewing 
 the doings of the week, and it was Hugh always who stood 
 out in them. Now she was bumping into him by the camp- 
 
 44
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 45 
 
 fire, and at that she smiled to herself. Then they were 
 rowing up the river, and she was watching his firm strokes 
 against the sunny water. Or again they were walking to the 
 store, riding together, sitting on the stoep in the evening, 
 choosing the place for this hammock, waving good-bye to 
 him in the motor. She was not even sorry that he had gone. 
 She seemed to have so many memories of him that it was 
 almost as if he had not gone. Also he was near, and they 
 would soon meet again. She was very sure they would ; not 
 meet, that is, as one met other people, but meet soon to re- 
 sume the friendship that was already established between 
 them. 
 
 It was at this point that her thinking became less definite 
 than before. She did not ask herself if she were in love 
 with him, for the simple reason that she had never loved 
 anybody, other than her own people, and had as it were no 
 test possible. She honestly did not yet know what love was. 
 She had, of course, read novels and talked of it to girls to 
 some extent, but never seriously. Love and marriage were 
 simply one thing to her, and a simple matter at that. You 
 fell in love and you married, that was all. Why you mar- 
 ried, necessarily, because you were in love, did not present 
 itself as a subject of definite thought at all. And Cecil was 
 not a fool in all this, but merely a very jolly simple girl who 
 had lived for nineteen years without ever looking on life. 
 She had come from a school in reality more secluded than a 
 convent to find herself suddenly a woman admired and ad- 
 miring. The very gay robustness of her school-days made 
 the contrast more startling. At "The Lindens" there was, 
 for well or ill, no time to think of such things. Even the 
 mere sight of nuns and the vigilance of a convent might 
 make one wonder what it was all for, but at "The Lindens" 
 there was nothing to wonder about. 
 
 Just then Gwen passed below her, taking the path to the 
 fruit garden across the spruit. Gwen did not see her and 
 was walking slowly, swinging a basket. Cecil lazily contem- 
 plated her, and then a little frown gathered at the corners of
 
 46 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 her eyes. She wondered how Gwen would like "The Lin- 
 dens." She had liked it, but she was suddenly aware how 
 intensely she would dislike going back. But what about 
 Gwen? It was rather like caging a wild bird, Cecil thought. 
 But why did she think of Gwen as a wild bird? Just be- 
 cause she roamed at large and did lessons more or less when 
 she wanted to do them? No, it was not quite that. It was 
 all rather puzzling. 
 
 Hugh. Gwen. Cecil set them both before her. If Gwen 
 had not known Hugh, she might have liked "The Lindens." 
 But she did know Hugh, and Cecil was not even sure how 
 much she knew him. It was utterly ridiculous, of course, a 
 mere girl and a man of thirty, but then Gwen was so old for 
 her years. Did Gwen love Hugh? 
 
 Cecil became aware that her world stood still at the 
 thought. But after all, why should she not? Or why should 
 she ? A marriage between them struck her as absurd, and if 
 no marriage was in the question, then where did love come 
 in? And then, like an arrow that struck her entirely un- 
 awares, she had another remembrance. She all but felt the 
 surf boiling and thundering about her, and the clasp of 
 Hugh's arm its touch across her breast. The colour flooded 
 her face, and she half sat up to pull at a cushion. "How 
 perfectly absurd," she said aloud. 
 
 As if in immediate reply, a low chuckle of a laugh sounded 
 behind her. "Oh!" she exclaimed, startled, and turned 
 swiftly to see who had thus come upon her unawares. And 
 it was thus that Cecil Eldred and Pamela Urfurd came face 
 to face. The high gods arranged it so. 
 
 Cecil saw a girl not much more than her own age. (Pa- 
 mela was, in fact, two years older.) She wore riding breeches 
 and a long covert coat, and her light brown rather nonde- 
 script hair was gathered in a thick short queue and tied up 
 with a black ribbon. She wore a soft plain hat, and held a 
 sjambok in one hand and a pair of gloves in the other. Her 
 best friends never called Pamela pretty, but equally her 
 enemies (of which she had more than her share as life went
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 47 
 
 on, especially among women) never called her plain. It was 
 not beauty or the lack of it that you thought of when you 
 looked at Pamela Urfurd. On the whole, women tended to 
 be immediately and instinctively hostile, while most men 
 were instantly attracted. Her nose was too big, and had an 
 emphatic and undeniable hook in it. As for her eyes, one 
 rarely saw them fully open. They looked at you provoca- 
 tively, and you called them brown. But if ever you saw 
 them really open, you knew them to be grey. Women said 
 they were hard, but no man ever saw anything hard in them. 
 If there was a hardness in them, it lay behind, and men were 
 no longer reasonable creatures when they penetrated so far. 
 
 Pamela and Cecil were destined to be great friends, which 
 as a rule surprised their mutual acquaintances beyond words. 
 Also Pamela loved Cecil and loved her almost at once, which 
 surprised them still more. 
 
 At the moment, however, all these things lay on the lap of 
 the gods. Cecil was merely aware that someone she did not 
 know from Adam or Eve had surprised her at an awk- 
 ward moment, and that someone a curious person who made 
 no apologies whatever. Instead she laughed again, and 
 stepped forward, but making no motion to shake hands. 
 
 "I love to surprise somebody smashing at a pillow and 
 talking aloud," she said. "It is an exposure of our common 
 and frail humanity. Do hit it again if you feel like it, unless 
 you prefer to hit me. I'm Pamela Urfurd by the way. I'd 
 have been over before this, but I was in Durban and we only 
 got back yesterday. But as you had Hugh Sinclair, I dare- 
 say it was as well I was there." 
 
 Cecil ransacked her memories of the drawing-room at 
 "The Lindens" for a guide as to how to treat such a visitor, 
 but she found none. So she said, feebly : "How do you do ? 
 You are Gwen's friend, are you not? I'm so glad you've 
 called." 
 
 "I don't know that I'm Gwen's friend," said Pamela, look- 
 ing round for a comfortable spot, and seating herself, "but 
 I'm her nearest neighbour unmarried and in skirts. We're
 
 48 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 quite good pals, however. Of course I like her very much, 
 but she is so extraordinarily childish. I'm very glad you've 
 come home." 
 
 "I've been thinking how grown-up she is," said Cecil. 
 
 Pamela's eyes narrowed still more, and from under the 
 half-closed lids she regarded Cecil in silence for a second. 
 "Oh do you," she said, as if that explained a good deal. 
 "She seems to me merely an amazingly natural kind of ani- 
 mal. I'm afraid you may think it rude, as she's your sister, 
 but she always reminds me of a native. People say you can't 
 tell what a native is going to do, but of course that is absurd. 
 You can tell even better than you can what a child or a beast 
 will do. So long as a child is a child, it may always surprise 
 you. All its characteristics have not arisen from the depths. 
 As for an animal, it is not always easy to know what their 
 instinct will teach them to do in an emergency. But a native 
 is like a child for whom the day of surprises is past and yet 
 it has not ceased to be a child, and like an animal whose in- 
 stincts have been sufficiently long under observation to be 
 known. You can control both with this." And she slashed 
 lightly at the ground with her sjambok as she spoke. 
 
 Cecil was so interested that she entirely forgot to be sur- 
 prised that such should be their conversation within a few 
 seconds of their first meeting. "Do you really understand 
 natives ?" she said. 
 
 That was not in the least what she literally meant to say, 
 but Pamela characteristically answered her thoughts. "You 
 don't understand them because you are just from England 
 and from school," she said. "I don't wonder. I was at a 
 school in England just nine months, and then I left. I had 
 to. I should have gone mad there. The English girls' school 
 system strikes me as one of the most diabolically clever insti- 
 tutions conceivable. Don't you think it is?" 
 
 Cecil laughed heartily. "No," she said, "I can't say I ever 
 thought that. I enjoyed myself immensely in a way. Now, 
 though, I'm beginning to be very glad it's over. I don't want 
 to go back, you know."
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 49 
 
 "I should think not," said Pamela. "I imagine that a 
 girls' school has a great deal in common with a private 
 lunatic asylum where all the attendants are most kind, and 
 everything is very nice, and the inmates are all but allowed 
 to do what they like; but for all that, there are bolts and 
 bars, and every influence is being brought to bear to change 
 the essential characteristic madnesses of the patients into the 
 normal madness of the world. A girls' school, such as you 
 and I went to, is to prepare her for a civilised and if possible 
 domestic existence. If she can be brought to the present 
 standard of manners, developed as perfectly as possible (so 
 long as her sexual development is not developed too) and 
 then turned out, blind to half the passions of the world and 
 ignorant of all its vices, to marry a nice young man as quickly 
 as possible and have a sufficiency of babies (with medical 
 assistance) and never grow discontented with 'home life,' 
 then the ideal is attained. Hence a little French and German, 
 a smattering of history and geography and arithmetic, music, 
 gymnasium and games all nice and merry and busy and 
 clean all the time that is your school. They say if you shut 
 a sane person up in a lunatic asylum, he goes insane too. So 
 I should have gone insane. But I came away in time, thank 
 God. Father never refuses me anything, and mother's dead 
 you know. She died when I was a baby. I'm sorry some- 
 times, but then sometimes I'm glad. She was English, and I 
 think she would have been conventional and have hated me." 
 
 Cecil gasped. She always imagined that when girls' 
 mothers died in their daughters' babyhood, they took on the 
 proportion of saints. Pamela's conclusion seemed to her even 
 more amazing than the rest of her speech, and that was 
 saying a good deal. And the stream of it took away any 
 breath she had left. 
 
 "I shock you," said Pamela. "I shan't say I'm sorry, for 
 I'm not, but I hope it won't put you off me. I've really been 
 looking forward to your coming most awfully. It's true I 
 prefer men to women any day, but we haven't even got many 
 men about here. I think Shenk is as good as any, but he
 
 50 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 thinks I'm possessed of a devil, which he much admires but 
 secretly fears. Or perhaps he fears father. But anyway he 
 fears. And you can't be real friends with a person who is 
 afraid." 
 
 "What do you think of Hugh Sinclair?" asked Cecil, 
 ignoring this remarkable statement ; and she was still able to 
 ask the question with the utmost naturalness. Or so she 
 thought, and so probably would anyone else have thought. 
 But Pamela is not like anyone else. 
 
 She looked at Cecil as she sat there in her hammock, and 
 took her in from the crown of her black hair to the soles of 
 her brown brogues. Then she smiled, with a sideways 
 glance of her eyes (which was a trick of hers) and said : 
 
 "You and I will never quarrel over Hugh, Cecily. I shall 
 call you Cecily, by the way. It's prettier than Cecil, and 
 'Ces' is too awful." 
 
 Cecil was somehow pleased at this, and she smiled back 
 at her. "Do," she said. "I like 'Cecily' too. But I don't 
 understand you about Mr. Sinclair. Why should we quarrel 
 over him or anyone, for the mattei of that?" 
 
 Pamela thrust her hand into the breast pocket of her coat 
 and produced a cigarette case. She opened it and made a 
 motion to offer it to the girl above her, but Cecil shook her 
 head. So she selected a cigarette herself, shut the case with 
 a snap, and thoughtfully tapped the oval white thing on the 
 silver. She put it to her lips with extreme deliberation, 
 found a match, struck it on her boot, and lit her cigarette. 
 She took two or three sharp pulls at it, and then gazed care- 
 fully at the glowing end. Then she put it again between her 
 lips and drew in a great volume of smoke, leaning back on 
 both her hands and staring up again at Cecil through the 
 cloud that slowly escaped from her mouth and nose. Simple 
 as it all was, with Pamela the business had the air of an 
 incantation. Cecil had wit enough to perceive it. 
 
 She burst out laughing. "You look like a sibyl behind the 
 fires of divination !" she said. 
 
 Pamela ignored this. "We shall not quarrel over Hugh,
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 51 
 
 Cecily," she continued, "because although I expect he will 
 fall in love with you and you with him and quite probably 
 you have both begun to do so already I am not in love with 
 him at all, and he will not now see anything in me. Except 
 that he will probably dislike your knowing me, it will not 
 matter. And though I tell you not to marry him, it will 
 probably make no difference: I expect that you will marry 
 him all the same. But I am not a witch, worse luck. I can- 
 not see hidden things. Wherefore, I say we shall not quarrel 
 over Hugh." 
 
 She spoke fairly quickly, but it seemed to Cecil as if her 
 words took a long time. She had at first flushed, and then 
 lost her colour, and then felt almost frightened. Despite the 
 other's disclaimer, Cecil thought her almost fey. It was as if 
 she had been playing among flowers and suddenly seen a 
 skeleton in the grass. She was at any rate aware that if 
 Pamela had been reading all her thoughts all the morning 
 and then had suddenly shown her whither they inevitably 
 led, she could not have spoken more truly. And yet the 
 words had in them a revelation of the future of which she 
 felt totally unsure. 
 
 "How can you know ?" she whispered. 
 
 Pamela flicked the ash off her cigarette as coolly as pos- 
 sible. "I expect that I was a fool to say that," she said, 
 "but then you and I are going to be friends, Cecily, and one 
 doesn't hide one's thoughts from friends. My dear, it is all 
 as plain as plain can be. You are exactly the sort of girl 
 that Hugh Sinclair will love. You are the sort of girl that 
 the schools want men like Hugh to love and that they manu- 
 facture for them. He will love your innocence, your igno- 
 rance, your daintiness. You will love his breeding that 
 persists despite the life he has led, and he will seem to you a 
 very proper man. And there aren't many about here, you 
 know. Besides, you will suddenly feel the pull of nature 
 and turn to him instinctively. He will probably tell you all 
 his sins, in the end, and you will weep and forgive him. You 
 will not tell him any of your sins, for you will not have had
 
 52 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 any worth speaking about then. And you will breed babies 
 for him, very content. It is written. Only what it will be in 
 the end thereof, I do not know. I am not old enough to 
 guess; and not possessing second sight, as I say, I cannot 
 see. But that is why I say we shall not quarrel over Hugh." 
 
 Cecil had a mad impulse to run away. She jumped out of 
 the hammock and stooped to pick up her book that had fallen 
 to the ground. As she stooped, she met Pamela's eyes 
 watching her and knew that she was arrested, though it was 
 imperceptible. Instead, therefore, she did the very opposite. 
 She gave a little sigh and threw herself down by the other 
 girl's side. "Do go on," she said softly. And wondered why 
 she had said it. 
 
 Pamela had not moved, and she continued for a while to 
 smoke in silence. When she spoke again it was almost to 
 herself. 
 
 "I wonder, sometimes, what it is all for," she said. "Ac- 
 cording to the Bible, man needed a help-meet, and God found 
 him one. He gave him Eve. But Eve was no help-meet to 
 Adam, even in the Bible, except perhaps outside of Paradise, 
 where she cooked for him, and slaved, I suppose, and prob- 
 ably herself invented something more durable than fig-leaves. 
 Which always looks to me as if God knew that Paradise 
 would not last long. But she was not nearly so much his 
 companion as his wife. 'He called her name Eve, because 
 she was the Mother of all living.' That rings true, anyway* 
 She mothered his babies ; that's what concerned Adam most. 
 And doubtless she was admirably fitted to do it. Even her 
 body was made distinctly inconvenient for any other purpose. 
 But what's the good of living? We were talking just now of 
 the Kaffirs, and really white people are not so different from 
 the Kaffirs as they like to think. Now you would have 
 thought that the Kaffirs would long since have gone on strike 
 against living. On our farms, they work more or less, in their 
 own way, from morning to night, unless they are too tired or 
 it's too cold. They work for us, and when they have done 
 working for us, they work in their own lands for their own
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 53 
 
 food. We give them a sack or two to wear to save time 
 that they would otherwise spend sewing fig-leaves or their 
 substitutes together, I sometimes think. Occasionally they 
 save enough to get drunk, but not often. And when they are 
 old, they still do odd jobs or sit about in their huts or in the 
 sun, waiting to die. Why, then, should they want to live? 
 And yet every woman among them wants babies, and they 
 breed like rabbits breed babies for the same ends as their 
 own. And we white people, we are little better. We have 
 invented motor-cars and aeroplanes, new foods and drinks, 
 new sins if not new passions, and all that we use is a hun- 
 dred times more elaborate and a thousand times more boring 
 to manufacture than theirs. But what's the end of it all? 
 Father says 'the race must not die out,' but I'm damned if 
 I see why not." 
 
 Cecil sat on and said nothing. 
 
 "Have you ever heard of Lilith?" demanded Pamela 
 suddenly. She wisely took it for granted that the other had 
 not, and went on. "Lilith was Adam's first wife, half 
 woman, half angel, or devil, I don't know which. It 
 would not have mattered much to Adam, I expect. She was 
 all that Eve was not. She was dark and Eve was fair. She 
 preferred to talk to Adam of good and evil rather than 
 marry him. She would never have been the Mother of all 
 living. God saw that she would spoil His purpose, I suppose. 
 If she had babies, they must have been queer little devils, I 
 should think. She bewitched Adam, but Eve had the best of 
 it in the end. Looking at Eve he preferred her huts and her 
 babies, even with the tilling of the weeds in the sweat of his 
 brow, to Lilith's enchantments. It was curious, I think, but 
 true. And you, Cecily, ought to have had fair hair even 
 mine, and I ought to have had yours." And she laughed, 
 her rare laugh that was more a chuckle than a laugh. 
 
 "What happened to Lilith?" queried Cecil, breathlessly. 
 
 Pamela looked at her closely, and laughed again. "Oh, I 
 don't know," she said. "According to the Arabs, she wan- 
 dered into Africa and died somewhere near Kilimanjaro.
 
 54 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 There's a cave there that the natives call after her to this 
 day, so I read somewhere. I should think Africa is merely 
 a euphemism for the outer darkness myself. But it is all rub- 
 bish, my dear, or anyway that part of it is not in the Bible 
 and I'm sure you need only concern yourself with what is. 
 That is all Hugh will want, anyway." 
 
 Cecil moved restlessly, and Pamela got out another cig- 
 arette which she lit from the stub of the old one without any 
 ritual. If Cecil had known her better she would have guessed 
 that the 'sitting' was over. But instead she looked away 
 over the sea. "You frighten me," she said. "You've made 
 me feel as if I can't ever meet Hugh again." 
 
 "That is entirely unnecessary," said Pamela. "And use- 
 less." 
 
 Cecil started and looked round. 
 
 "Oh no," went on the other coolly. "He's not now coming 
 through the pines, at least not in his bodily presence. Doubt- 
 less he is in spirit, and doubtless he will one day, but not just 
 yet. He hasn't been to a girls' school, Cecily, but he is as 
 conventional as if he had. You'll meet him once and again, 
 yet, my dear, and then he'll propose beautifully. And you'll 
 go off together and gather apples in the garden. Then will 
 the voice of the Lord God speak to you both in the cool of the 
 evening." 
 
 Somehow or another Cecil recovered herself at this. 
 
 "Do you know," said she, "I don't really understand half 
 the things you say, but I tell you frankly, I wish you wouldn't 
 talk like that of of Mr. Sinclair. All that you have been 
 saying about us is of course nonsense, but I hope to goodness 
 you won't talk like that to Gwen or anybody else. I'm sure 
 I don't know why ever I let you say such things to me." 
 
 "Cecily, my dear," said Pamela, "when you talk like that I 
 feel more sure than ever that we are going to be friends. At 
 first you'll have to learn to take me on trust, so to speak, 
 because I can't break myself in to people whom I know I 
 shall like. But the first trust is this, that you can be quite
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 55 
 
 sure I shan't talk so to anyone, least of all to Gwen. Gwen 
 is well, Gwen is Gwen." 
 
 "That's no definition," said Cecil curiously. "What is 
 Gwen? Do tell me." 
 
 Pamela got slowly to her feet, and Cecil had a revelation 
 of her surprising strength and grace. She rose without 
 touching the ground, but not in the least as if she were per- 
 forming a gymnastic feat. "Gwen," she said, brushing her 
 riding-breeches with her sjambok, "is what they call a healthy 
 girl. She's run wild out here, of course, but that is all she is 
 really. What she will be one day, the Lord Who made her 
 alone knows, even if He does, which I doubt. Probably 
 you find her very different from your school-friends, but 
 that's only environment. She is a girl still. You, my dear, 
 are a woman. You've turned the corner without knowing 
 it." 
 
 "I believe you've turned it for me this morning," said 
 Cecil, looking up at her from the ground. 
 
 Pamela half started and turned round, catching sight of 
 Gwen as she came back up the hill. "There's more in that 
 than I guessed, my dear, I think," she said. "But I perceive 
 the little sister to be advancing upon us." 
 
 Cecil got up hastily, feeling, she hardly knew why, as if she 
 did not want to be surprised there. But if she were a little 
 perturbed, her companion was not. 
 
 "Gwen !" called Pamela, "Gwen !" 
 
 The girl left the path and made for them. "Hullo !" she 
 said to Pamela, "you're here, are you? How's Durban? 
 Been hobnobbing with Ces?" 
 
 "Yes. They told me you'd gone to the garden this way, 
 and I came to look for you and found your sister. She's 
 been telling me all about 'The Lindens' and her doings in 
 England, and I've told her that she will be a priceless posses- 
 sion in these desert places. Do give me a banana, if there's 
 one ripe. Or better still an orange. Cecil, you never get 
 oranges like this in England, do you ? I remember trying to
 
 56 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 buy a pineapple for a penny when I was there, and being 
 sure the shop-keeper was trying to rag me when he said it 
 was five shillings." 
 
 The three of them wandered up the garden-path, and at 
 the door beheld Pamela's horse still girthed up tightly, his 
 reins held by a piccaninny in a loin-cloth. Pamela's face 
 flushed. "You little fool," she said, "why didn't you off- 
 saddle, or at least loosen the girth ? Here, get out," and she 
 slapped him across the thighs with her sjambok. 
 
 The boy started back with a lit,tle cry. "Missus didn't 
 say," he said. 
 
 "No, Missus didn't, but Missus thought you would have 
 some common-sense, which was stupid of her, I'll admit," 
 retorted Pamela. "Well, it's too late now anyway. We'll 
 canter home, old dear," she added, patting her horse's neck. 
 "I suppose you ride, Cecily?" 
 
 "Oh rather," said Cecil, "but of course I'm a bit out oi 
 practice. I hardly rode at all in England, though I've been 
 out most days since I got back." 
 
 "Good," said Pamela. "Gwen, darling, do both of you 
 come over sometime soon. Come to-morrow if you've noth- 
 ing better to do." And she vaulted lightly into the saddle. 
 
 "Must you go?" said Gwen. "Can't you stay to lunch?" 
 
 "No thanks, I really can't. I told dad I'd be back, and I 
 shall be late as it is. Gee-up, old boy. Ta-ta, both of you. 
 And don't forget to visit us." 
 
 She put her pony to a canter, and rode quickly off. The 
 sisters watched her cross the yard, slow down through the 
 gate, and quicken up on the veld. She did not look behind. 
 Pamela rarely did. 
 
 "What do you think of her, Ces ?" demanded Gwen. 
 
 "I think we shall get on well," answered Cecil slowly. 
 "But she's a queer girl." 
 
 Gwen considered this a moment in silence. Then she said : 
 
 "She is. She's a bit too queer for me, I think. She looks 
 right through you, for one thing. I heard Shenk tell Len 
 that he reckoned she had the devil of a temper, and I guess
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 57 
 
 he's right. Look how she struck Mafolo. But then she 
 loves her damned horses more than her father or anyone, and 
 almost more than herself, I think." 
 
 "Gwen," said Cecil, "you shouldn't swear. It's a bad 
 habit." 
 
 "Maybe," retorted Gwen, "but so has Pamela bad habits. 
 And yet it's not her habits that I mind so much. It's her 
 character I don't like, I think." 
 
 Cecil smiled light-heartedly. "Gwen," she said, "you're 
 becoming a philosopher ! What characteristic displeases you 
 especially, eh ?" 
 
 Gwen shrugged her shoulders. "I shall swear again prob- 
 ably," she said comically. 
 
 Cecil laughed outright. "Well, you shall for once then," 
 she said. 
 
 "She's so damned ruthless," Gwen answered instantly. 
 
 Cecil stood for a moment staring at her. Then she took 
 her sister's arm without another word, and the two entered 
 the house.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 TEN miles or so inland from its mouth, the Umtamvuna 
 rushes through a deep gorge choked with rocks, and 
 makes there the rapids which hinder farther ascent in a 
 boat. A mile or so above them, the waters open out into 
 a small and more or less placid stream, and here, high up 
 on the slope of a hill, stands Three Springs. For the most 
 part, bush and plantations of trees make thick cover between 
 it and the river, and indeed the farm is almost hidden in 
 tangled woods. There are lands and pastures behind, how- 
 ever, and the view from the stoep is magnificent, for you 
 can see an open reach of the river, although a curve hides 
 its mouth, and the sea beyond; but as you ride to it from 
 Elandskop, you appear to be losing yourself in semi-tropical 
 forest rather than approaching cultivated ground. 
 
 Cecil riding there with Gwen, old Jacob in attendance, 
 a week or so later, thought so, at any rate. "Are you sure 
 this is right, Gwen?" she asked. "This track looks as if a 
 carriage never passed over it, and we must have come miles 
 now." 
 
 "Yes, it's right," said Gwen, flicking at the overhanging 
 boughs of trees with her whip. "Still I admit you might 
 not think so. And besides, a carriage hardly ever does 
 come this way. If Mr. Urfurd goes out at all, which is not 
 often, he drives a two-seater as if he were out for a race." 
 
 "What, on this path ?" demanded Cecil. 
 
 "Oh no. There's a way out to the main road, behind the 
 house, and through the lands. You'll see when we get there. 
 Mr. Urfurd motors that way. He nevej troubles about this. 
 7 think it's because he doesn't want visitors, for of course 
 this is by far the nearest way from Harding and the Shep- 
 
 58
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 59 
 
 stone road. So he lets the place get overgrown as a polite 
 way of saying that he's not at home to callers. Even Pam 
 doesn't very often come down. Either she motors with Mr. 
 Urfurd, or else she wanders off into Pondoland across the 
 river. She loves natives. She talks about five or six of 
 their languages, you know, and never seems the least afraid 
 of going among the villages alone at all hours. Yet you 
 remember how she hit Mafolo; well, she treats them all 
 like that. Daddy says she'll get into trouble one day, and 
 he can't understand why Mr. Urfurd allows her to go out 
 so much by herself. But then daddy doesn't understand 
 Mr. Urfurd." 
 
 "You sound as if you did," said Cecil, amused. 
 
 "Well, I think I do," replied her sister. "Daddy's keen 
 on his farm and on us, but Mr. Urfurd cares for nothing 
 except his books. He lives in his library, and really he 
 hardly farms at all. He was here before most of us, too, 
 you know; indeed I think he is bored now because we've 
 all crept nearer and nearer to him. Still he's quite nice 
 when you meet him not a bit of a mystery, like I used to 
 hope he would be. But he doesn't worry about anything, 
 or care about anything. He and Pam are a good deal alike. 
 Pam wants to go about, and she goes; he doesn't, and he 
 stops at home. And that's the end of it." 
 
 "Who does the housekeeping for this extraordinary 
 family?" asked Cecil. 
 
 "Oh Pam, of course. In a way she's awfully clever at it. 
 They've got an old Hottentot woman for a cook Auntie 
 Tot, they call her, and she gives me the creeps ; but she can 
 cook. Pam orders things and she cooks them. I like the 
 house too. I'm sure Mr. Urfurd never cares a scrap if it's 
 clean or dirty, pretty or not, but Pam does. She bosses up 
 the boys, and though it's very quaint, it's nice. They must 
 have plenty of money, for they don't make it out of the 
 farm." 
 
 "You make me quite keen to get there. How much 
 further is it r"
 
 60 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 "Let's canter, then; we can here. As a matter of fact, 
 the house is tlwe" and Gwen pointed with her whip at 
 right angles to the path and into a wall of vegetation "but 
 you can't see it. It's on a knob of rock. We have to skirt 
 in front of it, and then come at it from the river side. Come 
 on." And she put her horse to the canter. 
 
 Cecil followed more slowly. It was stifling hot under 
 the trees and she was glad of the breeze from the motion; 
 it was queerly silent, too, at mid-day, and the noise of the 
 horses' hoofs on the leaves and sticks beneath them was 
 pleasant. Gwen was soon fifty yards in front and presently 
 swung round a corner out of sight. When Cecil reached the 
 place, she saw that here they left the forest almost as if 
 riding out of a tunnel, and that before her, bright in the 
 sunlight, lay a rough hill-side. Out on to this she rode, 
 looking for Gwen, and heard a shout on her right. Then 
 she reined up a minute in astonishment. 
 
 The path wound up an incline at the top of which was 
 the house. Seen from here, it appeared to lie in an enclo- 
 sure of forest only open on this side, where, a few yards 
 from a raised stoep, a dozen steps had been cut in the rock 
 to reach the track below. Yet those few yards were a blaze 
 of colour, and masses of yellow creeper crept up* the pillars 
 of the stoep. The track itself divided at the corner of the 
 rock and Gwen was already dismounting. Below her, Cecil 
 could see that the rolling slope ran down to the river, and 
 skirted the forest. But she hardly turned to see, giving her 
 reins a little shake and riding up to her sister. 
 
 Here Jacob took the bridles and set about loosening 
 girths. The sisters made their way to the steps and mounted 
 them. On the stoep itself Gwen turned. "What do you 
 think of that?" she demanded. 
 
 It was, indeed, a wonderful situation. Over the heads 
 of waving forest-trees, one looked to the shining reach of 
 the river below the rapids with the sea beyond. On the 
 left, in the direction of Harding and Elandskop, there was 
 nothing but a wall of forest. To the right, the hillside
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 61 
 
 sloped to the river and there was an uninterrupted view 
 right out and across it into Pondoland. There, rolling 
 hills and valleys hid the native villages for the most part, 
 but allowed you to look far across them to a blue and dis- 
 tant range. 
 
 There was no one apparently about. Gwen crossed the 
 stoep familiarly enough, and entered French doors that 
 stood wide open, but there was no one there either. "I'll 
 go and look for someone," she said, and walked across the 
 room to a door through which she disappeared. 
 
 Cecil threw herself into an easy chair and looked about 
 her. The room was not unlike the lounge-hall of some big 
 house at home, and was much better furnished than the 
 majority of colonial houses. There was a fire-place, for it 
 could be cold up here in winter, but it was a huge open-tiled 
 place in which one could sit, with logs in a wrought-iron 
 brazier, and wrought fire-irons in a corner. There was a 
 carved oak mantel-shelf quite bare except for a great blue 
 bowl of white roses, and above it a solitary portrait of 
 Pamela as a girl of five or six. It was a full-length portrait, 
 and she was standing, steadily gazing at you, a curious look 
 on the child- face. Cecil could not make out the expression 
 and got up to see. The eyes seemed to follow her, know- 
 ingly, and as if they were a little surprised at her. There 
 was a suggestion of a frown in them and Cecil thought that 
 the picture was more remarkable than pleasing. She turned 
 from it and surveyed the room. It was long and lofty, with 
 great doors at the farther end giving on another stoep. The 
 floor was of stone, though a profusion of skins gave it a 
 warm appearance, and there were a number of immense 
 and easy chairs about, with two or three firm-looking little 
 tables strewn with books and magazines and vases of 
 flowers. Rather nearer to her than in the centre was an 
 oval oak gate-legged table, bare except for a great ham- 
 mered metal rose-bowl full of more roses, but red this time. 
 The walls were panelled, and carried little other than candle- 
 sticks and a hunting trophy or two. In a far corner on a
 
 62 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 pedestal was a marble figure, and Cecil walked over to see 
 it. It was a copy of Dillon's "Grief" from Brussels, though 
 she did not know it. But the pathetic hopeless sorrow of 
 the kneeling girlish figure, and the strewn petals of the 
 flower she held, brought momentary tears to Cecil's eyes. 
 Here was no abandonment to grief, but only empty help- 
 less despair and stricken listlessness. 
 
 The sound of steps on the stoep made her turn round. 
 It was Gwen. "I can't find anyone," she announced. 
 "Auntie Tot is bringing tea, though, and she says she thinks 
 Pam went down to the river. Mr. Urfurd is out he's 
 motored into Harding, she says. What do you think of this 
 room ?" 
 
 "I like it," said Cecil. 
 
 "I'm not sure that I do," said Gwen. "It gives me the 
 creeps somehow. It's not quite human. There isn't a photo- 
 graph about, and the people who use it apparently never 
 do anything but read or smoke. I may as well do that any- 
 how." And she walked to a little table on which stood a 
 silver cigarette box, and helped herself. 
 
 Cecil laughed. "It's certainly not your room or mine," 
 she said, "but for all that I like it. It must be a big house, 
 Gwen." 
 
 "It is. Mr. Urfurd's study is pretty well as big as this. 
 Come and see." 
 
 "Oh, we mustn't," protested Cecil. "Suppose Pamela 
 comes back." 
 
 "She's not likely to, and if she does, it won't matter. We 
 can say we were looking for her. Come on." 
 
 She led the way out by the door opposite the central 
 stoep, and Cecil followed her. They found themselves in a 
 passage which ran the length of the house. Gwen pointed 
 to the right. "Drawing-room there," she said sotto voce; 
 "hardly ever used," and turned to the left. A door farther 
 down stood closed, and she opened it and peeped in. "No 
 one visible," she said, and went in. Cecil followed.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 63 
 
 It was, indeed, a library. One great bay window gave 
 a view over the forest and by means of skilful felling here 
 and there, a glimpse of the sea had been obtained. Isolated 
 in it, stood a desk littered with papers. The walls were 
 simply covered with books from floor to ceiling, and Cecil 
 glanced at those nearest to her. They were all travel books 
 here, and books on native life and folk-lore, while above the 
 shelves was a bronze at which she stepped back to look. It 
 represented a native a Zulu dying after a fight, and was 
 amazingly well done. His broken assegai lay beside him, 
 and. on his left arm was still his shield. His right hand 
 clasped his side and between the spread fingers gaped a 
 wound. Another assegai stood as if quivering yet in the 
 ground by him, but he did not heed it. He was too intent 
 on dying to mind that any more. 
 
 "Beastly, isn't it?" said Gwen, who had come over to her. 
 
 "It's not cheerful, certainly," said Cecil, "but I shouldn't 
 call it beastly. It's a fine work of art, Gwen. As you say, 
 the Urfurds must be rich." 
 
 "Well, let's get back ; the tea'll be coming. This is where 
 Mr. Urfurd lives. He's writing a book, people say, but I 
 don't know. He moons about and reads, I think; I don't 
 believe he writes much, I'd like to look at his papers, but 
 that wouldn't be fair, would it? Come on." 
 
 They went out together, Cecil giving a backward glance 
 and taking in the rich carpet and the general snug appear- 
 ance of the room. It impressed her rather, and she began 
 to wish Mr. Urfurd had not been out But back in the 
 lounge, Auntie Tot was bringing in the tea, and she wanted 
 that more than anything at the moment. 
 
 Auntie Tot was a curious little wizened body with very 
 sharp beady eyes. She looked Cecil up and down and 
 nodded approvingly, but so openly that Cecil laughed. The 
 old woman smiled back at her, but she did not speak. But 
 it seemed to Cecil as if something ought to be said. "Good- 
 morning," she said, "and thank you so much for the tea. I
 
 64 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 did want it, after our ride. Did Miss Pamela say what 
 time she would be back? Or Mr. Urfurd? We are sorry 
 to miss them both." 
 
 "No, Missus," said the old woman. "Miss Pamela, she 
 be in to lunch, I know, but I don't think before. Won't you 
 off-saddle? Missus will be angry if she finds you have 
 gone." 
 
 Cecil looked irresolutely at Gwen. "What do you think ?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "I don't see why not," said Gwen. "I like an hour or 
 two here ; there's so much to see. Yes, let's wait. Right-ho, 
 Auntie Tot, we'll stay." And she picked up a Bystander 
 and threw herself into a big chair. 
 
 Cecil turned to the old servant. "Well, thank you," she 
 said smiling, "we'll stay. Will you tell Jacob our boy to 
 off-saddle? He went round to the back with the horses." 
 
 She walked over to the table and poured out some tea, 
 taking a cup to Gwen, and her own out to the stoep. It 
 was delicious there. A cool breeze blew up from the sea 
 and the far-away distant mountains looked lovely. Cecil 
 gave herself up to dreams of them, wondering what they 
 would be like if one were there, and imagining the native 
 villages on the slopes and the hidden native life. Within, 
 Gwen moved restlessly about, glancing quickly through 
 magazines and throwing them down when done with, taking 
 another cigarette and some more tea. At last Cecil got 
 slowly to her feet, and wandered off into the scrap of 
 garden before the house. She saw that it was cleverly con- 
 trived in the very rock on which the house stood, for the 
 beds had been blasted out and then filled with earth and 
 flowers. Still idly, she descended the steps and made her 
 slow way towards the river, vaguely wondering if she might 
 not meet Pamela. 
 
 The path she was on led her by many a twist and turn 
 to avoid great boulders, but it was plainly marked and 
 smooth. Cecil had followed it for perhaps half a mile when 
 she found that it had brought her to a rather queer place
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 65 
 
 before which it appeared almost to hesitate before it made 
 a turn and wound on down to the river. The ground had 
 fallen in in a kind of hollow overhung by huge rocks, in the 
 crevices of which grew young poplars which shivered their 
 silver leaves in the sun and breeze. Bushes growing thickly 
 nearer the path served to screen the place still more, and 
 there was one splash of colour there, for a big bunch of 
 crimson aloes grew half way up the little amphitheatre. 
 Partly meaning to see if she could reach them, and partly 
 wishful to explore the spot which looked curiously attrac- 
 tive to her, Cecil took a step or two off the path and down 
 into the hollow, her foot-falls quite silent on the soft 
 ground. But she had hardly left it, when the sound of a 
 yoice arrested her. 
 
 It was that of Pamela. She was speaking in short sen- 
 tences, and though Cecil listened, she could make nothing 
 of them. Then it struck her that the girl was speaking in 
 some native tongue, and, scarcely thinking what she did, she 
 walked quickly forward between the bushes and round a 
 fallen rock. Then she stood arrested, as she well might 
 have been. 
 
 There was no cave, but there was an enclosed rough 
 circle of grass and sand, overhung and shaded at the farther 
 end by rocks and poplars, and well veiled by the bushes 
 from the path. Almost under the rocks themselves crouched 
 three figures, and at these Cecil gazed half-terrified. The 
 first, sideways on to her, was an old native man, wizened 
 and grey, a kaross of sheepskin thrown over his shoulders, 
 who leaned forward on his hands between which, on a 
 swept surface of sand, gleamed some white knuckle-bones; 
 the second, facing her, was a native girl, sitting back against 
 a rock, her eyes wide open and staring at Cecil, but, as 
 she saw at once, not seeing her; and the third, also sitting, 
 back to her and facing the native girl, was Pamela. And 
 Pamela was speaking in short sharp sentences, and occa- 
 sionally moving her hands across the girl's face. 
 
 As Cecil watched, she ceased to speak, and the native
 
 66 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 girl began instead, but speaking steadily in a low monoto- 
 nous voice and without a movement. The other two listened 
 intently. Cecil, partly interested and partly scared, made 
 no motion to interrupt, but her brain took in with extraor- 
 dinary clearness the whole vivid scene the grey rocks with 
 the patch of scarlet aloe, the blue sky, the yellow sand, the 
 white bones, the black skin of the girl, and the old man's 
 grey hairs and dirty white kaross. So they may have all 
 remained for perhaps a couple of minutes, when the girl 
 ceased to speak. There was a second's silence, and then 
 Pamela spoke quickly in English, with a ring of triumph in 
 her voice. 
 
 "I told you so, Sekeke," she said. 
 
 Her voice partially reassured Cecil. "Oh, Pamela," she 
 cried, "what are you doing ?" 
 
 The old native turned his head instantly and looked to- 
 wards her, but the other two did not move. "Stand ex- 
 actly where you are, Cecily," said Pamela sharply. "Don't 
 move on any account." 
 
 Cecil did not dream of disobeying. She stood silent while 
 Pamela spoke again in short sentences to the native girl, 
 and again passed her hands across the native's face. In a 
 few seconds the eyes flickered once or twice and dropped 
 their gaze, and then, quite suddenly, she and Pamela got up 
 together. Pamela instantly turned to Cecil and came to- 
 wards her holding out her hand, while the native girl yawned 
 once or twice, glanced at the old man, smiled, and turned 
 to reach for her blanket which she lifted from the ground 
 beside her and threw across her naked shoulders. 
 
 "Cecily!" exclaimed Pamela, "fancy you here! What 
 fun! Did you come to look for me? I'm so sorry I was 
 out, but I shall be free in a moment Forgive me just a 
 second." 
 
 She turned back to the natives. The old man had groped 
 for his bones and hidden them in some skin receptacle that 
 he carried. He was standing now, his arm on the girl's 
 shoulder, while she had grasped a long stick and was plainly
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 67 
 
 waiting to lead on. Pamela said something to her at which 
 she smiled, and held out a coin which the girl took eagerly 
 with her other hand. Then the pair of them moved off, 
 passing close by Cecil who shrank back into the bushes as 
 they did so. The girl looked at her gravely, as they passed, 
 but she saw then that the old man was blind, or nearly so. 
 They moved round the rock and out of sight. 
 
 Cecil turned to her friend. "Oh Pamela," she said again, 
 "whatever were you doing?" 
 
 Pamela laughed and took her arm. "You look like a 
 queen of tragedy," she said. "Don't be so startled; it was 
 nothing much, though I think it was highly successful. I 
 was experimenting." 
 
 "Do explain," said Cecil, impatiently. "What were you 
 doing with that filthy old man?" 
 
 "Old Sekeke? He isn't filthy, as a matter of fact, and 
 he's an exceedingly interesting person. He's a witch-doctor 
 who lives just over the river, and that's his daughter. He's 
 been a clever old thing in his day, but that's getting over 
 now, for he's nearly blind. He can hardly see to throw the 
 bones indeed he came to me just now because he had quite 
 failed. So I threw them instead or that's what it comes 
 to. Oh, you needn't look so horrified. As a matter of fact 
 I didn't use the bones at all. For some reason or another, 
 they are no use to me. But I've a better and more scientific 
 plan : I hypnotised that girl. She told us all we wanted to 
 know if it was true, which he will doubtless discover be- 
 fore he speaks. That's all." 
 
 "All!" exclaimed Cecil. "Really, Pamela, you are an 
 amazing person ! Can you hypnotise ? I thought it was all 
 a fraud. And anyway I think it's perfectly beastly for you 
 to be mixed up with horrible old witchi-doctors and people. 
 It isn't well, it isn't Christian for one thing." 
 
 Pamela laughed her curious little chuckle. "Really, 
 Cecily," she said, "you are the most delightful creature I 
 know. But I won't have you run down old Sekeke, to be- 
 gin with. In his way, he's as good as most white doctors.
 
 68 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 After all, what have they to work with? A knowledge of 
 drugs, first, and then the faith of their patients. Time and 
 again, it's the latter that does the business. Why, in the 
 Spanish Flu, I went over to a Government Hospital in 
 Pondoland to help. We ran out of drugs, of course, but 
 the natives kept flocking to us, and in the end, what do you 
 think we served out for their shillings? About an ounce 
 of Epsom salts in sixteen ounces of water coloured with 
 cochineal ! We couldn't help it, but it was just as effective. 
 One old woman shared her bottle with all her family, and 
 came back in two days to demand more of the 'strong 
 medicine!' We told them what would be the effect of 
 Epsom salts, and they believed, and it happened. It's all 
 one and the same with old ladies and bread pills. Well, 
 then, a white doctor has better drugs than Sekeke, though 
 he wouldn't have if he were limited to the plants that grew 
 in his village. I doubt he'd do as well as Sekeke then. But 
 when it comes to faith, Sekeke's patients give him a chance 
 no white doctor ever has. Hence he's a wonder, is old 
 Sekeke. And he knows a thing or two as well. He throws 
 bones, but in Bond Street they use crystals and talk about 
 clairvoyance. Different methods for the same thing, and 
 there is something in both. But more in Sekeke's, I think," 
 she added. 
 
 Cecil stood still, staring at her and revolving all this. 
 "But what about your hypnotism?" she demanded. 
 
 Pamela's face changed. "That's another story," she said. 
 "But it interests me has done for years, and natives make 
 wonderfully good subjects. Especially Nanea. I can do 
 anything with her. And I think oh never mind what I 
 think. You wouldn't understand ! Come on. You must be 
 dying for your lunch." 
 
 "Oh Pam," said Cecil, "I wish you wouldn't do such 
 things. You're awfully clever, I know, but I hate it. Oh 
 do give it up, Pamela !" . 
 
 The other girl shot a glance at her that she rarely gave 
 to people. "Cecily dear," she said in a changed tone, "it's
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 69 
 
 sweet of you to speak like that. But you're you and I'm 
 myself. I was made this way. I'm sorry you've seen what 
 you have this morning, and yet I don't know: I'm glad in 
 a way. I want you to know me. Our fates are mixed, my 
 dear, and we've got to face them whatever they are. Before 
 the end, you may be glad of me, Cecily." 
 
 Cecil stopped impulsively, threw her arms round her 
 neck, and kissed her. She acted on the impulse, but it was 
 a wise one. Pamela was startled, and made no great dem- 
 onstration in return, but it cemented their rapid friendship. 
 Pamela never forgot that kiss. Even now, she had a flash 
 of her curious knowledge, for all she had disclaimed the 
 power. "I shall give kisses for that kiss, Cecily," she cried. 
 
 The two stood for a moment in silence, and then Pamela 
 made a little movement as if to brush something aside. 
 "You didn't come alone," she went on gaily, "did you? Is 
 Gwen with you? Oh, good, but we must hurry back. Still 
 she'll be happy enough in the lounge, I daresay, smoking 
 more cigarettes than are good for her. What do you think 
 of our house, Cecil? Father's gone to Harding, but I ex- 
 pect he'll be back early. I hope he will, for I want him to 
 meet you. Did you get tea? Oh, there's Gwen." 
 
 They were near the house now, and Gwen waved from 
 the terrace. "Found at last are you, Pam?" she called. 
 "Auntie Tot has just been in to see if you're not back." 
 
 They met in the garden. "You'd never think this had 
 been solid rock, would you, Cecily?" demanded Pamela. 
 "Father must have taken ages to make this place, but we 
 both love it now. Come in, and let's have lunch if it's ready. 
 Oh there you are, Auntie. Lunch ready? Yes, we shan't 
 be a moment." 
 
 She took them in to her room to wash, a pleasant place 
 right at the end of the passage and round a corner, for the 
 house was built like an L on its side, of which the long 
 bottom piece was lounge, drawing-room and study, all built 
 facing sea-wards on the rock, and the upright contained 
 the bedrooms running back towards the forest. From Pa-
 
 70 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 mela's room you could step out on to another stoep, het 
 private one she said, and from it, in a few yards, enter the 
 shade of the trees. But they were thinner here, she ex- 
 plained, for the first mealie lands lay behind. From the 
 end of this verandah, the view allowed you to look over 
 Pondoland, and while Gwen washed, Cecil stood there and 
 tried to make out the scene of the morning's adventure. 
 But that was not easy. The slope of the hill grew more 
 rough inland and was all strewn with rocks, any of which 
 might easily have been the place. However Cecil's eyes 
 were good, and she followed the path and finally decided 
 on a spot. But there was no chance to ask Pamela if she 
 were right, as she did not want to speak of it before Gwen. 
 
 The dining-room was next the study, and in keeping 
 with the rest of the house. The stink-wood table was not 
 covered, and its polished surface threw up the beautiful 
 cut glass and the silver. A boy waited on them, and served 
 a cold lunch admirably. Pamela insisted on their having a 
 glass of wine, and when the fruit was placed on the table, 
 with cigarettes and a silver lighter with its spirit flame, 
 Cecil said: 
 
 "Pam! How nicely you do things! If I had a house, I'd 
 like it to be like this !" 
 
 Their hostess laughed. "Father says the best part of 
 living in the wilds, is that civilisation is all the more enjoy- 
 able," she said. "I agree with him. I don't see why one 
 should always rough it. Probably one must at first, but 
 most of us stay long enough to settle down. But it doesn't 
 do to get too much attached to things. I'm always half 
 expecting father suddenly to pack up and clear out. And 
 as to the house, it wouldn't really suit you, Cecily. It's too 
 untidy. We do what we like here, but then we've only 
 ourselves to consider you see. Sometimes I don't see father 
 till dinner, and sometimes not then." 
 
 "Aren't you awfully lonely?" demanded Gwen. "I 
 should be. I always feel as if this big house were empty. 
 I don't mean of things though even the things give me
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 71 
 
 that feel but of people. Why you could dine a dozen 
 at this table easily, and dance in the lounge. And here you 
 are, all by yourself !" 
 
 Pamela laughed. "Father and I have plenty to think 
 about," she said, "and you can't be alone if you have 
 books." 
 
 "Can't you!" exclaimed Gwen. "I can. So can you, 
 Ces; you needn't say you can't. I like heaps of animals 
 and lots of people and doing things, and you, Pam, you 
 like well, I don't know what you really like," she said. 
 "You're so queer. You can ride and swim and shoot and 
 tennis better than most of us, but you don't ever seem to 
 do them because you like them particularly. I always think 
 of you as sitting waiting in that lounge of yours for some- 
 thing to turn up !" 
 
 "Why not say for the fairy prince, and have done with 
 it, Gwen?" demanded Pamela. 
 
 Gwen lifted her wine glass, and looked at her hostess 
 gravely over it. She did not reply at once. Then: "No," 
 she said slowly, "I'm not sure that you expect a fairy prince 
 either. Also, if he came, I don't know what sort of a wel- 
 come he'd have. If he had fair hair and a shining sword 
 and nice manners, like all the princes in the books, you 
 would surely snub him, I think." 
 
 "Gwen!" exclaimed Cecil. 
 
 "Oh Pam won't mind. Now that sort of a prince would 
 suit you, Ces. He'd suit me too, I daresay. Oh hark, 
 there's the car!" 
 
 The sound of the engine came to them unmistakably. 
 Pamela leant forward and rang a hand-bell. "Lunch for 
 the master," she said to the boy when he came. 
 
 In a minute or two, a step sounded in the hall, and Mr. 
 Urfurd came in. Cecil looked at him expectantly. As 
 Gwen had said, she was at once a little disappointed. He 
 was an entirely ordinary looking person. 
 
 He came in cheerfully. "Hullo, three of you ! Why, it's 
 Miss Eldred, isn't it? How good of you to come over.
 
 72 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 Sorry I was out. Hullo, Gwen! Oh don't get up any of 
 you, unless you've finished. 'Morning, Pamela. Your 
 books have come." 
 
 "Oh have they, father," she exclaimed, jumping up. 
 "Where are they?" 
 
 "In the car. I didn't wait to get anything out But 
 don't you go." 
 
 "Oh yes, I will. Stefano's bringing you lunch. 'Xcuse 
 me a minute, won't you, Cecily ?" And she went out. 
 
 "Well, Miss Eldred, and what do you think of Africa?" 
 he said. "It's almost as if it were a first visit, isn't it? Be- 
 sides, I don't think you ever were at Three Springs, were 
 you?" 
 
 "No, Mr. Urfurd," she said, "I don't think I was. But 
 what a lovely place this is! I've been admiring it so 
 much." 
 
 The man smiled. "Yes, it's nice," he said. "My girl 
 and I have nearly all we want here. There's always a 
 'nearly,' of course, in life, as you'll find out one day if you 
 don't know it already. But I must say, we come as near 
 escaping from that fate as anyone, I think. How are all 
 your people? I haven't seen your father for quite a while." 
 
 They chatted on until Pamela came in. She carried a 
 book under one arm and held another open in her hand. 
 "I was right, father," she said excitedly. "Listen : 'The 
 figures in these caves' that is Bushman's Nek 'are several 
 of them human with beast heads, curiously reminiscent of 
 Anubis. So far as is known, these are unique in Africa 
 and certainly lend colour to the idea of a migration of 
 Bushmen from the Lower Nile and perhaps from the 
 mountains of Judea.' 'Unique!' Then ours are a great 
 discovery. We simply must go to Bushman's Nek and 
 see these others." 
 
 "Maybe," said Mr. Urfurd, "but it's building a lot on a 
 resemblance to suggest Egyptian influence. That's where 
 so many mistakes are made. Eraser's books are full of
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 73 
 
 them. It's not a particularly remarkable idea. But at any 
 rate, it certainly makes your discovery the more interest- 
 ing." 
 
 Gwen glanced at Cecil. "Do tell us what you're talking 
 about!" she exclaimed. "I never saw anything like you 
 two! Who is Anubis?" 
 
 "Pamela apologise," said Mr. Urfurd laughing. "Anu- 
 bis, Gwen, was an Egyptian god with the head of a jackal 
 on a human body. He was the son of Set, and Set was 
 the principle of Evil, the great opponent of Osiris, the 
 man-god who rose from the dead and became King of 
 Heaven and Judge of all. In Bushman's Nek, near Under- 
 berg, there's a cave of paintings made by the Bushmen, 
 and some of them are like this god. Well, near here, about 
 three miles up the river, Pam has discovered another cave, 
 and in it are similar paintings. I thought there were others 
 like this in South Africa, but she said she thought not. So 
 we ordered that particular book, and you observe that she 
 is right. Only I'm still against the Egyptian theory," he 
 added. 
 
 "Thanks," said Gwen, "but how perfectly thrilling. We 
 must see those caves! Do take us. Wouldn't you love to 
 see them, Ces?" 
 
 Cecil got up. "I should," she said, "but we can't go 
 this afternoon, that's plain. Perhaps some other day Mr. 
 Urfurd will take us. Will you, Pamela?" 
 
 "Oh yes," she said, "if you like, but it's a beastly climb. 
 Wouldn't photographs satisfy you?" 
 
 "No, no, no," said Gwen. "They won't. I shan't look 
 at them, Pam. I insist on going. Do ask us nicely, Mr. 
 Urfurd." 
 
 Mr. Urfurd glanced amusedly from his daughter to Gwen. 
 "Miss Gwendoline Eldred," he said, "will you honour us by 
 accepting an invitation for Saturday week at a picnic to be 
 held in the Anubis caves? Lunch at one o'clock sharp on the 
 river. Start from here at eleven. Miss Pamela Urfurd will
 
 74 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 lecture from two till three on her recent discoveries and their 
 relation to Egyptian mythology." 
 
 "I wish," said Gwen, as they rode home a little later, 
 "that Mr. Urfurd did not always make me feel that he was 
 laughing at me,"
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 CECIL stood dripping on the shore before breakfast on 
 the Saturday morning of their invitation some ten 
 days later, when Fanny brought her down a folded note 
 which had just arrived. The boy who had brought it was 
 waiting for an answer, and she read it at once where she 
 stood. 
 
 "CECILY DEAR (it ran), 
 
 "You are to come to us for the week-end, not only 
 for the day you, Gwen and Len. I shan't take 'no' for 
 an answer, because I really can't remember when Three 
 Springs had a house-party for a week-end before. You must 
 have bewitched father, I think, to make it possible. There 
 
 will be a few others here, including ! so bring a party 
 
 frock with you for the evening which shall outshine us all ! 
 Lunch here at one. We shall ride to the cave, so come in 
 breeches, which are also better for caves. 
 
 "Yours ever, 
 
 "P. U." 
 
 Cecil read it again and laughed to herself excitedly. Then 
 she looked round for Gwen and her brother, and observed 
 them both some distance out, sitting on a rock soft with 
 seaweed and paddling their feet in the water which gently 
 rose and fell beneath them. "Here," she exclaimed to 
 Fanny, "hold this. I won't be a minute." And she ran 
 down to the sea, plunged in, and swam out straight and 
 strong to the rock. 
 
 In a minule or so she was there, gliding in on the swell 
 and catching hold of Len's feet to steady herself. "Such 
 
 75
 
 76 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 fun," she gasped. "A letter's come from Pamela Urfurd 
 asking the three of us for the week-end instead of for the 
 day. What do you say?" 
 
 "O topping," cried Gwen. "And what an event! I've 
 never stayed a night at Three Springs in my life." 
 
 "Nor I," said Leonard, "but I should like to. Any others 
 to be there?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Cecil, " 'a few others,' Pamela says. Then 
 that's settled, is it?" 
 
 "I suppose we'd better ask dad," said Leonard. "He 
 might want me not that he's the least likely to now, though. 
 Still, we ought to ask. Look here, shall I go and ask him 
 as it chiefly concerns me, and send a note back for you, 
 Ces?" 
 
 "Oh, Len, would you?" 
 
 "Let go my foot then. Want to come up? Well, catch 
 hold." 
 
 He gave her a hand and pulled her up to the flat weedy 
 seat. Then he took a long clean header into the trans- 
 parent water and was quickly away, arm over arm, to shore. 
 The sisters watched him land, say a word to Fanny, and 
 precede her up the beach. 
 
 Cecil gave a little sigh of content. "He swims well," she 
 said. 
 
 Gwen nodded. "We all ought to. Mother says Len swam 
 before he could walk. Did you ever know anything more 
 gorgeous than this bathing place, Ces? Look at that bit of 
 white coral down there, with the little blue fish swimming 
 about it. I'll see if I can get it up." 
 
 Cecil caught hold of her arm. "No, don't, Gwen," she 
 said, "I want to talk a minute. It's a good chance. Do you 
 know we've hardly talked to each other at all since that first 
 day when we went for that walk along the beach. Somehow 
 it seems ages ago now. You would have thought that noth- 
 ing much happened here, but instead of that, the days are 
 full. There's hardly time for things instead of its being the 
 other way on. And everything we do is so jolly."
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 77 
 
 "You think so, do you ?" said Gwen. 
 
 "Why, of course ! Don't you ?" 
 
 Gwen did not answer at once. She began meditatively 
 detaching little winkles and throwing them into the sea at 
 the blue fish, who charged at each one as it side-slipped down 
 to them under the impression that their heavens were drop- 
 ping fatness. "Well, Ces," she said at last, "it's all new to 
 you ; to me it's all old. It's like the weather ; you say every 
 day 'splendid ! another day of sun !' but we rather like the 
 dull days. Things are jolly of course, especially a visit like 
 this will be, but I've done all the other things till I'm tired 
 of them. At least, if I'm not tired of them, I want something 
 more. I feel as if I were always playing, and I want real 
 things. Life's not all a game." 
 
 "Real things will come in time, won't they, Gwen?" said 
 Cecil. 
 
 "Oh yes, I suppose so, but I'm beginning to want them 
 badly. You seem so comfortable, Ces. You seem content 
 to sit and wait. I'm not made like that, I suppose. Or 
 perhaps your life in England has been so much more full 
 than mine, that you haven't bothered to think about anything. 
 But here oh ! I don't know, but everything seems living 
 except myself." 
 
 Cecil looked at her gravely. It dawned on her that she 
 felt more enlightened as to her sister's needs since her talk 
 with Pamela. Gwen was sixteen, and at sixteen a girl bred 
 in the open African life is a woman, and a hot-blooded 
 woman at that. She was nineteen, but she had grown else- 
 where. 
 
 "Tell me, dear," she said. 
 
 "I don't know what there is to tell you," said Gwen. "I 
 don't know that I know myself and yet I do. I won't lie 
 about it. I know what I want. But you'd be shocked. You 
 wouldn't understand." 
 
 "Tell me," said Cecil again. 
 
 Gwen wrenched off a streamer of seaweed and twisted it 
 round her finger. "All right," she said suddenly, "I will. I
 
 78 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 want a lover. I want someone who will seize me in his arms 
 and kiss me till it hurts not silly playing kisses. I want to 
 be his woman almost I want to feel that I'm his property. 
 I don't know why I want it, but I do. But I'm frightened 
 of wanting it, Cecil. It seems to me terrible, and there are 
 so many things I don't understand. No one tells us any- 
 thing. Mother ought to know, but she won't speak. I've 
 tried to talk to her, but I can't somehow she never gives 
 one the chance. I want to know about men and how they 
 feel. They're curious to me. When Harold did well, what 
 I told you he did, you know, I felt I understood a little, 
 but not altogether. His wanting Fanny can't have been like 
 my wanting oh, do say something! I can't go on alone." 
 She broke off with something suspiciously like a sob in her 
 voice. 
 
 Cecil did not speak quickly however. But she was no 
 longer altogether surprised at Gwen, and she was already 
 conscious that she could hear such a declaration unhorrified 
 as she would have been quite recently. She put an arm 
 round her sister's neck and stared out to sea. At that Gwen 
 moved a little nearer and leant her wet head on Cecil's 
 shoulder. Far out, a school of porpoises were leaping in 
 and out of the water, raising little fountains of sun-lit blue- 
 green sea, and both girls watched them without seeing. And 
 when Cecil spoke at last, it was dreamily, so that she hardly 
 knew herself to be speaking. 
 
 "We're very, very little bits of a big, big world, Gwen, I 
 suppose," she said. "I've never thought of it like that 
 before, but I suppose we are. It's true that I've never felt 
 like you do, or never quite like what you said just now, but 
 I think I see what you mean. Poor old Gwen, it must be 
 hard. But I suppose if we wait long enough we shall under- 
 stand. Can't you be a bit more quiet, Gwen ? I wonder why 
 you aren't. Is there anyone you want especially badly? 
 Not just a man, but the man. It seems to me that that's 
 what matters. And meantime everything's so beautiful that
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 79 
 
 one can be content to enjoy it and and to wait, I suppose. 
 Can't you wait, Gwen ?" 
 
 The girl moved restlessly. "I'm tired of waiting," she 
 said. 
 
 "But that's what I don't understand," said Cecil. "You're 
 younger than I am, and yet you're tired before I've begun ! 
 Why is that? There must be some reason if we could only 
 see it. And surely most girls are more like me than you, 
 anyway. They were at 'The Lindens' I know or I think 
 they were. It's just because we've been brought up so differ- 
 ently, I suppose." 
 
 "I suppose so," echoed Gwen, but it was plain that she 
 thought the explanation unsatisfactory. 
 
 They sat on a little longer and then Gwen shivered. 
 
 "Cold ?" queried Cecil. 
 
 "What?" asked Gwen. "Oh, cold," and she laughed. 
 "Yes, perhaps I am, though I didn't think it. Come on, let's 
 get back. Let's plunge together and see who goes farthest. 
 Get up! My word, we shall be late for breakfast!" And 
 she got to her feet gingerly on the slippery rock. 
 
 Cecil got up slowly also and took her arm. "One 
 minute," she said. "Just tell me one thing. Do you love 
 anyone in particular, Gwen?" 
 
 The younger girl glanced at her irresolutely for just a 
 moment. In Cecil's innocent eyes she read her complete 
 ignorance. "Love?" she queried far too bitterly for sixteen 
 years. "No, Ces, I think I hate instead. . . . Are you 
 ready? Off!" And she dived far out into the still sea. 
 
 Cecil followed her. On the beach, they snatched their 
 towels and hardly waited a minute before running up to 
 the house. But in that minute Cecil asked the question she 
 had not been given time to ask before. "Whom, Gwen?" 
 she demanded. 
 
 But Gwen had recovered herself. "Oh, I don't know," 
 she laughed. "Shenk perhaps. He's always calculating what 
 everything is worth. If he were a Kaffir, he'd give father
 
 8o THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 twenty cows for me, I think. Perhaps not, now that you've 
 come, though. You might do worse, you know, Ces. He's 
 quite rich and is building a nice new house out of sight of 
 his old store. You ought to see more of him, you know." 
 And Cecil forgot to press her point in her amusement. It 
 was Gwen who was conscious of stifling her thoughts and 
 her desire for understanding as they climbed the beach. 
 She knew instinctively that she must do so. 
 
 At breakfast Mr. Eldred said that he would send their 
 horses over by a boy, and that they had better motor to 
 Three Springs as they would have luggage and Cecil must 
 be fresh for the afternoon. Cecil of course expostulated 
 at being treated, as she said, like a London girl, but so it was 
 settled. Leonard drove the car, but they took Mafolo, who 
 was out of his wits with delight at the arrangement, to help 
 in odd jobs. He was very smart for the occasion in a shirt 
 and shorts, and crouched on the foot-board like a monkey. 
 Gwen took her camera, which was nearly as big as the rest 
 of her luggage and occupied about as long to select and pack. 
 Cecil had a suit-case of a size that her sister scorned, but 
 then there was that frock to be considered. Len brought 
 a gun with him; and thus each significantly equipped, they, 
 started. 
 
 There was no question of the lower track that day in the 
 motor, so they had to make a big detour and reach the main 
 road from the north. Soon after the turning on the right 
 to Harding, they swung round to the left, and there, by the 
 side of the road, was another car. Its owner was under- 
 neath and only his legs protruded, but from the make of the 
 motor and the circumstances, Len guessed their identity. 
 "Hullo," he cried, "I believe that's old Hugh!" 
 
 He slowed down and got out laughing. As he did so, 
 Sinclair emerged, dusty and with a big smear across his face. 
 He smiled as he saw who they were, but with a rueful 
 glance at his hands, and advanced to the car. 
 
 "Good-morning, all of you," he said, but with his eyes, 
 Cecil thought, most obviously on her. "I've had a break-
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 81 
 
 down. The differential's gone this time, I fear. I've no luck 
 with cars. Miss Eldred, don't laugh, please. If you'd been 
 under the beastly thing half the morning, you'd sympa- 
 thise." 
 
 "I do," she said, "but if you could see yourself you'd 
 understand. You're nearly as black as Mafolo." 
 
 "Mafolo will save the situation, anyhow," said Len. 
 "We'll leave him here to look after the car and take you on, 
 Hugh. Hop in behind with Cecil." 
 
 "Oh I can't; I'm too filthy," he objected. 
 
 "Oh no you're not, Mr. Sinclair," said Cecil. "Shed that 
 overall and wipe your hands on the grass, and I'll forgive 
 the rest." 
 
 "Don't sit too close though, Hugh," said Gwen. "Cecil's 
 got her new habit on." 
 
 They all laughed, but Cecil wished she did not blush so 
 easily. Sinclair glanced at her as he got in and smiled as if 
 he noticed it, she thought. And she was annoyed and pleased 
 at the same time, which is disconcerting at first. 
 
 "Isn't this topping of the Urfurds," began Hugh when 
 the car started. "I could hardly believe it when I got their 
 invitation. However I'm sure it's all in your honour and 
 we shall have a grand time. Urfurd's a good sort, though 
 he is a little too retiring. Have you seen the house?" 
 
 "Yes," said Cecil. "We rode over the other day. As a 
 matter of fact this party was partly fixed up then. Pamela 
 has discovered a cave with Anubis in it or something of 
 that sort and we're to go and see it." 
 
 "Who in the world's Anubis ?" demanded Hugh. 
 
 "Oh I'm so glad you don't know !" cried Cecil. "I hadn't 
 an idea, and I was afraid I ought to have had. The Urfurds 
 seemed to take it for granted. She or he, I really don't 
 know which is an Egyptian goddess, and it's a painting 
 on the wall of the cave." 
 
 Hugh looked still more mystified. "I didn't know Egyp- 
 tians were ever down in these parts," he said. 
 
 Cecil burst out laughing. "Oh," she cried, "you're
 
 82 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 gloriously ignorant! You don't know a thing more about 
 it than I did ! But it's my fault. I don't think it is Anubis 
 really. It's a Bushman painting anyhow. But the cave 
 sounds awfully exciting, and I'm sure we shall have a 
 glorious time." 
 
 "I shall, Miss Eldred," said Hugh, "or at least I hope so." 
 
 "I'm sure I hope you do," said Cecil thoughtlessly. 
 
 "Do you?" he said. "It all depends on you. It isn't the 
 cave that matters to me. I believe you know that already. 
 Shall I have a good time, Miss Eldred?" 
 
 The blood rushed again to Cecil's cheeks. The car swept 
 swiftly along, the sun shone, the world smiled, and her heart 
 was glad. She told herself it was all madness she had only 
 known him a few days! but she could not help her reply. 
 "I still hope so," she said softly. 
 
 His eyes sparkled. "We're nearly there," he said, "and 
 I shall be able to see then, I hope. If we ride to the cave, 
 do ride with me, or if we walk, walk with me, will you ? Do 
 promise. You can if you like." 
 
 Cecil leant back in the padded car luxuriously with that 
 still delightfully new sense of power. "We shall see," she 
 said gaily, "but I think we had better change the subject 
 now, don't you? Do you like motoring, Mr. Sinclair?" 
 
 "Oh I love it," he said, dinging to his seat as they 
 bumped over a stone. ("Sorry," sang out Leonard.) "But 
 I could improve this situation. Can you guess how?" 
 
 "A better road, I should think," laughed Cecil. 
 
 "And clean hands," said Sinclair as they swung through 
 the gates of the farm. "Also a longer journey and a smaller 
 company. What do you think?" 
 
 "I refuse to think," she said, "and anyway there's Mr. 
 Urfurd and Pamela. Oh Pam, this is splendid of you. It 
 is good of you to ask us, Mr. Urfurd," she added, shaking 
 hands. "Is that Mr. Shenk too? What a party we are! 
 [Who's the chaperone, Mr. Urfurd?" 
 
 "To tell you the truth, I've got out of the habit of think- 
 ing of chaperones," he said smiling, "bat I suppose I'm cast
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 83 
 
 for the role so far as it goes. Come in, anyhow. Where's 
 your car, Sinclair? We expected you an hour ago." 
 
 He and Hugh fell to the rear talking of the latter's mishap, 
 and went off together to get oxen and boys to go for the 
 crippled car. Shenk brought Cecil in, following the other 
 three, passing round the house and in at the lounge door. 
 There, Pamela played hostess. "Mr. Shenk," she said, "take 
 Len off to the dining-room and get him an appetiser, will 
 you, and have one yourself. Oh, but wait a moment. Cecily, 
 what about you? Let's all have one to inaugurate things 
 properly. You will, Gwen, I know, being a dissipated young 
 thing. Come, Cecily, you must a tiny wee mixed Vermouth, 
 my dear, and this prosaic earth will be heaven. No ? Well, 
 lemonade then, anyway. If you two men will go and bring 
 a collection of glasses and bottles here, then, we'll all be 
 happy together. You look happy enough, though, Cecil, 
 without Vermouth," she added under her breath. "Have the 
 gods been kind to you, my dear ?" 
 
 "Right-ho!" cried Len, boisterously, "come and lend a 
 hand, Gwen." And the three went out together. 
 
 Cecil darted a glance at Pamela and threw herself into 
 a chair. "Pam," she said, "I feel absolutely riotous already. 
 Do come and tell me some more about Anubis quickly before 
 Mr. Sinclair comes back. I was trying to explain to him in 
 the car and got into a fearful muddle. Was it a he or a 
 she, anyway? I quite forget." 
 
 "I thought you looked as if you had been talking mythol- 
 ogy," said Pamela, slyly, "but not Egyptian. Are you sure 
 you have not been mixing up another deity with Anubis? 
 Cupid, for instance, Cecily?" 
 
 The return of the others saved Cecil a reply, and as the 
 drinks were in process of being mixed, in came the other 
 men. "Good," said Mr. Urfurd. "Sinclair, you can do with 
 a gin and bitters before lunch, I expect. What, have they 
 led you astray, Miss Gwen? You won't indulge that habit 
 at 'The Lindens,' I know!" 
 
 At luncheon their host outlined the plan of the proceedings.
 
 84 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 "I thought you might ride down," he said. "If you cross the 
 river below the house and go a mile or two farther through 
 Pondoland, you can come out not far from the cave. Then 
 tea and exploration. The boys have already taken supplies 
 down, and we propose you dine down there and walk back 
 afterwards when the moon gets up. Then there'll be some 
 cold supper here, and so to bed, as Mr. Pepys says. Do you 
 approve, Miss Eldred?" 
 
 "It sounds perfect," said Cecil. "If you planned all that, 
 you're a genius, Mr. Urfurd. Or was it Pamela? which do 
 you suppose, Mr. Shenk ?" 
 
 It had been on the tip of her tongue to appeal to Sinclair, 
 but somehow she felt she could not look at him after just 
 such an outline of the walk and ride he had hoped for in the 
 car. But it was he who replied. 
 
 "It was Miss Urfurd," he said. "But tell me just one 
 thing and I'll know for certain. Have you sent a gramo- 
 phone down, Miss Pamela?" 
 
 "Did we, father?" asked Pamela innocently. 
 
 "I knew it," cried Hugh. "Gwen, I can't do it myself, so 
 kindly go and thank our hostess duly." 
 
 Gwen sprang up. "Oh," she cried, "I know I ought to 
 wait for you to rise, Pamela, as this is a most proper party, 
 but I can't ! I'm dying to go. Mr. Urfurd, do let's start. I 
 believe we're going to have the most glorious day I've ever 
 known !" 
 
 Mr. Urfurd laughed. "Have a cigar, Shenk," he said, 
 "and pass the box to Sinclair, will you. Well, I hope you do. 
 You must excuse me. Picnics are not much in my line. 
 Pamela knows the way even better than I do, and you can all 
 look after yourselves. I'll send the horses round, and expect 
 you back about ten. I see you brought a gun, Leonard, and 
 there are pigeon in the cave, so it's worth while. If you men 
 want another, you've only got to say so. You know the gun- 
 room I think, Sinclair, so please take what you like." And 
 he left by the open doors on to the stoep in the direction of 
 the stables,
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 85 
 
 Pamela assumed command. "Mr. Sinclair, if you do want 
 a gun, go and get one, and in any case, will you look after 
 the male section? I've roused father up to a point he's 
 scarcely ever reached before, but no human power can carry 
 him further. If you girls '11 come with me, we'll go and get 
 ready. Meet on the stoep of the lounge in ten minutes." 
 
 When it came to starting, Pamela led the way, followed 
 by Leonard, his sister and Shenk behind, Cecil next, and 
 Hugh in the rear. It seemed a reasonable arrangement, but 
 Cecil felt a little guilty, as if she had schemed for it. At any 
 rate, at first, the track only permitted of single file, and they 
 were all close together. The talking that went on ought more 
 properly to be called shouting, and consisted chiefly of that 
 frequent and ultimately annoy ing, remark on such occasions: 
 "What do you say?" 
 
 But across the river, it was possible to ride abreast, and 
 Hugh ranged up on Cecil immediately. For a while it 
 seemed as if they had little to say to each other. He was not 
 an adept at making small talk, and at first they merely dis- 
 cussed Three Springs and the immediate excursion, calling 
 each other's attention to a gay flower here or the view there. 
 However at length he said: "When are you going to pay 
 me that visit, Miss Eldred ? I'm all ready for it. The sheep 
 are sheared and the mealies in, and even the house has been 
 cleaned. When is it to be?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Cecil. "You mustn't ask me. It's 
 too big an affair altogether. You must come and talk to 
 father about it But I wish you would. Gwen and I are 
 dying to go to the Malutis. Couldn't you ask Mr. Urfurd 
 and Pamela as well, and arrange for us to go up Bushman's 
 Nek and see this other cave that they're so keen to see ?" 
 
 "Yes, I could, but I don't know that I want Urfurd or his 
 daughter particularly just now. Another time we can per- 
 haps arrange it so. I want you all to come out to Spring- 
 fontein by yourselves this time. Will you back it up, any- 
 way?" 
 
 "Of course, only you must ask daddy."
 
 6 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 "I will. I'll come over next week no, better still, I'll ride 
 back with you after this week-end, if I may, and ask him 
 then. And, Miss Eldred, there's something else I want to ask 
 him as well." 
 
 "Really," said Cecil. "Oh do then. But look, the others 
 are out of sight. Let's canter here a bit." 
 
 It was ten minutes before he could return to the subject. 
 "Can you guess what I want to ask your father Cecil ?" he 
 said. 
 
 It was awfully stupid (she told herself) but her heart 
 leapt at the name. Yet she was instantly on her guard. 
 Neither time nor place pleased her ladyship, uninstructed as 
 she was in all that bad black business, but untold centuries of 
 experience rallied to her aid. "No," she said, "how should 
 I know ? Look ! Do get me some of those delicious forget- 
 me-nots down there by that spring !" 
 
 He dismounted as in duty bound. Cecil sat her horse idly, 
 watching, and then suddenly regretted that the flowers were 
 forget-me-nots. Fate had outwitted nature once again. He 
 came to her where she sat, with the starry blue bunch, but 
 did not give them up all at once. "I want to ask your father 
 if I may try to teach you the meaning of these flowers, 
 Cecil," he said. "They give me just the chance to say what 
 I did not know how to say. May I ask that of him, dear?" 
 
 Cecil's little world stood still. It was as if she suddenly 
 had vision of infinite things, wide vistas reaching to eternity 
 and a glimpse of God. Conventional Hugh and unsophisti- 
 cated Cecil disappeared. A man stood by a woman and 
 asked if she would fulfil with him the inscrutable purposes 
 of their being. Nor was there any escape. She glanced 
 hurriedly around for it, but they were again alone on the 
 winding hill-side path, with the little stream singing below 
 them of the webs of fate and the blue sky serene above. 
 Driven back upon herself, Cecil pulled the last weapon from 
 her armoury. And in the nature of things, once that is used, 
 surrender is imminent.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 87 
 
 "Oh how can I say ?" she cried. "Don't ask me yet, please, 
 please!" 
 
 "Dear," said he, "I'm not asking you what I hope I may 
 ask one day. But I would like to know if it is with your 
 good-will that I say what I shall say to your father. It need 
 not mean anything irrevocable to you if you say 'y es / but ft 
 will mean much to me." 
 
 She looked at him. God knows what she saw in him 
 more than others had done it is to be supposed. But then 
 what does any woman see in such a moment ? In a way there 
 was nothing in him that deceived her at any rate, but she 
 deceived herself. She supposed she was free to speak what 
 she would; she supposed she knew what she meant; she 
 supposed that it was truly not irrevocable. But how often is 
 a woman's least answer any of these things ? "Yes," she said 
 simply, "you may." 
 
 He surrendered the flowers without a word and climbed 
 again into the saddle. They rode on for a few minutes in 
 silence. Cecil was staring at her horse's head and question- 
 ing stupidly how he had come to have a little nick out of his 
 left ear. Then Hugh spoke, and with such a note in his 
 voice that she wondered for a moment if she knew the man 
 who was speaking. As he went on, the feeling grew on her 
 that life had gone beyond her power. 
 
 "Oh Cecil," he said, "how wonderful it all is ! It seems to 
 me that I have been knocking up and down the world for all 
 these years, just for this. Springfontein seemed to me a dif- 
 ferent place when I went back to it from you before, but 
 
 now ! Oh in a way, I regret this week-end ! I want to 
 
 go back and work and plan and build for you know what. 
 I see, now, why a man feels that he must get a resting place ; 
 there is that in him which wishes to make a home. I see, 
 now, why life is worth living and its battles worth fighting. 
 I regret nothing now, neither the hardships nor the defeats 
 nor the set-backs. They make this the more worth while. 
 Only I wish that Springfontein was better that I had a few
 
 88 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 thousand instead of a few hundred pounds. I'm not a rich 
 man, dear. And I'm a very ignorant one. I've really noth- 
 ing to offer you, except just myself." 
 
 Cecil wanted to stop him. She wanted to say that he was 
 running on too fast, taking too much for granted. She had 
 promised nothing; she had only granted a permission she 
 could hardly refuse. But she could not put it into words. 
 "I wonder if any woman asks more," she found herself 
 saying. 
 
 "Not if she is in love," said Hugh simply. "That's what 
 makes women so great. It doesn't matter to them that we 
 are roughened and hardened and dirtied. But it matters to 
 us. We see, then, what blind fools we have been. Cecil, I 
 can't tell you all about myself now, but I must one day. 
 What will you say then, I wonder? But if you can come to 
 love me, dear, I know already." 
 
 "He will probably tell you all his sins and you will weep 
 and forgive him." The words sounded to Cecil utterly 
 heartless now, but she suddenly remembered them with a 
 little sense of fear. How should Pamela know these things? 
 Surely this golden afternoon was unique in time! Impa- 
 tiently she flicked up her horse. 
 
 Hugh misunderstood. "I've said more than I ought," he 
 said when he caught her up. "I'm so sorry. But it can't be 
 unsaid. Don't be angry, Cecil." 
 
 His tone was so humble that a swift revulsion of feeling 
 came over her, and her voice grew tender. "I'm not," she 
 replied. "It's not that at all. But let us ride on more quickly 
 now. Tell me of your Rhodesian days. And when we reach 
 the others, ride a bit with Gwen." 
 
 "You darling !" he exclaimed joyfully. "I will if you'll 
 walk home with me in the evening." 
 
 She laughed outright, her nervous tension unaccountably 
 gone. "I don't know," she said, "probably not !" 
 
 But the others had dismounted across the stream when 
 they rode up. Pamela turned to greet them. "There you 
 are at last," she cried. "Tea's ready. Don't you want it?
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 89 
 
 We should have begun next minute if you hadn't come up." 
 
 "Hot scones too, Miss Eldred," Shenk called to Cecil, 
 "and the scones of Three Springs are famous in the country. 
 And do tell your brother to remove his gun from this neigh- 
 bourhood. He's not seen a pigeon yet, and he'll shoot us in 
 despair if you don't !" 
 
 "Hugh, come and sit by me," said Gwen. "Pam's going to 
 lecture on her cave during tea and we can go to sleep com- 
 fortably together. I'm sure you know nothing about Bush- 
 men or Egyptians, and, if you told the truth, care less. Also, 
 I like your cigarettes. Here, you can have half my coat." 
 
 Tea over, they explored the cave. It was more of a hollow 
 in the cliff than a cave, but certainly a deep one at that. You 
 scrambled up a rough cleft in the hill-side, and at the head of 
 it, set behind a deep fringe of bushes, was the wide semi- 
 circular place that would have hidden a hundred men. Its lip 
 was composed of great boulders, and a tiny trickle of water 
 fell from the top some eighty feet above and plashed cease- 
 lessly on the rocks beneath. They were all more or less silent 
 as they stood there. Shenk climbed up on a boulder and 
 looked down. "Two men with repeating rifles and plenty of 
 ammunition could hold this place against anything short of 
 artillery," he said. 
 
 Cecil shivered. "Pamela," she said, "it gives me the creeps, 
 I don't know why. It feels as if men had been murdered 
 here." 
 
 "They have," said Pamela carelessly, pulling aside a bush. 
 Behind it lay an almost complete skeleton, clean and white, 
 and still lying as it had first fallen there. "However, I don't 
 believe this is a Bushman's skeleton, by the way," she went 
 on, "and I think they are a woman's bones. There was a 
 curious knife by it, too, but I've got that at home. If you 
 care to speculate, Cecily, you can picture to yourself a trag- 
 edy here some one of us poor women deceived again by 
 love, even though she was probably black." 
 
 "Oh Pamela," cried Cecil, "how awful !" And she turned 
 quickly aside. Hugh stepped between her and it. "Why
 
 90 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 don't you have it buried?" he demanded. "You shouldn't 
 leave it here." 
 
 Pamela looked coolly at him. "Why not?" she retorted. 
 "Would she be better off six feet under ground? After 
 life's fitful fever, she sleeps well ; let her sleep." 
 
 "If she sleeps," said Shenk, with a little laugh. 
 
 Pamela turned quickly towards him. "Ah yes," she said, 
 "#/. That, you and I don't know, yet, Mr. Shenk." 
 
 Shenk looked what he felt but said nothing. However as 
 he and Hugh followed the rest back, he said: "That girl 
 gives me the creeps, Sinclair. She's uncanny." Hugh 
 skirted a boulder carefully ; he did not much care for Shenk. 
 "It's your bad conscience, perhaps," he said with a laugh. 
 "I don't creep." Which was not exactly true, and hard on 
 Shenk in any case, for he was a good enough fellow. 
 
 The Anubis figures were certainly interesting. There 
 were two, one apparently following a long line of various 
 buck, with a couple of hartebeest especially well drawn, and 
 the other, above them all, seemingly watching the procession. 
 Human figures, with bows and arrows, crouched under cover 
 and were apparently hunting the animals. But the interpre- 
 tation was not easy to read. "You see," Pamela pointed out, 
 "it might mean that the jackal-headed beasts, in the mind of 
 the artist, drove the animals gods of nature, perhaps. But 
 then the Bushmen had no such ideas, or none that we know." 
 
 "Perhaps they're not Bushman paintings at all," said 
 Gwen. 
 
 "Oh I think they are," said Pamela. "If not, they are 
 indeed a find. Even as it is, I'm inclined to believe that they 
 are uniquely valuable as showing that even the Bushmen be- 
 lieved in some power behind the world of nature and perhaps 
 in command of it. Half beasts themselves, they might 
 easily have imagined that power to be half beastly. It would 
 have been a tribal memory from the days when their fathers 
 trekked down through Africa from Egypt or beyond. You 
 can picture them crouching naked at night in their holes on 
 the hill-side and guarding the rocks yonder against foul
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 91 
 
 things creeping up the valley in the dark. And then when 
 the sun restored their courage, they drew these pictures on 
 the rocks, embodying their fear. It may have been so ; at any 
 rate there are none left to tell us." 
 
 "None?" queried Cecil. 
 
 "None, my dear. We whites shot them down at sight as if 
 they had been jackals, or poisoned their wells. The Kaffirs 
 hunted them down in droves. They would not civilise you 
 see, or work, not even with the aid of a sjambok. Their 
 cousins, the baboons, are wiser and take to inaccessible rocks. 
 But the Bushmen fled till they could fly no farther, and 
 then, as they could not climb like monkeys, they died instead. 
 Your old Jacob, Cecil, used to spear them when he was a 
 boy; he told me a white man gave him so much per head. 
 He was rather clever at it, I should think. But it was risky 
 work ; they had stings." And she pointed to the bows in the 
 hands of the hunters in the pictures. 
 
 "Let's get back," said Hugh. "It will be dark soon. We're 
 very grateful to you, but this part of the show has ceased to 
 be cheerful, Miss Pamela." 
 
 "Has it?" said Pamela. "Well, I don't suppose it was 
 very cheerful for the Bushmen, though most of them died 
 fighting, which was perhaps their best means of exit. In 
 their own way, they died for freedom, and for their jackal- 
 headed gods." 
 
 Pamela led the way back and Cecil followed close behind 
 her. "Pam," she said when the going was a bit easier, "do 
 you really mean white men poisoned these poor creatures' 
 wells?" 
 
 "Yes," said her guide. "Sounds horrible, I admit, but 
 after all, if it was a good and not too painful poison, it may 
 not have been such a bad way." 
 
 "Pam! You don't mean it!" cried Cecil, ranging up 
 alongside as they reached the river. "It's too awful." 
 
 "Well," retorted the other, argumentatively, "the Bushmen 
 would raid the flocks. It wasn't as if they were content with 
 a sheep now and again either, but they'd kill a score of ewes
 
 92 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 for the sake of a few tid-bits. Or, as a matter of fact, half 
 kill the poor beasts. They wouldn't listen to reason; they 
 wouldn't be permanently bribed; and they fought and hid 
 
 like wild-cats. I can imagine myself Look out!" she 
 
 cried suddenly. 
 
 Cecil started instantaneously at the quick change of tone, 
 glanced right and left, and then sprang back with a shriek of 
 horror. On her left, emerging from the bushes, was the 
 deadliest of South African snakes, the black mamba. For a 
 second the reptile seemed to hesitate as to whether or not it 
 would dispute with them the right of way, and then it turned 
 to escape. But that one second cost it its life. Pamela, quick 
 as thought, leapt forward sjambok in hand. Once, twice, 
 three times, she struck the writhing thing, and then ceased. 
 
 "Object lesson, Cecily," she said with a chuckle. "There 
 was no time then to think of sentiment, and I expect that's 
 what the farmers felt. Come on. There's nothing to fear. 
 His day's work is done. Let's send the boys for him. He's 
 a good specimen, but you can have the skin if you like." 
 
 "Oh Pam," cried Cecil admiringly and breathing freely 
 again, "what a nerve you have! If it had come for me I 
 could have done nothing. You didn't hesitate a second." 
 
 "Rule for life, Cecily," Pamela said. "Strike when you 
 must and strike hard." 
 
 Cecil sighed. "I suppose so," she said, "but, Pam, I 
 wish you weren't so so " And she stuck for a word. 
 
 "Yes," laughed Pamela. "Out with it. Don't mind me !" 
 
 Then Cecil remembered Gwen's word. "Well, Pam, I 
 can't help it ruthless," she said. 
 
 Pamela took her arm with a display of affection unusual 
 in her. "But, Cecily," she said, "we're pals, aren't we? and 
 apparently there are times when it is a handy virtue for one 
 of us at least to possess."
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 CECIL woke in the night and could not get to sleep again. 
 She did not want to do so at once, however. She lay 
 staring at the window from which she had drawn back the 
 curtain and through which she could see the tops of trees in 
 a white sheet of moon. The window was open and all the 
 sounds of the night came through to her the hoot of an owl, 
 the noise of cicalas, the rustling of leaves, and once the crow 
 of a sleepy cock. But she was not thinking of the night. 
 Rather she turned over in her mind all the doings of the day, 
 and was glad to lie there and think of the many things which 
 could not be said. 
 
 She reasoned with herself as to whether or not she was 
 sorry that she had not walked home with Hugh, or rather 
 that she had refused to be alone with him. She knew ex- 
 actly why. He had made it impossible, she told herself, 
 when his hand had sought hers under the blanket as they lay 
 by the stream after dinner and listened to the gramophone. 
 Pamela had been on the other side of her, and she had 
 trembled lest they had been seen. But the rug had utterly 
 hidden them, hidden enough of them, that is, to conceal even 
 the slight movement he had made as his fingers sought hers. 
 Once there, however, she had let them have their way, and 
 suffered the caress as they stroked her wrist. She had 
 thrilled with love for him then, she thought. There rang in 
 her head, as if it had been the sweetest music, the lines of the 
 lilting chorus : 
 
 "When the moon shines, 
 Over the cow-shed, 
 I'll be waiting at the k-k-kitchen door." 
 
 93
 
 94 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 Dear old Hugh! There was something about him that 
 moved her inexpressibly. She was glad he was so much 
 older than she, glad that he was just an honest kindly strong 
 man who sought her so honourably. But when they had got 
 up to go, she had suddenly been afraid. If she walked home 
 alone with him, what might not happen? An irrevocable 
 kiss might be given, for a kiss seemed to her as solemn a 
 thing as that. No, no, no, not yet. Let him ask her father ; 
 let him woo her a little more ; let her hold off for a while. It 
 was asking too much. Never again alone like this. . . . 
 
 She shifted to a more comfortable position. There was 
 Gwen, now; she did not feel in the least like Gwen. Gwen 
 was tired already. It seemed so absurd. Gwen wanted a 
 lover. What did she mean ? She was not at all sure that she, 
 Cecil, wanted a lover. She wanted Hugh in a way, but 
 really she was chiefly content that he was there, in the back- 
 ground so to speak. She wondered what she ought to say to 
 Gwen, and the more she thought of it, the more troubled she 
 became. It wasn't right of Gwen. But what could one say? 
 She would ask Pam not directly, of course, but in the way 
 one could. . . . 
 
 And then Pamela took possession of her. She hardly 
 thought consecutively now, but allowed images to drift by 
 her the cave, the trickle of water, the pictures, those awful 
 bones. She shifted over again at that, to get rid of the 
 thought, and effectively did. 
 
 When she awoke, the sunlight was streaming in and there 
 was Pam by her side with a tea-tray. "Oh you're awake at 
 last, are you," said her hostess. "I looked in half an hour 
 ago and you were snoring. Now however, I had determined 
 to wake you. I want to have my tea with you, so I've 
 brought a whole outfit. There ! bread and butter for you and 
 cigarettes for me. I wonder when you'll begin to smoke, 
 Cecily." 
 
 "Never, I think," said Cecil. "I don't want to, not one 
 bit." 
 
 Pamela carefully selected a cigarette, and went through
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 95 
 
 her ritual. But before she could speak, Cecil burst out 
 laughing. "Oh, Pam," she said, "you're prodigious! At 
 times you're terrible, but not on a bright morning like this. 
 Also it's the Sabbath and witches have no power. Hence I 
 have no fear of the oracle about to sound. Now speak." 
 
 Pamela made no immediate reply. She pushed the tray 
 a bit farther back on the little side-table, kicked off her 
 slippers, threw off her dressing-gown, and stood revealed 
 in silk pyjamas at which Cecil stared a little. Then she 
 pulled back the sheet and got into bed, or rather half in, for 
 she remained leaning on the pillow and looking down at 
 Cecil whose black hair streamed across the white pillow case. 
 "There," she said, "that's all the oracle." 
 
 Cecil snuggled up against her. "You're rather a dear, 
 Pam," she said, "and I love you. But I don't see much of an 
 oracle in this." 
 
 "Don't you?" replied the other coolly; "pyjamas with 
 you in bed ! Has that ever happened before, for Gwen 
 doesn't wear them I know, and when will it happen again?" 
 
 Cecil crimsoned and hid her face. "Pam !" she exclaimed, 
 "don't!" 
 
 Pamela put her cigarette between her lips and pushed her 
 fingers through the girl's hair caressingly. "Poor little one," 
 she said, "it was rather beastly. But are you sure you love 
 him, Cecily?" 
 
 Cecil reached out her white arm and began to play with 
 the strings of her friend's pyjamas. By this time, Pamela's 
 penetration no longer surprised her friend, so she only said, 
 "Yes, Pam; I think so." 
 
 "You must not think; you must know." 
 
 "How can one know? Last night, coming home, I was 
 terrified of him in a way. I dreaded to be alone." 
 
 "He kissed you, did he?" asked Pamela gently. "In the 
 afternoon?" 
 
 "Oh no," said Cecil. "You're wrong for once, Pamela. 
 What fun!" 
 
 "Did he not? No, Cecily, I'm not wrong really though
 
 96 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 perhaps I ought to have seen that if so you would not have 
 been frightened any longer. No, my dear, I'm incredibly, 
 unbelievably right. What did he do ? Let's see, I expect he 
 hinted at things and oh, yes, he's going to ask your father's 
 leave to propose to you. Is that it?" 
 
 Cecil was not far off tears. "Pam!" she exclaimed, 
 "please don't. You spoil everything. You're laughing at 
 him, and you hurt me awfully." 
 
 Pamela plunged her cigarette into a tea-cup that she had 
 already slopped over in getting into bed, and then bent 
 impulsively and kissed the black hair and rather misty eyes 
 of the girl beside her. And at that Cecil shot her arms round 
 her friend's neck and held her so a moment. "Oh Pam," she 
 whispered, "I'm so sorry. You're a darling." 
 
 "No, I'm not," said Pamela disengaging herself, but 
 sinking a little lower into bed at the same time. "It was 
 rather brutal, but you see, dear, Hugh is so conventional. 
 It's all falling out exactly as I said. Of course he falls in 
 love with you ; of course he approaches like well, like that ; 
 and of course you take his forget-me-nots and wait for his 
 kisses, against the day they'll come, like a strayed Psyche. 
 It's all as it ought to be perhaps. But be sure you love him, 
 Cecily." 
 
 "What is love, Pam?" whispered Cecil. 
 
 Pamela made no answer. She had hard work not to do 
 so though. The hard and cynical things she learned of her 
 books, of her solitariness and of Nature, were on the tip 
 of her tongue. But she did not say them, and the moment 
 passed, for Cecil answered herself without waiting for her 
 friend to reply, and Pamela, knowing nothing of what lay 
 behind, marvelled. 
 
 "Is it to want a lover, Pam?" went on Cecil softly. "To 
 want him to seize you in his arms and to kiss until it hurts 
 almost. To want to be his wife, no, I mean his woman; to 
 want to feel that you are his property. And not to be quite 
 sure you really do want it to be almost frightened of it 
 but still to want it, and to want yes, I think it's that too to
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 97 
 
 want to be a mother. Is that love, do you think, Pamela?" 
 
 Pamela's straying fingers on her hair stopped motion- 
 less. "Who told you, Cecily, little one?" she demanded 
 quietly. "Oh my dear, fancy your knowing that ! Has your 
 heart taught you that already?" 
 
 But at her words, Cecil rolled over on her side and hid her 
 face again. SoGwenknew! How? Was this what Africa 
 did for one ? But did she, Cecil, know these things ? Why 
 was it she did not feel them ? 
 
 A minute or two slipped by in silence, and then she came 
 to a determination and sat abruptly up. "Pamela," she 
 said, "I want to tell you a terrible thing and to ask you about 
 it. Will you promise me faithfully never, never, to breathe 
 a word to a soul ?" 
 
 Pamela smiled at her vehemence. "Surely, Cecily," she 
 said. 
 
 "Well, then, when I got home I found out a terrible thing. 
 It doesn't matter how I found out, but I know' now it is 
 certainly true. Nobody has told me for certain, but I feel 
 it to be true somehow, and it fits in with things in this 
 country. I can't get it off my mind. It's this oh, it's hard 
 to tell you Harold was sent away to Rhodesia because he 
 was flirting with our half-caste servant Fanny." She 
 crimsoned as she spoke. "Flirting, Pam. Father must have 
 feared things too awful for words. But just think of it. To 
 think that Harold, our Harold, should love a woman who's 
 actually partly a Griqua ! Oh Pam, how could he ?" 
 
 Pamela settled herself more comfortably in the bed. It 
 was an astonishing morning, she thought, and required 
 grappling with. What would this child ask next? What 
 was there in this for such alarm? However, when she was 
 comfortable, she pronounced judgment. "I don't in the 
 least suppose he did or does love her," she said. 
 
 "But, Pam, that's not the point. Or not exactly the point. 
 It seems he he wanted her. That's what I can't get over. 
 That's what I can't understand a bit. I can understand 
 granting Hugh like well, as I've said; Hugh might be
 
 98 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 wanted like that. But how does it come in between Harold 
 and Fanny ? Fanny might easily have loved Harold, I sup- 
 pose, but Harold. . . . He must have made Fanny hope for 
 for, well, perhaps for a child. Do you think he could 
 possibly have thought of that, Pamela?" 
 
 "I should take it that was about all he did think of," she 
 replied coolly. 
 
 "But then what are men like," whispered Cecil, white- 
 faced. 
 
 "They're much as God made them," said Pamela, smiling. 
 
 "God did not make people like that," said Cecil. "I can't 
 believe it." 
 
 "Well, as the devil made them then," retorted Pamela. 
 
 "But, Pam, he isn't as powerful as all that. Can he spoil 
 the most wonderful things in life? And how does one know 
 when it is the devil and when it is God?" 
 
 "Ah," exclaimed Pamela involuntarily, "how indeed!" 
 
 "But one knows when he is about," said Cecil. 
 
 "Does one?" 
 
 "Yes. You can't trick me, Pam. Why (and her voice 
 sank low) I'm sure a mother knows that her baby is from 
 God." 
 
 The elder girl looked at her wonderingly. "Are you 
 inclined to mix up God with the affair of Harold and Fanny, 
 then?" she asked almost cruelly. 
 
 "Oh," cried poor Cecil, "that's just it. I don't under- 
 stand!" 
 
 Pamela abandoned all pretence. "See here, Cecily," she 
 said. '"Let's have done with riddles. After all, on the eve 
 of what you are contemplating, you ought to have done with 
 them. Sometime or another you must face facts, you must 
 get down to life. The birth of a baby is not only a senti- 
 mental affair, the result of loving and kissing. It's a natural 
 thing of the body as well. You know that, I suppose, as well 
 as I, and it is foolish to pretend it is indecent to talk about 
 it. The very Prayer Book tells you that marriage is for that 
 end, even although some parsons do leave it out, and you
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 99 
 
 must know that there are marriages which are not made as a 
 result of love. For there's lust as well as love. There's the 
 desire for bodily things which can come when there is no 
 love at all. It's a terrible passion, my dear, a human figure 
 with a jackal's savage head. It's the great upthrust of nature 
 through all our trappings and conventions. Love beautifies 
 it, ennobles it, cloaks it, but love does not cause it. Or at 
 least I think not. There can be one without the other. And 
 often human nature lusts before it loves, and even lusts 
 where it does not love at all. That jackal-headed beast 
 gripped Harold, I suppose, my dear. Maybe, it grips men 
 more than women; very probably it does. It's theirs to 
 seize and give give give; ours to receive and to endure 
 and to protect the life that grows in us. As for Fanny, she 
 was ready to take what her nature taught her to demand 
 when it was offered her. Her strain of native blood made 
 her think no more of it than that. I don't know that I blame 
 either very much." 
 
 She had spoken savagely, and her stream of words 
 seemed to crush Cecil who lay quite still when she had done, 
 conscious, chiefly, of a bitterness she could not understand. 
 But in a moment curiosity got the better of her. "Pam," 
 she said, "how do you know all that?" 
 
 Pamela shrugged her shoulders. "Books," she said, "and 
 living among natives, using one's wits and one's eyes. Be- 
 sides we are not all so placid as you seem to be, Cecily." 
 
 Cecil stared at her in bewilderment. Then gradually, a 
 thought framed itself "Poor Gwen!" And it stung her 
 into words. 
 
 "Oh Pamela," she cried, "don't talk of such things ! You 
 seem to tear down all the veils and make it all hideous. 
 People aren't aren't beasts!" And she burst into tears. 
 
 This time Pamela did not comfort her. "Venus came 
 naked from the sea," she said drily. "And you must face 
 life sooner or later, Cecily ; one day you may even be grateful 
 to me that I explained." 
 
 Cecil raised a wet face from her pillow. "At any rate,"
 
 100 
 
 she declared fiercely, "I shan't think of such things any more. 
 You are not to talk to me of them again. I'm not made like 
 that, and nor is Hugh, I'm sure. Let's get up. I shan't 
 quarrel with you, especially as I began it (and she smiled 
 faintly), but let's forget that we ever talked of it at all!" 
 
 Pamela got leisurely out of bed and groped with her feet 
 for her slippers as she slipped on her light dress ing-gown. 
 "We won't, dear, if you're so sure of yourself and of him. 
 I'm glad you can be. And now," she added, "don't hurry. 
 Breakfast is any time in this house. Would you like it in 
 bed?" 
 
 "Oh no," said Cecil. "I hate breakfast in bed. It's so 
 sloppy. And besides it's another glorious day. What a 
 country it is ! You ought all to be made to live in England 
 for a while. You talk a lot about nature, but you don't half 
 appreciate her, I think!" 
 
 "No," said Pamela at the door; "we know her." 
 
 That day Cecil found Hugh more clean, simple and 
 straight than ever. And he was all these things in great 
 measure. Little as she realised it, the talk of the morning 
 threw her into his arms. There was that in her manner 
 which was appealing and trustful that day. He responded 
 to it, naturally. He thought he had seen no one like her 
 in her innocence and candour. It is a frame of mind not 
 uncommon among lovers, but in Cecil's case it was certainly 
 true. And for her part, when she went to bed, she could 
 hardly say her prayers for joy, and she told her God that 
 she was sure of her heart.
 
 PART II 
 THE WIFE
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 HUGH snored. 
 It was not in the least an aggressive snore and its 
 effect was soothing rather than annoying, indeed Pamela 
 Urfurd has declared ere now that she likes Hugh best when 
 he is snoring. According to her, his general placidity is then 
 completely and happily demonstrated. But then Pamela is 
 well, Pamela, and at any rate she is not his wife. 
 
 Cecil had been, however, nearly three years his wife, a 
 time long enough for her to frown slightly when he snored. 
 She was adorable when she frowned. A little later, Chris- 
 topher Ashurst was wont to declare that he loved Hugh to 
 snore just because it made Cecil frown, and he would then 
 describe that frown, being by way of a connoisseur in 
 woman's emotions. But her frown did not last long; there 
 had not yet been time enough for that. 
 
 There is no doubt that she had good reason to frown. 
 Husbands are more or less entitled to snore in the presence 
 of their wives, but in the right place and at the right time. 
 After dinner, and when there are guests, is not the right 
 time. That can hardly be denied. When they were alone, 
 Cecil permitted it to pass unchallenged, had indeed by now 
 become accustomed to it, and would perhaps merely glance 
 up from her book, look at him as he had never seen her look 
 and for which he would have but loved her more than ever 
 if he had, and then settle her cushions more comfortably 
 and fall to reading again. For Cecil had come to realise 
 what a difference in years there was between them, and, still 
 more, what a difference in temperament. After his con- 
 scientious day on the farm and his terrific wrestle with his 
 accounts before dinner, Hugh liked to eat heartily, light his 
 
 103
 
 104 
 
 pipe, settle himself in his chair, and take up a newspaper. In 
 five minutes he would nod; in ten gently allow his pipe to 
 slip from between his lips and fall to the floor, from which 
 he would sleepily retrieve it, placing it on the table at his 
 side ; and in fifteen, nasally announce to the world about him 
 that he was at peace with life. More days than not, on that 
 lonely farm, Cecil made up his sole audience, and if she 
 frowned a little because he did not show at the moment 
 superabundant interest in herself, she smiled also because, 
 after all, he was a dear old thing and it was nice for him to 
 be content. 
 
 But with Pam visiting there it was another matter, and it 
 wasn't even as if he snored when Pam was alone with them. 
 The night before, when the Hardcastles had been asked to 
 dinner to meet her, it had been the same. The magistrate 
 and his wife from Kokstad, if you please ! It was true that 
 they had made up a four for bridge and that he had sat out 
 (because the game always bored him, to tell the truth, though 
 it was plainly his duty to be bored just then), and that 
 sitting-out is a little dull for anyone and practically irresist- 
 ible in the case of Hugh ; and it was true that he had known 
 Mr. Hardcastle for years, who considered him one of "the 
 very best" (which he was) and allowed for it even as Cecil 
 herself did. But there was Mrs. Hardcastle, whom Cecil 
 hated, a very definite lady who did not tolerate any relaxa- 
 tion of party manners in her presence even between friends 
 in Africa. She was right too. Hugh should have consid- 
 ered her. And he should still more have considered his wife. 
 
 To-night, however, only Pam sat opposite across the lamp- 
 light. Cecil, in the act of frowning, caught her eyes and 
 smiled. Pamela leant forward and pushed the box of 
 cigarettes across to her. Cecil took one and lit it at the 
 lamp. And Pamela smiled secretly, remembering many 
 things. But of these she did not speak. "Come out on to the 
 stoep," she said in a low tone instead. "It's really admirable, 
 his sleeping, for we must make our plans." 
 
 The friends got up and went out into the warm evening
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 105 
 
 air. The stoep at Springfontein is raised but one step from 
 the level of the garden, and the bed underneath, planted 
 with sweet-smelling tobacco plants, sent up to them its 
 magical scent. Cecil was conscious, however, of an irritation 
 which was not to be dispersed so easily as usual. Hugh's 
 sleep had an intolerable air to-night. She pulled a spray of 
 Japanese honeysuckle from a pillar and plucked off the 
 leaves and petals moodily. 
 
 "Well," said Pamela, "what are you going to do ?" 
 
 "Oh I don't know," replied Cecil. "He will hate me to go, 
 and somehow I don't feel as if I can start another battle. 
 Hugh's like a feather-bed, very soft and comfortable, but 
 enervating. Also you can beat it up as much as you like, but 
 still it remains a dead weight." 
 
 "My dear," said Pamela, "you are being ridiculous. Very 
 likely he'll be glad to let you go. You want a change ; any- 
 one can see that. If he can't take you away himself, it's all 
 the better that I should. Besides, it's only for a few days. 
 And a month ago, he himself suggested your meeting Gwen." 
 
 "I know, but that's just like Hugh. He will suggest a 
 thing one day, but the next all the difficulties, mostly imag- 
 inary, stare him in the face, and he is completely over- 
 whelmed. He is quite content with everything, you see. I 
 think he wouldn't mind if he never moved off Springfontein 
 again in his life." 
 
 "But what in the world are the difficulties here ?" 
 
 "Well, there's Ronnie. Then he hasn't any petrol for the 
 car, and how am I to get to the station? Then I can't go 
 alone. Then it will be an expense which we can't afford. 
 Then Durban is too full at this time of the year. Then 
 father's meeting Gwen and he did not know that before. 
 Then it will certainly be hot there, too hot for me. And the 
 mail boats are so irregular that we may have to wait days." 
 
 Pamela chuckled. "All that's rubbish, and you know 
 it is." 
 
 "Of course it's rubbish, but it's what Hugh will say. I 
 shall have to argue every point, to-night, to-morrow, and
 
 io6 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 every ..ay till I go. You don't know Hugh, though you think 
 you do." 
 
 "Well but, my dear, it would be so topping. We could 
 have a day at least all to ourselves before your people come. 
 And I want you to meet Chris too. You'll like him. And 
 besides, if you don't come, I shall have to go back to Three 
 Springs and pick up father, which I don't want to do. Nor 
 will he want to be picked up, for that matter." 
 
 Cecil's cigarette glowed as she pulled on it. "I know," she 
 said. "It would be absolutely enchanting. Hut " 
 
 "There aren't any buts. Tell him you're going that the 
 thing is settled." 
 
 "You tell him, then," said Cecil. 
 
 "All right, I will." And Pamela turned sharply on her 
 heel and re-entered the room. 
 
 "Pam !" cried Cecil hurriedly, but it was too late. 
 
 Pamela entered swiftly and much more noisily than was 
 her wont to enter rooms. She went straight over to Hugh, 
 who opened his eyes automatically. "Mr. Sinclair," she said, 
 "you must come and make Cecily behave decently. Listen. 
 I've had a letter from my father to say that my cousin, 
 Christopher Ashurst, is due in Durban on the sixteenth. It 
 seems he is coming on the Llanstephan Castle. Father, of 
 course, doesn't want to meet him you know what he is and 
 he wants me to go. He thinks Cecily will be meeting Gwen 
 since she happens to be on the Llanstephan too, and he sug- 
 gests I should go down with her and bring Chris up. And 
 now Cecily says she can't go. Can't leave you and Ronnie 
 even for a couple of days! Do come and tell her to be 
 sensible." 
 
 Hugh looked into his pipe and found it empty. He got up, 
 searching for his pouch. It was on the floor, and Pamela 
 picked it up for him. 
 
 "Oh thanks," he said, "I must have dropped it. Of course 
 Cecil can go. Where is she ?" 
 
 Cecil came in. "Don't be absurd, Hugh," she said. "How 
 can I leave Ronnie?"
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 107 
 
 "My darling, Ronnie will be all right. The girls can look 
 after him without you for a couple of days. The only diffi- 
 culty that I see is that we are out of petrol as it happens. 
 Durban will be very hot, too." 
 
 Cecil did not dare to look at Pamela. Pamela, however, 
 chuckled wickedly. "That's just what Cecil said, Mr. Sin- 
 clair, and I told her you would get over all those difficulties 
 in a minute. Probably Mr. Hardcastle could lend you some 
 petrol, and even if not, we could drive to Franklin for once. 
 It's not so far as all that. And as to Durban's being hot, 
 well, that doesn't matter for a few days. It will be all the 
 more pleasant when we get back." 
 
 Hugh finished filling his pipe and struck a match. He did 
 not care to be hurried, and, at bottom, he did not like Pamela. 
 He never could quite say why, but he did not. She was 
 much too quick for him. He had a feeling that his plans 
 were not quite his own when she had done with them, but it 
 was a muddle that he couldn't disentangle on the spur of the 
 moment. So, now, he still temporised. 
 
 "I hardly like asking Hardcastle," he said, "and for good- 
 ness' sake remember that it is not as if there were a station 
 at Kokstad. It's the best part of twenty miles in to Franklin, 
 and a rotten bad road from here to Kokstad anyway." 
 
 "But you're golfing with him to-morrow," said Pamela, 
 ignoring the last part of his speech, "and it will be a splendid 
 opportunity to ask him. Besides he said only yesterday that 
 he had just got some more in and could lend you a case if 
 you wanted any." 
 
 Cecil did not remember the occasion particularly and nor 
 did Hugh, but he, poor man, concluded it might have been 
 during the bridge. He was aware that things had been said 
 to which he had generally assented and so on, but he was not 
 very clear as to details. At any rate there was only one 
 course open at the moment. 
 
 "How many days do you expect to be away, Cecil?" he 
 asked cheerfully. 
 
 "Oh, Hugh, do you really mean it ?" she cried. "It will be
 
 io8 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 jolly. Pam and I thought we might go down on Wednesday. 
 The boat's due on Thursday, you know. But it is usually a 
 little late these days, and if so we could have a day's shop- 
 ping. I must get some things, and it will be such a chance." 
 
 "To-day is Monday," observed Hugh. 
 
 "Yes," put in Pamela quickly, "that gives us heaps of time. 
 We had better write to the Royal to-morrow, Cecily. And I 
 must wire to father." 
 
 Cecil was all animation. "I wonder what's on at the the- 
 atre?" she cried. "Where's the paper? In this house, one 
 never can find anything. Hugh, didn't you read the paper 
 to-night?" 
 
 "No, my darling, I didn't," said Hugh drily. "I couldn't 
 find it. Blandina said she thought you and Miss Urfurd had 
 left it out in the hammock, this afternoon." 
 
 "Oh so we did," said Cecil. "Pam, you are careless. That 
 new novel is out there too. I'll go and get them." And she 
 darted to the door. 
 
 "The grass will be fearfully wet," called Hugh after her, 
 starting up. "Don't go in those thin shoes ; it's madness. I'll 
 fetch them." 
 
 "Hugh," called Cecil from the stoep, "you are a fussy old 
 thing. What does it matter if it is wet?" And she disap- 
 peared. 
 
 Hugh pathetically shrugged his shoulders. Pamela looked 
 as grave as a judge. The two of them walked out into the 
 night and stood waiting, Hugh sucking his pipe. "She's a 
 perfect child," he said. 
 
 "I know," said Pamela, "but a very dear one. After 
 all, getting her shoes wet doesn't matter so very much as 
 we must all turn in in a few minutes. It's nearly eleven." 
 
 "Is it?" said Hugh. "We dined late, didn't we? But 
 as Cecil forgot to order dinner, it is more of a wonder that 
 we dined at all. Got it, darling?" he added to Cecil who 
 came running up with the paper. 
 
 "It's sopping wet," cried Cecil, laughing, "but never 
 mind, we can see all we want." And she ran to the win-
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LINING 109 
 
 dow to read by the light that filtered dimly out from the 
 lamp. 
 
 "You'll hurt your eyes," said Hugh. 
 
 Pamela restrained another chuckle with difficulty. 
 "Cecily," she declared, "I'm off to bed. And I shall lock 
 my door. I don't want to get up at half -past six to- 
 morrow. I want tea about eight o'clock. Good-night." 
 
 "There's nothing on, Pam," cried Cecil, hurriedly glanc- 
 ing down the columns of advertisements. "What a beastly 
 shame! At least, only the movies. But we can go to 
 them. Anything's a blessed change after this place. Do 
 you remember that adorable man who gave us chocolates 
 last year? You'd gone to the club, Hugh. I told you not 
 to go, but you would, so it wasn't my fault. Are you really 
 going, Pamela? Good-night, dear. No, wait a moment, 
 I'll see you to bed. But why you want to go so early I 
 can't think. I hate going to bed." 
 
 Left to himself, Hugh carefully turned out the lamp 
 and shut the door. Then he stole quietly into Cecil's room 
 and lit a candle. Their two beds stood at one end of the 
 room, and next his, a cot. Hugh tip-toed over to it. Little 
 Ronnie lay there dead asleep and hardly seeming to breathe, 
 and the man, carefully shading the light, stood looking 
 down on him. Cecil entering lightly, found him standing 
 so. She crossed to his side, and he put one arm round 
 her waist. "Our baby, darling," he whispered gently. 
 
 "He ought to be more tucked up," said Cecil definitely, 
 and she slipped from his arm to arrange the coverings 
 better. As she bent over the child, Hugh lightly touched 
 her hair. Cecil glanced up at him once, and then resumed 
 her tucking up. But he still waited. At last she stood up, 
 and kissed him lightly. "It's a shame to leave you, Hugh," 
 she said, "but it will be only for a day or two and I do so 
 want to go." 
 
 "I know, my darling," he said, "and of course you shall. 
 We can get on quite all right. But I expect you're tired; 
 can I help you into bed?"
 
 i io THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 She kissed him again. "Dear old Hughie," she said. 
 "No, of course you can't. Besides, I'm not a bit tired 
 really. Run away and undress, and don't be long." 
 
 He was not long, and when he returned she was only 
 brushing her hair and but half undressed. He pottered 
 about slowly and she knew exactly why. Well, he was a 
 dear, she said to herself, and she would be very nice to 
 him to-night. She took off her kimono and began to re- 
 move the rest of her clothes. She knew quite well that he 
 was covertly watching her. She slipped quickly into her 
 nightdress and into bed. 
 
 Hugh came over to her side and knelt down, passing one 
 arm round her and with the other stroking her hair. She 
 lay quite still, looking at him. "My darling," he whispered 
 softly, and again, "my darling little girl." 
 
 Cecil suppressed a little sigh. She wanted to lie still 
 alone and plan out the golden days at Durban. If she 
 were tired at all, it was of his caresses. But she would be 
 good to him ; he had earned it ; and after all he was rather 
 a dear, he would take no liberties unless she invited him. 
 "Want to come in a minute ?" she asked him, 
 
 "May I?" he said. 
 
 "Of course, if you like," she answered, and moved to 
 one side a little. 
 
 "Do you love me, darling?" he whispered, his face in 
 her hair. 
 
 Cecil kissed him, and lay still. 
 
 Hugh was up and out while Cecil still slept in the morn- 
 ing, and when he got back at nine for breakfast, she ap- 
 peared from Pamela's bedroom with her hair down and in 
 her dressing-gown. "Breakfast ready?" he asked. 
 
 She danced round him in the wildest of spirits. "I 
 haven't the faintest idea," she said. "Pam's still in bed. 
 Come and kiss her good-morning, Hugh." And she flung 
 her arms round his neck and kissed him, and then seized 
 his hand and dragged him towards Pamela's room. "Really, 
 my darling " he protested.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING in 
 
 Cecil pushed the door open. "Para," she cried, "here's 
 Hugh wanting his breakfast. He's come to kiss you good- 
 morning. He doesn't think it proper to come to your room 
 at all really, but I had to show him that I was at least more 
 ready than you are." 
 
 "Good-morning, Mr. Sinclair," said Pamela coolly. She 
 was sitting up in bed, and on her knees was a writing block 
 and a sheaf of telegraph forms. "I'm composing tele- 
 grams. Do come and help me while Cecil hurries up break- 
 fast. Don't worry about me; I only take five minutes to 
 dress." 
 
 "Good idea," said Cecil. "Go in, Hugh, and help her." 
 And she pushed him in and hurried off, humming to 
 herself. 
 
 Hugh laughed. "I think you can make up telegrams 
 better than I can," he said. "So this jaunt is really com- 
 ing off, is it?" 
 
 "Well, it was settled last night, wasn't it? You over- 
 rode all Cecil's objections, you know, and you can't go 
 back on her now. How's Ronnie this morning?" 
 
 "He's had his breakfast and is out feeding the fowls," 
 said Hugh. "I'll leave you and just go and have a look 
 at him. Don't be too long, will you? I shall have to spend 
 the morning seeing to the car." 
 
 As soon as he had gone, Pamela got leisurely out of bed 
 and glanced out of the window. Then she sauntered over 
 to the mirror and looked at herself amusedly in it. "If you 
 had married Hugh," she said to herself, "you would have 
 died under the strain." 
 
 At breakfast Cecil poured out the tea with her usual 
 recklessness. "Hugh," she said, "this morning you must 
 inspect the tree plantations. Pam and I both want to ride 
 and you can take us. You said you had to do it." 
 
 "My darling," he remonstrated, "I must see to the car. 
 There's a lot to be looked at. It will take me the whole 
 morning to overhaul it. If you want it to-morrow, it must 
 be done to-day."
 
 ii2 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 "Rubbish, Hugh," cried Cecil, collapsing on her chair. 
 "Really you are too tiresome. There's nothing the matter 
 with the car. Let the boys clean it, and it will do. We 
 must ride this morning." 
 
 Hugh cracked his egg. And said nothing. Yet he could 
 not have spoken more plainly. 
 
 "Really," said Cecil, "you are dreadful, Hugh. You're 
 like a wet-blanket all the time. It doesn't matter what is 
 suggested, you always either oppose it or else make a huge 
 difficulty out of it. If it's going to be all this trouble, I'd 
 better not go, I suppose." 
 
 Hugh laid down his egg-spoon as she began and waited 
 in silence for her completely to finish. Then, magisterially, 
 he said : "My dear Cecil, I'm not opposing your scheme, but 
 you must have some reason. You can't run off to Durban 
 at a moment's notice without making some arrangements. 
 You know perfectly well that there is a great deal to be 
 done. Have you spoken to the girls about Ronnie? Have 
 you been to see the cook? It's not my business, but she 
 told me this morning we were almost out of flour. And 
 what about your packing? Really, it is madness to ride 
 this morning. However, that's your lookout. So far as I 
 am concerned, I shall see that all is ready that I can do." 
 
 "I'll interview the cook," said Pamela hastily, hoping to 
 forestall an outburst from Cecil. "I'm good with cooks. 
 The whole tribe of them love me for some reason. And 
 I'll make some scones for tea, if you like, Cecily." 
 
 "It's too good of you, Miss Urfurd," said Hugh. 
 
 Cecil played with a knife discontentedly, spinning it 
 round in circles until she spun it a little too hard and it fell 
 on the floor. Hugh got up from his seat and retrieved it 
 solemnly, and sat down again. Pamela could have screamed 
 with laughter. 
 
 The door opened and an unseen hand admitted Ronnie, 
 who toddled boldly in and marched up to his mother. "Egg," 
 he demanded loudly; "no bread, no butter, egg." He 
 clutched at her skirt with a begrimed hand and beamed at
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 113 
 
 his father, whose face was just within his line of vision 
 across the table. 
 
 "Oh Ronnie," exclaimed Cecil, "where have you been? 
 No, don't touch mummie's dress. Dirty handy !" And then, 
 to the world at large, "He's torn his breeches again ! Hugh, 
 really he is awful! He ought to go about like a Kaffir. It 
 seems to me that I spend half my life making Ronnie's 
 knickers. Blandina is too careless. She doesn't mind what 
 he does or where he goes." 
 
 "Naughty mummie," said Ronnie. 
 
 Cecil uttered an exclamation, caught him up and left the 
 room. 
 
 Hugh offered Pamela the marmalade and helped himself. 
 "It's probably the wire of the fowl-run," he said philo- 
 sophically. "I'm glad he didn't tear his face." 
 
 Pamela at last was able to laugh. "You do sound callous," 
 she said. "I must say that for once I pity Cecily. You men 
 don't have to bother about children's clothes, and you don't 
 know what it is." 
 
 "Do you ?" asked Hugh, smiling. 
 
 Pamela reached for the tea-pot. "May I pour myself 
 out another cup of tea?" she said. "Won't you have some 
 more? Well, perhaps you touched me there, but for all 
 that I can sympathise with Cecily. I hate needle-work. I 
 think I should clothe him in leather if I were she. Or 
 nothing, as she says." 
 
 "Well," said Hugh, "I'll go and see to the car, if you'll 
 excuse me. I daresay we might ride about eleven if you 
 two are ready. Anyway, I'll order the horses for then. It 
 won't take us more than an hour and a half to ride round the 
 plantations." 
 
 He went off, and Pamela sat on sipping her tea. Presently 
 she smiled secretly to herself, and then got up and put 
 Cecil's egg under the cosy. A little later, the wife and 
 harassed mother came in. 
 
 She sat down smiling. "Hugh's going to ride, after all," 
 she said. "He came and told me so. He really is a dear.
 
 Ii 4 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 But he's so horridly annoying. Why in the world can't 
 he fall in with things at once instead of making such a fuss 
 about them ? He irritates me beyond words sometimes. He 
 must have known he'd have plenty of time to do his beastly 
 old car. But he's such a dear old thing I never can be 
 angry for long." 
 
 "Where's Ronnie?" asked Pamela. 
 
 "Blandina's changing his clothes. Will you really see the 
 cook, Pam? Ask her for a list of all she wants and I'll 
 send a cart to town right away. You will be a dear. As soon 
 as I've done breakfast I must see to Ronnie again. But 
 when you come back from the cook, we'll just pack." 
 
 Pamela went off to the kitchen, looking in on Ronnie 
 as she went. He was standing in his smock and holding a 
 wooden elephant in his chubby hands. He loved Pamela, 
 and although she said she did not care for children, she had 
 a way of her own with them. "Auntie Pam," he called as 
 soon as he saw her, and made for the door, one foot in his 
 knickers and those unfortunate articles of apparel dragging 
 after him along the floor. 
 
 The native girl sat back on her heels and grinned. She, 
 too, liked Pamela. 
 
 "L-phant!" declared Ronnie, holding out the wonder. 
 
 "So it is, dear," said Pamela, "and you must take him 
 for a walk this morning. Will you? Mummie's ever so 
 busy, and he wants a walk. See, he's trying to eat now," 
 and she ducked the wooden beast's head enthusiastically. 
 
 "L-phant, 1-phant, Auntie Pam!" cried Ronnie trium- 
 phantly. 
 
 Pamela spoke rapidly to the girl in Sesuto, and then 
 departed. In the kitchen she restored cheerfulness in five 
 minutes and retired with a list of what was needed. Hugh 
 was in the hall, putting on overalls and looking for his hat. 
 She brought it him. 
 
 "This is the kitchen list," she said. "Could you send 
 a boy to town for these things? Cecil is seeing to Ronnie 
 and packing, and I promised her I'd make it out."
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 115 
 
 "Right," he said, "and eleven sharp for the horses." 
 
 Pamela found Cecil in her bedroom, sitting on the floor, 
 the ground strewn with clothes and a trunk open in front of 
 her. She steered through this sea of disorder gingerly and 
 sat down on a bed, crossing her legs and stroking the silk 
 stocking of the limb she nursed. "The list is on its way to 
 town," she said, "Ronnie's feeding his elephant on the lawn, 
 Hugh's cheerful as a bird, and the horses are to be here at 
 eleven. The lark is in the sky and every flower in the garden 
 is lovely." 
 
 Cecil sighed. "Pam," she demanded, "do you think I'm 
 a beast to Hugh?" 
 
 Pamela considered her, and the litter in which she sat. 
 "My dear," she said, "I should give up attempting to pack 
 a silk petticoat inside a shoe. . . . No, I don't. But nor 
 is Hugh a beast to you." 
 
 "I never said he was," said Cecil. 
 
 "You didn't, but you meant it." 
 
 "I did not; he's a dear and I love him. But he does 
 aggravate me. What I want to know is, if I am a beast to 
 be aggravated." 
 
 "You are stupid to show it," said Pamela. "And he's 
 rather stupid to stand it," she added. 
 
 "I can't help it, Pam," said Cecil sorrowfully. "I don't 
 know why it is, but sometimes I can hardly bear him. I 
 suppose I ought not to say so to you, but I can talk to you, 
 and you're very wise in some ways." 
 
 "Thank you," said Pamela. "Hugh isn't." 
 
 "What do you mean?" demanded the girl on the floor. 
 
 "What you want, my dear Cecily," said Pamela getting 
 up, "is a thorough whipping, metaphorically at any rate, 
 about once a month. Hugh ought to know it and to do it. 
 He's playing with fire not to do it." 
 
 "He'd be playing with fire if he did do it!" cried Cecil 
 indignantly. 
 
 "He would not be," said Pamela calmly, "not under the 
 circumstances. If you ask me, I think it is his one chance
 
 u6 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 but I fear he won't take it. Possibly you'll be whipped all 
 the same, Cecily. But possibly not. Fate is not always 
 kind." 
 
 "Pamela," said Cecil dogmatically, "sometimes you talk 
 utter rubbish. This is a time. But if you care to try and 
 explain yourself, I will listen. If not, give up talking and 
 come and help me choose some things for Durban." 
 
 Pamela moved over and sat on the floor. "I'll help pack," 
 she said, and took up a crumpled camisole which she pro- 
 ceeded to straighten out. 
 
 Cecil snatched it from her. "You'll not pack a thing," 
 she said, "unless you tell me what you meant just now." 
 
 Her friend leant back on her hands, as she rather liked 
 doing, and glanced a little sideways at the speaker. "It's a 
 queer world, Cecily," she said. "You and Hugh and your 
 people and lots more, blunder through it, and never seem to 
 see a thing. Why is it that I seem to see ? I don't know ; 
 and I wish to God I didn't. It's nearly four years now since 
 you and I talked together in my room at Three Springs. I 
 told you then you would marry Hugh, and you have. Have 
 you found what you wanted, Cecily?" 
 
 Cecil considered. 
 
 "Yes, I think so," she said. "I loved him awfully much, 
 and I still do. Of course it gets a bit different after a while ; 
 everyday life is not all a honeymoon; it can't be. But 
 Hugh's an awfully good husband to me. He's a bit dull at 
 times, but in the end, I mostly do as I like. We've never had 
 a real row." 
 
 "No," said Pamela, "exactly. And was that what you 
 wanted? It seems to me that you expressed yourself dif- 
 ferently then." 
 
 Cecil looked puzzled. "Did I ?" she said. "I really hardly 
 remember. I know you said beastly things about having 
 babies which, by the way, really aren't true. But what else 
 did I say?" 
 
 Pamela drew in her breath sharply and stared at her.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 117 
 
 "What a fool I was," she said. "So some one else had told 
 you. Who was it, I wonder? . . . Cecily, let's pack. It's 
 getting late. My dear, you must take this : you look perfectly 
 charming in it." (She held up a gown of rose-coloured silk.) 
 "And remember to wear nothing with it but that moon-stone 
 pendant I gave you. You'll conquer the devil then." 
 
 "It's the world I want to conquer," said Cecil, eagerly, 
 reaching for the gown. 
 
 "And may," said Pamela to herself, "but what when the 
 flesh comes in ?" 
 
 They rode at eleven, and Pamela thought, as she often did, 
 that Hugh appeared to better advantage in the saddle than 
 anywhere else. He sat his horse superbly, and was so thor- 
 oughly master of himself and it. He was in the best of 
 tempers, too, on horseback and the very perfection of cour- 
 tesy. It was a dull day, with scraps of fleeting sunshine ; and 
 they rode out over the veld to the hill behind the farm which 
 he was planting with firs, oaks, and gums. Mount Currie 
 stood up over against them magnificently, and as they 
 mounted the slope, Kokstad, set in its trees and with its river 
 winding by, showed up clearly at their feet. Far away 
 towards the sea were the Ingeli Mountains, and to the north- 
 west the blue barrier of the Drakensberg. Hugh explained 
 that he was planting the hill in sections year by year, and 
 hoped it would be fully clothed before he died. "It's a little 
 thing," he said with an unusual touch of sentiment, "but 
 somehow it seems to me worth doing if one does nothing 
 else much in life. I want to see this bare hill a real forest 
 before I go. It will be the making of Springfontein. Ron- 
 nie will have a grand inheritance." 
 
 "Hugh, you give me the creeps," said Cecil. "I can't bear 
 to look so far ahead." 
 
 "Don't then, my darling," he said lightly. "Here we are. 
 These are this year's planting, Miss Pamela. I ring each 
 plant in, you see, to keep the cattle off. They're looking 
 well, aren't they? Those are Madagascar pines from
 
 ii8 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 Elandskop. They look as if they will grow here, though I 
 rather feared the cold. Let's hope we don't get too sharp a 
 frost this year." 
 
 Cecil was staring out at the distant mountains. "Hugh," 
 she said, "when shall we go properly into the Malutis ? You 
 remember how we went first? I got engaged there, Pamela 
 ; oh ! of course you were with us. What ages ago it seems ! 
 But we did not go far enough to please me. Qacha's Nek 
 always fascinates me too. We've motored there once or 
 twice since, Pam; but I'd love to trek on and on into the 
 mountains. Wouldn't you?" 
 
 "We must try to get up an excursion," said Hugh. "Pos- 
 sibly your cousin would like it, Miss Pamela." 
 
 "I'm sure he would. He's travelled a great deal, but not in 
 South Africa. Ask us both, Mr. Sinclair." 
 
 Hugh went off to his golf in the afternoon, and returned 
 in Mr. Hardcastle's car which also brought a spare case of 
 petrol. The two men had a drink or two on the stoep, and 
 then, his visitor leaving, Hugh went in to change for dinner. 
 His dressing-room did not open out of the bedroom, but he 
 looked in to see if Ronnie was asleep. Cecil was standing 
 there, brushing her hair, her dress hanging over a chair wait- 
 ing to be put on. He put his hands on her bare shoulders 
 and kissed her. 
 
 Cecil put down her brush and leant her face against his 
 coat. "You smell of whisky and tobacco," she said, "a nice 
 smell. Hugh, tell me, am I a beast to you ?" 
 
 The man put his arm round her and kissed her hair. "My 
 darling," he said, "of course not." 
 
 "But I am, Hugh. I don't mean to be, perhaps. But you 
 ought to be angry with me sometimes really angry I mean." 
 
 "I don't think I could be, Cecily," he said. "I love you 
 too much." 
 
 She sighed a little. "I know you do, Hugh," she said. 
 "Tell me how you love me." 
 
 Hugh's arm tightened about her. It was a rare mood 
 for Cecil. He slipped his hand caressingly down her white
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 119 
 
 back and shoulder, very tenderly. "More than I can say, 
 my darling," he whispered. "You know how I love you." 
 
 "What would you do if I ran away from you, Hugh?" 
 she demanded. 
 
 He laughed. "Run after you, I expect," he said. 
 
 "What with, Hugh? A revolver or a whip?" 
 
 "Cecily, darling," he protested, "don't say such things! 
 Don't think them!" 
 
 "But I want to know, Hugh," she persisted. 
 
 He hesitated. "Darling, it's absurd to pretend such a 
 case. I think I should be broken-hearted I know I should 
 but I don't think I should want to hurt you even then. 
 I couldn't, I think, for Ronnie's sake." 
 
 She clung to him silently. Then she sighed again. "I 
 know it's silly to ask, but have you ever loved anyone as 
 you love me, Hugh?" 
 
 "Never, darling," he said emphatically. 
 
 She stroked his coat. "Hugh," she whispered, not look- 
 ing at him, "have you ever loved for a little or wanted 
 perhaps other women? You know what I mean." 
 
 Hugh led her to a chair and sat down, taking her on his 
 knee. "My darling," he said, "what do you mean by asking 
 such things now? Whatever has suggested them? It's a 
 subject upon which you should know nothing. Of course, 
 dear, before I married you, I lived a rough sort of life, I 
 told you so. Most men do. There's even one thing I would 
 like to tell you, now you've asked such questions, a little 
 thing, but a thing I'm very sorry for now. I would like 
 to tell you before you go to Durban. You will hardly be- 
 lieve it, and I don't think you will quite understand." 
 
 Cecil looked up quickly and kissed him. "Oh I can guess, 
 dear," she said. "You needn't tell me, I forgive you." 
 
 He looked puzzled. "When did you guess, Cecily?" he 
 said. "What is it?" 
 
 She blushed. "I don't like to say," she whispered. "Was 
 it something like well, like that affair of Harold's?" 
 
 "My darling girl !" he exclaimed, genuinely horror-struck.
 
 iio THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 "What do you mean? Good God, I'm not that sort, Cecil. 
 Oh no, but it was just before you came Gwen I thought 
 
 once . Oh of course, she was only a child, but she was 
 
 old for her years. But when I saw you, I loved you, dearest, 
 and I've never dreamed of any one since." 
 
 "Gwen !" whispered Cecil, white of face. "Oh Hugh !" 
 
 "My darling, darling girl, please try to understand. What 
 has come to you, Cecily? It never was anything. I never 
 said a word. I kissed her once or twice, that was all. It 
 was foolish and stupid, of course, but living alone and so 
 on, you don't know how a man can feel about a girl. And 
 then I'd hardly seen you a day when I knew I wanted you 
 and no one else." 
 
 Cecil sat up, staring before her. "Gwen," she said again, 
 "Gwen ! But oh yes," she went on slowly, "I understand, I 
 suppose. So men are made that way after all. . . . And 
 you kissed Gwen, Hugh? Fancy my not guessing! If I 
 hadn't come, would you have married her?" 
 
 Hugh reached out for her hand and kissed it again and 
 again. "Oh, darling," he cried, "what can I say? You don't 
 understand! But anyway, I never should have loved her 
 as I love you. Cecily! Say you forgive me! Say you're 
 not angry!" 
 
 "No," said Cecil, "you don't understand. Of course I'm 
 not angry, and after all, there is nothing to forgive. You 
 didn't do wrong, not with Gwen, anyway. It's not that I'm 
 thinking so much about." 
 
 "Well, and the others. Really that's all past. Men are 
 easily led away sometimes; I may have imagined myself in 
 love. I can't lie to you, Cecily, but it isn't a thing to think 
 or talk about. Can't we bury it, darling? It's all finished 
 and done with, and now it's just you and I and Ronnie. 
 And perhaps, one day, there may be another, Cecily darling, 
 do you think so ?" 
 
 "I was so young. I never understood," said Cecil, as if 
 to herself. 
 
 Hugh moved a trifle impatiently, and Cecil got up. Smil-
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 121 
 
 ing, she bent over him and kissed him, and at that his face 
 lit up. Cecil put her hands one on either side of his head 
 and looked at him, a smile lingering round her mouth. "I 
 have said some stupid things," she said. "You dear old 
 thing." 
 
 He caught her by both arms. "And that other, Cecily," 
 he whispered eagerly. 
 
 She laughed. "Go and dress," she said. "You'll be late 
 for dinner. Let me get back from Durban and 111 see if 
 you're still good." 
 
 He went, closing the door softly after him, and when 
 he had gone, Cecil stood still where she was and the smile 
 faded from her face. "Gwen," she repeated softly, "Gwen. 
 Poor Gwen!" 
 
 Hugh did not snore that evening because he had no chance. 
 He was compelled to look out trains and make plans and 
 finally to take a hand at three-handed auction. Then he 
 must needs carry the gramophone into the garden (for fear 
 of waking Ronnie) and set on the records, while Pamela 
 sat smothered in a rug, and Cecil, sitting on a kaross at her 
 feet, leant against her knees. 
 
 "Put on 'Beautiful Katie,' " said Pamela at last, sleepily, 
 "and then I shall go to bed." 
 
 "Oh no, not that," said Cecil. "I'm dead tired of it. Let's 
 have a fox-trot. The Maxina will do." 
 
 Pamela sat up and rubbed her eyes. "You told me you 
 hated fox-trots a day or so ago, Cecily," she said. "And I 
 thought you loved 'Beautiful Katie.' " 
 
 "Oh well, that was a day or so ago," said Cecil, "as you 
 say." 
 
 Off East London, the Llanstephan lay at anchor on a mo- 
 tionless sea. There was a dance on board and the ship was 
 gay with lights. In the hold aft, men worked at cargo, and 
 the cranes creaked and groaned as they swung cases and 
 bales into the lighter alongside; but forrard, in front of 
 the wind-screen, it was quite quiet. The music of the band
 
 122 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 came faintly to a couple standing there, their eyes on the 
 twinkling lights of the little town. 
 
 "I wonder if you'll like Africa," said the girl. 
 
 "Africa!" laughed the man. "I like your cheek! All 
 you South Africans talk as if there were no other Africa 
 than the Union. But if its people are like those I've met 
 on board, I know I shall." 
 
 "Will you," murmured his companion, after the time- 
 honoured manner of travellers, "that's very sweet of you." 
 
 Christopher Ashurst slipped his arm round her waist, and 
 she did not move away. He had been manoeuvring for that 
 for some minutes. "Shall I be able to see more of you?" 
 he asked softly. 
 
 "I don't know," she said. "I shall go straight on to 
 Maritzberg. It depends on yourself." 
 
 "I shall visit Maritzberg the moment I can shake off my 
 cousin," he declared, "and I shall come and call. Hark, 
 that's the last dance. Let's have it, shall we?" 
 
 She turned silently to take his arm, and the movement 
 brought them face to face. A stray ray of light fell on her 
 red-gold hair. They stood so a minute, and then he bent 
 and kissed her. "You shouldn't," she murmured, unresist- 
 ing, "some one might see." 
 
 "There's no one about," he said. 
 
 He was wrong. Gwen happened to see and to hear; a 
 wind-screen is a poor shelter in reality. She was nineteen, 
 and not so inexperienced as Cecil had been. She only smiled.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 GWEN had come, and they were all staying at the Royal. 
 That evening, dressing for dinner, Cecil had just 
 clasped the moon-stones which Pam had given her round 
 her neck when her sister came in, Gwen had become a tall 
 girl, but in a way her years in England seemed to have 
 made little impression on her. She had gone too late for 
 that, with an impress already stamped upon her character, 
 and had merely come back to resume the old life with the 
 assurance of nineteen years. "Ready, Cecil?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes," replied Cecil. "There, Gwen, what do you think 
 of the moon-stones and this frock?" 
 
 Her sister surveyed her critically. "Marriage seems to 
 have suited you, Ces," she said. "Your figure looks to be 
 as good as when I admired it on the sands remember? 
 and you look not a day older. Also you're as excited 
 at the prospect of meeting a few men down below as if you 
 were still a schoolgirl. No, more, for when you were a 
 schoolgirl you pretended to care for none of these things." 
 
 Cecil laughed and kissed her, taking her arm and leaning 
 against her so that they both appeared in the glass. "Wait 
 till you're married," she said. "A couple of days off like 
 this seems bliss. Ronnie is an angel of course, but children 
 are a worry, Gwen. It would be awful to have to face the 
 prospect of a baby a year for the greater part of one's life, 
 like a washer-woman or a Kaffir. How they manage it, I 
 can't think." 
 
 "How you manage it not, I can't think," said Gwen, coolly. 
 
 "Gwen," said Cecil magisterially, "you don't seem to have 
 changed much, but I know a great deal more than I used to 
 know and I know quite well that girls of your age shouldn't 
 
 "3
 
 i2 4 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 ask such questions or say such things. Come on; 4 et's get 
 down." 
 
 "How's Hugh?" asked Gwen carelessly, as they left the 
 room. "There has been so much to say that I don't believe 
 I've asked properly. At least, on the quay, you didn't give 
 me any details." 
 
 "How could I, my dear? You were firing fifty questions 
 at once at me. Besides I said 'all right.' So he is." Cecil 
 spoke a trifle shortly. 
 
 "Dear me, Ces," said Gwen, passing under the palms 
 of the Ulundi Court and dodging a branch that threatened 
 her hair, "you're not only married and a mother, but a 
 blasee woman of the world already. When I left for Eng- 
 land, you used to go into raptures over a question of that 
 sort. Hugh was always either 'anxious' or 'tired' or 'per- 
 haps not quite as well as usual' according to you, but now 
 he's 'all right' only. By the way, why didn't he come with 
 you to meet me? If I had married a wife like you and I 
 were a man, I wouldn't allow you to flutter off alone to 
 Durban! Trust me!" 
 
 They had passed through the lounge by now and were 
 out on the stoep, that stoep from which one gets the best 
 impression of the town of Durban. It is high above the 
 road, the Post Office opposite, the Town Hall on the right, 
 and one can look out across the central square with its pretty 
 garden of palms and trees, the lights, cars, rickshaws, and 
 passers-by beneath, giving one a sense of life and move- 
 ment. True, all this means little to an Englishman fresh 
 from Europe, but it means a great deal to a man from some 
 lonely veld farm. It meant a great deal to Cecil. She loved 
 the country, yes, and would have lived nowhere else, but 
 the blood of youth ran in her veins and she was hardly to 
 be blamed if she realised how exceedingly pleasant she was 
 to the eyes of men. So she loved the stir of things here, and 
 as the sisters stepped out into the bright lights and threaded 
 their way through the lane of long cane chairs, Cecil laughed 
 more heartily at her sister's words than they demanded.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 125 
 
 She had an infectious laugh, and most men glanced at her 
 as she passed. Two, from the corner where they had been 
 sitting with Pamela, watched them as they came, and rose 
 to greet them. One was Jimmy Eldred who had come to 
 meet his daughter. The other was Chris. 
 
 Now it is a hard thing to describe the meeting of Cecil 
 Sinclair and Christopher Ashurst. Outwardly, it was noth- 
 ing. Pamela murmured: 'My cousin Christopher, Cecily,' 
 and: 'This is Mrs. Sinclair, Chris, who came up with me,' 
 and the two shook hands conventionally, seating themselves 
 easily in a couple of chairs facing the street on Pamela's 
 right while Jimmy Eldred engaged his daughter in talk. 
 But months later they told each other that there was some- 
 thing more than this hidden there beneath the outward form 
 of their greeting told each other so while a wet wind whirled 
 mists round them on a crag of the Basuto mountains. As 
 it was, now, Cecil shook his hand, sat down, and glanced out 
 at once into the street. She noticed little things in detail 
 as if they were of immense importance: that it had 
 rained a little and that the streets shone ; the horns on a be- 
 decked rickshaw boy's head ; that it was exactly 749 by the 
 clock ; that a man coming up the steps to the hotel was wear- 
 ing an opera hat. And all the time, she was wanting to 
 stare into this man's eyes and greet him familiarly. "We 
 have met at last, have we?" she would have said. "Oh 
 I'm so glad. I was afraid we might miss. Let's go straight 
 away from these people at once and talk, shall we? There's 
 so much to say." 
 
 And Chris? Well, Chris was what is known as a man 
 of the world, but a man who had retained the eagerness 
 of a child with something of the child's ability to dive be- 
 neath the surface of things. And he was saying to himself 
 something like this : "By Jove, what a topping girl ! What 
 is it now, my dear, that strikes me so about you ? Not your 
 dress (though it is very pretty if I had time to stop and con- 
 sider it) ; not your moon-stones (though on your throat they 
 enchant me) ; not your figure particularly, nor your face,
 
 126 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 wonderful as they both are ; and certainly not your conversa- 
 tion, for you hardly speak. What then? You, you witch, 
 just you ! You are you and I am I, and well, thank God 
 we've met!" 
 
 Neither, of course, said any such thing, for whatever gods 
 or fates order the world have left this class of understand- 
 ing singularly incomplete. Knowing so much a~t times with 
 so strange an intuition, why should we not know more, or 
 at least have a sense with which to express it to one an- 
 other? No one's life is wholly without such a meeting, and 
 yet as a rule we are convention-tied, and pass and do not 
 speak. Thus Chris had no idea that Cecil saw anything in 
 him, and Cecil pretended to herself that Chris saw nothing 
 in her. Yet at table each was as conscious of the other as 
 if they two had been there alone, and afterwards they sat 
 together while the band played, and talked together, drawn 
 aside, as it were, now and again, by the others, but returning 
 naturally to each other. 
 
 Cecil was hard at work all the time on a kind of analysis. 
 She was really fighting a battle already lost. She kept ask- 
 ing herself 'what is it about him?' and hardly listening in a 
 way to the run of his talk at all. He seemed to her com- 
 pletely self-possessed, cool, almost insolent. He was always, 
 of course, perfectly polite, but she felt that he would always 
 have that way with him in company with a woman, and 
 that beneath the glove was an iron hand. Nor was it merely 
 that she knew from Pamela and from his conversation that 
 he was a man who had travelled much and seen his world; 
 she knew from his manner that he had probed most mys- 
 teries and proved them to be lies. In both these things he 
 was a direct contrast to her husband. Hugh had adored 
 her as if she were a goddess, and he treated all women as if 
 they were royal ; this man spoke to her as if she were merely 
 a woman and he a man who had seen plenty of women. 
 She felt small beside him, but she had an incredible desire 
 to show him that she was not small at all, to arrest him in 
 his easy-going carelessness, and to see him at her feet Now
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 127 
 
 and again he exchanged sentences with Pamela, and she 
 could hardly bear his doing so. She knew in a flash that 
 he and Pamela understood each other. Their words crossed 
 like rapiers. Pamela had that same veiled insolence of man- 
 ner that he had. Pamela was easy and cool as he was easy 
 and cool. But Cecil knew herself to be almost feverish and 
 certainly exalted. She was a woman hot, full-blooded; 
 not a calm devil like Pamela. And he was the man she 
 had been wandering down the years to meet. 
 
 Maybe she would not have put her thoughts into those 
 words, but then Cecil was never good at words. But she 
 did say to herself, again and again, staring at the street, at 
 the band, at him even, at Pamela, "I shall fall in love with 
 this man. It is done, written, settled. I shall fall in love 
 with this man. . . ." And the thing was so great that, 
 though she was not without religion, she never stopped to 
 ask herself if it were right, and so amazingly and indubitably 
 new that, though she had known Hugh three years, she had 
 within her no sense at all of wonder. 
 
 On the other hand, Chris exerted himself, which he did 
 not always trouble to do. Gwen, for instance, who had seen 
 him every day for three weeks, was surprised at him. Up 
 to the present, quite frankly, she had disliked him, and 
 chiefly, though she would not have allowed it, because he 
 hardly gave her a look, or, if he spoke to her, spoke because 
 he wanted to do so and not because she wished him to speak. 
 And indeed she had wished him to speak to her most of 
 the women on board had so wished. Besides, he had chiefly 
 spoken to that red-headed fool of a clergyman's daughter 
 from Maritzberg whom he had kissed so coolly. One can 
 sympathise with Gwen. He might have kissed her instead, 
 if he had wanted to do so; but he had not wanted. To a 
 woman that is the unpardonable sin. 
 
 On the stoep that evening, Cecil had the first liqueur of 
 her life, in itself a little thing, but to her afterwards a par- 
 able. The Indian waiter had brought the coffee, and it was 
 Chris of course who said: "What about liqueurs? Pamela,
 
 128 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 what'll you have? Oh, at least, I beg your pardon, Mrs. 
 Sinclair, what will you have ? It's your first call. Cognac ? 
 Chartreuse ?" 
 
 "Oh no thanks," said Cecil. "I don't care for one." 
 
 "Really ? But you ought, you know ; this is an occasion." 
 
 She glanced at him. His eyes were laughing and chal- 
 lenging hers. There was something infectious about them, 
 though she did not know what. She felt suddenly very gay. 
 "Well, perhaps," she said, "but ask Pamela." 
 
 He smiled and turned to his cousin. "Decide for us, then, 
 Pamela," he said. 
 
 "Van der Hum," said Pamela. "You should try it, Chris. 
 It's South African, and don't you always try new things in 
 a new country?" 
 
 "Rather," he said. "Let it be what do you call it? Van 
 der Hum. One-two-three-four, Miss Eldred? and now 
 five, Mrs. Sinclair, do!" 
 
 Cecil nodded. "Five Van der Hums," said Chris. 
 
 He leaned back a little towards her. "Have you ever 
 eaten snails ?" he asked mysteriously. 
 
 She shook her head, laughingly. 
 
 "You shouldn't laugh. It's a solemn subject. Snails are 
 so good. I'm hoping these Van der Hums, which sound 
 even more perplexing, will come up to them." 
 
 "I hope they will," she retorted, "for the honour of South 
 Africa which appears to be engaged. But why is the sub- 
 ject so solemn?" 
 
 "Eats and drinks are always solemn subjects to true Eng- 
 lishmen, Mrs. Sinclair," he said. "Haven't you noticed? 
 But I confess I'm a renegade. I always eat and drink what 
 I can't get at home, and the risk adds a zest to life." 
 
 She took in his clean-shaven clear-cut face, his rather un- 
 tidy hair, and his air of boyishness. "So in Rome you do 
 as Rome does, do you?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes. If you want to find out other people's points of 
 view and philosophy, you must. That is the joy of travel, 
 I think. Do you like it?"
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 129 
 
 "The chance does not come my way," said Cecil, and could 
 not help the note of bitterness in her voice. "Tell me." 
 
 He regarded her seriously. "I'm an incorrigible rover," 
 he replied. "I should never sit still more than a year or 
 two in one place if I could help it. People say the world is 
 small, and so it is, but it is still big enough for most life- 
 times. I should like to feel that I had seen most things and 
 been to most places before the end." 
 
 "Wouldn't it be rather boring afterwards?" asked Cecil, 
 smiling. 
 
 "If there were an afterwards. But I hope there won't be. 
 I want to wander till I drop and then to be buried where I 
 fall, 'a hunter home from the hill.' " 
 
 His voice had hardened a little. Cecil noticed it. For the 
 life of her she could not help carrying the conversation a 
 step further. But she put it humorously. "Then wandering 
 means more to you than a wife, Mr. Ashurst?" she said. 
 
 In a moment she wished she had not said that. There was 
 a perceptible silence and his eyes would not leave her face. 
 Absurd as it was, she felt as if she had broached with this 
 stranger a subject which might become personal to them 
 both at his next words. But she had no need to fear. His 
 face relaxed. He picked up his little liqueur glass and looked 
 at her quizzically across it. "Well, you see, Mrs. Sinclair, 
 your sex is charming, but I, alas, I have never been able suf- 
 ficiently to charm!" 
 
 The statement seemed so obviously untrue that Cecil 
 laughed outright. Chris shook his head solemnly. "Don't 
 laugh, Mrs. Sinclair," he said. "I assure you it's no laugh- 
 ing matter. But still perhaps the fault is also in myself. 
 I'm an inconsequent beggar. I can't plan for years ahead, 
 or lay up for old age, or devise heritages for my children, 
 like most sane people. I wasn't made that way." 
 
 "But isn't the alternative loneliness?" 
 
 "Oh I don't know. Earth bred us and earth's our home, 
 and all its peoples are our peoples. But I don't see why one 
 should want to found a family what end there is in per-
 
 i 3 o THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 petrating oneself, so to speak. To leave a world-legacy, a 
 book, a poem, a picture, yes ; that's fine ; but merely a child, 
 no. Fancy watching all one's mistakes and all one's omis- 
 sions coming out in its character!" 
 
 "The child might write the book, or a better one," objected 
 Cecil. 
 
 "Or be cut off in a war, or die in a lunatic asylum, or fall 
 a victim to alcohol!" 
 
 Cecil laughed. "I'm a mother," she said. "You forget 
 that." 
 
 Chris leant a little towards her. "Are you," he said. "I 
 didn't know. Are you glad ? It must be very strange to be 
 a mother. It satisfies perhaps. Does it?" 
 
 He spoke naturally, and seemed to see nothing unusual in 
 the question, but Cecil suddenly saw her world in a new 
 light. She had never thought of it before in that way. She 
 glanced swiftly at her questioner to see if he were mocking 
 her, but plainly he was not. So she evaded the direct an- 
 swer. "You must see my son," she said. 
 
 He nodded, but moved restlessly. "Does it sound rude? 
 I'm not sure that I want to. Do you know, when you came 
 in, you gave me an impression a purely subjective one. As 
 a rule, one can tell in a moment if a woman is married, but 
 I should not have known in your case. I'll flatter you ; you're 
 so youthful, Mrs. Sinclair. Do have another cigarette, will 
 you?" 
 
 Cecil was glad of the interruption. She changed the sub- 
 ject. "Are you staying in South Africa long, Mr. Ashurst?" 
 
 "I don't know," he said. "I write, you know, and one 
 place is as good as another to me in a way. All places and 
 people are grist to the mill. But I think I shall stay for 
 some months. I like what little I've seen so far of your 
 country. It is jolly here, for example, and unlike other 
 places. Durban is very much of a town, a go-ahead town too 
 I should say, and yet the Kaffirs in the street suggest that 
 the edge of civilisation is not far beyond the city boundaries. 
 Pamela says Three Springs is really on the confines, or be-
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 131 
 
 yond them. You know it, I expect Do you live near ? Do 
 tell me about it." 
 
 Cecil did not want to talk. She wanted just to sit still 
 and listen. "You'll see soon," she said. 
 
 "But are you near?" he persisted. 
 
 "No," she said, "not near, but within a day's journey in 
 a car. We are near Basutoland, you know, and you ought 
 to go there. Perhaps we shall see you at Springf ontein some 
 day." And she moved a little, in the almost imperceptible 
 way women have when they wish politely to indicate that it 
 is time to include the others in the conversation. 
 
 Chris glanced at them. They had pulled their chairs round 
 a little to see something of the square also, and so had to 
 a degree isolated themselves. He therefore refused the 
 hint. Indeed he very bluntly refused it. 
 
 "I ought I suppose," he said, "to go and talk to my charm- 
 ing cousin for a bit, but I don't want to and I shan't. Not 
 unless you order me off, that is. Do you know you are a 
 delightful person to talk to? Some folk obviously talk be- 
 cause it's a social duty after dinner, but all the time you can 
 feel that they don't care a scrap whether one talks of mice or 
 of men, cabbages or customs. You have to go carefully not 
 to say a wrong thing something that will shock or scare 
 them, and it is the most mournful business I know. The 
 hardest apostolic maxim is the command to suffer fools 
 gladly." 
 
 "I'm inclined to think you rarely fulfil it," she said, 
 laughing. 
 
 "Oh yes, I do," he replied. "It's all part of the business. 
 If one were perpetually unsociable one might never meet the 
 people to whom one can and wants to talk. Why, you for- 
 get what I told you. Try everything, adventure everywhere, 
 avoid nothing, otherwise you miss the reality of life that's 
 my motto." 
 
 "That might be dangerous doctrine," said Cecil. 
 
 He nodded seriously. "Well yes, perhaps," he said, "but 
 danger is the spice of life. Besides one can be a Bohemian,
 
 132 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 for example, without actually wading into the neck like Fran- 
 c.ois Villon, or interested in life without cultivating the vices 
 of Oscar Wilde. Though I don't mean one should play with 
 things. It's no good playing with realities ; if you do you see 
 nothing truly of them. People are tricked by the shadows of 
 reality so often. Religion, love, hate, liberty we play with 
 them ! Still more, they play with us. Don't you think so ?" 
 
 Cecil hardly knew what he meant, yet his words moved her 
 very deeply. This was not th| talk of her own or her father's 
 house. Almost as if fascinated she raised her eyes to his, 
 and, as it seemed to her, allowed him to look deep down into 
 them. "Perhaps they do," she said, and there was a shade 
 of wistfulness in her voice. Christopher was far too acute 
 an observer not to notice it, and they came nearer in that 
 moment to a passing of the great divide that conventional 
 meeting sets up than at any other time that night. But 
 something in her face held the man back. He looked away, 
 and a long silence fell on them. And in the very silence 
 Cecil knew herself to be content. 
 
 Pamela turned in her chair. "Well, you two," she said, 
 "have you talked yourselves out ? Come over here and let's 
 map out a programme for to-morrow." 
 
 Cecil pulled her chair an inch or two forward. "I must 
 get back," she said. 
 
 "Why ?" queried Pamela. "Cecily darling, do listen to me 
 for once. Here's the ship got in on Thursday to time when 
 you know we quite expected she wouldn't be in till Friday. 
 Wherefore Hugh doesn't even expect you till Saturday eve- 
 ning. Consequently you can take all day to-morrow with an 
 easy conscience. Next, Mr. Eldred has his car here, and 
 he says he can easily take the lot of us out on Saturday. 
 That will save you a beastly railway journey to begin with, 
 and do you good to go on with. But you can't get from 
 Elandskop to Springfontein the same day, so I propose you 
 come on with Chris and me to Three Springs for Saturday 
 night. Father will meet us at Elandskop. And behold, on 
 Sunday, we motor you back to Springfontein. At the most
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 133 
 
 you're a day late, but it's really not a day. Isn't that a 
 magnificent plan?" 
 
 "Oh do, Ces," cried Gwen. "I want a day in this jolly old 
 place again. I want a really amusing trippery day, a bathe 
 in the enclosure in the morning if it's there, that is. Is it, 
 dad ? Yes ? Well, that's good. You must know, Mr. Ash- 
 urst, that the bathing enclosure here is broken by the sea 
 every other month, when sharks and things of that sort get 
 in, and bathing is forbidden by the city fathers until it's 
 mended again. But we're in luck, it seems. And I want to 
 sail round the bay and see it again, and eat sundaes at the 
 Model Dairy, and drive back in a rickshaw, and go to the 
 Coliseum in the evening. It's such fun to be back. Don't 
 you remember what fun you thought it, Ces ? Do stay !" 
 
 "I'll wire Hugh," said Mr. Eldred with a smile. "That 
 will square it all right, Cecil." 
 
 Chris said nothing. 
 
 "Will you, dad ?" cried Cecil eagerly. "Oh, then, I think 
 I can. I'd love it. But when I got home, Gwen, I wanted 
 the country and not the town." 
 
 "I want it too," said Gwen, "but we're here now, and I 
 belong to Durban more than you did. London is nothing 
 in comparison with Durban !" 
 
 Cecil sighed. "Rubbish, Gwen," she said. "I'd give any- 
 thing to see London again." 
 
 "Make Hugh take you then," said 'Gwen. 
 
 "My dear child, you don't know what you're talking about," 
 said Cecil. "Probably we shall go some day, but not till 
 Ronnie's bigger. In any case Hugh is as hard to move as 
 as well, as his own farm." 
 
 "You don't allow for that farm enough, Ces," said her 
 father. "I understand Hugh entirely. When you've built 
 most of it and planted all of it, you don't want to leave it to 
 Kaffirs even for six months. When I was last in England, 
 I wanted to get back after the first fortnight. Don't you 
 agree with me, Ashurst?" 
 
 "I've never had a farm," said Chris, "and I'm afraid I
 
 134 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 don't want one. I confess I'm on the other side. Once a 
 year at least I want to stand at Piccadilly Circus and eat a 
 dinner in the Trocadero. It's a weakness, I allow. Besides 
 I think I feel much the same about Paris ; one in every two 
 years at any rate I want to drink a cafe noir and petit verre 
 in view of the Madeleine. But I don't think much of a year 
 in which you can't sleep out some months under the stars. 
 As for Durban, I know what Miss Eldred means and I 
 sympathise. I should like to be introduced to all those 
 charms she mentions. Doubtless a sundae tastes differently 
 in the Model Dairy from a sundae anywhere else. It cer- 
 tainly will to me, since I confess I have never tasted one any- 
 where. What in the world is it anyway?" 
 
 Cecil got up. "With such a programme before us," she 
 said, "I think it's time to turn in." 
 
 "So do I," said Pamela, hiding a yawn. "Durban, with 
 all your praise, Gwen, is distinctly hot after Griqualand. 
 And sleepy." 
 
 "I shan't sleep a wink," declared Gwen. 
 
 "Oh you will," said Mr. Eldred. "Take her off, Cecil. 
 And don't you three sit up talking till morning." 
 
 The girls said good-night and went off. "Have a night- 
 cap ?" suggested Eldred to Ashurst and ordered whiskies and 
 soda. The waiter brought them, in his silent Indian fashion, 
 and Eldred filled up the chit. "Would you have cared to 
 come round to the club, Ashurst?" he asked. "I'm sorry I 
 didn't think of it before. I'll put you up to-morrow. It'll 
 be useful to you while you are about here. The Durban 
 club is quite excellent you'll find." 
 
 "Thanks," said Chris. "It would be useful as I expect 
 I shall run up here fairly often. Is Urfurd a member?" 
 
 "Yes, but he rarely comes to town. He's a queer fellow, 
 as doubtless you know. Still every man has his own life to 
 lead, and if he wants to do it in one way, I fail to see why 
 other people should object. However, what are your plans? 
 Here's to the best," he added, raising his glass. 
 
 Chris nodded across the table. "Cheerio," he said, and put
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 135 
 
 his glass down. "I haven't any very definite plans," he went 
 on. "I promised Urfurd years ago I'd come and look him 
 up, and I never have, though I'm a rolling stone. Now that 
 I'm here I may as well see as much of the country as pos- 
 sible. Then I want to get some shooting if I can, and have 
 a look at the mines, the Falls, Mont aux Sources, and so on." 
 
 "If you want to shoot," said Eldred, "try Zululand and 
 the border of Portuguese East Africa. You go to Semkele, 
 a day by train from here" and the talk drifted off into 
 shooting stories and plans. 
 
 The girls said very little to each other for once. Pamela, 
 at Cecil's door, stopped a minute, but she looked into Cecil's 
 face and said in her abrupt way, "Dear, you're dog tired. 
 I shan't come in, and I'll see Gwen to her room for you. 
 Good-night," and then she took G wen's arm and walked 
 her off. 
 
 "It's nice to have you about again, Gwen," she said when 
 they were alone. "I don't see so much of Cecily now, or not 
 as much as I did when first she came home. That's natural, 
 of course, but I miss her. Let's talk for a little; I haven't 
 had a chance for a word with you really. Did you enjoy 
 the voyage? Anybody interesting on board?" And she 
 settled herself into an easy chair. 
 
 "Yes, your cousin I suppose. He led everything." 
 
 "Oh he would," said Pamela. "I haven't seen much of 
 him, you know a summer holiday in France and a visit or 
 two in England but we write to each other rather more than 
 cousins usually do, and you can learn to know Chris from 
 his letters. Especially when there are his books to teach 
 you as well." 
 
 "I like that about him, I must say," said Gwen. "He isn't 
 for ever talking of his books." 
 
 "And what don't you like?" 
 
 Gwen took off her dress and hung it up in the wardrobe. 
 Then she slipped on her kimono, sat down on the bed and 
 finally threw herself back in it. 
 
 "Well, now," said Pamela again, "what don't you like?"
 
 136 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 "You are his cousin ; I hardly like to say," said Gwen. 
 
 Pamela laughed. "Oh my dear," she said, "don't worry 
 about me. Tell me. You won't offend me whatever you 
 say, and you certainly won't prejudice me against him un- 
 duly. You are quite entitled to your opinion, but so am I 
 to mine." 
 
 Gwen was a little annoyed. This was the Pamela she re- 
 sented. It was, she thought, as if Pamela had said, 'Of 
 course I don't care in the least what you think.' An older 
 woman would have punished her by saying nothing a really 
 subtle revenge, but Gwen was only an impulsive girl. She 
 determined to be almost rude; Pamela had asked for it. 
 "He's a born lady-killer," she said, "and knows it. He flirted 
 abominably on board with a ginger-haired girl from Maritz- 
 berg. Quite by chance I saw him kiss her the last night. 
 Oh! I shouldn't have said that!" 
 
 "Why not ?" demanded Pamela. "I take it it was truly by 
 chance you saw them." 
 
 Gwen flushed. "But it isn't cricket to give him and her 
 away." 
 
 Pamela raised her eyelids a fraction. Then she smiled. "It 
 doesn't matter in Chris's case," she said. "I should think 
 he probably kissed half a dozen girls in those three weeks. 
 It's second nature to him. It's what makes him so inter- 
 esting." 
 
 "I don't understand," said Gwen. "Interesting?" 
 
 "Of course. If I were you I should have set out to make 
 him want to kiss me, and then I should have steadily refused 
 him. A man who has kissed nobody is no conquest. Any- 
 one can seduce a saint; it's something worth trying to re- 
 form a rake." 
 
 Gwen shifted on her bed, crossed her legs, and swung 
 one in the air impatiently. "Then you'd better try," she 
 said. "He certainly Wants reforming. But I'm afraid I'm 
 not so interested in men at all. Anyhow you will have Mr. 
 Ashurst at Three Springs quite long enough to make him 
 want to kiss you."
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 137 
 
 Pamela got up. "My dear," she said, "Chris and I were 
 through with all that together years ago. But don't be ab- 
 surd, Gwen. Men are extremely interesting. The interest 
 there is between men and women is half the interest there 
 is in the world, and perhaps more. When the world loses 
 it, the world will commit suicide. But there is not much 
 sign of that yet, on the whole. I must go. Good-night." 
 
 "Good-night," said Gwen without getting up. The door 
 closed. "Oh lor'," said Gwen to herself, "I wish there was 
 somebody else at Three Springs." 
 
 Cecil got rapidly into bed, and cuddled down into the 
 sheets as she liked to do. She thought she would have a 
 long think. It began with a consideration that the next day 
 would be jolly, and it ended almost as soon as it began. 
 
 The next day was jolly however. Everybody was in the 
 best of tempers, and even Gwen and Pamela appeared to hit 
 it off. Gwen's pleasure at getting paw-paw for breakfast 
 again, began it. Then they met some people from the ship, 
 and all went off to the beach together to bathe. They were 
 photographed in the surf, and they had the sundaes, several 
 of them, at the Model Dairy. Chris asked the waitress after 
 the cows, and insisted on going off with Gwen in an absurd 
 attempt to find the centre of milking operations. When the 
 proprietor appeared (or his representative), he merely asked 
 him to dinner. They trammed round the Berea and they 
 visited the Zoo, where Pamela made instant and amazing 
 friends with a baboon who appeared to be positively broken- 
 hearted on any threat of hers to leave. Chris said it was 
 her only conquest and she should be proud of it, since any 
 woman could tame a man but very few could conquer a 
 monkey. At this Gwen could not restrain her laughter, and 
 when asked why, refused to say. It seemed, however, that 
 Pamela understood. 
 
 Cecil said that she wanted to do some more shopping, and, 
 when pressed, admitted that it was knickers for Ronnie she 
 had in mind. They therefore went shopping for knickers 
 in a body, till Mr. Eldred could stand it no longer and bolted
 
 138 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 off to the club taking Christopher with him. Left to them- 
 selves, the girls inspected a large number of things that 
 they remembered they wanted to buy, and finally bought a 
 few things they did not want. They strolled on to the 
 Parade and purchased seats at the theatre for the evening's 
 performance. And they ascended to the Royal through the 
 gardens at the back, and were finally discovered by the men 
 drinking cherry brandies on the stoep. 
 
 Ashurst proved himself the best of company at the cine- 
 matograph. He sat between Pamela and Cecil, and merely 
 imitated the ordinary observer. Chris cheering the hero 
 was bad enough, but Chris weeping over the fall (that didn't 
 quite come off, as he put it) of the heroine, was altogether 
 too much for Cecil. He really acted extraordinarily well, 
 not over-doing it, but being apparently moved almost to 
 tears. They left a little before the end by mutual consent. 
 To continue to laugh was impossible. 
 
 Outside, Gwen decided for them that it should be a ques- 
 tion of rickshaws. Chris summoned one and crowded El- 
 dred, Gwen and Pamela in. He had charge of the party by 
 now and no one thought of disobeying him. It was lost in 
 the darkness before he found a second. He helped Cecil in. 
 "It's a glorious night," he said. "Do let's go along the 
 Parade first." 
 
 "Do you think we ought?" asked Cecil. 
 
 Chris leant over her and tucked the rug in. The very 
 action was a caress, she thought, and a caress that already 
 seemed natural. Cecil felt that if this strange man took her 
 hand, even if he kissed it, it would not seem remarkable. 
 But he was not in the least demonstrative ; he did not attempt 
 to flirt as she would have used the phrase; and he was ap- 
 parently entirely unaware that she felt him to be different 
 from other men she had met. When he answered her, how- 
 ever, it was with that cool, almost insolent air that she had 
 felt the evening before. 
 
 "Ought ?" he queried then, "what oughts or ought nots are 
 there in life, I wonder, except those of our own imaginings?"
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 139 
 
 The lights of the ships in the harbour twinkled over the 
 still waters, and on the Bluff the great eye of the lighthouse 
 gleamed and faded and gleamed again, steadily. A little 
 wind blew across the bay, and the branches of the coco-nut 
 palms planted along the road rustled above them. Other- 
 wise it was very still. The boy's bare feet made little noise, 
 and the rubber tyres of their rickshaw slipped easily over 
 the ground. Occasionally a bell tinkled at a corner and an- 
 other rickshaw hurried by, but except for that they passed 
 swiftly along in a kind of magical isolation. 
 
 "There are at least the Commandments," said Cecil, 
 and it did not seem unnatural that in a moment they two 
 should pass from the trivial talk of the evening to deeper 
 things. 
 
 "I wonder," he said again. "Sinai was imagination too, I 
 think. The priests of late Israel, anxious to have divine ap- 
 proval behind their codes, wrote up the thunder and the 
 lightning and the quakings. Very likely in good faith. And 
 they succeeded. They have imposed the story on the world 
 for three thousand years. It has been a dreadful spectre, 
 but if you look closely it is little more than a hollowed 
 turnip and a candle-end!" 
 
 Cecil was silent. Such an interpretation had never oc- 
 curred to her, and was, as a matter of fact, beyond her. 
 But it was as if something within had cried that he was 
 right, that she had been waiting for this. 
 
 "No," he went on, and hardly as if to her, "that which 
 commands a man must have something stronger behind it 
 than that. 'Adam knew Eve'; 'Cain rose up and slew his 
 brother'; 'Elijah girded up his loins and ran'; there are 
 deep things. Deep calling to deep passions, loves, hates. 
 I know of no commandments to order these. Only love can 
 control them. God made man, but He breathed His own 
 spirit into him. He made a man, but He quickened, for 
 good or ill, a god." 
 
 "The world would be impossible if we all acted on such 
 ideas," said his companion.
 
 140 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 "Do you find it so possible now?" he demanded. "I do 
 not." 
 
 The boy turned up towards Smith Street. Half way up, 
 he slowed down almost to a walk because of the steep in- 
 cline, and Chris leant forward to help him. "I must say I 
 pity these boys," he said in a different tone. "They make 
 money, I suppose, but they pay for it with their lives in the 
 end. Why should we white people teach them our own false 
 exchange ?" 
 
 Cecil laughed. "You're in a very critical mood, Mr. Ash- 
 urst," she said. 
 
 "Am I? I always am, I think. The world hasn't been 
 particularly good to me, up to date. It offers all sorts of 
 nice things, but they mostly turn out to be like the rickshaw 
 boy's bargain in the end." 
 
 "You were not so pessimistic last night," said Cecil. "I 
 rather gathered then that you loved the world and all things 
 in it." 
 
 "It is you who must not be so critical now," he retorted, 
 smiling. "Besides truth is always contradictory. But I did 
 not say I loved it. I'm interested in men and things and 
 places very, but it has all been a shadow-show so far." 
 
 It was Cecil, then, who said the first provocative thing. 
 "Do you see no signs of anything better, Mr. Ashurst?" she 
 asked. 
 
 But despite the character Gwen had given him, he did not 
 take advantage of the opening. And yet his answer, spoken 
 as the boy stopped in front of the hotel, did not displease 
 her. "Hope escaped from Pandora's casket as well as all 
 the ills, you know, Mrs. Sinclair," he said. 
 
 Cecil felt Pamela's eyes to be resting on her as they 
 climbed the steps. Instinctively she crossed over to the side 
 on which her friend was sitting and pulled a chair up near 
 her. Chris, paying off the boy, slipped into a seat next 
 Gwen with a tragic air. "I shall not sleep to-night," he de- 
 clared ; "indeed I doubt much if I shall ever sleep again. I
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 141 
 
 am convinced that Veronica's cowboy could not have es- 
 caped. Lions, yes; Red Indians, yes; express trains when 
 he was bound hand and foot on the rails, yes; but the eyes 
 of that terrible woman what was her name? Oh, yes, 
 Cynthia Cynthia with the peroxide hair, never." 
 
 "Oh do be quiet," said Gwen, laughing again. "We were 
 just getting over it all. Why did you two come back at all? 
 Father, order something for Mr. Ashurst, please. Poor 
 Cecil, you must have had a bad time in your rickshaw." 
 
 "Your sister would have it that there was hope," groaned 
 Chris, "but I could not believe her. Still, there does remain 
 whisky. I entirely agree with you, Eldred, that the moment, 
 long expected, has at last come." 
 
 Gwen gave a mock sigh. "Men are poor creatures," she 
 said. "Without drinks and constant tobacco, they do not 
 appear to be able to live." 
 
 "They have to move among women, Miss Eldred, you 
 forget that," said Chris. "But I take the hint ; will you have 
 a cigarette?" And he offered her his case. 
 
 "If you smoke so much, Gwen, your mother will be horri- 
 fied," said Mr. Eldred. "But I see you need one now. You 
 ought not to attempt to spar with Mr. Ashurst. He's more 
 than your match, my dear." 
 
 "No, no, you're wrong," said Chris quickly. "Your 
 daughter has kept me in my place for three weeks, Eldred, 
 and I only survive by adventitious aids." 
 
 On the morrow, in the car, the two men sat in front and 
 the three girls behind. Pamela and Gwen did most of the 
 talking, sparring now and again to Cecil's amusement, but 
 she kept very quiet. Motoring usually had that eflect upon 
 her. It was pleasant to be so near the earth not to feel 
 one's self removed from it as one does in a train, and yet to 
 speed along so swiftly and so comfortably. When one walks, 
 one is subject to the laws of the earth; its moods make all 
 the difference; its hills mean sweat and toil; its pleasant 
 places are gifts. But in a car, one is divine. The world is
 
 142 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 subdued. If it offers good things, one can accept if one will; 
 if otherwise, one can scorn them. Yet man is a poor sort of 
 a god. A tin-tack will destroy his empire. 
 
 But Cecil had much to think about. She was travelling 
 the road she and her father had passed over three years 
 before. Week had followed week and she had not seemed 
 to change, but this reminder suddenly apprised her of the 
 change they had wrought in her. It seemed scarcely pos- 
 sible that three years could have made such a difference. 
 Wife and mother ; well, of course those were big things. She 
 told herself that they were enough in themselves to account 
 for it. But she knew it was not so. It seemed to her that 
 she had become a wife and a mother incidentally as it were : 
 had grown into them. They had brought ecstasy, yes ; pain, 
 oh yes ; but both had been passing things which had come and 
 had gone, leaving her changed, true, but still Cecil. Yet now 
 she hardly felt as if she were the Cecil of three years ago at 
 all. Why? Why? Why? The whirr of the engines cried 
 it to her, but the passing landscape had no answer. 
 
 Fate, indeed, scrawled a reply in front of her in rough 
 fashion, but she could not read the writing. At a turn, 
 Eldred had to brake suddenly for a tiny naked tot of a 
 native child straggling across the road. On the instant, a 
 woman leapt from a thicket of young wattle, snatched it up, 
 cast one frightened glance at them, and fled. Chris, leaning 
 round, caught her eyes, and smiled. She smiled happily 
 back. The car sped on.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 OH don't, Pam!" cried Cecil, "don't! don't!" 
 The three of them stood in Pamela's cave, whither 
 they had come after an early breakfast the next morning. 
 The arrangement had been that Cecil should at once take 
 the road for home, but Mr. Urfurd begged her not to start 
 before midday as he particularly wanted to finish some writ- 
 ing. Cecil consoled her conscience with the thought that 
 as she was guest and he host, she could hardly object ; and 
 when Pamela had proposed a visit to the cave, she had 
 jumped at it. Pamela had said that it was Sunday, and 
 that as they could not go to church they would pay a visit 
 to Anubis. This had naturally aroused Chris's interest, 
 which deepened with all he heard. Easily enough, then, 
 the three of them had set off together. 
 
 It was a fair and golden morning when they started, but 
 had clouded over later. Now the air felt heavy and oppres- 
 sive, and the discovery of Nanea, sitting there in the lip 
 of the cave among the bushes as if waiting for them, had 
 brought things to a climax. Chris had seen her first, and 
 had uttered an exclamation of astonishment. He well might 
 have done. 
 
 Nanea had pushed the bushes back from Pamela's skele- 
 ton and was sitting at its head. She was wearing only a 
 Zulu girl's belt and squatting on her hams. In her hands 
 was the skull of the figure, and she was staring into its 
 eyeless sockets. 
 
 Pamela had come forward instantly and had spoken 
 sharply to her. She had answered, but without lifting her 
 eyes. Then the white girl had looked back quickly at Chris 
 and said: "This is Nanea, the daughter of a native wizard, 
 
 143
 
 144 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 and really an extraordinary creature. I hypnotise her at 
 times, and should like to do so now. You'll see something 
 interesting, Chris." 
 
 "My word, Pamela," he had said, stepping eagerly up, 
 "I did not know you went in for that sort of thing. Cer- 
 tainly; give us an exhibition." And then with a smile and 
 a backward glance at Cecil : "We do cross the edge of 
 civilisation up here, apparently." 
 
 Cecil had stood still for a moment, uncertain, and in 
 that moment Pamela began. She had gone round to the 
 feet of the skeleton, and then, looking across it, had caught 
 and held Nanea's eyes with her own. "Nanea!" she had 
 called sharply, "you know me? Good. Then sleep you 
 are tired very tired you cannot keep your eyes open 
 sleep sleep sleep. . . ." 
 
 From where she stood Cecil could not see the native girl's 
 face, but suddenly a sense of the situation fell on her with 
 an almost physical horror. Her friend in her long fawn 
 coat and riding breeches, clean, white, English; the naked 
 girl with that fearful thing in her hands ; the bones between 
 them; and last, and possibly the worst, Chris's keen half- 
 smiling face intently watching. "Oh don't, Pam !" she cried, 
 "don't! don't!" 
 
 No one, however, took the slightest notice of her. Pain's 
 voice had sunk to a sibilant whisper, but with something of 
 such command in it that Cecil herself felt to be all but fall- 
 ing under its sway. She ceased to speak, and watched. A 
 stillness seemed to settle on them all in that heavy air, and 
 there was no sound of bird or beast about, nothing save 
 only the ceaseless plash slightly to the right of the little 
 stream from the head of the cave above. And then there 
 was a little clatter, and Cecil shuddered. The skull had 
 slipped from the girl's hands and fallen back among the 
 bones. 
 
 Pamela stirred now and seated herself more comfortably 
 on the ground. She did not take her eyes from Nanea's 
 face, but she spoke in an ordinary tone to her cousin. "There
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 145 
 
 you are, Chris," she said. "She is completely under con- 
 trol." 
 
 "Test her," said Chris. 
 
 "Stand," said Pamela, and Nanea rose instantly, revealing 
 herself as a splendidly made native woman as she stood 
 there upright in full view. "Raise your left arm your right 
 straight above your head," said Pamela in Zulu, and 
 the girl obeyed each direction. Christopher understood 
 nothing, and it was plain his ignorance of the commands 
 irritated him. "Tell her to pick up that skull," he said, and 
 Pamela obeyed him. Nanea did as she was bidden, and 
 stood there, not looking at it as before, but holding it care- 
 lessly in her hands. "To give it to me," said Chris, and 
 at the white girl's word, she turned and moved across with 
 it to the man, holding it out. He took it, glancing at it 
 curiously. Then, placing it swiftly at his feet, he stood up, 
 fumbled a moment with the lapel of his coat, and made a 
 quick movement towards the fleshy part of the girl's right 
 arm. She did not move. Slowly and deliberately he pressed 
 his fingers on the flesh, and still she did not move. Then 
 he removed them, and Cecil gave a little gasp, for between 
 his fingers was a steel point that gleamed scarlet, and on 
 the dark flesh gathered a globule of blood that trickled down 
 the arm. "So far as I can see, it is perfect, Madame," said 
 Chris carelessly. "But the exhibition, except for the stage 
 and the subject, is not uncommon you know." 
 
 "No," said Pamela, "but wait a minute. Nanea! sit 
 down." 
 
 The girl sat where she stood, native fashion. "Turn 
 round," said Pamela; and she did so. "Good; now sleep 
 again. Nanea! sleep." 
 
 A little silence fell, Pamela staring at the Zulu, Chris 
 watching interestedly. Suddenly, Pamela spoke again, 
 sharply. "Haketsebe!" she called. There was no reply, 
 and silence fell again. Chris moved slightly nearer and 
 trod on a stick which snapped. And then, so unexpectedly 
 that Cecil started, a voice said something. Cecil half glanced
 
 146 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 round seeking it elsewhere, but Chris's face changed and 
 he took an eager pace forward. Cecil, then, followed the 
 direction of his eyes, and saw that the voice issued from 
 Nanea's lips. But as she watched her flesh crept. For it 
 was not Nanea's voice that spoke, nor did she understand 
 a syllable of the strange sounds that appeared to come from 
 her lips. The words if words they were were rapid, and 
 more like the twittering of birds than human speech, except 
 that clicks sounded in them of which some were not unlike 
 those of the Zulu tongue. The talking went on for some 
 few seconds without the others saying anything, and then 
 Pamela spoke across the stream of it. "Hear that?" she 
 said to Chris, sharply. 
 
 "What is she saying?" he demanded. 
 
 "I haven't an idea," said Pamela. 
 
 "But what language is it ?" he asked in a puzzled voice. 
 
 "Listen," said his cousin. "Have you no idea? Think 
 of what you've read." 
 
 For a few seconds the stream of that ghostly talk was 
 the only sound. Then, suddenly: 
 
 "By God!" exclaimed Chris, "Bushman's?" 
 
 "I think so," said Pamela intently. 
 
 Once again silence, except for that querulous voice from 
 the Past, which riveted their attention. It seemed hours 
 to Cecil, who had leaned on a rock and felt faint with the 
 horror of it. Click, click, tweet, tweet, click it ran on, an 
 odd voice, high-pitched, feminine; and then a chuckle of 
 laughter. At that the scene swam before Cecil's eyes, but 
 she saw Chris's excited movement. "God!" he exclaimed 
 again, and no wonder, for there was that in the laughter 
 that was sinister, dead, without merriment. But it ceased, 
 and with it, all human sound. 
 
 As if far away, Cecil heard Pamela talking, and her cool 
 well-known voice steadied her with every sentence. "That 
 is Haketsebe," said Pamela. "I have heard her more than 
 once, but who she is, I do not know. That is why I call her
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 147 
 
 Haketsebe.* It is hard to determine, since I cannot under- 
 stand a word she says, but I believe it is a clear case of 
 multiple personality. Sekeke her old father understands 
 what is said, or says he does, but nothing will induce him 
 to translate to me. She speaks fairly frequently when Nanea 
 is asleep, I believe, and often as a result of hypnosis, but 
 not always. The phenomenon either when about to happen 
 or after happening, usually brings Nanea here, though why 
 she does not know. Sekeke brings her here sometimes and 
 induces her to sleep, but not always successfully. But when 
 she comes of her own accord, if he knows of it, he invari- 
 ably comes too. I take it that to-day he does not know. 
 Judging by the fact she has no blanket, I think she probably 
 slipped out from the hut under the unconscious influence of 
 Haketsebe and came here unseen. That is why I was anxious 
 to hypnotise her, and why I called Haketsebe. We are 
 lucky ; it is often months and I get no such chance." 
 
 "Make her speak again," said Chris. 
 
 "I'll try, but I can't be sure," Pamela replied. 
 
 Cecil caught at a knob of rock. "Haketsebe!" called 
 Pamela authoritatively, and repeated the name two or three 
 times, adding in Zulu. "Speak in this language, if you 
 can." 
 
 The watchers had almost despaired of more when there 
 came a sound of that laughter again, and as it died away 
 a single sentence. Chris came close up to Pamela. "Tell 
 her," he said, speaking so low that Cecil could hardly hear, 
 "that you do not understand ; insist on it ; and say that she 
 is to speak in Zulu." 
 
 Pamela nodded, and spoke rapidly in Zulu. There was 
 no reply. She spoke again more slowly, and again there 
 was no reply. "It's no good, you see," she said. 
 
 As if in reply, there followed almost immediately a little 
 burst of terrible laughter and the voice said, speaking 
 
 * Haketsebe (Sesuto), a common name for an illegitimate or 
 doubtful child. Lit.: "It is not known."
 
 148 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 brokenly in Zulu but so that even Cecil understood the 
 simple words: "You are not my mistress." 
 
 Cecil marvelled at Pamela's coolness. Her friend, with- 
 out a trace of fear or surprise, answered that dead or devil- 
 ish voice in the simplest possible Zulu again. "No," she 
 said, "I am not. But tell me who you are and why do you 
 come, and if I can help you at all." 
 
 "The white queen," said that mocking hideous voice, 
 "has no power over my people now." 
 
 "I know," said Pamela. "I want no power. But I would 
 give much to know these things." 
 
 "That which drives the buck, the lion, the birds, the 
 
 winds, the (a word which Cecil did not know) drove 
 
 us, and drives her," said the voice from Nanea. 
 
 "And what is that ?" asked Pamela. 
 
 The voice spoke a word hesitatingly. Chris looked en- 
 quiringly at Pamela. She shook her head impatiently and 
 questioned again. "I do not understand that," she said. 
 There was no answer. Pamela made a little gesture of im- 
 potence. "She's gone, I think," she said. 
 
 "Wait, wait," said Chris imperiously. 
 
 And then in the silence began a little sound that swelled 
 louder and louder. Even Pamela whitened beneath her 
 tan. Cecil's knees shook, and Chris put his hand on Pa- 
 mela's shoulder. It was a little thin sound that seemed 
 to come from far away, a sound of weeping which lasted 
 what seemed a long time, and then, without words, 
 died away. 
 
 "Haketsebe !" cried Pamela again, with a new note in her 
 voice. So faint that Cecil could not hear distinctly, there 
 came a reply. Pamela leant eagerly forward over the bones 
 of the dead woman on the grass, listening intently. Now 
 and again, Cecil caught a word of Zulu ; now and again 
 heard a click as if of that other speech; and once Pamela 
 interrupted to say in Zulu, "Where? Where? I did not 
 hear." At long last it ceased, but neither Nanea nor Pamela 
 moved. On the latter's face was a strange set expression.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 149 
 
 Christopher broke the silence. "What did she say?" he 
 asked. 
 
 Pamela made an impatient movement Then: "Nanea!" 
 she called, and again "Nanea!" 
 
 The girl stirred. "Look at me," commanded Pamela, 
 and Cecil observed for the first time that the Zulu had 
 dropped her eyes from Pamela's face, for how long she 
 could not say. Now she raised them, however, soft and 
 limpid, and fixed them on Pamela. Her friend made a 
 few passes, and spoke quickly in Zulu. "Wake," she said 
 at last, "wake. Your sleep is over. You are awake. 
 Nanea!" And she got up. 
 
 The native girl sat on for a moment motionless, and then 
 lifted her left hand to the puncture in her right arm which 
 she felt and glanced at. She dropped her hand and got to 
 her feet, and rubbed her eyes. Then she seemed to see 
 Pamela. "Chief tainess !" she said in Zulu, recognising 
 Pamela as if for the first time that morning, and lifted her 
 hand. 
 
 Pamela smiled. "Go home," she said. "You should not 
 come here, Nanea. See, here are two tikkies. Go you and 
 get your blanket and sleep at home; you are tired. Go in 
 peace, Nanea." 
 
 The Zulu glanced once carelessly at Chris and then 
 turned away. She recognised Cecil, and as she passed her, 
 she smiled. Cecil could not say a word, but watched her 
 as she went on down the rough slope till the bushes hid her. 
 Then she glanced at the others. Chris was holding a match 
 to a cigarette between Pamela's lips. "Give me one, please," 
 she said faintly. 
 
 Pamela turned to her. "Sit down, Cecil," she said 
 quickly ; "it's all right, dear," and she came quickly towards 
 her. "Chris, get some water, will you?" 
 
 Despite the thunder in her ears and the blackness 
 around her, Cecil felt Pamela's arm and leaned eagerly 
 against her. She did not try to speak. Then she felt 
 water lifted to her, and drank eagerly till a hair caught
 
 150 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 in her lips. She made a little movement with her hand, 
 saw Chris kneeling before her with his sodden cap dripping 
 in his hands and an anxious look on his face, and could 
 bear up no longer. She hid her face in her hands and 
 burst into tears. 
 
 "There, dear, don't," said Pamela. "It's all right now. 
 I'm so sorry we did it. We ought to have thought of you. 
 But it's all right really. There's no harm done. Don't 
 give way so." 
 
 "What did that that that voice say, Pam?" demanded 
 Cecil looking up, woebegonely. 
 
 "I could hardly understand," answered Pamela evasively. 
 "It was nothing, anyway. Don't think of it. Do you feel 
 better now?" 
 
 Cecil choked back a lump in her throat, and with a little 
 motion, put back the thick hair from her eyes. "I want to 
 know, Pam," she said. "I must know. We must all know. 
 Pam, please, please, tell me." 
 
 "You had better, Pamela," said Chris. "Mrs. Sinclair 
 is all right now. We saw what we saw, we three, and we 
 ought to know." 
 
 Pamela withdrew her arm from Cecil and got up, half 
 turning from them and staring out down the gully and over 
 the river to the mountains beyond. "I would rather not 
 say," she said. 
 
 Chris held his hand out to Cecil and she took it, lifting 
 herself to her feet. Then he produced his case again, and 
 gave her a cigarette, lighting it carefully. He blew the 
 match out, and looked at it a second to see that it did not 
 glow before throwing it away. Then he turned to his 
 cousin. "Well, Pamela?" he said enquiringly. 
 
 Pam shrugged her shoulders. "Really," she said, "it was 
 only a little that I understood, so much of it was either 
 Zulu I did not know, or that other tongue. But she said, 
 I think, that Nanea did not know her, and must not, but 
 that she dwelt in Nanea, and had done so since soon after 
 Nanea's birth. That it was a sorrow for Nanea and that
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 151 
 
 she should leave, but dared not. If she did, she would 
 be 'driven' by the picture on the walls, which she called by 
 a name I did not catch or could not understand. She said 
 that we, too, could not escape it (whatever it was), and 
 that she spoke now because we three were in the shadow 
 of its hand. We should learn it by and then again I 
 could not hear, and asked, as I suppose you heard. She 
 named a place, but I could not catch the name. However 
 she described it, 'The place of the Fall and the Pool above 
 the Nek of the Caves.' There would the strong (you I 
 suppose, Chris) be weak, and the weak (you or I, I don't 
 know which, Cecil) be strong. Then there was a good deal 
 more that was quite beyond me, and then one sentence whicn 
 I do not at all understand. But it was quite clear." 
 
 A rock pigeon flew from the cave noisily, and Cecil, 
 her nerves still on edge, gave a little cry and caught the 
 arm of Chris who stood by her. He just glanced at her, 
 and then looked again at Pamela who had not moved. 
 "Yes?" he said, "and that was ?" 
 
 " 'The voice of the child is not to be silenced,' " she re- 
 peated, bluntly. 
 
 For a while they all three stood silent and motionless. 
 Then Chris shrugged his shoulders almost imperceptibly. 
 "Come," he said, "let's be going. I am grateful that I 
 came to Africa, Pamela, and to Three Springs. It seems 
 that you live here with the gods." 
 
 Pam laughed, and glanced at Cecil's face. "Or devils," 
 she said, "eh, Cecil?" 
 
 She had scarcely spoken when all three started and 
 looked round. There was a sound of a low roll of thunder 
 on the air and they saw that a black cloud had come up 
 behind the hill while they had been talking. It was plain 
 that a downfall was imminent. "By Jove," said Chris, 
 "we might be in a pantomime ! Pamela talks of devils and 
 at once the thunder rolls ! But we're in for it. Let's shelter 
 in the cave." 
 
 "Oh no," cried Cecil, "not the cave. I've had enough
 
 152 
 
 of that cave. There's shelter near the river, Pam, isn't 
 there? Under those cliffs where we had our dinner that 
 day we first came. Let's go there." 
 
 "Quickly then," said Pamela. "It will begin in a 
 minute." 
 
 The three of them set out for shelter, sliding, slipping, 
 climbing among the rocks and bushes. The exercise did 
 them all good, and soon even Cecil was laughing. Chris 
 proved a mighty climber. He took risks, jumping from 
 rock to rock, and he had extraordinarily strong arms which 
 reminded Cecil of Pamela's. Once she found herself 
 stranded on a bit of a peak, he below her, and called out 
 that she was stuck. He reached up his arms and told her 
 to slide forward. It seemed perilous, but she obeyed, and 
 just as she felt herself unable to stop, she reached his 
 hands which clasped her waist and swung her, with hardly 
 an effort, to safety beside him. "Good," he said smiling, 
 "you are not afraid." "You are so strong," she said, smil- 
 ing back ; but he made no reply except to hold aside a bush 
 for her to pass. 
 
 The rain began half way down, but the big drops were 
 not falling thickly till they reached the river's level. There, 
 however, it began in earnest. "Run !" shouted Pamela, and 
 led the way. Chris waited a second for Cecil to pass him, 
 and then tore after her. The storm broke in a fury. Pant- 
 ing and dishevelled, the girls reached the cliff and hesitated. 
 Chris passed them and made for some bushes which grew 
 at its base. These he pulled towards him, and revealed a 
 little hollow that threaded like a path behind them. First 
 Pamela and then the other two ran up it, and in a few 
 yards found that the cliff hollowed out still more and made 
 a fair shelter. Pamela dropped on her hands and knees 
 and scrambled as far in as possible, and Cecil followed. 
 "There's heaps of room," she panted to Chris. 
 
 That was somewhat of an exaggeration, but there was 
 certainly some shelter. The bushes in front all but hid 
 their view, and the rocks curved unpleasantly near their
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 153 
 
 heads, but bunched up and close together they were more 
 or less dry. Outside the rain now pelted down, and in a 
 little it began to trickle from the cliff and drip on to them. 
 But the shelter served, and, as Chris said, it was too heavy 
 to last. 
 
 "I hate a storm like this," said Pamela. "It makes one 
 feel so small. We talk about the mastery of man, but in 
 five minutes the weather can make us run to holes like 
 rats!" 
 
 Chris laughed. "If we did not wear clothes, and did 
 not shelter in houses until our bodies were altogether 
 become enervated, it would be different," he said. 
 
 "Not altogether," put in Cecil. "Even natives would 
 hide from this." 
 
 "Anyway," said Pamela, "Nature is really our mistress." 
 
 Cecil laughed. "That's the chief article of her creed," 
 she said to Christopher. 
 
 "Is it?" he answered. "Then you must abandon it, fair 
 cousin. Man has fought Nature for centuries and is not 
 far off winning out. Our foes are now of our own house- 
 hold. But for them, we should be masters of the world, 
 and possibly masters of the universe." 
 
 "Explain, professor," said Cecil. 
 
 "Well," he said, "think of our wealth and our power and 
 our numbers. We have eliminated distance, and every 
 natural obstacle. The world lies at our feet. There is 
 nothing we could not undertake, nothing we could not do. 
 We could produce so fast that a tenth of our time and 
 our labour would supply all our needs. The rest we could 
 give to any enterprise. We should first re-arrange the 
 world; select distributing centres; build air, sea and land 
 routes; plan cities, gardens, sanatoria, workshops, on a 
 reasonable scheme ; and then worthily free and endow 
 science. There is but one obstacle Man himself. He is 
 jealous, petty, covetous, quarrelsome, and, worse still, 
 proud and damnably obstinate. Men have never seriously 
 combined a few groups, here and there, yes, for selfish
 
 154 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 ends, a trade that it may defraud, a nation that it may rule, 
 a trust that a few owners may be multi-millionaires. That 
 is all. But nationality is rubbish, class-war lunacy, and 
 the millionaires are but poor fools. If we worked to- 
 gether, we should all be gods." 
 
 "Yes," said Pamela, "jealous gods, petty gods, covetous 
 gods, quarrelsome gods, and worse still proud and dam- 
 nably obstinate gods ! And we should fall from heaven and 
 find ourselves in hell. Also, would there be goddesses?" 
 
 Cecil laughed. "Answer," she said, nudging Chris. 
 
 "Kamerad," said Chris gravely, attempting to hold up 
 his hands. 
 
 The rain spluttered on. Suddenly Chris burst out again. 
 "That's all very well, Pamela," he said, "but it doesn't end 
 the argument. If it does, then let's chuck in our hands and 
 go off somewhere and live like savages. What I mean is 
 just this: we've advanced in commerce, science, education 
 and so on, but we have as yet refused to see that the great 
 theories underlying our civilisation and to a great extent 
 stultifying it, are the theories of savages. I've got this, and 
 it's mine; you've got that, and it's yours we glare at each 
 other. By force of circumstances, we do deals, swopping 
 goods, and by force of circumstances we've introduced 
 credits and moneys and created vast industries; but the 
 principle is the same old hideous thing that it was in the 
 dawn of history and before. If we pooled, shared, worked 
 for the common end, we should change the whole face of 
 the world. And thank God, that is what men are coming 
 to see. It is the under-dogs who see it first; the top-dogs 
 shut their eyes to it. But the under-dogs are the more 
 numerous, and they must win." 
 
 Pamela clasped her hands round her knees. "Go on," 
 she said. 
 
 "Well, you give me the key. The women's movement all 
 over the world is nothing more nor less than an indication 
 of this. They've been the under-dogs, the property of men, 
 classed with his horses and houses and sheep and servants
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 155 
 
 in an obsolete commandment. Men have fought over their 
 heads, and fought for the possession of them. Now they 
 raise a cry. They demand to know by what right ? Slowly, 
 very slowly, they've proved that women can do things, and 
 they ask by what authority their sex has been excluded 
 from this and limited to that. There is no answer, except 
 the weak one that it was the old law. At long last that 
 has been laughed out of court, and a new age is emerging, 
 the age in which sex-war or sex-dominance is being re- 
 placed by sex-co-operation and equality. What the future 
 may hold for us under the new principle, no man can say, 
 but it is rosy with hope. And why ? Because in one direc- 
 tion at any rate, we are going to combine." 
 
 Still Pamela refused the challenge, but her silence seemed 
 provocative. 
 
 "Oh, I know," burst out Christopher, "that difference of 
 function still continues. The mother is eternal and must 
 be, but even there new principles are coming into light. 
 The family was the basis of half the world's woes. Par- 
 ents regarded their children as their private property. For 
 the sake of the children, any wrong might be attempted. 
 The man set out to fight that he might make a place, and 
 always a still better place for his children. If he could sell 
 goods at a penny more than his usual profit, he sold them 
 at that for the sake of his children. For his family, he 
 aimed at a place in the sun an estate and that he won at 
 the expense of others. The unity of the family made for 
 the subjection of the wife, for each fighting group required 
 a leader. We must cut, then, at the root of all that. The 
 Christian idea of the family, as the unit, is outworn and 
 must go. Children belong to the race to the State first, 
 while we have States, but in the end to the race. Mothers 
 are not mothers for their own pleasure or profit, still less 
 for their husband's. All human life is knit in one. We 
 must order things for that end. There will be liberty for 
 friendship, for art, for creative genius, for enjoyment, for 
 sexual pleasure; but the rights of the race will be safe-
 
 156 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 guarded. These individual activities must serve and not 
 hinder the race. The rights of the individual will be al- 
 lowed, on the other hand, so long as that quota of time 
 and service which each owes to the whole is freely given by 
 him." 
 
 " 'The voice of the child is not to be silenced,' " quoted 
 Pamela, ironically. 
 
 Cecil started. She had, for the moment, forgotten. "Oh 
 Pamela," she cried, "why did you remind us of that awful 
 woman ?" 
 
 Pamela got up. "The rain has stopped," she said. "Let 
 us go. . . . My dear, Chris always talks a queer mixture 
 of sense and nonsense. There is a lot of sense in what he 
 says, and maybe the future will unfold some sort of com- 
 munism, such as he suggests. I do not know. But I do 
 know that we must grow into it. Pain and travail have 
 lifted us from such conditions as those in which the Bush- 
 men lived, and if we are to be lifted higher still, pain and 
 travail must still do it. 
 
 "Nothing begins, and nothing ends, 
 That is not paid with moan.' 
 
 There is no other road. Meantime, I see no diminution 
 in the power of the old laws. When a man says to a 
 woman: 'You are free to do as you please,' he has ceased 
 to be her lover. When a woman says to her child: 'You 
 belong not to me, but to the State,' she ceases to be a 
 mother. It may come. There was perhaps a time when 
 ape-men ceased to be apes and became men ; and there may 
 perhaps dawn a day when men shall cease to be men. 
 What they will be, God knows. Nor do I much care. I 
 am a woman. Unless I am much mistaken, so are you. As 
 for Chris here, I will not say. Man or monster, anyway, get 
 up," she added laughing, "and let's be going." 
 
 Chris got up. "I am a man," he said. "But I see a new 
 creation."
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 157 
 
 "Possibly," retorted Pamela quickly, "it remains to be 
 proved that you are fit for it" 
 
 They had left their horses at some huts on the Pondo- 
 land side, and thither now they went. The saddles had 
 been under shelter and were dry enough, but the road to 
 the crossing of the river was slippery. Also before long, 
 it began again to rain. The Umtamvuna was very full, a 
 roaring muddy stream which frightened the horses though 
 they got safely over at last. The path to the house had 
 been in places all but washed away, and they rode up only 
 by picking their way among the bushes, grass and stones to 
 one side of it. At Three Springs, Cecil went at once to 
 change, and Pamela to find her father. She came in when 
 her friend was practically dressed and was about to put on 
 her hat, but at the sight of it, she shook her head. "You 
 can't go, my dear," she said. "Father says the roads will 
 be awful, and that it is sure to pour again." 
 
 "Oh !" cried Cecil, "but I must ! Heaven knows what 
 Hugh will say." 
 
 "My dear Cecily," said Pamela, "Hugh is not a fool. 
 The chances are they have had a storm up there, for this 
 seems to have come along the range. In any case, he 
 will guess. He knows you are here, and with any luck 
 you will be home to-morrow. Besides you can't go, and 
 you can't send a message anyhow, and there's an end of 
 it. Even if we sent to Harding and wired to Kokstad, he 
 wouldn't get it. So be a philosopher for once, and look 
 forward to a jolly evening. Personally, I'm delighted. 
 Now I'm going to change myself. Chris and Father are in 
 the library; do go and find them. Lunch will be ready 
 shortly." 
 
 Cecil went, but in the library Chris was alone, wandering 
 round and looking at books. At the moment he was hold- 
 ing a little volume in his hand, and standing beneath the 
 bronze of the dying Zulu. "Where's Mr. Urfurd?" she 
 asked.
 
 158 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 "Gone to make sure the horses are rubbed down, I think," 
 he said. "What a topping library he has got here. I had 
 no idea. Really I think it promises to be a delightful visit ! 
 Do you know Arthur Benson's verse? May I read you 
 something quite short? I call this a perfect poem: 
 
 " 'Twas hid in mist to-day, 
 The land I love; 
 Thin veils of vapour lay 
 Around, above. 
 
 Tired head and weary hand,- 
 Onward I fare; 
 I can but guess the land 
 I love lies there." 
 
 Cecil drew a deep sigh. "Read it again," she said softly. 
 
 He did so, and replaced the volume, she not caring 
 whether or not he saw that her eyes were misty. "Here 
 is another modern poet that I like, too," he said. "Quite 
 different mostly quaint translations of old French verse. 
 (He turned the pages quickly.) Listen. This is the last 
 verse of 'Baby's Grace/ 
 
 " Praise to God who giveth meat 
 Convenient unto all to eat, 
 Praise for tea and buttered toast, 
 Father, Son and Holy Ghost." 
 
 Cecil laughed. "How sweet," she said. "It has a sort 
 of grave sound, too, as if it were a serious matter." 
 
 "It is," said Chris. "That's the best side of Christianity, 
 which we've nearly forgotten, the Christianity that carved 
 grotesques on misericordes and set grinning gargoyles 
 among carven saints. Oh, but there are some fine books in 
 this library ! Here's a delightful sinner," and he took down 
 the Villon Societies' edition of Frangois Villon's poems. 
 
 "Read me something," said Cecil. "You spoke of Villon 
 at Durban, and I had no idea whom you meant !" 
 
 He glanced at her quizzically. "There's a great deal in 
 him I can't read to you," he said with a smile, "or at least 
 I don't know you well enough yet. Still, listen to this."
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 159 
 
 He read her the Ballad of Old-time Ladies, with its 
 Envoi : 
 
 "Prince, you may question how they fare 
 This week, or liefer this year, I trow: 
 Still shall the answer this burden bear, 
 But what is become of last year's snow?" 
 
 Cecil repeated the last line, and sighed a little, but Chris 
 did not seem to notice. He put the book back, and sauntered 
 on round the well-filled shelves. Here and there he called 
 her attention to something a history, a volume of essays, 
 a novel and hit off book after book in a sentence or two. 
 Cecil followed in a sort of dream. It was a new experience 
 to her. "Have you read everything in the world?" she 
 exclaimed at last. 
 
 He smiled. "Not by hundreds of miles of shelves," he 
 said. "I never visit a big library without thinking how 
 little I have read. I never think of what I have read with- 
 out bitter grief at the remembrance of what I have for- 
 gotten, and I never remember what I have forgotten with- 
 out grieving at the inadequacy of what I remember." 
 
 "Then why read at all?" said Cecil, laughing merrily at 
 him. "It sounds pretty hopeless." 
 
 Chris turned on her, a book in hand, and looked at her 
 steadily for a second or two without replying. She re- 
 turned his gaze frankly, wondering, as she had done more 
 than once already in the history of their short acquaintance, 
 of what in the world he was thinking at such times. Then 
 he sighed. "You are more right than you know," he said; 
 "I believe it is hopeless. Probably men like myself read too 
 much. Our own thinking is dimmed, effaced, by the 
 thoughts of others. We are shown ten thousand mysteries 
 that cannot be unravelled, and in the end we despair of 
 there having been any revelation. We learn of so many 
 gods that we follow none. We dabble in so many sciences 
 that we forget the science of our own hearts. We read of 
 so many theories and of so many schemes, that we build 
 our own theories on theories and not on facts. We should
 
 160 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 be of all men the most miserable if it were not for one thing. 
 We should wander ever deeper into the darkness if it were 
 not for that one thing. And even so, we often miss it." 
 
 "I don't understand," said Cecil, softly, but with a 
 woman's intuition not looking at him now. 
 
 "Don't you? Well, I expect the book's here. Let me 
 see. . . . Yes, here it is. Listen. 
 
 "An idle poet here and there, 
 Looks round him; but, for all the rest, 
 The world, unfathomably fair, 
 Is duller than a witling's jest. 
 Love wakes men, once a lifetime each ; 
 They lift their heavy lids, and look; 
 And, lo, what one sweet page can teach, 
 They read with joy, then shut the book. 
 And some give thanks, and some blaspheme 
 And most forget; but, either way, 
 That and the Child's unheeded dream 
 Is all the light of all their day." 
 
 He shut the book almost reverently, and put it back. 
 Cecil did not move. "Well ?" he said lightly. 
 
 Cecil turned and walked to the window without a word. 
 But Chris did not follow her. In the silence, they could 
 hear the pattering of the rain outside. 
 
 Mr. Urfurd came in. "Hullo! You two here," he said. 
 "Where's Pamela?" 
 
 Cecil made a great effort and pulled herself together. She 
 turned to him smiling. "Seen to the horses, Mr. Urfurd?" 
 she said lightly. "Pam's changing, and Mr. Ashurst has 
 been entertaining me by talking books ; but really, you know, 
 I cannot imagine what Hugh will say."
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 SOME weeks later, Cecil was sitting sewing on the stoep 
 at Springfontein when Hugh came in, a little early for 
 lunch. He had been riding on the farm, and he stepped 
 across to his wife and kissed her. "Well," she said, "had 
 a good ride?" 
 
 "Yes, my darling; you should have been there. It was 
 glorious out not too hot and a clear view. And whom do 
 you think I met?" 
 
 "I don't know," she said, gathering up her work. 
 
 "Well, Hardcastle and the Urfurds' cousin, Ashurst. 
 They were going fishing." 
 
 Cecil dropped her work carelessly, and stooped to pick it 
 up. "You don't say so," she said, her face hidden. "I had 
 no idea Mr. Ashurst knew the Hardcastles." 
 
 "It seems that he had>a letter of introduction and arrived 
 last week. I rather liked the look of him and asked him to 
 call soon. You don't mind ? I said he might ride over for 
 lunch one day, if he cared to do so. By the way, how goes 
 the time now ? My watch has stopped beastly nuisance." 
 
 "I'll go and hurry it up," said Cecil, and left him. She 
 went to the kitchen to tell the servants to bring in luncheon, 
 and then to her room to wash her hands. Thoughts chased 
 each other through her mind, and suddenly she stopped dab- 
 bling her hands and stared out of the window. If Christo- 
 pher Ashurst should speak of that scene in the cave! She 
 had not told Hugh of it, though she hardly knew why. He 
 would be a little annoyed, of course, and his dislike of 
 Pamela would deepen. Besides he was utterly sceptical of 
 that sort of thing and would hate her having been mixed up 
 at all in it. Pamela, she knew, would never speak of it. 
 But would Pamela have warned her cousin? 
 
 1*1
 
 162 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 All through lunch, the thing ran in her mind and soon 
 assumed big proportions. She felt that she must see and 
 warn Chris before he came. And he might come to-morrow. 
 She had a feeling that it was not likely he would wait now. 
 A plan began to form in her head, but she would have to be 
 careful. Hugh must not suspect. He would not understand. 
 He might even be suspicious. She looked across at him, 
 "Hugh," she said, "do you want the car this afternoon?" 
 
 "No," he said, "why?" 
 
 "Well, I want some more wool for my work. I must 
 have it, and I've put off sending for it for days. If you don't 
 want the car, I thought I might motor into Kokstad and get 
 it. I could take your watch too," she added, with a happy 
 inspiration. 
 
 "I fear I can't come," he said. 
 
 "Can't you ?" she said. "I'm so sorry A but I didn't mean 
 to bother you. You know I can manage the car perfectly 
 well for that short way, and I could take a boy, of course. 
 I'd rather like the run." 
 
 "Very well, dear," he said. "Go, if you want to, but do 
 take care. The road's still pretty vile." 
 
 She immediately changed the subject, but all the while was 
 asking herself if she dared call on the Hardcastles. She 
 started when Hugh suggested the very thing. "You might 
 call in at the Hardcastles'," he said, "and renew your ac- 
 quaintance with Ashurst. I expect he'd be delighted to see 
 you." 
 
 She did not dare look at him. What did he mean? Did 
 he suspect anything? Of course not; the thing was absurd; 
 besides, what was there to suspect ? But she ruled the Hard- 
 castles out instinctively. "Oh, I don't think so," she said. 
 "I hardly know him. If he wants to call, he will, since 
 you've seen him." And then she could have bitten her 
 tongue out for saying so, and added, "Unless I'm delayed. 
 Then, perhaps, I might drop in for tea." 
 
 "All right," said Hugh, carelessly. "Just as you like. 
 Don't be late, though, darling. And don't tire yourself."
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 163 
 
 "Finished?" queried Cecil, getting up. "I'll go and get 
 ready. Would you tell the boys to get the car out." 
 
 She went to her room, and he to the yard to see about the 
 car. She frowned at herself as she opened the wardrobe 
 door. What should she wear ? As if it mattered ! 
 
 But it did matter. As the car sped swiftly along, taking 
 most of her attention because of the many bumps in the road, 
 the undercurrents of her thought ran ever more swiftly and 
 clearly. She did want to see Christopher Ashurst. She 
 wanted it with all her heart and soul. The warning was 
 necessary well, an advantage at any rate but beneath all 
 that she wanted to see him. She saw his face mentally as 
 clearly as she had seen it on that first meeting. The thought 
 of him stirred her whole body. She hardly dared to ask 
 herself how much she wanted to see him, but the desire 
 lay there, utterly insistent, beyond doubt. 
 
 Should she, then, go to the Hardcastles' ? Now she said 
 to herself: 'Yes, of course, it's absurd not to'; and now: 
 
 'No, it won't do, Hugh might ' Hugh might what ? She 
 
 refused to answer that. Deliberately she avoided the turn- 
 ing to the magistrate's house. Two minutes later she told 
 herself she was mad to do so. And then the fates stepped 
 in. 
 
 The car was running quietly down the main street, under 
 the shady trees that do so well in favoured Kokstad because 
 the water supply is unlimited and a little runnel sings all 
 the year along each side of the road. As she neared the 
 hotel, she saw him. Her hands trembled on the steering 
 wheel. There was no doubt about it. He was standing in 
 the entrance with his back to the street talking to a couple 
 of men. Old Mr. Coxon was one ; she could see his white 
 beard. Should she stop ? No ; impossible. She must ! But 
 how with the men there? The car was opposite; it was 
 passing. . . . 
 
 Chris turned quickly, on an unexplained impulse, for no 
 one had said anything. In an instant his hand flew to his 
 cap and he took a couple of quick steps towards her. There
 
 164 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 was no hesitation about him. "Mrs. Sinclair!" he called, 
 and she slowed down. Her blood raced, but he must not 
 see it. If only she did not colour. 
 
 "What luck !" he was saying. "I saw your husband this 
 morning, and now you this afternoon. Did he tell you? 
 I'm staying at the Hardcastles', and he asked me to call. I 
 was coming in any case, but I hoped we might meet. The 
 Hardcastles said they knew you very well." 
 
 His strong hand closed over hers. It was utter madness, 
 but she hardly dared look at him. "How do you do ? How 
 jolly to see you here," she found herself saying stupidly. 
 
 "Fancy you motoring alone !" he said quizzingly. "What's 
 the car? A Buick? Where are you off to? Let me drive 
 you; I've nothing to do." 
 
 Cecil glanced back momentarily at the men. Old Mr. 
 Coxon was plainly watching. "Oh I'm only going a little 
 way down the street," she said. "I want some wool, and 
 I've brought Hugh's watch to be mended. You're walk- 
 ing?" Then, with what she thought was an idea, "I can 
 drop you at the Hardcastles' on the way back if you like," 
 she added. 
 
 "Thanks ever so much," he said, and instantly put his 
 hand on the catch to open the door. She had not quite 
 
 meant that, but Well it was too late now. The door 
 
 was open. "Shall I drive you?" he queried, hesitating on 
 the step. 
 
 "Oh no," she said, "I'll drive. I've no distance to go. 
 Get in." 
 
 The little business of restarting the car restored her con- 
 fidence. "You'll not be the least use," she said gaily. "You 
 can't possibly match wool !" 
 
 "Can't I ?" he retorted ; "you'll see," and she instantly per- 
 ceived another mistake. He would enter the shop with her. 
 Everyone would wonder at their being together. Mrs. 
 Furrie would tell every other customer, and it would be 
 half over the town in an hour. She knew these little towns.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 165 
 
 Hugh would hear. He well, it was too late. She slowed 
 down at the door. 
 
 "Don't bother to get out/' she said hurriedly. "I won't 
 be a minute." 
 
 But he was already out and forestalling the boy behind. 
 "Indeed I shall," he said, "and I'm coming in to choose the 
 wool." He read the name. " 'Furrie.' Do you come here 
 often?" 
 
 "Not very," she said in a panic, "but (truthfully) I do 
 all this sort of shopping here." 
 
 "Then I shall haunt the place," he said, smiling down at 
 her. 
 
 They bought the wool, and they took the watch. "Now 
 for the Hardcastles'," she said, settling herself in the seat. 
 
 He frowned. "I wish the Hardcastles were twenty miles 
 away. Can't you run me a little out this way? I don't 
 know this end of Kokstad." 
 
 She laughed. (It would not then be necessary to go 
 back up the main street, she thought quickly.) "Yes, if 
 you like," she said, "though there is nothing much to see. 
 We'll go and have a look at the site for the railway station. 
 In our life-time, we are never likely to see much else here." 
 
 "I trust not," he said. "Kokstad is delightful, but there 
 are other places. Don't you wish this was Charing Cross? 
 How would you like a little dinner to-night at a foreign 
 restaurant in Soho, and a theatre afterwards ?" 
 
 "Oh don't," she exclaimed. "You make my mouth water. 
 You don't know how I long to get away sometimes and 
 see the world a bit. I went from Griqualand to London 
 and I came back without having seen anything worth speak- 
 ing of, and here I've stuck ever since. And here I shall 
 stick for all my days I think. But tell me of places ; I love 
 to hear." 
 
 Chris had the gift of vivid language, and, deliberately as 
 he had ever done anything in his life, he laid himself out 
 to use it that day. His companion saw visions and dreamed
 
 i66 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 dreams. She had almost forgotten the main thing she 
 wanted to say, when the magistrate's house came in sight. 
 Then she spoke hurriedly. 
 
 "Oh," she said, "one thing quickly before I forget. When 
 you call, please don't speak of the Sunday morning at 
 Three Springs. Not of Nanea, I mean. Hugh would hate 
 my having been there. He thinks all that sort of thing 
 rubbish." 
 
 Chris glanced understandingly at her. "I won't," he said. 
 "It shall be our secret. You can depend on me. And the 
 Hardcastles of course don't know." 
 
 Their eyes met again as he promised. It is amazing how 
 little things like that matter in life. 
 
 She told Hugh that she had met him, and Chris called 
 next day. She came in from the garden in a simple linen 
 dress and a sun-bonnet to find him sitting with Hugh and 
 having a drink before dinner. He was very much at his 
 ease with him and with everything, and talked easily and 
 lightly on any subject that came up. He drew Hugh out, 
 and when he was gone, Hugh said that he liked him and 
 that they must ask him and the Hardcastles to dinner. 
 
 That event came off a week later, and meantime they had 
 met outside of the church on the Sunday. To even the party, 
 they asked Mr. Gressly, the clergyman, and his wife, and a 
 Miss Evans, a school-teacher who was staying with them. 
 Miss Evans was fair and florid, and Cecil was aware that 
 she made a good contrast to herself. (Neither of the two 
 married ladies counted.) So she put on a shimmering tis- 
 sue of gold, and wore a red rose at her breast. Hugh came 
 in from his dressing-room to have his tie completed satis- 
 factorily, and when she had done, stepped back to admire 
 her. "My darling," he said, "you look lovely. Oh what a 
 witch you are, Cecily! It is too good to be true that you 
 should be mine." 
 
 "Hughlets," she laughed reprovingly, "you talk as if I 
 were a part of your property." 
 
 "You're my wife," he said smiling and uncomprehending.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 167 
 
 "Isn't that property ?" She kissed him, but refused to allow 
 him to touch her. He would spoil her hair, she said. 
 
 The Gresslys came first, and Cecil was very gracious to 
 Miss Evans. They were talking together when Hugh heard 
 the Hardcastles' motor and went out to greet them. Cecil 
 did not at once move, but, with her eyes on her guests in 
 the drawing-room, it seemed to her almost as if she could 
 see the half -darkened stoep. There was a sound of conver- 
 sational greetings, a step or two, and then they came in. 
 She would not look at him as she shook hands with the 
 magistrate and his wife, but when she did she was bold. 
 To her it seemed that he did not attempt to hide his admi- 
 ration. She led the way gaily to dinner. 
 
 They played a rubber or two of bridge afterwards, and 
 then, the game palling on them all, went out to the stoep. 
 The night was utterly still. The stars sparkled above them 
 as they only can over the veld or the desert. Chris put it 
 into words. "It's worth coming to South Africa," he said, 
 "if only to see the stars here." 
 
 "So many great worlds," said Mr. Gressly sententiously. 
 
 "So all the books say," said Cecil. "It seems to spoil 
 them somehow." 
 
 "Do you think so, Mrs. Sinclair? Surely the fact ought 
 only to deepen our reverence for the Creator. I have been 
 told that if you reduced the solar system to about the scale 
 of this garden, the nearest star would be thirty miles or so 
 away. Approximately four light years. Yet the Milky 
 Way is roughly 300,000 light years across. And you can 
 even pierce with a telescope through the vast hosts of the 
 encircling universe to the utter blackness of space beyond." 
 
 Cecil sighed half audibly. Chris moved abruptly. Hugh 
 reached for his whisky and soda. Then Cecil rose to her 
 duties as hostess and made a great effort to carry on the 
 conversation. "Really," she said. "But what is a light 
 year, Vicar? I'm afraid I'm very ignorant." 
 
 Mr. Gressly cleared his throat, but Chris saved the party 
 another lecture. "Imagine yourself travelling on a sun-
 
 i68 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 beam, Mrs. Sinclair," he said lightly. "It would be more 
 fun than a Ford. The sun's the terminus and off you go. 
 Eight minutes to the Earth, eight and a half to the Moon, 
 four hours to old Daddy Neptune on the edge of our little 
 lot, four years to the first star, and a couple of hundred 
 thousand to the Milky Way." 
 
 Hugh laughed. "Want to start, my darling ?" he queried. 
 
 "The mind cannot comprehend such distances," said 
 Gressly as heavily as ever. "But it is wonderful that we 
 should be the centre of interest, so to speak, in such a 
 universe." 
 
 "Don't you think any other stars are inhabited, Vicar?'' 
 asked Miss Evans deferentially. 
 
 "I believe the general conclusion of scientific men, Miss 
 Evans," said the clergyman, "is that no other planet could 
 possibly support human life. As the stars are largely in a 
 gaseous state, they are, of course, out of the question." 
 
 Chris sat up sharply in his chair, and in a moment the 
 slight incident that alone makes the conversation worth re- 
 cording came about. Cecil, sitting next him, was suddenly 
 and instinctively conscious that he was about to break out 
 into a vehement argument, and equally instinctively she did 
 not wish him to do so. Under cover of the darkness, she 
 put her hand on his knee for a second. That was all. 
 
 When the time came for her guests to go, Hugh went on 
 with a lantern to the cars. Chris was the last to leave. He 
 lingered a second on the stoep. "Thank you for stopping 
 me," he said, his eyes seeking those of his hostess. 
 
 "Why?" she said. 
 
 "In another minute, I should have plunged into the sub- 
 ject, dogmatised just as much as he did, and generally said 
 too much. I nearly always do. But it's not too much if I 
 just say 'thank you,' is it?" 
 
 She made no direct reply. "Come again soon," she said 
 softly. 
 
 "May I?" he said, still lingering. "I should love to; and 
 are you likely to be coming to Kokstad?"
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 169 
 
 "Saturday," she said, as if it were natural for her to do 
 so. "With Hugh. We leave the car at the Royal." 
 
 He hesitated a moment, peering at her in the half dark. 
 "I must go," he said, "good-night. But it is very hard ; you 
 are looking so absolutely lovely to-night." And he turned 
 and went. 
 
 Cecil went indoors feeling that she walked on air, like a 
 girl. There was no room in her mind for another thought. 
 He had admired her ; he had said so ; he and she had had 
 just a little touch of understanding across the gulf of mere 
 friendship. The world was very good. She was gay with 
 Hugh, quite genuinely and innocently gay. "It went off 
 well," she said. 
 
 He made some reply and went to get whisky for a last 
 drink. "Yes," he said, returning, "I think it did. Gressly 
 is a bit of a fool, though. Jove! the way Ashurst rolled 
 out those figures. He livened the old parson up. Can't 
 think how any fellow remembers so much. I never can." 
 
 Cecil laughed. "You can't," she said, "you dear old thing, 
 and you had better not try. Good-night. I'm tired. If I'm 
 asleep, don't wake we." 
 
 When he at last came in, she was not asleep. But she 
 pretended to be. Hugh got into his bed and blew out the 
 candle. He shortly snored. Cecil stared out into the dark- 
 ness and was very happy. 
 
 Christopher called again. They met him (by chance, he 
 said) at the Royal on Saturday. He and Hardcastle de- 
 parted to Zululand on a visit the next week, and returned 
 together the week after. He called again at once, and at 
 tea, the subject of an expedition to Basutoland was really 
 canvassed. "I intend to go anyway," said Chris to Hugh, 
 "but it would be most awfully jolly if we could make up a 
 party you and Mrs. Sinclair, Pamela and I who else?" 
 
 "Gwen and Daddy," said Cecil. 
 
 "Yes; that's six. Enough, isn't it?" 
 
 "Well," said Hugh, "it's enough from this side perhaps, 
 but I suggest that we ride to Qacha's Nek and visit the Mai-
 
 170 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 lory's for a night. Mallory is an awfully good sort who 
 was with me in Rhodesia, and he's in the Basutoland Po- 
 lice Service now, Inspector I think. At any rate he knows 
 the Border better than most people, and if we could per- 
 suade him and his wife to come along with us, it would 
 be a great score. I've been in Basutoland with an official 
 and without, and there's no doubt as to which is the best 
 way to do it ! Of course, if Mallory wishes, he can smooth 
 over everything for us, and in any case, I might ask him for 
 a police-guide and we could get some camp stuff up there. 
 How long could you be away, darling?" he added, turning 
 to Cecil. 
 
 "Oh I don't know," exclaimed Cecil, her eyes sparkling, 
 "but let's be away at least a fortnight. Oh, Hugh, it will 
 be perfect! Now don't let us delay a day. Let's write at 
 once to all the people concerned and fix dates." 
 
 "My darling, we must take a little while to think about 
 it." 
 
 "Hugh, we don't need to take an hour. Do we, Mr. 
 Ashurst? Now let's think. I propose that we send the 
 horses and so on, to Matatiele, and we motor from here 
 and pick them up the day before we wish to start. We'll 
 allow a fortnight for the coast people to get their stuff up, 
 oh and we'd leave Matatiele on a Saturday and spend the 
 week-end at the Nek. We can camp out there. Very well 
 then, to-day is Wednesday ; Saturday fortnight we leave for 
 Matatiele." She got up and ran across to Hugh. "Say 
 'Yes,' " she cried. "Not another word just 'yes.' No, 
 nothing else. Hugh, I won't let you speak. Just say 
 'Yes.' " 
 
 "Yes," said Hugh. 
 
 "Hurrah !" shouted Cecil. "Good-bye, Mr. Ashurst I'm 
 off to write to Gwen. I shall invite them here for a day or 
 two before the Saturday, Hugh." And she disappeared. 
 
 Hugh sighed, and looked comically at Chris. "Have some 
 more tea ?" he said, and then, pouring out a cup : "It's all 
 very well, but you can't start an excursion of this sort at a
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 171 
 
 moment's notice. We've got to think about the packs first, 
 and have them all overhauled. And the horses. There 
 must be at least six pack-horses for the six of us, though 
 of course we can get most of the food up there from the 
 natives, or at any rate, if Mallory comes we can. Well, 
 each farm of the three can find a couple I suppose. As a 
 matter of fact, I should think each better run his own outfit 
 as far as tents and blankets and so on are concerned. El- 
 dred has everything I know, but I doubt Urfurd. Still I've 
 a couple of tents. I don't know whether Three Springs has 
 much in the way of pack-horses though." 
 
 "Leave that to me," said Chris. "Between us, we'll raise 
 four down there, and bring our four selves. If we're short, 
 Hardcastle would lend me a pack or even two. He has 
 some new Coryndons. That all seems to me plain sailing. 
 But what's the route at the top ?" 
 
 Hugh, who loved this sort of thing, considered. "Well," 
 he said, "we might make either for the Malutsinyane Falls 
 or for Mont aux Sources. The first means a ride across 
 the country ; the second up the Border." 
 
 "Which is better ?" queried Chris. 
 
 "Oh it's a toss up. Still I think the Border wins. We 
 should have to cross some pretty bleak country, but the 
 views over Natal are magnificent. Only Mont aux Sources 
 itself is much too far for the ladies." 
 
 Cecil, bursting in, her letter in her land, caught the last 
 words. 
 
 "Rubbish, Hugh," she said. "It must be Mont aux 
 Sources; I'm dying to get there, and of course we can do 
 it." 
 
 "My darling," he protested, "you haven't an idea of the 
 distance. Look here, Qacha's Nek to Ramatseliso's, one 
 day; to Sehlabathebe's (that's the last store) another day. 
 We might camp at the Police Camp there. Well, then it 
 would be two nights out at least, if ladies are with us, be- 
 fore we can get to Mokhotlong Camp. Hardly any women 
 have been there. There's no road you know, in the proper
 
 172 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 sense of the word, only tiny paths, very rough and often 
 very steep. We should have to rest there the rest of the 
 week at least. Then, going on, we might make the head of 
 the Sinku in a day, but I doubt it; no, we must take the 
 other road, by the Khubelu, it's better. Camp one night on 
 the river, and the next at the top, right up on the Border, 
 near Giant's Castle. The next night we could be at the 
 Eagle's Nest." 
 
 "What's that?" demanded Cecil eagerly. 
 
 "A little cave right up on Mont aux Sources, facing the 
 Buttress. If it's clear, the view from the top is superb. But 
 that's ten hard days from the Nek my darling, it's absurd. 
 You've got to get back!" 
 
 "Oh Hugh, it isn't. Mr. Ashurst, do say we can do it !" 
 
 Christopher smiled ruefully. "I fear," he said, "that I 
 must really agree with Mr. Sinclair, unless couldn't we 
 send the ladies home by train from there?" 
 
 Sinclair laughed. "A day down to Witze's Hoek," he 
 said. "Possibly they could get a car to the railway from 
 there, but I don't know." 
 
 "Well, there you are !" cried Cecil triumphantly. 
 
 Hugh sucked at his pipe. "Look here," he said, "I've 
 really got a better idea than that. Honestly, darling, that 
 is a little too much. You'd be fagged out, and wouldn't 
 half enjoy it. But if we were to trek from the Nek to 
 Ramatseliso's, then to Moshebi's, and then to the Tselike 
 almost on the Border, that would be but three nice days. 
 Then set up a week's camp on the Tselike. From there we 
 could make excursions over the Border to Bushman's Nek 
 and see the Bushman Caves, and the other way, into Basuto- 
 land. There's fishing, usually decent bird snooting on the 
 marshes, and I know a good place for a camp. By the 
 Falls of the Tselike. There's a great pool there into which 
 the river falls." 
 
 He was so occupied with his own plans that he did not 
 notice the silence that had suddenly fallen on the others. 
 The colour faded from Cecil's face. Chris was staring at
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 173 
 
 the speaker. Even he was startled. "The Pool, and the 
 Falls above the Nek of the Caves," he muttered. "My 
 God!" 
 
 "What's that?" said Hugh. "Yes, a rattling deep pool, 
 with an open bit of flat ground below it that's just the place 
 for a camp. Really, you know, I don't think we could do 
 better than that." 
 
 "No, no," cried Cecil hysterically. "Not there, Hugh. 
 I want to go to Mont aux Sources. I don't care a bit about 
 the other." 
 
 Hugh looked a little annoyed. "Don't be absurd, Cecil," 
 he said, really sharply for him. "I'm certain the other's 
 too far, and we couldn't beat this. If you can't see sense, 
 I shall call the whole thing off. You don't in the least know 
 what trekking up there is like. Possibly Mr. Ashurst here 
 could go on, if Mallory took the opportunity to do a Border 
 patrol in company, but I should not allow you to go. The 
 Tselike will give us just what we want." 
 
 Cecil sat curled up in her big chair the picture of misery. 
 She had hard work not to cry. "Perhaps we'd better not 
 go," she said tearfully. 
 
 Chris glanced from one to the other. It was plain to him 
 that he ought to go, but how could he leave her without a 
 word? So he pretended not to notice this sudden clouding 
 of the plans, and schemed at a venture for a minute with her 
 alone. 
 
 "Have you a map, Sinclair?" he asked. "I'd love to see 
 the route." 
 
 Hugh got up. "Yes," he said, "in my office. I'll get it. 
 Don't you come; the place is in a confounded muddle." 
 And he stepped out on to the stoep and crossed the yard in 
 the sun to his rondhavel some hundred yards away. 
 
 Cecil was up in an instant. "We can't go," she cried to 
 Christopher. "Oh we can't, we can't! I feel as if some 
 horror were waiting for us there." 
 
 Chris stood up too and spoke rapidly. "See," he said, "I 
 must speak to you about it. Tell me how. Couldn't I meet
 
 174 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 you somewhere? Motor into Kokstad to-morrow can't 
 you?" 
 
 "Oh I don't know," said Cecil, on the verge of tears. 
 "Anyone might see us." 
 
 Christopher caught her hand and held it firmly in his 
 own. She did not attempt to stop him, but even in her 
 misery, her heart beat harcl. "We must risk something," 
 he said. "Shall I come here ? I can make an excuse." 
 
 "Well, to-morrow say at three. Ride up over the veld. 
 You know the little gate at the edge of the acacia spinney 
 the gate that looks towards the Malutis ? I'll be there, if I 
 can. Let go; Hugh's coming." 
 
 Chris pressed her hand and dropped it. "Don't fear, 
 little woman," he said. "It will be all right. I'll be there." 
 
 There was no time for more. He pulled his cigarette case 
 out quickly, selected a cigarette and handed it rapidly to her. 
 When Hugh came in, they were standing naturally and he 
 was holding a match to it. 
 
 "Now I can show you," said Hugh, his usual good 
 humour restored again. "This is the Government survey, 
 an excellent piece of work." And he began to unfold it. 
 Cecil slipped quietly out. 
 
 Outside the room she hesitated. Then, her mind made 
 up, she reached her sunbonnet down from the hook on 
 which it hung in the hall, and ran out quickly to the garden. 
 There, among the flowers and trees, in the bright fresh sun, 
 she drew in deep breaths of the good air. Hardly knowing 
 what she did, she wandered on, through the rose garden, 
 out by the little path that skirts the wattles, and down to the 
 very gate of which she had spoken to Christopher. It was 
 perhaps a quarter of a mile from the house and completely 
 hidden from it. The spinney of acacias grew thickly there 
 and made a barrier through which it was not easy to pass 
 except by this little path. It ended in a gate, and from the 
 gate the farm veld stretched down to a dam and a little 
 stream and rose again to a new plantation half a mile away. 
 Far off, on the sky line, ran the great range of the Drakens-
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 175 
 
 berg, and although she did not realise it, she could actually 
 see Ramatseliso's Pass from there. Sometimes the moun- 
 tains seemed very near; to-day they looked far and were 
 veiled in a heat-mist. She leaned on the gate and gazed 
 at them. She was very still. Little birds moved in the trees 
 behind her, and a male ring-dove broke out into his wooing 
 cry just above her head. 
 
 She was much calmer now, but her eyes were big and 
 troubled. A thousand thoughts stirred in her and she 
 could get no order into them. Chris stood out most promi- 
 nently, the Chris she was to meet here to-morrow, the 
 Chris who seemed to have broken a barrier down at last 
 when he had seized her hand. But she did not argue from 
 that. She refused to consider what might follow. That 
 she loved him, she did not now attempt to hide from herself, 
 nor yet that she loved him as she had not known before 
 what it was to love. It did not seem to her to matter what 
 Chris did or said. Quite possibly he did not love her; she 
 could not in the least believe that he loved her as she loved 
 him. It seemed to her that he could not that no one could 
 ever have loved as she loved. And she could not argue with 
 her love. It was too immense, too overmastering. She 
 stroked the hard rough wood of the gate like a dumb crea- 
 ture, glad that it was so real and commonplace. Yet even 
 that bar of wood was no longer commonplace. She stooped 
 her lips and actually kissed it. 
 
 The road to Kokstad does not pass within sight of that 
 gate. A rise in the ground hides it, and Christopher, riding 
 along thoughtfully, was not aware exactly of its position. 
 On the edge of the farm, he did indeed rein up a minute 
 and glance around. He reckoned that his way to-morrow 
 must branch off here across the veld. He began to consider 
 the situation. If he met the husband as he came to the 
 rendezvous, what should he say? Oh, well, he must talk 
 to Hardcastle to-night about the pack-saddles, and that 
 would be an excuse. But when he came to Cecil, what 
 should he say?
 
 176 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 He turned the whole thing over and over in his mind. 
 To him, one thing seemed abundantly clear. If Nanea's 
 words or Haketsebe's, whoever she might be meant any- 
 thing, they meant that Fate lay ahead of them all. One 
 cannot fight against Fate. Chris was conscious that he did 
 not even want to do so. He was definitely elated by the 
 whole turn of events. It had been a chance, his coming to 
 Africa, and now, in a few weeks, all this had developed. It 
 seemed to him incredible that he had not even known that 
 Cecil existed. Cecil. Her image filled his thoughts. Did 
 she care? That alone mattered. But did he dare put it to 
 the test? And if so ... ? 
 
 A hundred miles away and more, Pamela was sitting in 
 the lounge reading. She was curled up in a big chair full 
 of cushions, a reading stand beside her holding a big book 
 on the Native Races of South Africa, it's little reading table 
 carrying a silver box of cigarettes and a small hand bell. 
 Suddenly she pushed the arm holding the book away from 
 her, and stared out disinterestedly at the room. Then she 
 had an idea, and her face lit up. "How stupid of me," she 
 said. She reached out and rang the bell. 
 
 In a minute or so, the door opened and Auntie Tot came 
 in. Her little beady eyes sparkled as she saw her mistress. 
 "Missus ring?" she said questioningly. 
 
 Pamela transferred her gaze to the old servant, and she 
 studied her quietly for a minute without speaking. Then: 
 "Come here, Auntie Tot," she said; "I want to talk to 
 you." 
 
 The old woman came towards her. "Sit there," said 
 Pamela, pointing to the heavy kaross at her feet. The 
 woman squatted down native fashion, watching her. Again 
 Pamela was silent for a while. She knew it does not do to 
 ask a native the question direct. Then she said: "Auntie 
 Tot, tell me about yourself." 
 
 The native woman grinned. "Missus knows," she said.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 177 
 
 "Missus knows I've lived most all my life with baas Ur- 
 furd." 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Pamela impatiently, "but you were not 
 born here. What do you remember first?" 
 
 "Ow, missus," replied the old creature before her comi- 
 cally, ''that very very long time ago. Auntie Tot wants to 
 forget it. She had bad time then." 
 
 "Well, but tell me. Didn't you come from Basuto- 
 land?" 
 
 "Eh, missus, up behind Matatiele, no, farther, up behind 
 Underberg. My people lived on the Malutis up there. But 
 I remember most nothing about it. I guess I just woke up 
 one night, and that very night I say 'Good-bye' to Malutis. 
 I never been there again." 
 
 "When the Griquas captured you?" queried Pamela. 
 
 "Yes, missus. I was asleep with my people in a very 
 small place, very dark, not at all nice, missus, just a hole 
 in the earth, I think. Suddenly bang! bang! gun go off. 
 My father I think he was my father rush outside. Bang ! 
 bang! again. My mother, she clutch hold of me, all shak- 
 ing. Then come lights, and men dressed in clothes, not like 
 my people at all. They pull me out and mother with me, 
 holding me all the while. Then suddenly she scream and 
 leave go. They push a knife into her, I think ; in the morning 
 I was all bloody. One man, he pick me up by the arm and 
 I try to bite him. He smack me on head, and that all I 
 know." 
 
 "Yes," said Pamela, "and then?" 
 
 "I go to that man's place, and I play there and forget my 
 people. I grow a big girl, and then I have to work. Little 
 to eat, little to wear, much hard work that place no good, 
 missus. Last, one day, I drop pot full of water, and my 
 master he very angry. He beat me something awful. (The 
 old woman shuddered, but rather comically, so that Pamela 
 could not help laughing inwardly. But she knew at this 
 point in the story, it did not do to laugh.) He tie me to
 
 178 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 waggon-wheel, and cut me to bits with his sjambok. Missus 
 knows." 
 
 "Show me again," said Pamela. 
 
 The old woman unfastened a button of her loose cotton 
 dress and slipped it from her shoulders, half turning round 
 as she did so. Her bare back still carried the weals of a 
 cruel flogging, and Pamela contemplated them in silence. 
 "How old were you then ?" she asked at last. 
 
 Auntie Tot shrugged her wrinkled shoulders and pulled 
 the dress on again. "How I know, missus?" she said. "Big 
 girl though breasts quite big then." 
 
 "Well?" said Pamela. 
 
 "That night I run away days and days I run. I nearly 
 die. Sometimes I steal mealies, and once I meet Basuto on 
 the road who feed me for a week. But I not like their looks. 
 I run away again, and I think I die. Baas Urfurd he find 
 me in the forest. He take me up. He have waggons then 
 and trek, and I stay with him. Then we come here. And 
 I live here ever after." 
 
 Pamela pondered. She knew the latter part of the tale 
 well enough how her father had built the house and gone 
 away, and after some years had come back with her, a little 
 thing, not much more than a baby. Tot had mothered her 
 ever since, and become 'Auntie/ Of her mother, she knew 
 nothing, or practically nothing. Her father would not 
 speak of her. There was some tragedy, she knew, but what 
 she could not guess, except that her mother had died in 
 child-birth. 
 
 She roused herself. "Now, Auntie," she said. "I want 
 you to think hard." She paused. It would not do to sug- 
 gest too much. "What was your father like?" 
 
 "Him little man, naked, I think. Which man, my father, 
 I don't know, but I saw many dead men that time, all little, 
 all naked." 
 
 "A Bushman, do you think?" 
 
 "Frhaps," said Auntie Tot half-heartedly. She was not 
 over proud of her relations.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 179 
 
 "But you're not or not altogether," said Pamela, half 
 to herself. "Well, anyway, do you remember living in a 
 cave at all ?" 
 
 The old woman shook her head. 
 
 "Nothing about the country up there on the Malutis?" 
 
 She shook her head again. Then she appeared about to 
 speak, and thought better of it. 
 
 "Tell me," said Pamela, authoritatively. 
 
 "Nothing, missus," said Auntie Tot. 
 
 "Tot," said Pamela sternly, "tell me. You must. Do 
 you want me to be angry?" 
 
 The old woman loved Pamela, but she feared her. The 
 girl could be furious, savage, as she well knew. She made 
 a gesture hopelessly, and then spoke. 
 
 "Missus not be angry," she said. "All I remember is 
 foolish words of the people at that damn Griqua's place." 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed Pamela, eagerly, "go on." 
 
 "It one time when we go far to cut rushes in the river. 
 Umzimkulu, they call him. Well, one man he say ghosts 
 up there, up the valley in the mountains, missus understand. 
 He say, little ghosts, that eat men's livers when they sleep. 
 'Nother ghost like man but with dog's head; he dig up 
 graves and eat dead corpses. He live high up, near big 
 pool, where river falls from great cliff. Bad place that. 
 Then we cut more mealies. Bad place that, missus." 
 
 Pamela smiled. "Thank you, Auntie Tot," she said. 
 "That's all. You can go now." And she leant back wearily.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 /^CHRISTOPHER was sitting writing or trying to write 
 V_> in the Hafdcastles' drawing-room next morning 
 when he received his first letter from Cecil. It had been 
 written as a result of her meditations the evening before 
 at the little gate hastily chosen as a rendezvous, and was 
 rather a pathetic example of her simple-mindedness in those 
 days. The girl was as it were trying to beat off the relent- 
 less march of her fate with the blows of her little hands. 
 She would have put up a better fight in the end if she had 
 allowed it to come on, and had reserved all her powers for 
 the day of shock. She would have done better to have met 
 Christopher as arranged, but now he unfolded the scrap of 
 paper a native messenger had brought and read the lines 
 which she had hastily scrawled. 
 
 "Don't come this afternoon (it ran). I daren't face it. 
 Trek probably off. Forgive me. C. S." 
 "P. S. Please burn this at once." 
 
 Chris read it half a dozen times, striving to get at all it did 
 not say. Holding the note, he sat back in his chair and 
 thought hard for a while. Then he went out, told the boy 
 there was no answer, and sent him away. That done, he 
 came back, wrote at length to Pamela detailing the suggested 
 plans, and fired off a letter to Jimmy Eldred also, with a 
 post-script for Gwen calculated to engage that young lady 
 eagerly in the proposed adventure. These letters caught the 
 morning's post. At lunch he renewed talk about pack- 
 saddles, and in the afternoon went off with the magistrate 
 to the Government stores to see what could be borrowed. 
 By the evening the trek was practically settled and arranged 
 
 180
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 181 
 
 so far as Chris was concerned. He had even wired to Dur- 
 ban for photographic plates and more ammunition. 
 
 Meantime, up at Springfontein, things did not go easily. 
 Cecil had suddenly thrown her weight against the plan, and 
 Hugh, who could of course see no reason for this change 
 of front, was not unjustly annoyed. The evening before, 
 and Chris gone, he had soon worked himself into a mood in 
 which difficulties and possible dangers to the women bulked 
 large in his eyes, but now, not unnaturally, the male in him 
 was stirred on the other side. It was all: "But why, my 
 darling?" or: "Ashurst has probably made most of his ar- 
 rangements" ; and Cecil could hardly say, what she believed, 
 that Chris would have made none since she had written to 
 him. Husband and wife came nearly to an open quarrel, 
 and it was only that Hugh saw how upset Cecil plainly 
 though inexplicably was, which prevented it. They there- 
 fore decided nothing, which was precisely what the astute 
 Christopher imagined they would do. His arrangements 
 made, he did not intend to lose a moment, and in the early 
 afternoon of the day after the abandoned meeting, he rode 
 up to the farm to see how things were progressing. 
 
 It was a hot sultry day. Hugh had set off in the car for 
 Matatiele <3h farm business, and Cecil, with a headache, had 
 gone to lie down in her bedroom after lunch. She had taken 
 off her outer clothes and slipped on a loose wrap, but she 
 could not sleep. At last she rose restlessly, and found a 
 book, which she took to the stoep, just outside the drawing- 
 room window, to read. The stoep was screened by the 
 Japanese honeysuckle, and she made herself comfortable in 
 a Bombay chair. Visitors are rare at an out of the way 
 farm in East Griqualand, and Cecil did not fear interrup- 
 tion. She tried to read, but could not, and she had lost 
 herself in a day-dream when the interview which she had 
 avoided the day before was thrust at her weakest upon her. 
 Chris, enquiring at the back of the farm boys, learned that 
 the baas had gone out in the car and that the missus was 
 lying down. He told Blandina, who appeared, not to waken
 
 i8a THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 her mistress, and said that he would go to the drawing- 
 room and wait for tea. Cecil, then, was hardly settled when 
 she heard a step in the room behind her. She jumped up 
 with a little exclamation and her book slipped to the ground. 
 Facing hastily round, she saw Chris advancing towards 
 her. 
 
 He on his part was as surprised as she, but what he saw 
 simply swept him off his feet. There, framed in the door- 
 way of the stoep against the light, was the girl he loved, 
 gloriously flushed, her thick black hair in beautiful disarray, 
 her dress a light silk wrap whose wide sleeves fell back to 
 reveal her bare arms and through which the flesh of her 
 shoulders and neck seemed to glow. Scarcely knowing 
 what he did, he held out his hands and took an eager step 
 towards her, his lips crying her name. And she, suddenly 
 aware of the burden of the last four-and-twenty hours and 
 of all the pent-up passion of the weeks past, surrendered to 
 him as instinctively. She was gathered in his arms, and he 
 was pressing passionate kisses on her face and hair, as 
 quickly as the moon can sometimes leap from the heart of 
 a black cloud and flood the world with light. 
 
 Then, indeed, neither knew how long they stood so. 
 Realisation came first to Cecil. She struggled in his arms 
 and escaped, catching her wrap to her breast and panting 
 with emotion. "Oh Chris, Chris, what have we done !" she 
 cried, and burst into tears. 
 
 Her weeping recovered the man to his senses. He ad- 
 vanced to her now deliberately, putting his arm about her 
 neck, pulling her head down on his shoulder, and clasping 
 her round her slight childish waist that felt so soft to his 
 touch beneath her thin covering. "My dear, dear Cecily," 
 he whispered. "What have we done? Why, fulfilled our 
 fate, that's all. Since the moment I saw you on the stoep 
 of the Royal I have known that we were made for each 
 other. At first I hardly knew what drew me to you, except 
 just that I was drawn. And you love me, darling, darling 
 Cecily, don't you ? Oh I know you do, my love, my queen.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 183 
 
 Cecily, if life held no more for me than this, it would be 
 enough. I have longed to stroke your hair, your lovely 
 hair, darling, and longed to hold you in my arms like this. 
 Cecily, I can't hide anything from you. I want you body 
 and soul. I'm on fire for you, my love. Oh Cecily, you 
 won't understand perhaps, but I've lived only for this. I've 
 sought this blindly all my days. It seems to me now that 
 for this, for you, I've been restless, a wanderer ; now, now, 
 thank God, I have found you at last." 
 
 Cecil heard his broken torrential words with a kind of 
 numbed amazement. She made no further attempt to stop 
 his caresses. She lifted her face to look in his eyes but 
 once, and then surrendered with a little sigh. She did not 
 speak. Truth to tell, she could not, for emotion flooded 
 her. She had no fear, and no shame at all. She was utterly 
 content, and she knew that she had never been content 
 before. For a quarter of an hour, perhaps, she literally did 
 not think of the reality of life at all. 
 
 But it came, the terrible awakening. The colour sud- 
 denly paled from her face, and she pushed him firmly from 
 her, not however relinquishing his hand. She looked round 
 for a chair and pulled it towards her, sinking into it. Chris 
 sat himself at her feet, studied her face for a moment, and 
 then hid his own in the folds of the wrap on her knees. 
 
 She caressed his hair for a moment without speaking, 
 and at last, when she broke the silence which had fallen 
 upon them, there was a deep note in her voice which had 
 never been there before. It stirred the depths of his heart. 
 The man in him knew well enough that it was no longer 
 Cecil the girl, but the woman of the centuries who spoke. 
 Yet even Chris could not know what fifteen short minutes 
 had done for her. 
 
 "Oh Chris," she said, "why did you not come before? 
 Why did nothing tell me you were on the road? What 
 have I done that I should be trapped like this? Dear, I 
 never knew. . . . You must believe me when I say that. 
 I was so young and no one told me. I was so blind that
 
 184 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 I never even saw all that I might have seen. But, my 
 darling, it was not my fault. Nor was it yours of course. 
 Whose was it then, I wonder, or does the world move 
 utterly by chance? But oh, oh Chris, Chris, if you had only 
 come before!" 
 
 Chris lifted his head. "What does it matter?" he de- 
 manded fiercely. "You love me. You don't love Hugh at 
 all, you know you don't. You can't go on living with him, 
 giving yourself to him. Cecil, it horrifies me to think of it. 
 You're mine, not his. Tell me, tell me honestly at once, you 
 don't love him, do you ?" 
 
 Their positions had suddenly reversed. It was she who 
 was cool, she who was now even tragically calm, and he 
 who was hurried and overwhelmed. Her hand continued 
 to stroke his head, and when she spoke it was with serene 
 deliberation. "No, Chris," she said, "I do not love Hugh 
 at all as I love you. The things are as different from each 
 other as the light of the sun is different from the light of 
 the stars. But Hugh loves me, and I am his wife." 
 
 "What does that matter ?" burst out the man impetuously. 
 "What is their absurd man-made marriage law that it 
 should separate us? You say yourself that you did not 
 know what you were doing. A fig for their commandments 
 and their ridiculous morality! If you feel a tenth of what 
 I feel, Cecil, that will not weigh with you for a moment. 
 This is reality; the other was a mocking sham. If there is 
 a God at all, I will look Him straight in the face with you 
 in my arms, and dare Him to do His worst ! You are mine, 
 mine ! And I am yours. My heart tells me so, and so does 
 yours, does it not ? Oh say it does, my love, my dear !" 
 
 She smiled down on him. "Chris, I love to hear you talk 
 like that," she said, "I love it though you know not what 
 you say. I love it, though I believe you have often made 
 love to other women perhaps not so unlike that !" 
 
 Chris dropped his eyes at her words. His hand sought 
 the edge of her wrap and twisted it hotly in his fingers. 
 But he did not hesitate.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 185 
 
 "Cecil," he said, "I won't attempt to hide anything from 
 you. I have thought that I loved other women. There 
 seem to have been many in my life, I don't know why. I 
 can't say that I come to you as perhaps I ought to have 
 come. I've even lived with other women, not for a night 
 or two like most men, but for weeks on end. There was a 
 girl in France, and a girl even when I was a boy at Oxford, 
 silly as it all seems now. I've always been hot-blooded and 
 impetuous. But every one of those loves has ended, burnt 
 out, and left me unsatisfied. Oh Cecily can you believe me? 
 this is so different. Even though I'm so hot-blooded, I've 
 been very cool and and well, calculating with those 
 others. I don't know how to express it, but I have deliber- 
 ately dealt with them. It was as if the real me was never 
 stirred the whole time, though I confess that I have thought 
 that it was. But it is utterly different with you. I can't 
 prove it; I can only ask you to believe it without proof, 
 because, perhaps your heart tells you to believe; but it is 
 so." And he raised his eyes, caught her hand, and kissed 
 it quietly now, playing with her fingers like a man who dis- 
 covers a new, intricate and wonderful thing. "It is so, 
 Cecily," he repeated. 
 
 Cecil sighed. "It's utterly foolish, dear," she said, "but 
 I believe you. Or I think I do. God knows why. Perhaps 
 because all this is so different from what I experienced 
 when Hugh made love to me. Oh my dear, you cannot 
 know how different ! And how different am I ! Perhaps, if 
 
 you had told me such things then But I don't know; 
 
 it is you that makes it different, I think. But put that on 
 one side. We have got to deal with facts as they are. I'm 
 a married woman, Chris, and it is wicked of me even to 
 allow you to do this." 
 
 "You shan't say that," he burst out. "I refuse to hear 
 it, or to allow you to say it. We never planned our meeting. 
 I've never flirted with you, Cecily, and that (and there was 
 a touch of humour in his voice) is really very wonderful, 
 my dear. Till this moment I swear I did not dream that
 
 186 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 ,you could love me as I love you. It was too great to be 
 believed. This very afternoon did you know that I was 
 coming? Did you plan to sit here waiting for me? You 
 know you didn't ! Why, you wretch, you even planned not 
 to meet me! It is just fate. You and I were made for this 
 and for one another." 
 
 "Did I not plan?" queried Cecil slowly and wonderingly. 
 "My dear, it seems to me now almost as if I did know you 
 would come, and did prepare to meet you. It is as if there 
 had been something deep down in me that moved me to 
 these things without my own self, on the surface, knowing 
 why." 
 
 "Well," he exclaimed triumphantly, "what more do you 
 want? You talked of sin just now, but I tell you, Cecily, 
 that if there is sin in the question at all, it will lie in your 
 going back now to Hugh, if you do go. You have moved 
 in a dream till now, and what you did in your dream was 
 not done by the real you at all. Now you are awake, and 
 now you must choose. You walk now in the light, and 
 you can sin now, Cecily, because you see it." 
 
 Cecil withdrew her hand from his and leant back in her 
 chair. Her eyes fell on the clock and she read the time, and 
 gave a start. "Chris!" she exclaimed, "I must go. Hugh 
 might come back any minute. Do you know you have been 
 here over an hour? Let me gjet up." And she started to 
 her feet. 
 
 Chris got up too. At the sight of her standing there 
 before him, passion mastered him once more. He folded 
 her in his arms and they kissed again and again as they 
 had kissed before. But now he pressed her to him until 
 she had hard work to suppress a cry. Yet she bent her 
 head before his kisses; dear God, she told herself in her 
 ecstasy, it mattered nothing if he should kill her. 
 
 The tempest a little spent, she looked up, murmuring to 
 him: "Oh Chris, Chris, my darling, my love! How I love 
 you, Chris. I had no idea love was like this. It pains, 
 Chris, so that I can hardly speak. I can bear no more now.
 
 Let me go and dress, my dearest, and then, if there is time, 
 I will come and we can talk some more." 
 
 He kissed her quietly at that, and released her. She 
 moved to the door, folding the wrap about her body. When 
 she reached it, she hesitated a moment and held out her 
 hand. He leaped across and seized it, kissing it again and 
 again. Then she pulled it from his grasp and disappeared. 
 
 Chris walked over to the open window in a kind of dream. 
 He lifted a book from the table by the window, and read 
 the title, hardly knowing what he did. In a bewildered 
 astonishment he noticed how his hand shook. He had no 
 plans to formulate, and indeed he found he could hardly 
 think coherently at all. His whole being whispered the 
 girl's name to him and he was content for the moment with 
 that. He saw the beauty of the garden, of the woods, and 
 of the distant mountains, wholly automatically, for in reality 
 he saw nothing else but her. Her complete and instant sur- 
 render lingered in his memory like an enchanting caress. 
 Truly, he did not lie when he said that in all his life he had 
 known nothing like this. 
 
 Then the door opened again and she came in. He turned 
 eagerly towards her, but she, radiant and smiling, stopped 
 him with a gesture. "No, my dear," she said, "you don't. 
 We have to talk at once about this Basutoland business for 
 one thing, and for another I've ordered tea. Also I don't 
 want Hugh to find me with my hair tumbling down and my 
 face like a geranium! Sit over there, and give me a ciga- 
 rette. Light it for me, please." 
 
 He did so, lighting it for her at his own lips first. She 
 took it with a look at him which made it hard work to sit 
 till. "Always like that," she said in a low tone, "when you 
 can. But oh, Chris, I believe you have had a horrible lot 
 of practice!" 
 
 "Always," he repeated, "then very soon, Cecily, it shall 
 be always. Very soon, dearest. What is there to wait for ?" 
 
 She laughed. Her short absence had given her back high 
 spirits and command of herself. "There's a lot to wait for,"
 
 1 88 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 she said. "For one thing, you must prove yourself. On 
 your own confession you've been a pretty rascal, Chris, and 
 I expect, if I knew the truth, I should be appalled. Yes, 
 even I, wise as I seem to have grown lately. Oh dear, what 
 a baby I was when I married ! But look here ; let's change 
 the subject while we can; what about Qacha's Nek and this 
 Tselike business ?" 
 
 "What about it?" demanded Chris. "It's settled, isn't 
 it?" 
 
 "You know it's not settled," she said. "Hugh and I are 
 quarrelling over it, but as I always get my way, we shan't 
 
 go." 
 
 "But I've made all my arrangements, and written to 
 Pamela and Eldred too," objected Chris. 
 
 Cecil regarded him severely. "In a word, you've lost no 
 time since you got my note," she said. 
 
 "You've grown wonderfully cute as well as wise, lately," 
 laughed Chris. 
 
 Her expression changed. "Perhaps," she said, flicking an 
 ash off her cigarette. "But, oh Chris, how can we go to the 
 Tselike after what that awful Haketsebe said? It was a 
 warning. It would be madness to go." 
 
 Chris smoked meditatively. "I don't look at it like that 
 at all," he said. "I'm not sure, for one thing, that it was 
 a warning. It may be only a curious coincidence." 
 
 "You don't think so," said Cecil decisively. 
 
 He hesitated. "Well, to be honest," he said at last, "I 
 don't. I think it is one of those curious things that will 
 not fit in with reasonable views of life. But there are many 
 such. Truthfully, I think it is all part and parcel of our 
 own wonderful discovery. I doubt there is any chance at 
 all in the world, Cecily. I confess I don't understand things, 
 but it seems to me that we've both been led right up to 
 to-day almost as if we had had no will at all. That voice 
 of Haketsebe's is part of the whole. We must go, I think." 
 
 "Surely not, if we set our faces against it," objected 
 Cecil, unhappily.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 189 
 
 Chris leant forward eagerly. "Come away with me 
 instead," he whispered. 
 
 Before Cecil could reply, tea came in. They talked of 
 nothing in particular for a few minutes while the girl set 
 the table and handed the cups, but when she had gone, 
 Chris repeated the invitation. 
 
 Cecil decisively shook her head. "If we could have gone 
 instantly a quarter of an hour ago," she said, "I think I 
 should have done. But not now not yet at any rate." 
 
 "You can say 'not yet'?" questioned Chris eagerly. 
 
 Cecil leant back in her chair and looked out into the 
 bright sunshine. "Yes, dear," she said, "I think I say that. 
 . . . But I don't know what it means. Years and years 
 perhaps. Perhaps one day but then I shall be an old 
 woman and you won't want me any more." 
 
 An impetuous denial burst from Chris, but she stopped 
 him. "Wait a minute," she said musingly. "Perhaps you 
 are right ; perhaps we are meant to go on this trek ; perhaps 
 by the Falls and the Pool things like that will be made clear." 
 
 "That's it," asserted Chris. "That's what I think." 
 
 Cecil gave a little shudder. "I dread it somehow," she 
 said. 
 
 "Dread it!" echoed Chris. "Oh my dear, I can hardly 
 wait for it! Whatever may come, I long for it. At any 
 rate we shall be together. Think how heavenly it will be 
 to see each other every day, to ride together, to talk together, 
 for a fortnight or three weeks, Cecily. Oh it will be divine ! 
 Surely you want it too?" 
 
 "Yes," she said dreamily, "I do, but shall we see so much 
 of each other? You forget Hugh, Chris." 
 
 "I don't," he exclaimed. "Oh no, little Cecily, I don't 
 forget him, but there will be a lot of us there. I may not 
 have you altogether, but at least neither will he. It will be 
 a sort of fight, a wrestle for you. And I shall win, I know 
 I shall !" 
 
 "Hardly a fair fight, Chris," said Cecil. 
 
 "No," he burst out, "it isn't a fair fight. That's what's
 
 190 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 so damned hard. He starts in possession. He can see you, 
 talk to you, kiss you, and it will be merely what is expected. 
 I must wait for chances like a dog waiting for bones. I 
 hate Hugh, I think, Cecily." 
 
 "You mustn't say that," she said. "I don't I can't 
 somehow. Perhaps it's because he loves me so. I know 
 he does." 
 
 "Of course he does," broke in Chris. "He couldn't help 
 himself. All men who meet you love you, I know." 
 
 "Don't be absurd," she said smiling. 
 
 "It isn't absurd," he retorted. "In Kokstad it's all 'the 
 beautiful Mrs. Sinclair.' Old Hardcastle daren't mention 
 your name for fear of his wife, but I know what even he 
 thinks. Probably the parson is the only one who is not in 
 love with you, and I doubt even him. He's a fool, but he's 
 not blind!" 
 
 "What fun," laughed Cecil. "I shall certainly flirt with 
 him if I get the chance now !" 
 
 Chris put down his cup and crossed to her. "You're not 
 to say that," he said. "Kiss me, and tell me you don't 
 mean it" 
 
 She turned her head away, rippling with laughter. "Go 
 away, Chris you must. Go away, do you hear ? Someone 
 will come. . . . Well, just one then. . . . Oh, that's half a 
 dozen! And besides who are you to command me? I do 
 as I like." 
 
 He subsided into his chair. "Oh I know, Cecily, you do," 
 he said. "You always will. You make my strength like 
 water, I can't even pretend you don't. But pity me, my 
 darling, please pity me. I've hardly realised you yet, and 
 it's so awful to have you and yet not to have you. It's 
 awful, Cecily. I doubt I can stand it." 
 
 She was out of her chair and by his side in a moment, 
 kneeling by him, murmuring over him, kissing him. "My 
 poor boy," she whispered, "my maa. . . ." 
 
 He straightened himself. "What an Eve you are, 
 darling," he said wonderingly. "I shall call you 'Eve.' It
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 191 
 
 seems to fit you, and I'd rather call you by a name no one 
 else uses." 
 
 Cecil got up slowly. "Why am I like Eve ?" she demanded. 
 "It's strange your saying that." 
 
 "Why are you like Eve?" he said meditatively, looking 
 up at her, "why, I wonder. Partly, I think, because you're 
 so delectable. You're made for men for some reason, I think. 
 I know perfectly well all men would say that. You're weak, 
 in a way, which appeals to a man, and yet there is some- 
 thing strong in you which appeals just as much too. You 
 make me want to do things, to make a place for you, to win 
 the world for you. I want to glory in you, and to let 
 everyone know that you love me. And yet I want to rest 
 in you, and for that you are so perfectly made. I could lie 
 at your feet all day, little Eve, and just look at you. I've 
 never felt like that with a woman before." 
 
 He ceased. Cecil played with a teaspoon and said nothing. 
 
 "And more than that," he went on, rousing himself, "I 
 know that for your sake I would do anything. You are more 
 to me than Paradise. I would rather be outside it with you 
 than inside it with " 
 
 "Lilith," said Cecil, swiftly. 
 
 He stared at her. "What do you know about Lilith?" he 
 demanded. "And why Lilith ? Explain. I don't see a bit" 
 
 Cecil laughed wearily. "I can't," she said. "You re- 
 minded me of something a girl once said to me, but it's not 
 that only. There is more. I know something I can't say. 
 It's just as if I knew something deep down in me, only I 
 don't know what it is that I know. Perhaps you will teach 
 me. Yes, Chris, we must go on this trek." 
 
 He laughed triumphantly, forgetting everything else in 
 his enthusiasm. "Hurrah," he cried, "that's settled anyway. 
 And you will ride with me every day? I want to hear all 
 about you, about your home, your school, everything. I 
 know nothing, remember. You are you; that in a way is 
 enough for me. But now that I have you, I want to know 
 all there is to know. Will you tell me?"
 
 192 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 "Anything and everything, my dear, I think," she said. 
 "Only, Chris, there is really nothing to tell." 
 
 Then the sound of a motor broke suddenly on their ears. 
 They looked at each other. "Oh I dread meeting him!" 
 she exclaimed. "I feel as if he is bound to guess." 
 
 Chris moved quickly to her side and snatched a kiss. Then 
 he caught her hand and held it steadily for a moment. 
 "Little Eve," he said, "be brave. He can't guess. I'll come 
 again soon. Now I'll go and meet him, and you hurry to 
 the kitchen and come in afterwards. You can order more 
 tea." 
 
 Hugh was in a good mood, and very pleased with himself. 
 He had sold some young stock at an excellent figure, and 
 the car had run well. He greeted Chris friendlily, and did 
 not seem surprised when the other told him that his share 
 of the arrangements for the trek were made. "But," he said, 
 "for some unknown reason my wife is all at once dead 
 against it. You'll have to help me overcome her objections. 
 She's the sweetest little woman in the world, but when she 
 gets a fit like this, I confess she is too tough for me." 
 
 Chris thought rapidly. He had to bank on Cecil's helping 
 him, but he had on the other hand to make some reply at 
 once. "I know," he said. "She's been giving me her views 
 with my tea, and I've been trying to talk her over. I think 
 she is keener now. It was some idea about not wanting to 
 leave Ronnie that held her back, I think." 
 
 "Bless her," said Hugh. "But she wouldn't say that to 
 me." 
 
 They entered the drawing-room from the stoep, and a 
 second or two later Cecil came in. Hugh went over to her 
 at once and kissed her. Chris bit his lip and looked away. 
 "Well, my darling," said Hugh, "how's your headache? Did 
 you get a sleep?" 
 
 "I'm all right, thank you," said Cecil, moving away from 
 him, but avoiding Chris's eye. "Did you sell your stock? 
 You're back early, aren't you?" 
 
 She poured out his tea and handed it to him, and offered
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 193 
 
 Chris another cup. He accepted and went over to the tray 
 to get it from her, standing there with his back to Hugh 
 and his eyes on her face. She just glanced at him as she 
 handed it, appealingly he thought. 
 
 "So Ashurst has been persuading you as to the trek, has 
 he?" said Hugh. "I hear he hopes he has been more suc- 
 cessful than I." 
 
 "I told your husband," said Chris laughingly, before she 
 could reply, "that I believed it was only the thought of 
 Ronnie that kept you back. Why not get Mrs. Hardcastle 
 to look after him for a bit? I'm sure she would." 
 
 "That's a good idea," said Hugh. "You know how he 
 likes playing with her kiddies." 
 
 It seemed to Chris that Cecil was horribly ill at ease, while 
 he was there, and he himself longed to go. He had lived 
 easily and carelessly, but he had an Englishman's sense of 
 honour. What he had done, he had done. His love had 
 come in like a flood and swallowed everything. But now 
 it seemed to him terrible to be sitting there as this man's 
 guest with this secret at his heart. Yet he could not help it. 
 He wished wildly that he could tell Hugh and that they 
 could go out, there, into the bright sun and on to the velvet 
 lawn with a couple of pistols, and settle it. But one didn't 
 do that sort of thing nowadays. He fell to wondering what 
 Hugh would say or do if he knew, and he could not make 
 up his mind. He could not picture the man mad with anger, 
 and yet he would undoubtedly view the whole affair from 
 an old-fashioned point of view. Cecil was his wife. He, 
 Chris, was proposing theft. That was how Hugh would 
 think of it. It was all so crude, so horribly muddled, so 
 impossible. But what could he do? Get up and go, and 
 then blow his own brains out? Leave by the next mail? 
 He swore to himself. He would not do that. 
 
 So he sat on, joining automatically in the conversation, 
 covertly watching Cecil, horribly conscious of Hugh. After 
 a shadow of defence, Cecil gave in to the trek proposals. 
 Hugh was delighted; he was plainly now looking forward
 
 194 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 to the whole thing. They discussed details. Cecil took, and 
 lit for herself this time, another cigarette. Chris watched 
 the poise of her head, noticed her little ears, the gleam that 
 shot now and again in the sun through her hair, her ankle 
 swinging beneath her as she lay back easily in her chair, her 
 quick smoking. At last he could bear it no more, and he 
 rose to go. She shook hands without looking at him, but 
 as he followed her husband out on to the stoep, he glanced 
 back. She was standing watching him with eyes like a caged 
 wild thing's. And as she saw herself noticed, she stepped 
 back quickly into the room. 
 
 "Well," said Hugh, "it only remains to hear what your 
 cousin and Gwen have to say. Let us know as soon as you 
 hear, will you ? I'll go over my stores to-morrow and make 
 a note of what's wanted. Someone will have to run over 
 to Matatiele and see King at the hotel perhaps we might 
 both go. My wife might care for the run too. What do 
 you say? The day after to-morrow? Very likely you will 
 have heard from your cousin then." 
 
 Chris assented. "Yes," he said, "I'd like very much to 
 go over with you. But don't you bother to go if you're busy. 
 I can do it. I could take Mrs. Sinclair if you like, and she 
 could show me the way." 
 
 "We'll leave it," said Hugh. "I'll go if I can. The day 
 after to-morrow then. Better come up and have some lunch. 
 Drop in any time, you know. We shall always be delighted 
 to see you. Cheerio. Remember me to the Hardcastles. 
 And oh, Ashurst, you might sound Mrs. H. about taking 
 Ronnie. It would be the very best thing if they would 
 have him." 
 
 "Right," said Chris, "I will. Cheerio." 
 
 Hugh waved his hand and Chris gave his mare her head. 
 
 He always rode recklessly, but he rode ten times more so 
 now. The cheery friendliness of the other man pierced him 
 like a spear. He hated himself, and the beat of his horse's 
 hoofs maddened him. He half wished that she would slip 
 and kill him. Easy, careless, morally lax enough, Chris had
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 195 
 
 however hitherto been honourable. But now, but now, but 
 now . . . ? The question beat in the rhythm of his going, 
 and he swore savagely to himself. And yet over it all rose 
 the face of Cecil, and he knew that he had spoken to her 
 but the literal truth. Nothing counted beside his love for 
 her. It was all very well to talk of honour, of morality, 
 of God ; they were less than the dust in the balance. To- 
 day the question was more than he could face, but the fact 
 stared at him. And when he thought of her alone now with 
 the man he had just left, it made no odds that he was so 
 sporting a fellow. He could almost have turned and ridden 
 straight back. . . . 
 
 Pamela's answer was just what he expected. 
 
 "DEAR CHRIS (her letter ran), 
 
 "The scheme sounds to me absolutely perfect. Father 
 says I can have what I like and go when I please so long 
 as he is left out of it, and he will gladly find you with horses 
 and so on. He says you are his guest for the business. So 
 tell the good folk at Springfontein that we will send our gear 
 on ahead to Matatiele as arranged and motor over on the 
 Saturday with them, for I'm writing to ask Cecil to put me 
 up Friday night. You had better be there too. 
 
 "Yours affectionately, 
 
 "PAMELA." 
 
 "P.S. I'm riding over to Elandskop to-morrow in case 
 Gwen wants assistance with 'daddy.' P." 
 
 Gwen, however, required no assistance. Her father got 
 his letter at lunch and read it through in silence. Then he 
 glanced at her and smiled, passing it across the table. 
 "There's a post-script for you, Gwen," he said, "but you'd 
 better read the lot." 
 
 She read it through, and jumped up, to run round to him 
 and cry enthusiastically : "Oh, dad, do let's go ! We may, 
 mayn't we? It will be perfect bliss!" 
 
 "What will be bliss?" asked Mrs. Eldred.
 
 196 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 The letter was duly read to her. "Can you go?" she 
 asked her husband. 
 
 "I think so, dear," he said. "It means leaving Len to 
 look after the farm, and I expect he'd have rather liked to 
 have gone. But one of us must stay. What do you say, 
 Len?" 
 
 "What, go with all that crowd ?" asked the young fellow. 
 "No, thanks, not this child. You go, dad, and about Christ- 
 mas I'll remember it and beg off for a run up to Rhodesia. 
 I want to see Harold's place. So don't worry about me." 
 
 "So it only remains for you to say, mother," said Eldred. 
 
 "Oh go, dear," she said, "most certainly. Gwen will 
 thoroughly enjoy it and it will do her good. I should be 
 happier, too, if you were with her. Besides, she'll see some 
 more of this wonderful Mr. Ashurst," she added, smiling. 
 
 The girl pouted. "Mother, I do wish you'd leave him 
 alone," she said. "I know perfectly well that Cecil got 
 engaged before she'd been six months back from school, but 
 I'm not Cecil. Besides, I don't even like Mr. Ashurst, or 
 at least not much, though he has been nicer lately. Still it 
 will be a lovely trek with Hugh and Cecil and you, dad. 
 It's what I've wanted for ages. What horse can I ride, 
 daddy?" 
 
 There only remained Qacha's Nek. After many delibera- 
 tions, the unanimous decision of the main conspirators had 
 been that Hugh should write to his friend Mallory and 
 boldly ask him and his wife to join them. This he did, and 
 the two at Qacha's Nek consulted together. 
 
 The Camp or Government Reserve of Qacha's Nek con- 
 sists of a horse-shoe shaped ring of European houses, a 
 couple of stores, a church, and a jail just above the Pass 
 that climbs into Basutoland from East Griqualand. The 
 centre of the horse-shoe is an open sloping space of what is 
 now rock and stone, for the heavy rains have finally washed 
 it clean, and its open end lies towards the valley of the 
 Orange River some ten miles away. The tops of mountains 
 hem it in around except on this side, and a fostering Govern-
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 197 
 
 ment has set them with plantations of hardy trees. It lies 
 very high, and except for its isolation, it would be hard to 
 hit on a more lovely spot. Well-watered, it basks in the 
 sun the greater part of the year, and the panorama of 
 mountains beyond the Orange is superb. The morning mists 
 drift over them, the sun dies behind them, and by day they 
 raise their rocky heads into the serene blue. 
 
 The Mallorys' house was a little one, on the far side of 
 the approach but near the top of the curve. Its back was 
 towards the camp road, with a lawn-tennis court on one side 
 and various out-houses on the other. The garden, more like 
 an old-fashioned English garden than an African one, sloped 
 down away from the house to a little stream. It was well- 
 wooded, and below the lawn and flower beds, behind high 
 hedges of sweet-scented shrubs, stretched the orchard and 
 vegetable gardens. Little paths wound in and out of them, 
 closely shaded with fruit trees and planted on either side 
 with violets, fox-gloves and now and again roses. Here, 
 in their seasons, were abundance of peaches, apples, cherries 
 and plums. From the lawn, you could not see the camp, 
 but the veld and hill-side stretched away till they were lost 
 in fold on fold of the hills. 
 
 Mallory and his wife were keen gardeners, and had indeed 
 made the place. She was dividing fox-gloves when he came 
 in from the office with Sinclair's letter, a tall fellow in 
 B.M.P. uniform. 
 
 "Here, Frances," he said, "what do you think of this?" 
 
 She read it through in silence, and then whistled. "Six 
 of them," she said. "Heaven knows where we shall put 
 them all, but thank goodness we've got some sheep." 
 
 He laughed. "It's pretty plain that if we put them up 
 it can only be for a scratch picnic affair. But I should think 
 Eldred and the girl had better go to the Residency Bos- 
 worth would certainly take them if I asked him. He's quite 
 a sportsman. Then we can manage. Hugh and his wife 
 in the spare room, this Ashurst person in the bath-room, and 
 the cousin in the little room on the stoep. I'll tell Hugh
 
 ig8 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 that it'll all be a rough and ready business. But shall we 
 go on with them?" 
 
 "I shan't. It's too much for me. But you can. Do; 
 he's quite right, you must go on patrol some time soon and 
 you might just as well go with them. You'd enjoy it. You 
 know Pamela Urfurd too, don't you?" 
 
 "I've just met her," said Mallory absent-mindedly. He 
 was thinking of a dark-haired excited girl with whom he 
 had danced at a Matatiele Race Meeting Ball the year that 
 Hugh had married her. It struck him that he would rather 
 like to go. 
 
 "She's a queer woman, I think," said his wife. "I'm 
 always expecting to hear that she has been mixed up in some 
 scandal or another. She's just that sort." 
 
 "Good heavens, Frances," exclaimed Mallory, "I should 
 never have thought so! What in the world makes you 
 think that? As jolly a girl and as straightforward as ever 
 I saw, I thought. Oh! ... You mean Pamela Urfurd," 
 he added lamely. 
 
 Frances Mallory laughed. She knew her husband. "Oh," 
 she said, "so that's the way the wind blows ! Now, my dear, 
 I only saw Mrs. Hugh once but I feel pretty sure she could 
 twist any man she pleased round her little finger, if she woke 
 up. I think I shall come with you after all." 
 
 Mallory smiled. "Anyway I'll write and tell them to 
 come," he said. "And let's hope Mrs. Sinclair is still asleep."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 KING, proprietor of the Imperial, was lurking in his bar 
 when he heard the sound of their cars, and, tossing 
 down his drink, he went out quickly to meet them. A few 
 loungers in the shade of the blue-gums on the edge of the 
 dusty square of the sleepy little town got up and strolled 
 casually nearer. It was really rather an event. Matatiele 
 has its show and an occasional ball, but for the greater part 
 of the year its visitors are not more exciting than stray 
 bagmen. On Saturday and Sunday, it is true, the hotel does 
 better, for the surrounding farmers come in and put up 
 there for a drink and possibly a meal; but this particular 
 expedition had been filtering in for a week past and the 
 principals were eagerly expected. Ashurst, for example, was 
 now known to be a novelist, though naturally up to that time 
 no one had heard of his books ; but it would have been news 
 to him to learn of Matatiele, as he now might do, that he 
 had been co-respondent in a divorce case and was at least a 
 millionaire. He would have been the last, however, to 
 grudge the little town its thrill, and it was not to be wondered 
 at that the whole outfit was as good to Matatiele as a travel- 
 ling circus. There were the three cars, containing the six 
 Europeans and three natives, and in addition two more boys 
 were waiting there with a cavalcade of nineteen horses of 
 their own, to say nothing of a mounted native police orderly 
 whom Mallory had sent in with a letter of welcome to act 
 as an escort into the Protectorate. 
 
 None of the girls had ever before trekked on such a scale, 
 and they were all vastly excited. Sinclair took the lead very 
 efficiently, and indeed it was he who had arranged things 
 with King. So now he shook hands and asked that the 
 
 199
 
 200 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 ladies might be shown their rooms. Eldred accompanied 
 them along the corridor of the big rambling bungalow, and 
 Hugh and Chris made their way into the bar. They had 
 hardly ordered drinks when the elder man rejoined them, 
 smiling. 
 
 "I say, Hugh," he said, "I hope you won't mind your 
 arrangements being upset a little, but the girls insist on 
 sharing one room. I told Cecil I'd come and placate you. 
 They're each as mad as one another and like so many school 
 girls, and will probably sit up half the night talking, but I 
 should think it was best to let 'em. Pamela was to sleep in 
 Gwen's room anyway, wasn't she? so it only means your 
 being alone. Hope you won't mind." 
 
 Chris, glancing swiftly at him, saw that he did, and came 
 promptly to the rescue. "Give your wife her head, Sinclair," 
 he said laughingly, "for, from my vast experience of women, 
 I should say it was always best." 
 
 Hugh's momentary ill-humour vanished, but he drained 
 his glass, put it down and got up. "Right," he said, "but 
 I'll just go and see that my wife has all she wants. Our 
 things were all packed together." 
 
 Through the open door Chris saw him meet Cecil on the 
 stoep, take her arm and return with her. It was nothing, 
 but the sight angered him intensely. Hugh had a right to 
 do that which he had not. Cecil, too, seemed to accept it 
 so coolly. Of course she could not do otherwise, but small 
 as the incident was, it served to disgruntle him. 
 
 Eldred meanwhile was chatting with the men in the bar. 
 "What's it been like on the Berg ?" he asked the bar-tender. 
 "Fine? Frost yet?" 
 
 "No frost," said the man, "but pretty cold at night. I 
 hope you've got blankets enough for the ladies. People this 
 side don't realise what it can be like on that. I know, for 
 before I got this job, I used to go round up there buying 
 cattle for Milton and Esdras. Rotten game. Christ! the 
 nights I've had!" 
 
 "Is there much game up there?" queried Chris.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 201 
 
 "No, not much. You hardly ever see buck. The Govern- 
 ment's got a reserve, but the niggers kill everything they 
 can and the herd boys with their dogs do an awful amount 
 of mischief. They run down the does with their young, 
 and even massacre the small birds of the veld by giving the 
 little beasts no time to rest and chasin' them till they drop. 
 Damned shame, but you can't stop it. Still there are game 
 birds of course in the wilder parts partridge, duck, pigeon. 
 I always took a gun and shot for the pot." 
 
 "One can buy skoff ?" queried Eldred. 
 
 "Oh, you won't want for food. The niggers are very 
 decent, I will say that. Besides if you're going with Mr. 
 Mallory, they'll bring you presents of everything they have. 
 It's a good thing to be a Government official up there, I can 
 tell you. Not but what Mallory's not a very fine fellow, 
 and well known in these parts too. One of the best in the 
 service I think." 
 
 Laughter and talk sounded outside and they all turned to 
 look. The three girls were coming out arm in arm, and 
 Hugh was not to be seen. Pamela caught sight of her 
 cousin, and drew the others to the door of the bar. "There 
 you are," she said, "witness the lords of creation. Nobody 
 offers us a drink. We are sent off to our rooms and told 
 to unpack, but the men go straight to the bar. Come out 
 of it, you two, or we shall come in." 
 
 "Let's," cried Cecil, and entered. 
 
 The bar-tender wiped the bar down, glanced at Chris, and 
 smiled. 
 
 Her father put his hand on her arm. "We'll all go and 
 get some tea," he said. "As a matter of fact it's ordered. 
 After all, Cecil, we've had the job of driving the cars up 
 here." 
 
 "I like that," said Gwen. "That's a mere excuse, daddy. 
 We would have driven them if we'd had the chance. And 
 probably better. Pam's got a bruise on her arm as big as a 
 saucer as a result of Mr. Ashurst's bumping her into a small 
 grave on the road."
 
 202 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 Chris looked comically solemn. "Miss Eldred," he said, 
 "nothing that I say or do is right with you. But you know 
 I'm not used to your excellent roads out here. I am for 
 ever being told that they are better than they used to be, but, 
 try to believe though I do, it doesn't amount to much. How- 
 ever, let's go for the tea, and then what do you say to a 
 stroll round the town to see the sights?" 
 
 Pamela chuckled as they left the bar. "There's a vast 
 amount to see," she said. 
 
 "Shut up, Pam," said Gwen, "it's an excellent plan and 
 there's heaps to see. Chris is quite right. Oh!" she ex- 
 claimed, suddenly realising that she had used his Christian 
 name. 
 
 "Gwen," said Chris instantly, "that's perfectly splendid. 
 I'm sure we don't want Mr. and Miss on this trek. Do let 
 it be Chris." 
 
 "What about the Mrs. ?" asked Pamela slyly. 
 
 Chris and Cecil shot a quick glance at each other which 
 did not escape Pamela, and the latter had a horrible suspicion 
 that she was blushing. But Chris laughed easily. "I shall 
 have to approach Hugh on the subject," he said lightly. 
 
 Half way through tea, Sinclair came in. "Where have 
 you been?" demanded Cecil. "The tea's half cold. Come 
 and have a cup quickly, and then we're all off for a stroll." 
 
 "My darling," remonstrated Hugh, in his typical way, 
 "you seem to forget that some one must see to the horses 
 and the packing. There are all the packs to go through. 
 It's no good leaving it to the boys. We're short of several 
 straps as it is." 
 
 "Oh do be quiet, Hugh," exclaimed Cecil petulantly. "You 
 always make a huge bother out of everything. We can see 
 about them to-morrow." 
 
 Her husband said nothing, but shrugged his shoulders 
 significantly and helped himself to bread and butter. Eldred 
 took up his defence. "Cecil, my dear," he said, "Hugh's 
 quite right. But you need not sta^ for us. He and I know
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 203 
 
 Matatiele well enough. We'll leave Ashurst I mean Chris 
 to take you three round." And he smiled at that indi- 
 vidual. 
 
 "Good!" exclaimed Chris. "Come on, then, let's go. 
 Cigarettes? No? Well, I will anyway." 
 
 The four of them wandered off together and for a while 
 walked in a body. They peered into sundry iron- faced stores 
 with lounging natives at the doors, laughed at the Town Hall, 
 stood to watch the arrival of four wagons from Basutoland, 
 and then, at Chris's suggestion, climbed a bit of the way up 
 a little kopje at the back of the town to get some idea of 
 their road on the morrow. It was plain to be seen, a small 
 dusty track winding away out of the iron roofs and barbed 
 wire-enclosed gardens of the dorp into the lands and veld 
 beyond. There it dipped for some small spruit, and then 
 climbed a rise in the landscape and disappeared beyond. 
 After a few miles it could be made out again, so they lifted 
 their eyes from the plain and looked up to where, some 
 twenty miles away, the great range shot its crags and peaks 
 into the still air. The mountains were already purpling for 
 the sun-set. Golden still where the sun fell on them, black 
 in the shadows and brown below, their summits were even 
 now washed with violet and blue tints. Calm, serene, seem- 
 ingly illimitable, they sentineled the whole horizon. The 
 four of them found some rocks on which to sit and watch, 
 and silence fell on them. 
 
 Pamela broke it. "I long to be there," she said. "I some- 
 times wish I could live there always, but we cannot live in 
 fairy-land. We can see it only. Besides, up there, it would 
 not seem to be fairy-land any more and one would not even 
 wish to stay. That is the rule in life, I suppose. Dreams 
 are but dreams, and they never come true." 
 
 "Best not to go then," said the practical Gwen. 
 
 "Oh no," replied Pamela quickly. "Maybe our dreams 
 are the better part of life. And besides it is very good on 
 the Berg. One gets such a sense of one's own littleness.
 
 204 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 It's all so silent and big. The native lands are only tiny 
 patches here and there on the great slopes, and their huts 
 little temporary shelters on the bosom of nature. That is 
 all. Man is just nothing up there. It is as if a breath of 
 wind might blow him away, and in a generation there would 
 scarcely be a trace that he had been there." 
 
 "Yet according to you," said Cecil, looking at Chris, "men 
 have mastered the world." 
 
 "They have in a sense," he said. "But Pamela's right. 
 I can't take the other side to-night. After all, our science 
 has but touched the borderland of the Unknown. It has lit 
 a lamp that's something truly, but the light chiefly serves 
 to reveal the darkness." 
 
 Below them lights were beginning to twinkle in windows 
 and served to illustrate his words. The four of them grew 
 silent, watching them. Then Gwen spoke again. "And 
 what of the darkness ?" she said. 
 
 Chris did not reply at once. Then he turned to her with 
 a smile. "Do you want a lecture?" he asked. 
 
 "I'll put up with one," she retorted, "if the others don't 
 mind." 
 
 Pamela sighed, mockingly. "I know Chris," she said. 
 "He can't help it occasionally." 
 
 "Well," said Chris, reaching out his hand and picking up 
 a stone. "Look at this. The other day it was just a stone, 
 no more. Now we know it is a mass of electrons, and in 
 them is that very same energy that makes the world and 
 drives the planets round the sun. But what is it? Whose 
 energy is it? What is it all for? If we could only answer 
 one question completely just one it would be something 
 to go upon. But there is no answer. From this stone in 
 my hand to the uttermost limits of the stars, mystery, mys- 
 tery. That is all." 
 
 "And reality?" queried Pamela. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. "Probably what we think we 
 feel and know is all one vast illusion. Not necessarily un- 
 true, though. Only probably the truth, could we see it and
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 205 
 
 know it, would be so different from what we perceive that 
 we should realise that the world as we see it is chiefly our 
 own imagination." 
 
 "You make my brain reel," said Gwen, "only I don't 
 half understand what you mean. Things seem real enough 
 to me." 
 
 "Well," said Pamela, ignoring her, "and what then of the 
 Berg, Chris?" 
 
 "Oh," he said, "the Berg is grim, solid, naked, to my 
 seeing. I know that it deceives me, like all else, with its 
 pretended reality, but it can deceive me as nothing else can. 
 I feel as if on it I could throw speculation to the winds. 
 I am at least a man. I can battle and grasp what I want, 
 or die. A fig for yesterday, and for to-morrow! I have 
 at least to-day. I may be dust, but I am living dust to-day. 
 Let me be beaten by the rain and whipped by the wind and 
 kissed by the sun, but my heart beats through it all. I will 
 live for my brief moment and snatch it from eternity, and 
 then I will fall up there, on that grim face of rock, and 
 Nature can do what she please^ with my dust. Mould a 
 star or fashion worms it will be all one then. But now is 
 struggle, passion, love." And he ended abruptly. 
 
 "What about your soul?" asked Gwen coolly. 
 
 Chris looked at her, smiling. "Have I one?" he said, 
 perhaps to see what she would say. 
 
 "Oh yes," she said, "of course you have. Could dust 
 struggle, feel passion, love?" 
 
 Chris picked up his stone again and held it out to her. 
 "This," he said, "is certainly struggling. One does not 
 credit an electron with consciousness, but that is perhaps 
 because we view ourselves out of all proportion. Insects 
 certainly have passion. What is love?" 
 
 "It was you who named it," said Gwen. "You ought 
 to know." 
 
 Chris weighed his stone meditatively in his hand, and 
 then cast it away. "Let's go," he said shortly. 
 
 In descending, they separated into couples, and Chris and
 
 206 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 Cecil brought up the rear. "Dear," he said as soon as they 
 were sufficiently far behind, "I have scarcely had a word with 
 you all day." 
 
 "Have you not ?" she replied. "Well, you have had plenty 
 of words just now. So you do not know what love is, 
 Chris." 
 
 He started. "Little Eve," he said, "don't say that. I 
 know that I love you ; I said nothing in denial of that. If 
 you press me, I don't know perhaps what this love is that 
 I feel, but I know that I feel it. Even if it is not what it 
 seems, it is something real enough, God knows. Oh Cecily, 
 you don't doubt that I love you, do you? It is cruel of you. 
 You give me no chance. If I had you alone for a few 
 minutes I could teach you how much and how truly I love 
 you. Darling, don't hurry now. Wait back a bit. If the 
 others get on, we may have just the tiniest chance for a kiss. 
 A day without a kiss seems hopeless to me now. That's 
 what you've done to me, you Eve you !" 
 
 But she did not look at him and she did not slacken her 
 pace. He tried to look into her face, but could not, and her 
 remoteness seemed to him a colossal thing, overwhelming 
 everything. In despair, he caught for a moment at her hand, 
 his eyes on the backs of the two in front. 
 
 At that the little gloved fingers pressed his and she turned 
 her head to look at him. There were tears in her eyes. 
 "Oh Cecily, Cecily," he cried. "What is it? What have 
 I done?" 
 
 "Nothing, Chris," she said, "and besides I can't put it 
 into words. It seems to me that I am beginning to see what 
 a woman is. You doubt your own soul, you ask questions 
 about love, but a woman does neither. She cannot. She 
 knows. Perhaps you think I know no better because I can 
 explain nothing, but I feel, Chris. There's something 
 awakened in me that seems millions of years old. When 
 you talk like that 1 feel as if you were just a child, a boy 
 growing old enough to be a bit daring and break things
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 207 
 
 wilfully in an endeavour to see their works. Oh how I love 
 you, Chris, but I want to mother you to-day, you big silly 
 stupid man!" 
 
 They walked some yards before he replied. In truth he 
 could scarcely do so. When he did, he showed her instantly 
 what he felt. "And I, Eve dear," he said deliberately, 
 "would give all knowledge and the whole world and my 
 own life also if I could lie with my head in your lap and let 
 you mother me. Do you suppose anything matters beside 
 that?" 
 
 Cecil reached out her hand to him this time. "Oh," she 
 cried, "what a muddle it all is after all ! Do you know, as 
 you say that, I realise suddenly that that would not content 
 me?" She dropped her voice a little. "When you think 
 you are strong, Chris, then I feel that you're very weak and 
 I want to mother you, but the moment you submit and are 
 weak, instantly I don't want to mother you at all ! There is 
 something in me that seems to say that you must not be 
 weak and that I must not allow you to be. Chris, will you 
 hate me? Will you think it an awful thing for me to say? 
 But I cease to want to mother you; I want instead to be 
 mother of your child." 
 
 The man's hand holding hers gripped so strongly at that 
 that she feared she must cry out. "Cecil," he said, "I will 
 tell you what I think. Never have I heard a woman say a 
 holier, purer, more wonderful thing. And never have I 
 understood for a moment before what it might mean to have 
 a child." 
 
 "Haven't you?" said Cecil, so low that he hardly heard. 
 "Well, Chris, I don't know that I have either. I never 
 thought of it when I married Hugh at least, that is, 
 although I knew it was a thing that happened, I never wanted 
 it much. I don't know that I wanted anything much. Do 
 you know I once talked to Pam about it, and she horrified 
 me by what she said. Love seemed to me an easy and 
 pleasant thing, but there was no passion in it. I didn't
 
 208 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 understand what it would be to have a lover, or to be a lover 
 either. But now, oh now I know." 
 
 "Eve, Eve all the time," said Chris smiling, but with his 
 eyes afire. "But surely that just settles it, doesn't it?" he 
 asked her. "I won't press you now, darling ; we've got three 
 weeks of trek ahead of us ; but you know you can't fight fate. 
 You are my mate, Cecily ; that's why you feel like that. And 
 I love that word. It's a big strong word, with no shams 
 about it. And it's the naked truth, darling, about you and 
 me." 
 
 The path entered a little growth of pines here, and under 
 their evergreen boughs the shadows clustered thickly. The 
 others were on ahead, and here then he stayed her. "One 
 kiss, Eve dearest," he begged ; "one kiss." 
 
 She peered forward. "It's madness," she whispered; 
 "suppose we were seen ?" And yet with the very words she 
 flung her arms about his neck and hung on his lips as if to 
 drink his life. As suddenly she released him. "Chris," she 
 said, "if I were sure the ship would sink, I'd run off with 
 you this night to Durban and we'd take the first mail away 
 to anywhere. If I were sure it would sink, Chris. I could 
 die with you, my darling, but God knows if I can live with 
 you." And she turned swiftly and hurried out of the trees. 
 
 They caught the others up, and without any apparent plan, 
 Pamela and Cecil were soon leading, the other two following. 
 Gwen had a sudden impulse of friendship towards the man 
 at her side, coupled with a sense of fearlessness. She pushed 
 her hand into his arm, and he glanced down at her, not a 
 little surprised. She met his eyes frankly and laughed. 
 
 "Chris," she said, "it's really rather fun to call you Chris 
 I'm so happy. I can't help it. We are going to have a 
 glorious time, aren't we ? I wish I knew why I felt so hugely 
 bucked all at once. Perhaps it's this perfect evening. Even 
 this ugly tin town looks jolly, doesn't it? with the lights in 
 the windows and that glorious smell of liso * fires some- 
 where blowing ever so faintly across one's face. And we're 
 
 * Lisa (Sesuto), dried dung.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 209 
 
 going to have a scrumptious dinner, a humorous evening, 
 and to-morrow the first day of my first real experience of 
 a ride out into the wilds. I feel as if I were still sixteen. 
 Do you ever feel like that?" 
 
 Her enthusiasm infected him. "You make me," he said. 
 "Gwen, I wish we were all sixteen. But we'll pretend that 
 we are if we can," he added. "Look here, let's race to the 
 hotel by a back way and be drinking sun-downers by the 
 time the others appear." 
 
 "Splendid," she cried. "I know the way. Round here." 
 
 The two fled swiftly through the dusty straight streets, 
 crossed waste bits of land and at least one back yard, and 
 found themselves in the rear courtyard of the hotel. A man 
 was emerging from the stables. Gwen darted up to him. 
 "Come on, Hugh," she cried breathlessly. "Chris and I have 
 left the others walking along as if they were in Durban. 
 Come to the stoep and let's be having drinks when they 
 arrive." 
 
 Hugh shot an amused glance at Chris, but he quickened 
 his pace and smiled at his sister-in-law. "Three years in 
 England haven't made much difference to you," he said. 
 
 Gwen flushed suddenly in the dark. "Oh yes, they have," 
 she retorted. "I've grown up all right, Hugh. I've learnt 
 all my lessons that it's no good crying at life among them. 
 And I've learned to take a weak whisky and soda. So go 
 and order it quickly." 
 
 She and Chris seated themselves in long comfortable chairs 
 and were joined by Hugh with the drinks in a few minutes. 
 There the others found them. Pamela and Cecil stood to- 
 gether on the steps of the hotel against the faint glow of 
 the dying day across the open square, and a smile was playing 
 on Cecil's face. The two were a curious contrast. Pamela 
 looked reserved, and something about her suggested strength 
 and loneliness ; Cecil, one arm on her friend's shoulder and 
 the other swinging her hat, had an almost lazy look of con- 
 tent about her. Her eyes wandered from one to the other 
 of the two men, and she seemed to both altogether desirable.
 
 2io THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 "Oh," she said, "you beasts! And I'm dead tired. Hugh, 
 do get me a drink too." 
 
 "You shouldn't have gone so far, my darling," he said. 
 "You'll only tire yourself out before our real trek begins." 
 
 "Oh don't scold, Hugh," she said, "and besides it's too 
 late now. Fetch me a drink instead or I shall ask Ulysses. 
 That, by the way, is what Pamela and I have settled to call 
 that lazy creature on your right, Gwen, who makes no effort 
 to get me a chair." 
 
 Both rebuked men sprang up to her bidding. Chris drew 
 a chair up and deliberately placed it near his own and their 
 eyes met in the light of the opening bar door, whither Hugh 
 was disappearing for the drinks. There was an almost 
 sensuous challenge in hers which he met by a sudden resump- 
 tion of that cool manner of his which she had noticed in 
 Durban. Each had that sense of familiarity again, but now 
 they were aware of a mutual consciousness of it. Pamela, 
 meanwhile, had seized a cushion from a chair and had seated 
 herself on it at the top of the steps, half turned away from 
 them, her face in her hands. 
 
 "Why Ulysses?" demanded Gwen. 
 
 "Because he wandered so much, of course," said Cecil. 
 
 "My dear Ces," said her sister, "you never thought of that. 
 You can't kid me. But it fits in somehow." And Ulysses 
 Chris became in the common talk of the party. 
 
 Dinner was an uproarious meal. They were the only 
 guests, and inclined to be merry at the expense of the hotel. 
 The dining-room, walled as well as ceiled with ceiling boards, 
 yellow and fly-blown, boasted two or three crude pictures, 
 some strips of looking glass painted with flowers, and a 
 corner bracket with a bowl of paper roses. The oil lamp 
 above them, with its tin shade and guard and staring light, 
 had rarely shone on a gayer party. Hugh entirely forgot 
 the cares of this world, and it was Eldred who insisted on 
 champagne. Afterwards Gwen vamped on a piano in the 
 corner and they sang every song or bit of a song that they 
 could think of. Then they cleared the room and danced.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 211 
 
 Mine host was invited in, and with African camaraderie 
 made gay with them. The three girls went off to bed 
 together, and laughed and joked themselves into the sheets 
 and pretty soon to sleep. It was an auspicious evening for 
 their first. 
 
 The start in the morning was a great event. The stoep 
 was littered with saddles and packs, and the horses, fetched 
 from the stables, were fastened to its wooden posts in groups. 
 One by one they were led apart from their mates for a 
 couple of boys to saddle and pack, Hugh and Eldred busy 
 with advice and caution, tightening a strap here and there, 
 balancing bags and generally supervising. Chris did what 
 he could, but he did not know the ropes as the other two. 
 So presently he lit a cigarette and joined the girls to watch. 
 
 At last the train was set in motion, and with cries and 
 crackings of whips set off. The pack horses led the way, 
 and an old grey pony of Eldred's plainly knew the road and 
 proposed to be leader. He put back his ears and bit out 
 at any animal that tried to pass him, taking the route to the 
 Nek as soon as the natives got him within sight of it. The 
 others followed, neighing, tossing their heads and swishing 
 their tails. The police orderly brought up Sinclair's horse, 
 but he himself went for his wife's. Gwen naturally fell to 
 Chris, Pamela to Eldred. In a little knot together they 
 finally rode off, the orderly bringing up the rear. The spirit 
 of adventure settled upon all of them, and Pamela hit it off 
 to Mr. Eldred. "The soul of our nomadic forefathers," 
 she said, "lives in all of us yet." 
 
 "Come on," said Hugh, at the end of a mile or so, "let's 
 get in front of the packs now. They're going all right and 
 there's no danger of their missing the road. I mostly believe 
 in keeping my packs in front of me in the mountains," he 
 added to Chris. "One can see if anything goes wrong, and 
 it doesn't do to out-distance them too far ; but here it will be 
 pleasanter ahead and out of the dust." 
 
 They cantered away together, dropping into a gallop on 
 some smooth turf by the edge of a land to pass the caravan.
 
 212 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 The old grey obviously resented this, taking up the pace gal- 
 lantly despite his age and burden, but they were too quick 
 for him. When they took the road again, Chris and Cecil 
 were leading. 
 
 "Have you been up here before?" he asked her. 
 
 "Yes, but only in a car," she said. "Then we had to stick 
 to the road, but to-day we can take a good many short-cuts. 
 There's one see ? straight on where the road winds, across 
 that stream and up under that kopje. Oh, Chris, isn't it a 
 glorious morning?" 
 
 He glanced back cautiously to see if the others were out 
 of earshot, and then replied. "Lovely, darling," he said. 
 "I'd like to ride with you like this to the world's end. 1 
 love to see you in riding kit. You look such a girl, Cecily." 
 
 She threw him a look. "You say those things too easily. 
 It means long practice, I fear." 
 
 "Oh I say, now don't begin that," he cried. "You really 
 mustn't. I thought we'd finished with such things. And 
 I get no chance of stopping you, especially on ahead of the 
 others like this. When we climb up that path far ahead, 
 will you drop to the rear, my Eve?" 
 
 "I don't know," she said, but she smiled and he did not 
 doubt that she would. 
 
 On and on, ever nearer to the peaks ahead, they mounted. 
 The wind sang in their ears; the shadows of little clouds 
 chased each other across the hill-sides. At times they rode 
 for some miles over open country, keeping well together; 
 at another, the path skirted a stream and climbed over a 
 stony rise and they had to string out. At last they entered 
 a valley. Chris and Hugh were behind here, and the latter 
 turned in his saddle to look back. 
 
 "This is the entrance to the Pass," he said. "It's a slow 
 game going up, but it's the Pass all right. Where are those 
 packs? Oh yes, coming on. See those two peaks ahead? 
 Well, we go through them. There's the first sugar-bush. 
 It grows up the sides of the valley all the way." 
 
 "Where's the wagon road?" queried Chris.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 213 
 
 "Away to the left. We shall join it later on. Look back; 
 you can see it almost all the way to the dorp from here. 
 And that's the last you'll see of Matatiele. I wonder what 
 we have before us before we see that again." 
 
 "I wonder," said Chris. It was as well that was all either 
 of them could do. 
 
 But it was so. They had been steadily mounting, and 
 were now a thousand feet or more above the level of Mata- 
 tiele. The plain between them and it looked as flat as a 
 pancake despite the ups and downs they knew were there. 
 Before, the road was at last visible again, serpentining up 
 from the left and disappearing ahead in the folds of the 
 mountains. Soon they were on it, and began now to follow. 
 At times there was a steep fall on the right from the very 
 edge to the tumbling water of a stream far below, and at 
 times a regular wall of rock towered up on their left-hand 
 side. Every half-mile saw the valley narrow and steepen. 
 Again and again one would swear that the rise in front was 
 the summit, but it never seemed to be when one was there. 
 No huts were visible, but on a sudden turn they came at 
 length on a dozen convicts working on the road with an 
 armed native escort. Prisoners and guard seemed on 
 friendly terms, and all smiled at the white people. The 
 guard however saluted, and Eldred remarked to Chris that 
 the presence of the party meant that the camp was not so far 
 off now. Indeed just here was a wire fence, a narrow strip 
 of a thing, skirting their road and running across the face 
 of the mountains to the left. 
 
 "The boundary of Basutoland," said Hugh. 
 
 Cecil whipped up her pony. "Come on," she called, 
 "Round the bend is the gate." 
 
 Chris and Hugh rode up to her on either side, and the 
 three abreast they swept round the corner. There, ahead, 
 on an open platform as it were, was their fence with great 
 open gates in it, a couple of huts on the farther side, and 
 three wagons out-spanned on the trampled and bare ground 
 nearer to them. "The gate !" cried Cecil again.
 
 214 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 The three raced up and through it, the police guard salut- 
 ing again, entered together and drew up on the road beyond. 
 A superb panorama lay before them. Away to the south- 
 west stretched a wide valley, soaring mountains on either 
 hand, until it appeared to meet another coming from north. 
 Beyond the junction nothing was visible but tumbled moun- 
 tain masses, with great rifts, fantastic spurs and crags, and 
 noble faces of grass and rock. From their feet the ground 
 fell unevenly to a narrow plain broken by rocks and minia- 
 ture valleys, with a river flashing here and there among the 
 few trees that guarded it. To their right, the road wound 
 down between newly planted enclosures of young firs and 
 pines, twisted to the left, and disappeared to the right again 
 by a towering castle of sheer rock. 
 
 "Where's the camp ?" demanded Chris, looking about him, 
 for there was no house in sight. 
 
 "You'll see it, once we're round that rock there," answered 
 Cecil. "That's the golf course down there, and that field 
 is the hospital or where it is to be anyway. Round that 
 corner you'll see the houses." 
 
 The others joined them, and reined up as they had done. 
 Chris leant towards Cecil. "Don't let's wait," he said. 
 "Lead on with me." 
 
 She glanced at her husband and the rest. Then, flicking 
 her pony with her whip, she called to him. "Good-bye, 
 Hugh. I'm going on with Ulysses. I'm dying to be there," 
 
 Hugh shouted a caution, but they were already away. 
 They did not speak, but rode neck and neck, the horses de- 
 lighting in the race and plainly realising that the camp lay 
 ahead. Exultation shot through Cecil and she threw care 
 to the winds. "On, on, on," she called to her companion. 
 "Side by side into the mountains! Isn't it jolly, Chris? 
 Don't pull up to talk." 
 
 Round the bend, along the straight, hoofs pounding on the 
 thick turf ; past the young trees, past a native or two, round 
 the rock at last. The camp burst on their view. There, 
 then, Cecil slowed down a little, riding at an easy canter,
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 215 
 
 health radiating from her, her cheeks flushed with the exer- 
 cise, her eyes alight for him. She pointed out the houses 
 with her riding whip. "Those are the Government offices, 
 dear," she said "see, that cluster of buildings in the trees 
 to the left. The doctor's house is opposite. . . . This is the 
 Residency; up here on the right That's the new church 
 they're just building. . . . That's the gaol, and those huts 
 up the valley are the police quarters. . . . That's the Mal- 
 lorys' place, round the corner, first house among the trees. 
 That's their stable across the road on our left. Those are 
 stores down there, and oh, look, there's Mr. Mallory, com- 
 ing to the gate!" 
 
 "Do you like him, Cecil?" asked Chris hurriedly. 
 
 "Oh he's a dear," she said. "He danced with me so nicely 
 at the ball in Matatiele the year I was married. We sat out 
 afterwards in the garden and he was perfectly charming. 
 Only I was too full of Hugh, then, to think much about it." 
 
 "Well, don't be too nice to him now, Eve, will you?" 
 begged Chris. "Think of me. Spare me a look sometimes 
 that other people don't get" 
 
 "You get too much already," she said, laughing. 
 
 "But I haven't had a proper kiss to-day," he replied. 
 
 There was no time for her to answer. Cecil reined in 
 her pony, and the tall man advanced from the gate to shake 
 hands with her and help her to dismount "How do you do, 
 Mrs, Sinclair," he said. "Where's everybody else? We are 
 expecting a dozen or so of you!" 
 
 "Oh they're coming," she said laughing. "Mr. Ashurst 
 and I rode on. We've had a heavenly ride. May I intro- 
 duce you Mr. Ashurst, Mr. Mallory. Oh there's Mrs. 
 Mallory!" And she left the men together. 
 
 The whole party arrived soon after, and most of the camp 
 appeared to turn out to see them. There was much talking 
 and laughter and unpacking and stabling to be seen to, and 
 then Mr. Eldred and Gwen walked over to the Residency 
 according to plan. Mallory went with them, and the rest 
 of the party sat talking on the lawn or wandered off into the
 
 216 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 garden. It did not take much scheming for Chris and Cecil 
 to find themselves separated from the others. At the end 
 of one of the walks, screened by apple trees, he caught her 
 hand and brought her to a standstill. 
 
 "Complete my day for me, dearest," he begged. 
 
 She glanced round, and then held up her lips for his kiss. 
 
 The act had a kind of solemn quietness about it which their 
 kisses had not had before. It was perhaps the serene 
 beauty of that garden, or the silence of the hills which al- 
 ready wrapped them in. Cecil remained standing before 
 him, searching deep into his eyes. "How soon would you 
 tire of that, I wonder?" she said. 
 
 He protested it would be never, but his words only drew 
 a little smile about her mouth. "Oh Chris," she said, "I feel 
 centuries old again to-night. How many women have asked 
 that question, and how many men have made that answer, do 
 you suppose? Men, I think, are never satisfied for long. 
 Nor would you be with me. Women are built differently 
 somehow." 
 
 Chris dropped his eyes before her, and when he looked up 
 he was very grave. "Little Eve," he said, "you are more 
 right than you know perhaps. Nature makes fools of us 
 all. But tell me, can you honestly say that that is the last 
 word? Is there nothing real, nothing lasting? Is there, for 
 it comes to this, no such thing as love at all?" 
 
 She shook her head, without words. 
 
 "Nor do I believe it," he said. "There is something deeper. 
 We continually seek it, and I have found it in you." 
 
 "How do you know ?" she persisted. 
 
 "How does one know anything?" he retorted. "What did 
 we say last night? Why, you cannot even ultimately prove 
 that two and two make four, but maybe Pascal was right and 
 all true knowledge is intuitive. The heart has its reasons 
 that the head knows not of. For some reason or another 
 your kisses mean more to me than other kisses, that I know. 
 I can conceive that I shall kiss other women, maybe many 
 other women, but you are my Eve. There will not be an-
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 217 
 
 other Eve, no, not whatever happens. A deep in me calls 
 to a deep in you, and I believe that you know it." 
 
 Cecil fingered his jacket, the afternoon sunlight filtering 
 through the leaves and falling on her, the earth standing 
 warm and firm beneath her feet, the wind of its motion just 
 stirring her hair. Two infinitesimal atoms in inconceivable 
 infinity, they both of them looked at that moment on the 
 veiled face of what men have called God. And if neither 
 understood, both had some kind of realisation of it. 
 
 "You are right, Chris," she said. "You are very wonder- 
 ful to me, dear. You know so much more than I do, though 
 that is not saying much, but if I can explain it you and 
 you only have brought a feeling to me that I never load 
 before. I feel with you as if great infinite gulfs opened up 
 at my feet and I peered down into them. And I think you 
 are right; there is that by instinct between us which men 
 and women have consecrated by marriage down all time." 
 
 "Then, Cecil," said Chris gravely, "it only remains for us 
 to take our destiny in both hands and step out upon it." 
 
 "Does it?" she queried. "I wonder." 
 
 "How can you wonder?" he begged. "If we hesitate we 
 may lose all that makes life other than the shadow show I 
 told you I have found it until now." 
 
 She shook her head. "No, Chris," she said, "you mustn't 
 say that. Surely it can never now be only that. Nothing 
 can in a sense separate us, if we are right. Here or else- 
 where, now or later, how can we say? but somewhere, some- 
 time, we must enter into the life that is to be lived together. 
 But as for now, I don't know. You forget that I am not 
 alone in the world, Chris. There is more than myself to be 
 thought of." 
 
 "But Hugh " he began. 
 
 She made an impatient gesture. "It's not he, Chris. You 
 forget a bigger person. There's Ronnie." 
 
 Mrs. Mallory came, calling for them through the gardens.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 HALF the charm of South Africa lies in its variety. A 
 traveller may pass in a few hours from modern city to 
 Boer dorp, from homely farm to native kraal, from colonial 
 homestead to Indian settlement. He may lose himself in 
 forests, struggle through bush, wander over seemingly illimit- 
 able prairie, or risk his neck in rocky mountain fastnesses. 
 He may fish trout in Natal and think he is in Scotland, or 
 shoot hippopotami in Zululand and be sure he is in tropical 
 Africa. Basutoland, on the Free State border, is amazingly 
 like southern Spain; and one might open one's eyes sud- 
 denly in Constantia and be forgiven for mistaking it for 
 Italy. There are streets in Johannesburg that are definitely 
 English, and others in Bloemfontein which are as obviously 
 Dutch. A newcomer has an odd feeling that he doesn't 
 know where he is or what he will be expected to do next; 
 if the gentleman about to enter his railway carriage will be 
 English or Continental, learned or ignorant, a Boer or a 
 baronet, Western or Oriental. He may turn out to have shot 
 your brother in the siege of Ladysmith and fought by your 
 side on the Somme. You may find that he is familiar with 
 every yard of Piccadilly, or that he has lived for three years 
 in the Karoo without a rain shower and with scarcely a visi- 
 tor. He may turn out to be a Dutch predikant, an English 
 clergyman with the Oxford manner, or a Trappist monk. 
 On the other hand he may be an American missionary en- 
 gaged in propagating among the aborigines of Africa a re- 
 ligion of which you have never heard. 
 
 But South Africa can offer one experience at least which 
 cannot be paralleled anywhere else under the sun. Yet few 
 know of it, and of those who do, few realise its wonder and 
 
 218
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 219 
 
 beauty. A week's trek on the Natal border of Basutoland 
 stands by itself in experiences, and such a trek began 
 in earnest for Cecil, Chris and the rest of them on that Sun- 
 day morning in Qacha's Nek. 
 
 At first the track lay out of the camp, over a shoulder of 
 mountain which soon hid all traces of a white settlement, 
 and up a valley that smiled and sang in the sun. The little 
 path wound through lands of mealies and Kaffir corn wherein 
 flowered scarlet gladioli like poppies in East Anglian corn, 
 and crossed and re-crossed a crystal-clear stream, bordered 
 with blue forget-me-not and yellow ragwort, that laughed its 
 way round many boulders and over a pebbly bed. Here and 
 there, under the flanking cliffs, nestled the brown huts of 
 native villages set among peach trees and poplars. Slow 
 sleek cattle pastured between the cultivated patches, watched 
 by brown urchins- who fought mimic wars with dead mealie 
 stalks, or piped, like Greek shepherds, on home-made flutes. 
 Then it reached the head of the valley, crossed a wide stretch 
 of upland grass and grey stone dotted with bleating sheep, 
 and emerged as a tiny trail that ever ascended a steep moun- 
 tain side and along which it was imperative to ride in single 
 file. As it rose higher and higher, the unsurpassed pano- 
 rama opened up a world of peaks and chains of peaks 
 seen across a river valley ten to fifteen miles wide, which 
 sloped precipitously from the very path on which they rode. 
 
 In and out, in and out, and now sharply to the right, and 
 then below lies Griqualand and far Natal, eight thousand 
 feet below, towns and hills and rivers dwarfed to toy things 
 asleep in the sun. Now the Border path is no longer pos- 
 sible and they must descend towards that world below. 
 There is a semi-tropical vegetation here a multitude of 
 wild flowers; sweet-scented, strange-looking, pink-flowered 
 sugar bush ; high lush grasses ; muddy streams ; and thickets 
 of willow, blue-gum and oak. The sun streams down, and 
 Cecil wonders if Hugh and Mallory riding ahead will ever 
 stop; if the packs, which started an hour before them, are 
 never to be found off-saddled for a midday rest. But it
 
 220 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 comes at last. They wind down the flank of a steep kopje 
 to a river, and see that across it the horses are being freed, 
 and are trotting off to roll in the grass or drink at the stream 
 while all their impedimenta is spread around. 
 
 "Hungry, Ces?" queried Mr. Eldred, who found him- 
 self by her side. 
 
 "No," she said, "or at least I don't think so, but I'm 
 dying for tea, and I want to get out of this saddle and 
 stretch on the ground. We seem to have been riding hours 
 and hours. How long shall we rest here?" 
 
 "An hour," said her father, "and not a moment more. I 
 told you trekking up here wasn't all a picnic. After lunch 
 we must do three hours more at least." 
 
 "Which way do we go?" queried Cecil. "It's a wonder to 
 me that anyone knows the road at all. Sometimes you can 
 hardly see a path, and even when you can, it is usually only 
 one of half a dozen. I haven't an idea whether we're riding 
 north, south, east, or west. Except that the mountains are 
 in Basutoland and they're to the left more or less, I shouldn't 
 know in the least where I am." 
 
 Eldred laughed. "The boys know," he said, "and so do 
 Hugh and Mallory. It's easier than it looks. But what 
 comes next, I don't know. Here's Hugh; he'll tell us." 
 
 Hugh was waiting for them by the stream, in a khaki shirt 
 with his sleeves rolled up, erect, capable and vigorous. 
 
 "Oh Hugh," cried Cecil, "I thought we were never going 
 to get lunch. Why did you go so far without off-saddling ?" 
 
 "My darling, we had to. We've to think of a place with 
 water, shade, grass and no lands for the horses to get into. 
 But come on over. Then up there, among those trees, you'll 
 find a perfect place. Gwen and Pam have gone up there 
 already." 
 
 "How much farther to the store you spoke of?" 
 
 Hugh turned his horse and stared out at the Range. "See 
 that pinnacle sticking out over there?" he said. "Well, 
 Ramatseliso's is just behind it. It's a couple of hours or 
 so, up the pass, from here. But we don't sleep there. We
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 221 
 
 must push on an hour at least beyond. I don't want all 
 this outfit mixed up around the store." 
 
 Their horses stumbled through the stream, and Chris, who 
 had been getting out stores, came up before Hugh could dis- 
 mount to hold Cecil's bridle and give her a hand. His eyes 
 were alight with excitement and good humour. Off and on 
 he had ridden with her most of the morning, the two play- 
 ing a sort of game of their own. "That's enough," she 
 would say; "go and ride with Gwen now." Or he would 
 range up alongside and the two of them discreetly edge 
 back a little, "I've been with Pamela for half an hour," 
 he would declare, "and I must talk to you now." So here 
 he was to help her dismount, despite Hugh. "Oh," she said 
 wearily, "I am tired. Is tea nearly ready?" 
 
 But Hugh was close behind. "Come, my darling," he 
 said; "I'll show you the way." 
 
 He led her off, and Chris stood for a moment thinking. 
 Then he spoke to his own boy and they soon had another 
 kettle of hot water ready. This, with a basin, a towel and 
 some eau-de-cologne, he forthwith carried to the shady 
 poplars. 
 
 The girls had found an ideal place. Big roots of ancient 
 trees offered armchairs, and the ground was soft and mossy. 
 The poplar leaves rustled in the breeze around them, and 
 through their screen one could see the river and the horses 
 some hundred feet below. Cecil was lying on her back, 
 staring up at the green shade above, Pamela sitting watch- 
 ing her, Gwen swinging half up a tree. Gwen saw him come. 
 "Ulysses!" she exclaimed, "you do wander to some advan- 
 tage! How perfectly priceless. Get up you two and take 
 the things. Warm water to wash in think of that! And 
 is the skoff nearly ready, Wanderer?" 
 
 He poured out the water, and held the basin a moment for 
 Cecil while she laved her hands. She smiled slowly at him, 
 and his hands trembled as he knelt by her side. That was 
 the moment of the whole off-saddle to him. 
 
 An hour later, Hugh got to his feet and reached for his
 
 222 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 sjambok. "Come," he said ; "get a move on. The boys are 
 driving in the horses, and we may as well start ahead of the 
 packs. We must call at the store, and they'll catch us up 
 there." 
 
 "Hugh," declared Cecil, "I can't move. I'm too happy 
 for words." 
 
 "My darling," he began, but Mallory interrupted him, get- 
 ting up himself, showing how unusually tall he was with 
 that strong face of his and what Cecil had already called to 
 Chris (thereby considerably annoying that adventurer) 'un- 
 derstanding' eyes beneath bushy eyebrows. 
 
 "Mrs. Sinclair," he said, "I understand that at one time 
 this expedition talked of reaching Mont aux Sources. But 
 it won't get to the Tselike if it goes on like this." 
 
 Cecil laughed, and Gwen sprang over and caught her hand. 
 "Get up, you lazy creature!" she cried. 
 
 Mallory put on his somewhat ancient and too small Irish 
 tweed deer-stalker cap, and picked up the kettle. "It's worth 
 being tired," he said. "Wait till to-night, when you really 
 ache, but when you can sit round the fire and not move, 
 while the stars come out and the moon gets up." 
 
 "Oh, heavenly !" cried Cecil ; and the whole party moved 
 away. 
 
 The road up the pass to the store is a wagon-road running 
 up from Griqualand. It serpentined slowly and rather an- 
 noyingly, and Chris found himself leading with Mallory. 
 Hugh had stuck tightly to his wife since luncheon. The store 
 itself occasionally appeared in view, only to disappear as they 
 dipped again or skirted round another corner. It was a 
 stark iron ugly building in the centre of a space of trampled 
 bare earth scattered with sheds, wagons, heaps of gear and 
 piles of grain bags and wool-packs. Behind it was the dwell- 
 ing-house, standing in a garden of young pines not more than 
 shoulder high as yet, and behind, around, beyond, veld, 
 mountain and more veld. 
 
 "Who is his nearest neighbour?" asked Chris.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 223 
 
 "Well," said Mallory, "the store at Sehlabathebe's, I sup- 
 pose, but there is nothing much to go there for. If he wants 
 society, he has to come to camp or get down into Griqua- 
 land." 
 
 "By Jove, it's a lonely life, M said Chris. 
 
 Mallory tapped his leg with hig riding-whip and looked 
 thoughtful. "It is," he said, "but it altogether depends on 
 the man. Old Bartlow, here, is jolly enough, as you'll see. 
 You see he's busy all the day, and he has his accounts for 
 the evening. Most of the time, the place hums with natives. 
 But the extraordinary thing is that a man gets used to it, 
 and pretty soon ceases to care for most of the occupations 
 which you would think he wanted to help him out. Many of 
 these store-keepers scarcely read a book, or, if they do, only 
 the trashiest sort of novel. Of course there are exceptions, 
 but look round when we get in here and see what you see. 
 It shows the adaptability of human nature. Personally I 
 like the life. I spent a couple of years at Mokhotlong once, 
 which is a good deal more lonely than this, and enjoyed it. 
 One has one's dogs, some shooting, patrols when you want 
 exercise, and long evenings to read in, over a roaring fire. 
 For it can be cold up there, I can tell you. I've seen it look 
 like an Arctic scene for weeks on end." 
 
 "What did you read ?" queried Chris interestedly. 
 
 Mallory laughed. "Well, to tell you the truth, I was quite 
 keen just then on Christian Science and Psychology gen- 
 erally." 
 
 Chris whistled. "Good enough," he said. "We must have 
 some talks. Lor,' if I'd dropped in out of the snow and 
 found you up to the neck in Psychology ! I should have been 
 more than a little surprised." 
 
 "There can be surprising exhibitions of human nature 
 even at Mokhotlong," said Mallory, and could not know that 
 he prophesied. 
 
 They rode up to a gate in the boundary fence and a 
 native came running with a key. He took their horses, and
 
 224 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 Mallory led the way to the store. A short stout white man 
 came out to meet them, and shook Mallory's hand heartily. 
 "Glad to see you," he said, and looked at Chris. Mallory in- 
 troduced him. "Glad to meet you," he said, in the typical 
 colonial way. 
 
 Chris caught Mallory's eye smiling at him, and as Bart- 
 low went forward to meet the others, he smiled back inter- 
 rogatively. "I'm never quite sure what one ought to say 
 to that," he said. 
 
 "Try : 'Your sentiments do you credit/ " said Mallory, 
 laughing. "That, at least, is what I'm always tempted to 
 say. But possibly our friend would not catch on." 
 
 The little man seemed in no sense perturbed by an influx 
 of seven visitors. He called to a boy to make tea and led 
 the way into his sitting-room, saying cheerfully to Pamela, 
 whom he appeared to take for Mrs. Sinclair owing to the 
 general nature of the introductions and perhaps because 
 she had come up with him, that he was delighted to see 
 them. Hugh, as usual, was waiting with an eye to the ar- 
 rival of the packs. Chris and Cecil walked up the path 
 together. 
 
 "What a quaint little place !" she exclaimed. "How would 
 you like to live here?" 
 
 "I think it would be topping," he replied, "given one con- 
 dition." 
 
 "What's that?" she demanded, knowing full well what he 
 would say. 
 
 "That you were here too," he said. "I picture it a para- 
 dise long quiet evenings, just you and I." 
 
 Her eyes sparkled. "You're rather a dear, Chris," she 
 said. "But, to be honest, it wouldn't suit either of us. I 
 doubt it would even do you for a honeymoon. No, Chris, 
 don't. . . . For goodness' sake, take care ; Hugh will see." 
 
 "I shall kiss you in this house," he said, challengingly. 
 "What do you bet?" 
 
 "You daren't," she retorted, and they entered together. 
 
 The furniture was varnished pine and green plush. The
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 225 
 
 carpet was green with red roses. There was a gramophone 
 and a heap of dusty novels, a piano plainly not used, and 
 a huge disorderly pile of newspapers and monthly maga- 
 zines. Bartlow bustled about, finding chairs. 
 
 "Do you play, Mrs. Sinclair?" he demanded of Pamela, 
 "If so, we must have some music to-night. I like a piano, 
 though I can't play it. Looks homely, I think." 
 
 Gwen exploded into her handkerchief and pretended to 
 cough violently. "Is your cold worse, Gwen?" asked Chris 
 instantly. "I must rub you with Elliman's to-night." 
 
 "Let me get you some of Wood's Great Peppermint Cure, 
 Mrs. Ashurst," exclaimed Bartlow. "It's excellent stuff, 
 and I always keep some handy." And he actually hurried 
 out after it, before anyone could stop him. 
 
 Gwen collapsed. Even Pamela burst out laughing, try- 
 ing to say something coherent about the mixture of per- 
 sonalities there would be that night. Cecil, the tears run- 
 ning down her face, insisted on Chris behaving. Mallory, 
 hugely amused, backed him up, and walking to the gramo- 
 phone, discovered a record of "To-night's the Night," which 
 he promptly put on. Then Hugh came in, and having 
 missed the conversation, was considerably mystified and in- 
 clined to be annoyed. "Really, my darling," he said to 
 Cecil, "you must take care. Bartlow will be awfully hurt." 
 
 "Oh Hugh," gasped Cecil, "I really can't help it. For 
 heaven's sake go and find him. If he comes back with the 
 medicine, I shall die." 
 
 But he did not. He couldn't find it, and when he said he 
 would look again later on, he seemed quite dismayed to 
 learn that the whole party were not going to camp there and 
 invade his house. "You won't find hospitality to beat this 
 in many places," said Mallory aside to Chris, and the latter 
 agreed. It was typical of the country. 
 
 Tea came in a diversity of cups, and at length Hugh and 
 Mallory went off to see to the saddling up of the horses. 
 Chris was searching among the records. Gwen wanted to 
 see if she could get some toilet article she had forgotten
 
 226 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 from the store, and Eldred went with her. "Come on," 
 said Pamela to the others, "we must go." 
 
 "One more record," pleaded Chris, and put on "The Ro- 
 sary." Pamela fled in dismay. 
 
 Cecil rushed over to take it oft*. Chris threw his arm about 
 her and kissed her lips. "Thank you, Eve of all Eves," 
 he said. 
 
 "Oh Chris," whispered Cecil, "if Pam had seen!" He 
 kissed her again promptly, and then Pamela was heard call- 
 ing for Cecil outside. She ran out hastily. Chris followed, 
 putting a small plume of dried and stained pampas grass 
 from the mantel- shelf in his coat. 
 
 Hugh had already despatched the packs. He had decided 
 with Mallory to camp about five miles on at the head of a 
 grassy slope in a wide valley close to the Border, and thither 
 they all set out. The road was a little dull. It was still a 
 wagon track here, and wound about interminable curves of 
 bare hillside, now in view of the Border fence, and now 
 offering grand panoramas of the Basuto side. Hugh set off 
 with Cecil in front, and Chris brought up the rear with 
 Pamela. 
 
 The girl rode slowly, so that they gradually but imper- 
 ceptibly fell behind, and at first for the most part silently. 
 Chris had his own thoughts, and she startled him when she 
 said suddenly : "Chris, are you serious ?" 
 
 "Serious ?" he queried, wholly in the dark ; "what do you 
 mean ?" 
 
 She surveyed him thoughtfully. "Chris," she went on, 
 "we know each other fairly well. I like you immensely, 
 but I'm under no delusions about you. If it were another 
 girl, I shouldn't care a damn, but I love Cecily." 
 
 "Good God!" he exclaimed. "What have you seen?" 
 
 Pamela sighed. "I saw it coming in Durban," she said. 
 "You turned her head at Three Springs that Sunday. All 
 Thursday and Friday night at their place last week you 
 watched her every movement, and a blind man might have 
 suspected her. If you want to make love to a married
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 227 
 
 woman you should cultivate a less committal look in your 
 eyes. And at the store you both stayed behind to kiss." 
 
 "Do you think Hugh has seen anything then?" he de- 
 manded, not attempting to evade the charge. 
 
 Pamela shrugged her shoulders. "God knows," she said. 
 "He's a queer creature, but I'm very fond of him too. 
 Probably not, though. He would not dream it of Cecily." 
 
 "Would you?" asked Chris. 
 
 Pamela considered this in silence for a while. Then she 
 said: "No, I don't think I should have done. That is why 
 I ask you if you are serious. I'll be honest with you, Chris. 
 I think Cecily loves you as she has never before known 
 what it was to love, and I think that, because she is not 
 the girl to flirt with you. I've known her a long time now. 
 When she married, I was doubtful, but something she said 
 made me think it was all right. But now you've appeared, 
 a deus ex tnachina. Still, the mischief is not irreparable. 
 You ought to clear out of this at once, cousin mine." 
 
 "Pamela," said Chris solemnly, "I'll not go without her. 
 You may believe me or you may not, but I love her as you 
 yourself acknowledge you think she loves me. I absolutely 
 worship her. I've never seen anyone like her. Oh Pamela 
 believe me if you can I'd do anything for her. Literally, 
 I'd die for her. She's so little and pure and lovely. She's 
 such a child, and her love is wonderful." 
 
 "Therefore," said his cousin drily, "you'd drag her as a 
 guilty party through the divorce court. You'd make her 
 the talk of the whole scandal-loving country." 
 
 He flamed up. "It shan't touch her," he cried, "by God it 
 shan't! I'd shoot the beast that insulted her as I'd shoot a 
 dog. And I'll take her out of this, anywhere she wishes. 
 The world's wide, and thank God I can afford to roam 
 in it." 
 
 Pamela was touched, but she did not say so. "You speak 
 like a fool," she said. "We don't live in the Middle Ages, 
 Chris. Then you think you know women, but you know 
 nothing of them. A woman like Cecily wants a home, and
 
 228 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 her people mean more to her than she knows. You may be 
 unconventional and indifferent, but she will not be, when the 
 glamour has worn off. You can't drag her about the world 
 for ever as your mistress, and to me it is quite conceivable 
 that Hugh will refuse to divorce her. And then there's 
 the child. For God's sake be sensible for once. It's an aw- 
 ful tragedy, but some tragedies have to be borne, and to at- 
 tempt to mend them is to make matters worse." 
 
 Chris had never faced the practical tangible problem so 
 nakedly as that. He was irresolute for a little, but just then 
 a turn in the road brought them unexpectedly within sight 
 of the camp. Four little tents stood in a line facing down 
 the wide slope towards the west. At a distance blazed a 
 fire, and the cook boys were already moving about it with 
 pots and pans. The horses were going off in a herd to feed. 
 Mallory was plainly to be seen directing the stacking of the 
 saddles, and on a pile of rugs lay Gwen and Cecil at their 
 ease. Eldred was handing them glasses and Hugh stagger- 
 ing up with more cushions. A glory of red and crimson 
 stained the distant mountains, and the dark was swiftly fall- 
 ing. The slight figure on the rugs was watching the road, 
 and as they came in sight she waved to them. Something 
 suspiciously like tears gathered in Chris's eyes. He swal- 
 lowed in his throat. "We'd better hurry," said Pamela, and 
 put her pony to a canter. 
 
 Chris followed suit and there was little time for more, 
 but, speaking rapidly, he replied to his cousin. "Pam," he 
 said, "I'm glad you've spoken, but I'm not shaken. I love 
 her too much. But I promise you this: first if I think she 
 does not really, deeply, absolutely love me, I'll go ; secondly, 
 I'll say to her all that you've said to me before she is com- 
 mitted. I give you my word of honour. Will that do?" 
 
 Pamela sighed. "Don't ask me," she said. "But thanks, 
 old boy." 
 
 "And you will be her friend whatever happens?" he 
 urged.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 229 
 
 She turned her grey eyes to him gravely. "I thought you 
 knew me, Chris," she said. 
 
 Cecil called out to them as they rode up. "Come on you 
 two. This is utterly too glorious, and we're drinking whisky. 
 I never liked it before." 
 
 Grouped there on the rugs, tired but deliciously comfort- 
 able, the night fell on them. Camp stew, bread and jam, 
 cake, coffee, chocolates, cigarettes, had never tasted as they 
 did that night. The boys made another big fire near them, 
 and the men yarned easily away of other camps and treks. 
 Hugh and Mallory discussed routes bristling with strange 
 names, and recalled to each other this and that incident, 
 horses, dogs, game. Chris smoked his pipe more silently than 
 usual, and though the others did not notice it, Cecil did. 
 She asked for another cushion, and he brought it her, and 
 then, at her silent invitation, settled himself down near. 
 Under cover of the darkness and the talk, a little hand was 
 slipped into his own with a warm pressure of tenderness. 
 Poor Chris ! He gripped it hard, and stared at hell. 
 
 The girls insisted on sharing a tent, and that, slight as it 
 was, cheered him. Moreover Cecil plainly had him much 
 in mind. Once, just before bed time, they passed each 
 other with an armful of rugs apiece, and she whispered: 
 "What's the matter, darling?" But his: "Nothing, dear," 
 did not satisfy her. He shared a tent with Mallory, but he 
 could not sleep. At last he pulled the flap back that he 
 might stare up at the stars, but there are times when the 
 very stars are silent. 
 
 Gwen insisted on cooking the breakfast, and turned out 
 magnificent omelettes. There did not seem a cloud in the 
 sky as they discussed porridge and coffee, and Chris had to 
 a certain extent recovered his spirits. The whole day was 
 very much a repetition of the last, but when he was alone 
 with Cecil, he watched her, weighed her words, questioned 
 himself, as he had not done before. He and Pamela did 
 not return to the subject. Cecil tried to press her as to her
 
 230 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 conversation with Chris of the evening before, but she re- 
 fused to be drawn and the girl did not dream of asking 
 directly. Yet, although neither spoke of it, Cecil was to 
 learn that day that Pamela knew. She was unusually tender 
 to her for one thing, but that in itself might have but made 
 her suspect. In the evening, however, she deliberately (and 
 inwardly, afterwards, reproachfully) gave the lovers a 
 chance together which they would not otherwise have had. 
 
 It came about in this way. The night's camp was in a 
 cave, Moshebi's cave of Hugh's planning, which stood back 
 from the track some hundreds of yards at the foot of a rocky 
 kopje. Above it and behind, was a tiny native village, and 
 to this the head man invited his distinguished visitors. 
 Hugh and Mallory set off with him (it was perhaps fifteen 
 minutes away), and the rest were following together when 
 Pamela discovered that she had forgotten her camera and 
 wanted, as there was still enough light, to take a snap-shot. 
 Chris ran back for it, and she and Cecil returned slowly to 
 meet him. He could not find it at once, and they reached 
 the cave to discover him on his knees turning over the packs. 
 Cecil sat down. "Oh," she said, "I am tired. I don't want 
 to go to that beastly village now." 
 
 "Well, let's stop," said Pamela. "I can get my photo in 
 the morning. Stop with her, Chris, will you? I'll just 
 wave the others not to wait." And she turned deliberately, 
 and walked away round a corner from which the others on 
 the path were visible. 
 
 Chris moved to Cecil's side. "Pam knows," said Cecil 
 with a little smile. He caught her hand. "She does," he 
 said, "and she's a brick. She meant us obviously to have 
 these few minutes together. Kiss me, darling, please. This 
 day has been hard without one." 
 
 Cecil put her arms up and drew his head down to her. 
 "It hasn't been possible, dearest, has it?" she murmured, 
 "but it is wonderful seeing you all day. The very sight of 
 you makes me glad. ' And strong," she added. 
 
 " 'The weak shall be strong,' " he quoted, smiling.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 231 
 
 Cecil started. "Is this the cave?" she said. "Oh, Chris!" 
 
 "No, no, dearest," he said, "of course it isn't. Besides 
 that's all rubbish. Only it's so true. I'm strong, but I'm 
 very weak these days. I'm too weak to do what Pam asked 
 me to do last night, though to-morrow I've got to talk to 
 you about it Oh how I love you, my dear dear Eve. If 
 only you and I were really alone here, wouldn't it be won- 
 derful, Cecily?" 
 
 "What did she say?" demanded Cecil. 
 
 But Pamela, from the rocks above, staring over the dark- 
 ening lands, saw the party reappearing and turned, whistling, 
 to the cave. There was no time for Chris to reply before she 
 entered. Cecil retained his hand as she came in, and smiled 
 boldly up at her. "You're rather a dear, Pam," she said. 
 
 Pamela chuckled. "I'm a fool," she said, "but you two 
 are worse. Go and meet them, Chris." 
 
 The next day opened cheerlessly it was cold and cloudy 
 and they had not been long in the saddle when a drizzle of 
 rain began to fall. Even when it did not actually rain, a wet 
 blanket of mist swept down on them and filled the hollows in 
 the mountains through which they must ride. Everyone 
 donned Burberrys or mackintoshes, and Hugh was anxious 
 for Cecil lest she should catch cold. She, however, was any- 
 thing but anxious for herself. The glow of exercise in her 
 cheeks, she disdained his suggestions, and rode gaily on with 
 each of the others in turn. It was Gwen who was chiefly 
 bored by the gloom of the elements, for she said it was like 
 an English day and a disgrace to South Africa. Mallory 
 warned her that, up here, on the Border, they must expect 
 it. He told gruesome stories of the Border mist completely 
 enveloping parties for days together, and of packs tumbling 
 over unseen precipices when forced to go on. 
 
 Lunch was eaten in a drizzle, and whereas one may ride 
 gaily enough in company through rain, it is hard to be cheer- 
 ful and eat in it. Mallory inwardly sympathised so much 
 with Gwen, that, when they saddled up again, he suggested 
 to Hugh that he should ride on ahead and get a small mar-
 
 232 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 quee that had been ordered to be sent up from the police 
 camp, pitched before the ladies arrived. Hugh agreed and 
 said he would come with him, hurry up the packs, and get 
 some hot tea ready for the girls. So the two men rode off 
 together, and the rest followed at their own pace. The path 
 was slippery and tortuous, and after a while they were dis- 
 posed as follows: Eldred and a police sergeant in front, 
 Gwen and Pamela, more packs, Cecil and Chris. 
 
 It seemed to him a heaven-sent opportunity. The girl 
 beside him rode steadily on, with a serious face peeping out 
 over her tightly buttoned coat and her hat pressed down on 
 her ears. "Do you hate this rain awfully, Eve?" he queried. 
 
 She smiled at him. "I'm wet," she said, "and tired, and 
 a bit cold, but I'm very happy now. I don't want to see 
 that marquee any too soon. We seem to have licence to 
 ride together this afternoon." 
 
 Chris rode his pony quite close to hers. They were alone 
 on the mountain path and blanketed in mist. He pushed 
 his hand into her arm and she pressed it against her side. 
 
 "Dear," he said, "let's have a big talk. I promised 
 Pamela yesterday that I would say something to you. May 
 IP* 
 
 "First, what did Pam say to you?" she asked swiftly. 
 
 He evaded. "Has she said anything to you to-day?" he 
 questioned her. 
 
 "She has," said Cecil, "but not much. She told me only 
 one thing : to be sure this time that I spoke what I felt." 
 
 "I don't understand, darling," said Chris. "Can't you 
 tell me?" 
 
 "Yes, dear, I can. I think I can spe.ak to you of every- 
 thing and anything, and I think somehow the time and the 
 place fit in. I have never known anyone to whom I felt I 
 could speak as freely as to you, Chris. It doesn't seem to 
 matter what I say to you. I've absolutely no shame with 
 you. Queer, isn't it?" 
 
 The man's heart beat fiercely. "Thank God you can say 
 that, little girl," he said.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 233 
 
 "Well, Chris, listen. When I came back from school in 
 England where I'd been for six whole years, I was still just 
 a child. I didn't understand anything about life at all. But 
 I didn't know how ignorant I was, not even when things 
 were pushed, so to speak, under my nose. Looking back 
 now, I can see them one after another. First, there was a 
 thing to do with Harold, my brother. While I was away 
 (and of course I wasn't told) he got into trouble with one 
 of our native servants. Gwen guessed and told me, and I 
 was utterly horrified. Oh Chris, you've no idea how I felt 
 it. It brought the ugliness of life before me. I couldn't 
 conceive how Harold, my own brother Harold, could have 
 thought of such a thing. And then Gwen told me one day 
 that she could understand, and we talked, and she spoke 
 about having a craving for love yes, she, a child of sixteen. 
 I did not guess half of it then, but of course she was in love 
 with with a man herself, and she was feeling that hot pas- 
 sionate love that cares nothing about law or decency or 
 anything. Chris, do you understand?" 
 
 "Quite," he said. "Desire can burn in a man or a woman 
 like fire in straw." 
 
 Cecil nodded. "Well, then, Hugh came. He was nice, 
 kind, and awfully good to me, and he loved me. And I was 
 an overgrown schoolgirl, and liked it. There was a day 
 when Pam asked me if I loved him, and I asked her what 
 love was and if and then I quoted what Gwen had said 
 to me if that were love. And she thought that I felt that 
 myself, and said that if it was so with me, I should marry 
 Hugh. That's what she meant when she said that I was 
 to speak now what I felt. Well, then, I did not feel tliat 
 in the least for Hugh. The very idea of it horrified me. 
 I thought it was beastly. I thought marrying him was a 
 picnic sort of affair, and that we should be happy and jolly 
 for ever up at Springfontein. So we married." 
 
 "And you've been unhappy, darling, ever since, is that 
 it?" 
 
 "Oh no, Chris, no, not a bit. It was dull, quiet perhaps,
 
 234 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 but Hugh was very good to me too good. Of course there 
 was baby, and Hugh sometimes seemed to me almost like 
 well, like what I imagined Harold must have been. But it 
 was only occasionally, and I supposed like a man. On the 
 
 whole he was always always " And she hesitated for 
 
 a word. 
 
 "Tame," said Chris gravely, but smiling a little despite it. 
 
 She glanced sharply at him, but saw that he did not joke. 
 "That was just it," she went on, in a lower voice, "and as 
 for me, I just slept. Just that. And then you came. . . ." 
 
 He pressed her arm, saying nothing, and in a while she 
 resumed. 
 
 "First, I had only to see you to know that you meant 
 something to me which no one else had ever meant. Oh 
 Chris, what was it, I wonder? but we've spoken of that 
 Each day I was drawn more and more to you so swiftly 
 too. Do you remember the library at Three Springs and 
 how you read to me ? Each thing fitted the mist over life, 
 the passing of old things, the waking to love. Then we met 
 at Kokstad. I had really come in to find you, and for no 
 other purpose, but when I saw you I would not have dared 
 to speak if you had not seen me. Then you called. You 
 always seemed to me to be at home, somehow, in my house. 
 Hugh seemed like the visitor, and you, as if you belonged. 
 Do you know when I really knew (though I didn't dare 
 own it to myself) that I loved you? It was that night, 
 after Mr. Gressly had been to dinner, when we said 'Good- 
 night' on the stoep." 
 
 "Eve, Eve, my darling, fancy your remembering every 
 little thing !" 
 
 "Oh I shall never forget, Chris dear. How could I? 
 And then that afternoon in the drawing-room. That was 
 the moment of all my life, Chris. I, too, knew I had a lover, 
 and I, too, knew what it was to be burned up by fire." 
 
 They rode on a little way in silence. "And now," said 
 Cecil at last, "I am sure I have spoken what I truly feel." 
 
 "And now?" echoed Chris.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 235 
 
 "Now," said Cecil, "you know how I love you, and know- 
 ing that I love you, you will ride away and leave me to 
 my fate." 
 
 "By God, I won't," cried Chris passionately. "You're 
 mine, mine, Cecily ! I- defy fate. Besides it's a sham, a lie ; 
 we make our own fate. Little Eve, listen. We finish this 
 trek we must for the sake of appearances, and besides 
 we've got to get down from here and then I go straight 
 to the coast. I must cable for money and make some ar- 
 rangements, but then I'll book a cabin on a mail steamer 
 for 'Australia. We will make a plan easily enough, leave 
 that to me to give you a few days' unsuspected absence, 
 and you will join me in Durban. The day we leave, we'll 
 send a letter to Hugh. I'm awfully sorry for him, but we 
 can't help ourselves. From Australia, we'll go on round 
 the Islands, the lands of the sun and coral sands and sea 
 breeze, of little pearly lagoons and long warm tropical 
 nights, with the palms rustling overhead and the fire-flies 
 dancing beneath them. We'll forget the world, and the 
 world will soon forget us. Will you, Eve darling? Will 
 you come with me to Paradise?" 
 
 "Oh Chris," she whispered, "my own Chris, it's too lovely 
 to be possible." 
 
 "But it is possible," he persisted. "It waits for us. Do 
 you mind leaving everyone for my sake, Cecily?" 
 
 She answered him slowly. "Father, no; Hugh, no; 
 mother, no; friends, no; Ronnie, no and yes, yes, Chris, 
 I think," she said. 
 
 "What do you mean, darling? Bring him too. I count 
 on that. There's no need to leave Ronnie, Cecily." 
 
 "Can't Hugh claim him by law, Chris?" 
 
 "They must find him, first, Cecil; then get him." 
 
 Cecil stared out into the mist. "Chris," she said, "that 
 is the awful part of it all. Ronnie will grow up to be 
 ashamed of his mother, perhaps; more likely, for I don't 
 even think I could take him, without his mother. But what 
 terrifies me is this : I don't really care. I love you as much
 
 236 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 as that, Chris. He's my child, but he's Hugh's child. I 
 know, now, that he's not the child of my real love, anyway. 
 I don't feel a bit about him as mothers are supposed to feel, 
 and I'd rather die than have another baby with Hugh, I 
 think. But deep, deep down, I feel that I'm responsible for 
 him. I gave him birth ; how then can I leave him ? In long 
 years to come, how should I face God, Chris ? And yet God 
 is little to me by you now, and better to leave Ronnie than 
 that he should grow up to hate me. Yes, better to leave 
 him, I think, Chris." 
 
 "I think you are right about that, darling," said Christo- 
 pher. "It's an amazing world, but there is only one fact in 
 it that I can see clearly: I love you, and you love me, 
 and nothing else matters. Isn't that it?" 
 
 "Yes," whispered Cecil. "And Chris do you hate this, 
 for I remember what you said? I want us to have a son 
 more than I can tell you. Chris, I suppose I ought to be 
 ashamed to say it, but I'm not, and I feel I shall hardly live 
 till I have you in my arms. And will you give me another 
 baby, Chris?" 
 
 Chris reined up his horse and laid his hand on her bridle. 
 He leaned out of the saddle and clasped her to him, kissing 
 her passionately. "Cecily, Cecily," he whispered, "you 
 make me believe again in God. I adore you and Him in 
 you, my love, my life, and you shall be mine and I will be 
 yours, soul and body, here and hereafter. Shall it be, 
 Cecily, shall it be?" 
 
 "Yes," she whispered back, and clutched fiercely at his 
 
 arm. 
 
 ******* 
 
 Out of the mist ahead, a voice sounded, crying her name. 
 It was Pamela's. They disengaged hastily, and Cecil 
 straightened her hat and dropped a little veil over her face. 
 
 "Yes?" shouted back Chris, enquiringly. 
 
 "Oh Chris, is that you? Is Cecily there? Ride on will 
 you, quickly, the others are coming to meet us." 
 
 "Pamela's a jolly good sort of a cousin, isn't she, little
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 237 
 
 girl?" said Chris jokingly, and Cecil shot a smile at him 
 from under her veil. They shook up their horses. As they 
 rounded the corner, the mists ahead were seen to have 
 cleared away beyond, for a wind was blowing up the valley, 
 and the camp burst on their view. Cecil half reined up 
 with a startled exclamation. "Chris!" she cried, "the Falls 
 and the Pool !" 
 
 He nodded. A plain lay before them, and across it, with 
 the hill side round which they had come running down 
 steeply to it, was the Tselike. Perhaps half a mile away, 
 the encircling mountains met again, and here, in a gap a 
 good hundred feet in height, the river poured over into the 
 plain. It fell into a great pool shut in by big boulders, and 
 the roar of it came distinctly on their ears. It was the place 
 named in their strange adventure sure enough, or one too 
 like it for either to doubt. 
 
 Chris himself was aware of a strange sensation of dread, 
 but he hastened to reassure the girl by his side. "Never 
 mind, dearest," he said. "It's the place we shall remember 
 with joy all our lives for it has finally given us to each 
 other. You needn't be frightened now, need you?" But 
 even as he spoke, he stared curiously at the camp, and his 
 lips closed as if in some surprise. 
 
 There was, indeed, an unusual air about the already half- 
 erected encampment set up on an open amphitheatre of 
 rock above the great pool into which the Tselike thundered. 
 The marquee was half up, but flapping in the wind, and the 
 natives were standing in a group about it, looking up their 
 way. Mallory was a little apart, talking to a black police- 
 man who held a steaming horse by the bridle. And riding 
 fast towards them were Hugh and Mr. Eldred. Chris's eyes 
 were keen. He set his own horse in quicker motion at what 
 he saw, and glanced sharply at Cecil. "Let me get ahead a 
 little, darling," he said. 
 
 Of the two fast approaching, Hugh was leading, and 
 Chris pushed out to meet him. His face was as white as a
 
 2 3 8 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 sheet, and he did not seem to see Chris at all. "What is it, 
 Sinclair?" demanded Chris, half blocking his way. 
 
 The other pushed by him without a word, and leapt from 
 his horse. Chris heard Cecil cry: "Oh, Hugh, what's the 
 matter?" and saw him reach up and put an arm about her 
 waist. He half caught a muttered: "Oh my darling, my 
 darling," but then Eldred was upon him. Cecil's father shot 
 a glance at the husband and wife behind, and jumped from 
 his own horse, passing his hand through his bridle. Chris 
 leapt off by him, and the elder man took his arm heavily. 
 Cecil, behind, suddenly burst into a wail, crying hysterically : 
 "Oh God, oh God !" and Chris tried to swing himself round 
 in a sudden agony. "No, Ashurst, no," said Mr. Eldred. 
 "Best leave them alone. God help them both." 
 
 "But what is it?" cried Chris fiercely. "For Christ's sake, 
 tell me." 
 
 "Ronnie's dead," said Eldred. 
 
 In a nightmare of helplessness, Chris rode into camp and 
 walked over to the police messenger who had come with the 
 news. Mallory turned to him and spoke in low tones. "He's 
 travelled by relays," he explained. "They wired to the 
 Nek. It seems the little chap was run over yesterday by a 
 car in the main street of Kokstad. It's the most awful 
 thing I've ever heard, I think." 
 
 Cecil, sobbing and clinging to Hugh, was led by him into 
 a tent, and the rest drew apart. Gwen was weeping silently. 
 Pamela was stony-eyed. In a few minutes Hugh came out, 
 looking an old and broken man. He came up to Pamela 
 and raised tired and dead eyes to her. "She wants you," 
 he said. "Do you mind going?" 
 
 Pamela went straight to the tent without speaking, and 
 silence fell on the little group outside. Then Mallory took 
 control. "We must stay the night," he said authoritatively. 
 "It's too late to start back, and useless, and besides she's 
 not fit to ride. I'll send police by relays, and arrange for 
 a car to come to Ramatseliso's. It's just possible to get one
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 239 
 
 up from Griqualand. You can leave early to-morrow, Sin- 
 clair." And he turned away to give directions at once. 
 
 Within the tent, Pamela found Cecil sitting on a pile of 
 rugs with a set wild face. She was no longer weeping. 
 "Pam, Pam," she cried as her friend came in, "God's pun- 
 ishing me ! Pam, take me from this awful place Pam, you 
 must, you must!" 
 
 "There, there, dear," said Pamela, sitting down by her 
 and throwing her arm around her neck. "You shall go, 
 darling. Don't think of it now, dear. There's nothing 
 unknown to fear now. What has happened, has happened, 
 and, terrible as it is, it's not your fault." 
 
 "It is, it is," cried Cecil, "but oh, why did God let me 
 marry? Why do I love Chris? Why did I ever see him? 
 Oh save me from Chris, Pam, save me from Chris !" 
 
 A bewildered look crossed Pamela's face. For the life of 
 her, she could not understand. "Don't you love him then, 
 any more, Cecil?" she asked, almost sharply. 
 
 "Love him !" exclaimed Cecil wildly. "Don't you see that 
 I love him far too much? more than myself, more than 
 my child, more than God !" 
 
 Pamela's face cleared. She bent over her friend with a 
 great tenderness. "I see, darling," she whispered. "But 
 we are not friends for nothing, little Cecily. Leave it to 
 me."
 
 PART III 
 THE MOTHER
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 could not sleep for a long time probably few 
 of them did but in the morning Mallory's entrance 
 in a Burberry over his pyjamas did not wake him. Mai- 
 lory, bent nearly double in the little tent, came over and 
 touched his shoulder, collapsing into a sitting position as 
 the other stirred and yawned sleepily. The moment he saw 
 him, however, Chris was wide awake. "Hullo," he said, 
 "how's things? What's the morning like?" And he sat 
 up and groped for his cigarettes. 
 
 Mallory refused one, but produced a pipe from his pocket 
 and lit it. "Look here," he said, "I've come to talk things 
 over with you. Eldred's not much use, and Sinclair's still 
 with his wife. (The night before, at Hugh's insistence, the 
 tents had been re-arranged so that he and Cecil slept 
 together. Cecil had scarcely appeared again publicly and if 
 she had any objections now to this arrangement, she sup- 
 pressed them, or made them only to her husband.) We'd 
 much better have everything cut and dried before they 
 appear." 
 
 Chris nodded. He was wondering whether the other 
 man guessed anything. It was hard to say: Mallory's eyes 
 were inscrutable. But since Pam's statement as fo the ob- 
 viousness of things to her, Chris had considered the pos- 
 sibility of others guessing a little. So now he said nothing. 
 Mallory should have his say. 
 
 "You see," that cool voice of the other went on, "I take 
 it the trek is off for us all. I sent off a man last night and 
 told him to ride like hell, knock up Bartlow at Ramatseliso's 
 and get a fresh horse, go on at once to Matatiele, and have 
 a car sent up to the store by midday if possible. Sinclair 
 
 243
 
 244 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 and his wife must leave immediately after breakfast, and 
 I've got fresh horses for them from our police-camp near 
 here. But one of us ought to go with them. I don't think 
 Eldred is the man he's a bit old and tired. Shall it be you 
 or I? It's difficult for me to go all the way to Kokstad, 
 though I could do it at a pinch." 
 
 "What about the rest?" questioned Chris. 
 
 "Well," said Mallory, "my idea is this. I take it none of 
 'em will have much heart for a long trek back. Therefore 
 I suggest that at any rate Eldred and the girls ride down 
 Bushman's Nek and catch the train at Underberg. If they 
 leave this morning, they'll be in Underberg to-night, and 
 to-morrow night in Kokstad. The train leaves about 8 a.m. 
 to-morrow; change at Donnybrook. I can find an orderly 
 to guide them to the head of the Pass, and they'd better 
 take a boy with big saddle-bags and a few things for the 
 night, and so on. He can bring back the horses." 
 
 "And this outfit?" 
 
 "The police can bring it all back to Qacha's Nek. It'll 
 take them three or four days. They had better rest the 
 packs here a bit, and start in a day or two." 
 
 Chris smoked thoughtfully. Then he nodded. "Yes," 
 he said, "so far so good. It's the best plan, I think." 
 
 "Well, then, which of us shall ride with the Sinclairs?" 
 
 Chris glanced up at him. But Mallory was nursing his 
 pipe in the grip of his left hand and pulling steadily. Chris 
 could read nothing in his face, but he gathered from the 
 other's tone that he considered the man in the blankets the 
 obvious person. But he longed for a word with Cecil. 
 Would she wish it? On the other hand, would she think it 
 a kind of desertion if he left her? But how could Hugh 
 and he accompany her to Springf ontein ? 
 
 "Chris," said a voice at his door. 
 
 He scrambled out of bed and reached for his waterproof. 
 Struggling into it, he said in a low tone to Mallory : "Stay 
 here a moment will you? That's Pam. I must just see 
 what she wants."
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 245 
 
 Outside he found his cousin in a borrowed military over- 
 coat, with its collar turned up and her hair hanging outside 
 it glistening with moisture. The roar of the falls struck 
 him as he emerged and he noticed that a heavy mist still 
 lay around up the hill-sides. "Well ?" he queried. 
 
 She pushed her arm through his and led him a little away 
 from the row of tents. 
 
 "I was awake, Chris," she said, "and I saw Mr. Mallory 
 pass our tent to go to you. Are you making plans ?" 
 
 He outlined what Mallory had said. 
 
 "I see," she said. "Well, Mr. Mallory must go with 
 them." 
 
 Chris hesitated. "How can I leave Cecily?" he ques- 
 tioned. 
 
 "Chris," said Pamela, "I know she would wish it. Will 
 you take my word for it, dear? Besides, you cannot go 
 with them. It would be torture to both of you. You had 
 better not see her for some months. Honestly, it's not fair 
 
 on her that you should. Let her get over this, and then 
 
 Well, I don't know what you have decided between you, 
 but you can re-open the matter then if both of you wish." 
 
 They walked to the edge of the Falls in silence, and stood 
 staring up at them. "What the devil do you think that old 
 witch meant on the Umtamvuna?" demanded Chris sud- 
 denly and irritably. 
 
 Pamela did not at once reply. She did not take her gaze 
 from the falling water. Then she said: "How can I say, 
 Chris ? Perhaps I have a glimmering of an idea, but I don't 
 know. Anyway you have to be strong now. And the 
 strong thing is to trust Cecily to know her own heart and to 
 leave Mallory to take them home." 
 
 Chris frowned moodily. "Let's go back," was all he 
 said. 
 
 He dived into his tent and squatted on the valise. Mal- 
 lory knocked out his pipe on a stone to one side of the tent. 
 "Well?" he queried. 
 
 Chris did not attempt to evade. "I told her your plans,"
 
 246 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 he said, "and she thinks it would be better if you went with 
 the Sinclairs." 
 
 Mallory rose at once. He did not look at him. "Very 
 good," he said. "I'll go and hurry up breakfast." 
 
 They were a forlorn party in the marquee. Hugh was 
 unshaven, and even then Pamela could not help smiling to 
 herself secretly. It was the first time she had seen him so. 
 Cecil scarcely spoke and hardly raised her eyes to any of 
 them. Gwen was still struggling with her tears. They were 
 all dressed for riding. 
 
 An orderly put his head in at the door. "The horses 
 are ready, sir," he said to Mallory. 
 
 They went out together. Hugh helped Cecil up and 
 then turned to shake hands with Eldred. Chris walked 
 up to Cecil and took her little gloved hand in his. It lin- 
 gered a minute, but the others were too close for him to 
 say much. "Goodbye," he said. "You know what I feel, 
 don't you? God keep you." 
 
 She glanced at him then, her eyes wild and haunted, her 
 face white and drawn. But she did not speak at all, and 
 Chris stepped back as Gwen came up. Mallory was swing- 
 ing into the saddle. "You can't miss the path," he said to 
 Chris. "At the foot of the Pass there's a S.A.M.R. post 
 where they'll give you tea. Off-saddle an hour there. You 
 should be in Underberg by half-past three or four. Come 
 up to the Nek when you can ; my wife and I will be de- 
 lighted to put you up." He shook hands warmly. 
 
 The husband and wife were already in motion, and the 
 little group of four drew together to watch them. A hun- 
 dred yards away, Hugh turned in the saddle and waved 
 his hand, but Cecil did not look back. She sat hunched up 
 on her horse, with bowed shoulders, a stricken little figure 
 on a big police pony. Mallory had drawn ahead. And 
 in ten minutes the mist swallowed them. 
 
 Then Gwen broke down again. She was next Chris and 
 he turned to her, blind-eyed with his own tears, put his 
 arm on her neck and led her away. "There, there, little
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 247 
 
 girl," he said. "Don't cry. Tears are little use in this 
 world. We have all to go through with it, you know." 
 
 "I know," sobbed Gwen. "B-but I shall never forget 
 Hugh's face. And to think what he's riding to all this 
 awful day." 
 
 Chris said no more. It struck him that he had hardly 
 thought of Hugh. 
 
 An hour later they themselves set out. The path, a 
 rocky and tiny one, sloped up away from the tents, crossed 
 the Tselike above the Falls, and wandered over a seem- 
 ingly desolate plain, on which the rocks loomed up ghostly 
 in the mist and still meres of water lay stagnant on the 
 coarse grass. It was cold, and grew colder. Gwen and 
 her father rode ahead after the police guide, Gwen still 
 crying now and again silently, and Pamela and Chris fol- 
 lowed with the boy behind them. They did not say much 
 at first. Then a breeze got up, and after the mist had 
 been driven this way and that for a bit, it suddenly lifted. 
 Chris reined up his horse with an exclamation. 
 
 A wonderful sight stretched before and below them. It 
 was apparent that they had been riding as it were on the 
 edge of the world. The path ran between castles and 
 kopjes of rock near the edge of a veritable precipice which 
 fell into the Bushman's Pass. They were riding towards 
 its head, plain to be seen between two peaks, and it ran 
 down, ever widening, to a silver streak of river which 
 grew and grew and passed out finally into the plain of 
 Natal. Dwarfed trees and bushes appeared in increasing 
 patches on the mountain-sides. Far below a streak or 
 two of watery sunshine fell on mealie lands and the white 
 roofs of a small settlement of houses. 
 
 Pamela pointed with her whip. "The S.A.M.R. post," 
 she said. 
 
 Chris looked to the left, to the Basutoland side. The 
 mist there was still swirling over the plain and filling the 
 valleys, but the tumbled succession of peaks rose out of 
 it, a but little known and romantic land. He sighed. "By
 
 248 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 Jove, Pam," he said, "it's hard, despite all this, to turn 
 one's back on that" 
 
 She looked towards the mountains as he had done at 
 that, her strong face showing no trace of what she was 
 planning already, but her eyes narrowing a little. He had 
 given her a perfect opening, and she took it. 
 
 "Why should we?" she said calmly. 
 
 Chris started. "What do you mean?" he asked. 
 
 "Well," she said, "what can you and I do down there? 
 We can do no good. Remember we're in Africa; we 
 shan't even be in time for the funeral. Mr. Eldred and 
 her sister will doubtless go to Kokstad, but if we go any- 
 where, it had better be to Durban and so home. But why 
 should we go? There's no reason that I can see. Why 
 should we not trek across Basutoland to the Free State? 
 Then I can go home, and you can go on to Johannesburg 
 as you want to do, and see the Transvaal." 
 
 "But the others?" queried Chris. 
 
 "We'll see them to Underberg and into the train. Then 
 we can return. A day more or less makes no difference." 
 
 "But our trek things ?" he persisted. 
 
 Pamela looked at him quizzically and laughed outright 
 for the first time that day. "Really, Chris," she said, "you 
 are an old duffer. Didn't Mr. Mallory say that the pack 
 horses and their own must be rested a day at least and 
 not leave till to-morrow? And isn't this orderly leaving 
 us at the border in an hour or so ? He can take a message. 
 We could have our outfit and boys at this very place to- 
 morrow night as easily as possible, and get back here from 
 Underberg in time for tea. Or, better still, we could tell 
 them to wait for us in the Bushman's cave, and we can 
 arrive and camp there for the first night, to-morrow or 
 the day after, as you please." 
 
 The blood raced in Christopher's veins. "By Jove!" he 
 exclaimed, "it would be perfect! You're great, Pam. But 
 look here, could you and I clear off alone like that? What 
 the devil would people say ? There would be days and some
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 249 
 
 nights at least, I suppose, when we'd be far from any Euro- 
 peans and alone up there." 
 
 Pamela hid a smile of triumph. "All right," she said 
 resignedly. "I did not know you were so conventional, 
 Chris. I thought this was the twentieth century, and you 
 my cousin into the bargain. I've seemed to be grown-up so 
 long, and father has so carefully encouraged me to think and 
 act for myself like an intelligent human being, that I forgot 
 you would still think of me as a town-bred miss, afraid of 
 the world. Come on. Let's catch up the others." And she 
 put her pony to a canter. 
 
 But that settled Chris, as she had meant it to do. He 
 caught her up and apologised ruefully. "My dear Pam," 
 was what he said, "I'm a fearful ass. For the Lord's sake, 
 forgive me. Of course you're perfectly right. Do let's do 
 it. We'll catch up, and I'll tell Eldred while you break the 
 news to Gwen." 
 
 She gave him a shy smile. "That's better," she said, "but 
 if you think you'll be bored with me, for heaven's sake say 
 so." 
 
 Chris laughed gaily, but sobered at once. "You know I 
 shan't," he said, "though I may be a bit dull at times. I 
 can't forget this tragedy and Cecily, you know." 
 
 "I'm her friend, too," said Pamela quietly. 
 
 Chris drew Eldred ahead and told him their plan. "I see 
 no reason why we should not go," he said finally. "We can 
 do no good down there, and indeed, after all this, I feel I 
 can't sit still in Griqualand." 
 
 Then Eldred expressed himself. "It's an utter impos- 
 sibility," he burst out. "Forgive me for straight speaking, 
 Ashurst, I know in a way I've no right to speak to you 
 but I'm an older man than you are and I tell you it can't 
 be done. Half the country will talk of it. You will ruin 
 the girl's reputation. Why, as likely as not, you'll be a 
 fortnight getting across and not meet half a dozen white 
 people all the way!" 
 
 "All the more reason why we should go," said Chris curtly.
 
 250 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 "There will be fewer fools to talk, and I expect folks up 
 there will have sloughed off a little of this rotten convention- 
 ality. You seem to forget, Eldred, that Pamela's a grown 
 woman and my cousin." 
 
 "Fiddle-sticks!" exclaimed the farmer angrily. "I don't 
 care what you say. I know things have changed since I was 
 in England, but, good God, you're a man and she's a woman 
 and you can't go gadding about together as if you were man 
 and wife! If you do, the world will say you're man and 
 mistress ever after." 
 
 Christopher laughed easily, his anger evaporating. "Look 
 here," he said, "I might be angry, but I won't be. I know 
 you mean it all right. But I'll be as straight as you are. 
 There are dirty-minded fools in the world who may speak 
 as you say, but I don't think Pamela or I care a curse for 
 them. I know I don't. And if she doesn't, I'm not going 
 to try and persuade her to do so. Talk to her yourself if 
 you want to, but you've settled me. If I ever had any hesi- 
 tation, I haven't now. If she remains willing, I shall cer- 
 tainly go." 
 
 He pulled up his pony, and as the girls came up said 
 coolly to Pamela, "Pam, Mr. Eldred is against it and wants 
 to talk to you. Ride on with him, will you?" 
 
 She nodded and did so, and Chris dropped to Gwen's 
 side. "Well, Gwen," he said, "what do you think of it?" 
 
 She raised a miserable face to him. "Oh," she said 
 wearily, "I don't know. It's Pain's lookout, I think. Per- 
 sonally, I'd go, like a shot, if it were me, though I expect 
 I shouldn't for my people's sake, if it came to the point. 
 Only I've no wish to go now. I don't want ever to see 
 Basutoland again. When I think of Cecil riding back now 
 to to " And she broke down again. 
 
 Chris at her side, put his hand on her arm. "Gwen," he 
 said gravely, "I think this is the first big sorrow that has 
 come your way, isn't it? Well, little girl, when you're as 
 old as I you may know more, but we live in a strange world, 
 Gwen, God knows how strange. We're here for a flicker
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 251 
 
 of time, no more, and we cannot answer a single question 
 of all the riddle about us. Death is not the least of those 
 riddles, but it is certainly not, it seems to me, the greatest. 
 After a while one comes to feel that it is perhaps a small 
 thing, smaller than birth at any rate. People think sur- 
 prisingly little about bringing a child into this world, and 
 surprisingly much when God calls it out. To my mind, life 
 is terrible, not death. I feel as sure that life persists as I 
 feel that I live now, but the other side of death, life is in 
 wiser hands than ours. Once some one we love passes over 
 there, it is time to dry our tears." 
 
 "And here ?" asked Gwen more quietly. 
 
 "Here?" queried Chris. "Well, here it is a queer muddle, 
 but it's a great adventure. It's so great an adventure that 
 most people do not truly dare it. Most of our rules and 
 conventions have arisen because people are afraid of life, of 
 experimenting, of adventuring out bravely. The world has 
 tried to tuck us all up in cotton-wool. But that's a poor 
 business and we get nowhere that way. Some of us are 
 beginning to see it, I think, and that's why there is a revolt 
 to-day against conventional things. We have dared to ask 
 'Why ?* to half the prohibitions and behold there is no answer. 
 Say 'Boo!' boldly, and half the shrieking horrors turn out 
 to be babbling geese. In a way, death itself sheds its awful- 
 ness and its power to affright if you quietly face it. Pamela 
 and I are both made that way, and that's why even a little 
 thing like this trek seems simple to both of us. The world 
 says: 'Oh you mustn't do it. It isn't proper!' and we say 
 'Why?' and there's no answer! Or at least there's no 
 answer that cannot be settled with instantly if one is strong 
 enough." 
 
 Gwen was silent. She was thinking of many things. And 
 they rode up so to a gate in a thin fence of barbed wire which 
 they had been following for some while. The orderly stood 
 dismounted at it, and Pam and Mr. Eldred were already 
 there. 
 
 Pamela turned to Chris, smiling amusedly. "I've had a
 
 252 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 real lecture, Chris," she said, laying her hand on Mr. Eldred's 
 arm, "and I know Mr. Eldred too well to mind what he says 
 to me, or, on the other hand, to take no notice of it. So I've 
 promised him something. When we get to Underberg I'll 
 wire father yes, Mr. Eldred shall see the telegram and agree 
 that it is plain enough and honestly non-committal. He's 
 staying in Durban, you know, and we can get an answer 
 easily by to-morrow morning, possibly to-night. If he says 
 it's all right and he doesn't mind, I'll go, but if not, I won't. 
 Is that all right ?" 
 
 "You must forgive an old-fashioned person, Ashurst," 
 said Mr. Eldred before Chris could reply. "I've known 
 this young lady a long time, and I feel I'm in some sort 
 responsible for her up here. But if her father honestly 
 has no objections, of course it's not for me to raise any." 
 
 Chris glanced from one to the other gravely, but Pamela's 
 smile was infectious. "All right," he said, "but what about 
 our orders to this fellow ? He's to go back now. He can't 
 wait for a telegram." 
 
 "Oh I've thought of that," said Pamela. "We'll tell him 
 what we suggested before, but add this. If we don't get 
 back to the cave by to-morrow night, or send a message, our 
 boys are to turn round and go off after the others. They'll 
 probably catch them up. Mr. Mallory told the police not to 
 hurry the packs, and after all it's only a few hours from 
 the Falls to here." 
 
 It was agreed so, and the police orderly got his instruc- 
 tions and a note in Sesuto from Pamela to her own boy 
 whom she could trust. Then he turned back, and the four 
 of them rode on alone. It was lovely descending the Pass, 
 though very steep, and again and again they had to get off 
 and lead the horses. The wind did not reach them after 
 they had dropped the first five or six hundred feet, and the 
 path wound in and out of rocks and scrub, crossing and re- 
 crossing tiny brawling streams and skirting detached masses 
 of cliff which must have fallen, in long ages past, from the 
 grim mountains on either side. Under one such, Pamela
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 253 
 
 stopped and pointed up the strewn slope which led to its base. 
 A black opening was plainly visible. "That's the Bushman's 
 cave," she said ; "shall we go up and have a look ?" 
 
 Gwen gave a little shudder. (Pamela wondered what she 
 would have done if she had known what Chris and she her- 
 self knew.) "Oh, no," she cried. "Isn't that your Anubis 
 cave, Pam? I never even want to hear of it again." 
 
 Pam glanced at Chris. Her eyes queried To-morrow?' 
 He smiled. 
 
 The sun shone on them right into the valley, but as they 
 reached the river below, clouds came up and hid it. Chris 
 glanced up at them. "We're in for rain," he said to Eldred. 
 "Don't you think so ?" 
 
 The farmer nodded. "Looks like it, but I hope not much. 
 We've some way to go yet, and it will be awkward if it does, 
 for these rivers come down so quickly." 
 
 They could ride easily now, and presently emerged into 
 the plain at the foot of the Pass on which the police camp 
 stood. At a canter they rode across the mile or two which 
 still separated them from the house, the clouds gathering all 
 the time. Thunder rolled up the Pass they had left, and 
 big drops were falling as Chris led the way in between two 
 whitewashed posts and up to a rondhavel with a notice above 
 it to the effect that this was a station of the South African 
 Mounted Rifles and Police. He knocked at the door, and a 
 man in undress uniform came out. The rain was by this 
 time falling fairly heavily, and the girls were tugging out 
 mackintoshes from rolls and saddle-bags. The white police 
 sergeant shouted for boys who ran up and took their horses 
 to the stables, and himself led the way to his house. His 
 wife was nursing a baby in the front room, but she dis- 
 appeared with it as they entered and returned in a moment 
 to welcome them. As they sat down, the rain began to fall 
 in rods on the iron roof and it was no easy matter to talk. 
 
 "It can't last long like this," shouted the constable to Mr. 
 Eldred above the noise. "Wait an hour or so and have some 
 tea. I expect when you've had a cup or two it will be over."
 
 254 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 "What about the rivers ?" Eldred shouted back. 
 
 "Oh, nothing to worry about. You only cross two and 
 both high up not_far from here. There's a bridge over the 
 Umzimkulu and you don't reach it until you're dose by 
 Underberg." 
 
 But the rain did not cease. After a while, however, it did 
 not fall quite so heavily, and they sat and chatted while the 
 man told them of his lonely service up there, and of the 
 tricks of the native and occasional white liquor runners who 
 made a profitable job of smuggling a few bottles at a time 
 of execrable brandy across the border into the Protectorate. 
 According to him, he could not stir out without notice being 
 given by sentinels on the watch, and although his very 
 presence did something to hinder the trade, captures were 
 few and far between. He had made one, though, the week 
 before. Pretending to set out for a farm in one direction, 
 he had turned on his tracks under cover of night and sur- 
 prised a convoy on the very edge of the border up towards 
 the Sani Pass. He had collared seventeen bottles of the 
 stuff and a revolver, he said, by which evidence he hoped to 
 lay hands on a local native sub-chief suspected of the traffic. 
 
 But still it rained. It was pleasant enough to sit there 
 dry, chatting and drinking the hot tea, but if they were to 
 get to the railway that night, they must go, rain or no rain, 
 Eldred and Chris took many journeys into the open to look 
 at the sky, and finally, in a drizzle, they started. 
 
 The ground was very wet and slippery, the grass and 
 bush waist high, and the path narrow. Little streams were 
 now biggish yellow rivers, and the crossing of them no easy 
 job. The horses slipped about on the hidden stones, and one 
 could only sit tight and hope for the best. The rain came on, 
 worse than ever. They were soon wet beneath their water- 
 proofs, and all attempt to make light of things ceased among 
 them. To Gwen, the ride fast became a nightmare. Chris 
 rode thinking all the time of the distant Cecil and how she 
 was faring in this. Pamela alone seemed fairly indifferent, 
 leading the way half the time and making all speed where she
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 255 
 
 could, her face streaming with wet but her cheeks shining 
 with health. 
 
 They were now completely out of the Pass and on the 
 flat veld. The mountains stretched behind them, black with 
 rainstorms and stabbed with lightning. The path itself was 
 entirely flooded and at times it was not possible to see the 
 way at all. Soon they were riding through several inches 
 of water over flooded country, Pam still a few yards ahead, 
 the other three together behind, with Chris a bit in advance 
 on Gwen's right. He had just remarked to Eldred that 
 Pamela seemed much more sure of the road than he was, 
 and he was in the act of calling to her to take care, when 
 the thing happened. She gave a sharp exclamation and 
 appeared to try to rein back her horse, who stood a moment, 
 slithered, shrieked as a horse will in sudden peril, and then, 
 with its rider, plunged forward into a deep hidden pool and 
 literally disappeared. 
 
 Chris was off in a second and floundering on foot to the 
 place where, a moment before, his cousin had been. He 
 heard Gwen gasp behind him and Eldred shout : "Take care. 
 You'll be in too!" Then Pamela reappeared, white, her hat 
 gone, cumbered and struggling in her wet riding cloak, her 
 horse swimming beside her. 
 
 "Mind his hoofs!" cried Eldred in an agony behind him, 
 but Chris did not stay to think. He was in, and the thick 
 turbid waters were over his head. There was thunder in 
 his ears, and a wall of yellow liquid about him for what 
 seemed an age, and then he emerged, swimming strongly and 
 making for the figure of the girl who was half under water, 
 with her cloak burgeoning out over her from the air im- 
 prisoned beneath. He glanced at her horse. The beast was 
 climbing out with difficulty in the sticky mud, and the current 
 had carried his rider and Chris past him. already. There 
 was no danger there at any rate. And now he had reached 
 Pamela and was fighting with the folds of the cloak. Under 
 again for a moment, the water half choking him ; then up 
 "Keep still a moment," he gasped "hands back," and he
 
 256 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 tore at the cloak. The girl was trying to stand, but the 
 bottom was too muddy. Perfectly cool, she held her arms 
 up and back to give him the help with her cloak that he 
 needed, and disappeared afresh. He wrenched off the mack- 
 intosh with an effort, and went down again after her. 
 
 It seemed an eternity before they were out. Eldred, on 
 the other bank, could give no help; he was already some 
 hundreds of yards down looking for a crossing; and Gwen 
 had hidden her face in her hands. One arm round Pamela's 
 waist, Chris fought with the other to gain a grip on grass and 
 bushes. And at last it was done. Nearly exhausted, he half 
 fell, half staggered forward on the soaked grass, gasping 
 for breath. 
 
 Pamela lay still beneath him. He sat up, and turned her 
 over. She had fainted. She was wearing a shirt and a tie 
 which had tightened about her throat, and with clumsy 
 ringers he loosened it, opening the shirt. Then, with dim 
 remembrances of first-aid lessons, his fingers groped on her 
 breast, and then, with his hand on her heart, his senses 
 reeled for a moment. The next thing he knew clearly was 
 the sting of brandy on his lips and Pamela's own voice calling 
 his name. 
 
 He smiled and struggled into a sitting position. "Oh, all 
 right," he said faintly. 
 
 She peered into his face, and his gaze travelled up her 
 loosened disordered dress, her white throat, her face, and 
 stayed on her eyes. He had never quite realised before what 
 eyes Pamela had. He looked stupidly into them for what 
 seemed like minutes. "Oh, all right," he said again dully. 
 
 "Did the horse kick you ?" asked Eldred anxiously. 
 
 "No, I don't think so," said Chris, still half dazed. 
 
 Pamela smiled. She was fast recovering. "You'd know 
 if he had," she said. "See if you can get up, Chris. We 
 can't stay here." 
 
 He got to his feet. They looked a comical group in the 
 still falling rain, Pamela with her hair streaming and her 
 clothes still disordered ; Eldred holding the brandy flask and
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 257 
 
 bare-headed; Gwen, who had now crossed where her father 
 had discovered a passage and had pluckily collected the 
 horses, white-faced still, and trembling. His mind cleared, 
 and he burst out laughing, in which Pamela joined him, 
 buttoning up her shirt. 
 
 "What a fool I was," he said. "But I'm all right now. 
 Jove, that was a flounder, Pam! Where's your mac.?" 
 
 "There," said Eldred, pointing to it, stranded a little way 
 downstream. "I'll get it." He walked towards it. 
 
 "Are you all right, Pam?" asked Gwen, anxiously. 
 
 "Quite," she said. "Thank God it's not over cold. But 
 we must ride to keep warm. Can you manage it, Chris?" 
 
 "Oh rather," he said, himself again and a bit ashamed of 
 his momentary weakness, "if you can, that is. There's a 
 farm over there. Shall we go to it?" 
 
 "And cross this stream again ?" laughed Pamela. "What 
 do you say, Gwen?" 
 
 "Oh I daren't," said the girl. "Let's get on : we are sure 
 to pass another soon." 
 
 It was Chris who helped Pamela to mount, and in the 
 saddle she leaned over and clasped his hand. Her touch 
 recalled to Chris how a few seconds ago, his fingers had 
 lain on her breast, and the colour mounted slightly to his 
 face. She did not heed it. Bending over a little, she looked 
 steadily at him. "Thanks, Chris," she said. "You saved 
 my life, my dear, and I shan't forget it." 
 
 At the moment he could find nothing to say. He was 
 unlike himself. He could only think suddenly that she was 
 not quite the Pamela he had known before. And there shot 
 through his brain the quick remembrance that for the next 
 fortnight they would be alone together. 
 
 "It was nothing," he said, "and you'll have time to thank 
 me in the next few weeks." 
 
 She chuckled, and in so doing seemed to him at once 
 her old self again. "What about the telegram?" she said. 
 "Probably father will forbid it." 
 
 Her laugh belied her words, but Chris began to realise that
 
 258 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 he would be enormously disappointed if it turned out so. 
 
 Hour after hour they rode on. Not long after their mis- 
 hap, the rain ceased, but no sun came out and the roads 
 were very wet. The horses seemed determined not to travel 
 quickly, and were in any case fairly tired with the previous 
 trekking, for of course they had had no day's rest, and 
 conversation died down among the party. Eldred kept 
 glancing nervously at Gwen, who seemed to feel the cold 
 and damp the most. But the wind was drying their outer 
 garments fairly well. Pamela, despite her immersion, seemed 
 fit enough, and neither of the men thought of themselves. 
 The day began to die, and in the dusk they saw at last the 
 lights of Underberg. It is a railway terminus and a vastly 
 important place in that part of the world, but it can boast 
 only a railway station and two cottages for officials, and 
 a hotel combining bar, farm, store, and Post Office, some 
 half dozen fields away. Thither the tired party made their 
 way, and dismounted in the road before the lights of the 
 bar. 
 
 "Now," said Chris, "drinks first. Yes, for all of us. The 
 boy can take the horses, and meantime we get alcohol into 
 us at once." 
 
 They invaded the bar and found a pleasant motherly 
 woman in charge. Hot toddies brought colour to Gwen's 
 cheeks and loosened their tongues. "What about clothes?" 
 demanded Eldred. "I think you ought both to go to bed." 
 
 "Oh, father, no," cried Gwen. "We've more or less of 
 a change in the saddle-bags, and my skirt is dry now anyway. 
 We can manage, especially if we can get our wet things dried 
 at a fire for to-morrow. It would be beastly to go to bed. 
 What do you say, Pam?" 
 
 "I agree," said Pamela. "Tell you what, we'll put on our 
 dry pyjamas next our skin and the next dryest things on 
 them. I've got a blouse and skirt in the bags, too. Besides 
 I've a telegram to send, and I shall wait up for an answer." 
 
 Eldred flushed a little. He began rather to wish he had 
 said nothing, but they must needs all troop off to the Tele-
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 259 
 
 graph Office which was part of the little general store. 
 Here Pamela composed a telegram, with much pencil-sucking 
 to assist her, and finally read it in triumph to the rest of them. 
 "Although others return do you mind Chris and I trekking 
 Free State together. P.," she had written. Eldred agreed 
 that it would do, and they moved off to their quarters. Two 
 rondhavels standing by themselves at the end of the garden 
 had been given up to them, and here, with much merriment, 
 they changed. Chris had a pair of slacks and a shirt, but 
 was forced to retain his jacket; Eldred found his riding 
 breeches fairly dry and had another coat; and finally the 
 girls emerged in a mixture of raiment. They invaded the 
 little dining-room and toasted themselves at a fire. There 
 was no one there at first, but presently Mr. Saulson put in 
 his appearance and was introduced to them. 
 
 Saulson was a character. He was over seventy, white- 
 haired and shabby, and he wore, except when actually sitting 
 with ladies, a real old-fashioned Boer hat such as you rarely 
 see these days. He had been a seaman, miner, waiter, beach- 
 comber, policeman, journalist, school-master, Free Church 
 minister and finally miner again. Indeed he had been miner 
 in between whiles as well. He had prospected for gold in 
 Australia, the Yukon and South Africa, but he had never 
 found it. Just now he was convinced that there were valu- 
 uable minerals in the Drakensberg. He had been so convinced 
 for a couple of years or more, and he was waiting in Under- 
 berg for someone to roll up who could also be convinced and 
 find the capital. It seemed a forlorn hope, but he waited. 
 The good hostess of the hotel permitted him to stay, and 
 pocketed irregular allowances which occasionally drifted 
 out from home. In a word, he was seventy and finished, but 
 the kindliness of the country recognised and tolerated him, 
 instead of, as in older lands, recognising and kicking him out. 
 As a matter of fact, Natural History was his hobby. He could 
 speak of trees from the cedar that is in Lebanon (which 
 he also had visited ) unto the hyssop that springeth out of the 
 wall, and he could discourse of beasts and of fowls and of
 
 260 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 creeping things and of fishes. In Chris he found a ready 
 listener, and after a while, as he thought, a possible financier. 
 He is of no importance, except that he somehow lent Under- 
 berg a character in the eyes of the party. Years afterwards 
 Gwen could see it all again : Pamela sitting by the fire nursing 
 her knees and gazing into the flames ; her father smoking his 
 pipe amusedly in an armchair; herself at full length in a 
 steamer-chair right in front of the blaze; Chris by her side 
 and leaning back against her, lighting cigarette from cigarette 
 and listening chaffingly with occasional questions ; and Saul- 
 son, who had resumed his hat for reasons of his own, bolt 
 upright in the corner of the fireplace opposite Pam, talking 
 earnestly and striking his right hand into the palm of his 
 left from time to time. The firelight flickered on the ceiling- 
 board walls and bare wooden floor, and on the iron roof the 
 rain had begun to beat again. 
 
 Probably she dozed. Her mind went back to the parting 
 of the morning, and at the remembrance she caught her 
 breath with a little stab of pain. She seemed to see Cecil's 
 bent slight form riding away in the grey mist with the two 
 men beside her. It looked horribly, she thought, as if she 
 were a prisoner riding to some awful fate. And then she 
 pictured the trail up which they had all come together the 
 day before, and imagined that little figure riding as swiftly 
 as might be back and back and back. Then she thought she 
 saw Ronnie and here no doubt she was asleep Ronnie 
 starting to cross a sunlit road, just toddling. His nurse 
 gossiped with a black boy by the side and took no heed. 
 Gwen wanted to shout and could not, and suddenly round 
 the corner came the motor, nearer, nearer, louder, louder 
 Crash ! She awoke with a little cry of horror. 
 
 Chris turned to look at her. "You've been asleep," he 
 said. "It's only the girl bringing the telegram I expect." 
 
 Old Saulson had gone to the door for it as being the 
 nearest, and he handed the flimsy envelope to Pamela. She 
 tore it open, and laughed her chuckling laugh. Then she 
 glanced swiftly at Chris and turned to Mr. Eldred. "It's
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 261 
 
 rather characteristic of father," she said. "Listen: 'Gen- 
 esis xlv. 24. "See that ye fall not out by the way." Urfurd.' 
 Does that satisfy you, Mr. Eldred?" 
 
 He sighed and got to his feet. But he was man enough to 
 take his defeat in good part. "I suppose so," he said. "But 
 we shall none of us so much as get into the way unless we 
 go to bed. Gwen's asleep already, or was, and we're all 
 pretty tired." 
 
 They lit the girls to their rondhavel, and lingered a 
 moment at their own door. There was a fitful moon and 
 the rain was again clearing. "I think we've had the worst 
 of it, Ashurst," he said. "Poor, poor little Cecil, I wonder 
 where she is. God comfort her to-night." 
 
 Chris was not a religious man, but he recognised that the 
 other's saying was more than a conventional commonplace, 
 and he answered it solemnly. "Amen," he said.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE train swung round the bend and, at the turn, Gwen 
 leant out and waved her hand. Next minute it was out 
 of sight, and Pamela and Chris turned simultaneously to 
 one another. He smiled and she chuckled. The station- 
 master, wearing a heavy overcoat for it was quite cold thus 
 early, trudged past them, and the car that had come in with 
 passengers from Himeville snorted off. The two walked 
 away together. 
 
 "What were you thinking of then?" asked Chris as they 
 left the little station. 
 
 "Can't you guess?" 
 
 "No." ' 
 
 Pamela shrugged her shoulders with an air of comic 
 resignation. "Well, I suppose I really didn't matter to you 
 then in the least, cousin Chris. Or perhaps you've been to 
 so many places and seen so many people since, that you've 
 forgotten. No, I won't flatter myself ; I think it is the first. 
 But you mattered a good deal to me that day." 
 
 He still looked puzzled. "What day, Pamela?" 
 
 "I was what? goodness knows! thirteen or fourteen I 
 suppose, and father and I were staying with you and your 
 people in Devonshire. One morning early our respective 
 fathers went to town and I was left for a whole day in your 
 care. That morning there was nobody on the station when 
 the train had left but old Jeremy the porter and we two. 
 Remember now ? This recalled that." 
 
 He flushed a little and glanced at her half curiously. 
 "You are a queer girl, Pam," he said. "Why do you remind 
 me of that now?" 
 
 She chuckled again. "You still don't remember," she 
 
 262
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 263 
 
 said. "Do not you recall how you abused your trust? You 
 kissed me, Chris, that day for the first and last time I 
 vowed then when I discovered you meant nothing by it. Of 
 course those dears don't know it, but that's really why it 
 is possible for me to trek with you for a week or more across 
 Basutoland, accompanied, chaperoned and otherwise pro-, 
 tected only by two natives." 
 
 Chris laughed easily, but his cousin detected the incipient 
 frown that puckered his forehead ever so slightly. She knew' 
 well enough that she had already struck a little spark which 
 might, she thought, if she wished, flame into a fire. Chris 
 felt somehow that her reminder of that absurd incident of 
 long ago was by way of a slight to him. He had not found 
 that women generally refused his kisses; in fact, had any 
 other? Not that he wanted to kiss Pamela; he had done 
 with all that for Cecily's sake; but his conceit did not like 
 the situation. He should have been the one to refuse, not 
 Pamela. And yet Pamela had as good as told him that it 
 was because he was and could be only a good companion that 
 she had ventured on this trek. Being Chris, he naturally 
 frowned ever so slightly of course. But he wished to see 
 his virtue, not hers, come triumphant from the situation. 
 
 Pamela need not have been the least anxious lest he should 
 see through her subtlety. She was far too deep for him. 
 The game she had set herself to play for Cecily's sake had 
 been well started, and his slight frown augured well for its 
 success. 
 
 So, a couple of hours later, they set off on their return to 
 the Berg. The sky was grey and sullen, but it was not 
 actually raining, and the boy with the spare horses rode in 
 front. Pamela was by far the more gay of the two, for the 
 thought of Cecil travelled every foot of the way with Chris. 
 She saw soon enough what lay uppermost in his mind and 
 did not hesitate to speak of it. They were breasting a hill 
 together at foot pace when she asked abruptly: 
 
 "Did you have that talk with Cecil which you promised 
 me, Chris?"
 
 264 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 He nodded, but did not speak. 
 
 "And the result?" 
 
 There was no reply for a few minutes, but Pamela waited 
 expectantly. Then Chris raised his head and looked at her, 
 and their eyes met steadily. "Pam," he said, "I think I can 
 trust you indeed I know I can. Cecil had but just prom- 
 ised to come away with me when Sinclair and Eldred rode 
 up to her with that ghastly news." 
 
 "I guessed so," said Pamela. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Oh from a few words that Cecil said to me in the tent 
 when I went in to her." 
 
 "What did she say?" he demanded. 
 
 Pamela settled herself in the saddle, having reached the 
 top of the rise. "Nothing much," she said. "You can surely 
 guess that the poor child was far too upset to talk coherently 
 about anything." 
 
 "By God, yes," said Chris, a trifle hoarsely. "You were 
 right, Pam. I couldn't have ridden back with them to Ram- 
 atseliso's. I should have had her in my arms before the end 
 despite Hugh, and God knows what would have happened 
 then. You've no idea how much I love her." 
 
 Pamela glanced at him curiously. "Well, Chris," she said, 
 "and how do you think this affects your plans?" 
 
 "It doesn't affect them at all," he said quickly, "or at least 
 it only delays them. You know well enough that I mean the 
 little chap no harm and that I don't really speak callously, 
 but if anything, Ronnie's death just clears the road. Noth- 
 ing remains but the solid fact that that marriage was not 
 made in heaven. They are utterly unsuited to each other, 
 and Cecil went into it too young to know her own mind. She 
 knows it now, thank God; I believe she loves me with her 
 whole heart. And I love her, Pam you've no idea how I 
 love her and when a necessary few months have gone by, 
 I shall go up again and claim her. How I shall manage to 
 wait that time, I don't know, but this I know : Cecily and I
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 265 
 
 are pledged to each other and nothing shall come between 
 us." 
 
 The girl did not attempt to contradict him, and no trace 
 of her thoughts appeared on her face. A couple of big 
 locust birds, feeding on the veld, rose heavily at their ap- 
 proach and flapped across the path ahead of them. She 
 watched them idly. When they had settled again, she spoke. 
 
 "So you are quite sure it will make no difference?" 
 
 "Quite," he said emphatically, "why should it?" 
 
 "Why indeed?" said Pamela, and lapsed into silence 
 again. 
 
 "If only I could have got a word with her at parting!" 
 burst out Chris suddenly. "Pam, I hope to God I don't 
 have to go through another twenty-four hours like that! 
 To see her ride away, utterly stricken with sorrow, and at 
 parting not to be able to say a word ! But she'll write. Does 
 Hugh see all her letters ?" 
 
 "I think so. Till you came, she was far too unsophisti- 
 cated to have any other arrangement with her husband." 
 
 Chris digested this in silence. Then: "But you could 
 send a message for me ? Possibly he would not want to see 
 your letter." 
 
 "What do you want me to say?" 
 
 "Only that I hope with all my heart that she will write 
 to me. You could say, in case he sees, that I was very cut 
 up, and that you know how much I should like a word. 
 She'll understand. I'll write to Hugh myself, of course, 
 as soon as I can a friendly letter of sympathy, I mean. 
 But I can't write such a letter to her. Will you ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Pamela, "but I shouldn't expect her to say 
 much, if I were you. She's a poor correspondent." 
 
 Silence again for a while. Both were busy with their 
 thoughts. Then, on a level, they broke into an easy canter 
 side by side, and Chris said : 
 
 "Look here, Pam, what do you think of all this yourself ? 
 Now, I mean. Do you think I'm a beast and a cad?"
 
 266 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 "Good Lord, no," she replied quickly. "I'm no conven- 
 tional saint, Chris, and certain aspects of the case, touching 
 Hugh, I know you regret as much as possible. But there 
 they are, and you can't help them. Of course Ronnie's 
 death is a horrible tragedy, especially at a moment like 
 that, but naturally neither you nor she were in the very least 
 responsible. That goes without saying. And I think very 
 little of that marriage either, although . . ." And she 
 hesitated. 
 
 "Yes?" he queried. 
 
 "Well, it's useless talking to you of Cecil. You've your 
 own ideas and you're very much in love with her. But if 
 Cecil is not cut out for Hugh, I tell you honestly, Chris, I'm 
 not so sure she is cut out for you either. You can over- 
 talk her and persuade her, and you've thrown a glamour 
 over her. But you're late in the day, and Cecil is funda- 
 mentally a woman. Your ideas of women and hers are not 
 the same. You're a modern ; she's as old as the hills, child 
 as she is. You're not dealing with a modern girl, or a 
 woman emancipated. . . ." 
 
 "Thank God for that !" broke in Chris quickly. 
 
 Pamela laughed heartily. "Chris," she said, "you're an 
 amazing person. If you were not at this moment very 
 much in love, you'd see the absurdity of yourself ! That's 
 honest. Here are you, breaking in on Cecil with all your 
 modern ideas on marriage and morality, and yet you thank 
 God that Cecil is not emancipated ! Why, you've been 
 down on your knees to her for days, begging her to emanci- 
 pate herself !" 
 
 Chris looked a little foolish. But he rallied stoutly. "Oh 
 well," he said, "I didn't mean that sort of emancipation. I 
 thought you referred to the kind of female one meets in 
 town these days who is as cool as a cucumber with men and 
 apparently has no primitive instincts left." 
 
 "Well," replied Pamela, "you can't have it all ways, my 
 dear. I take it you want Cecil to emancipate herself from what 
 you would call civilised conventions and get back to primitive
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 267 
 
 instincts. You say she has promised a course of action 
 which is to all intents and purposes to do so. Good, but 
 are you quite so sure that you know what primitive in- 
 stincts in a woman are? You're mighty clever if you do! 
 There's a damn lot of talk these days about primitive in- 
 stincts, and, so far as I can see, precious little understand- 
 ing of them." And Pamela's hands tightened involuntarily 
 on her rein, so that her pony tossed his head and had a 
 little to say on primitive instincts himself. 
 
 When he was quietened, Chris rode up alongside again. 
 "What do you know about them, anyway?" he queried 
 quizzically. 
 
 But Pamela had recovered herself. "Enough to know that 
 there is a great deal I do not know," she said with her 
 chuckle. "Enough not to worry much about them, anyway. 
 People who possess them must work the problem out. 
 They're bigger than we are, Chris, but woman's instincts are 
 queer things. There was Nanea's husband, for example." 
 
 "I didn't know she had one," said Chris. 
 
 "Nor she has, now. He died of the influenza, unwept and 
 unsung. He was about as old as Sekeke, her father, and she 
 did not care a mealie stalk for him. She loved Ungugu in- 
 stead. So one dark night, Ungugu crept into her hut and 
 struck a knife into her husband before the law which he 
 thought (and she thought) finished him, only he was a 
 tough old thing, and, besides that, destined for the flu. But 
 what do you suppose Nanea does? Reap the fruit of his 
 labour in peace ? Not at all. She threw herself into the arms 
 of Ungugu and while he was kissing her stuck a second 
 knife into his ribs. He wasn't so tough as the other, and 
 besides he was not destined for the flu. Then she went out 
 and called her father." 
 
 The ghost of Nanea's lover would probably have thought 
 that Chris laughed heartlessly. "But you don't suppose 
 Cecily will dig me in the ribs?" he demanded. "Besides, 
 why in the world did Nanea do it?" 
 
 Pamela smiled. "No," she said, "I don't. And I don't
 
 268 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 know why Nanea did it either. Primitive instincts of a wife, 
 I suppose. Unless it was a little game of Haketsebe's." 
 
 Chris shifted his reins into his other hand and felt for his 
 tobacco pouch. Then he sighed. "Well, Pam," he said, 
 "let's change the subject. I'm glad we've had this talk, and 
 I'm very grateful, dear, that you are Cecily's friend and on 
 our side. One thing I know. I shall go and fetch Cecil 
 in a few months' time with a couple of steamer tickets in my 
 pocket. She'll not refuse me then. I know she won't. And 
 then for Paradise." 
 
 "I thought the gates were guarded," said Pamela drily. 
 
 "Yes, to that ancient place. But we shall make our own, 
 and a better." 
 
 "Sure Cecil will think it better?" 
 
 "By God, she will," swore Chris earnestly. 
 
 Pamela said nothing. 
 
 The little stream that had been a torrent twelve hours 
 before and had threatened to bar Chris out of his new 
 Paradise as effectively as the flaming sword of the old, was 
 now no more than a stream again. They crossed it easily, 
 and on the far side had lunch the remains of a cold chicken 
 from the hotel, some excellent cheese and a flask of whisky. 
 
 Pamela regarded the brook before her meditatively. 
 "That was a near enough thing, Chris," she said. "I remem- 
 ber your reaching me, and that you wrenched off my mac., 
 but not much else. The next thing I knew was the taste 
 of brandy and the sight of your face looking pretty ghastly. 
 Now if you had not come in for me, I wonder where I should 
 have been by this time ?" 
 
 Chris threw a chicken bone into the water. "Where time 
 is no more. Making daisy chains in heaven," he said lightly. 
 
 She smiled, but did not take up his jest. "It seems to 
 me such an adventure that I'm almost sorry I did not under- 
 take it," she said. 
 
 Chris dropped his banter. "I know," he said, "I've felt 
 that same myself. If I don't just now, it's for obvious 
 reasons. I want to live a few months more and live them
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 269 
 
 quickly, and besides it's only due to you to say that, that 
 apart, I can hardly imagine anything better than this little 
 jaunt of ours. You're a rattling good pal, Pamela." 
 
 She turned her head deliberately towards him, and it 
 dawned on him again, suddenly, what a desirable person 
 she was. Her narrowed eyes smiled into his. There was 
 something in her face and particularly in those eyes that 
 made him want to kiss her. He put the idea instantly from 
 him as he would never have done a couple of weeks before, 
 but the thought had been there, and in that moment, while 
 the water murmured in the reeds and the wind sang softly 
 across the veld, their wills met for the first time of the many 
 to follow in the days that were coming. It was scarcely 
 more than the salute of fencers, and Chris did not trouble 
 himself to enquire why he should have felt a crossing of 
 the swords at all ; but it was there. Pamela, probably, did 
 not in the least expect him to kiss her, and therefore she 
 had no sense of defeat, but she knew well enough that he 
 had thought of it at her look. That was enough. She re- 
 plied to his compliment. "Thanks," she said. 
 
 Chris leant on his arm, regarding her. His eyes travelled 
 covertly down her figure, and his senses stirred a little. 
 "Yes," he said again, "I'm jolly grateful I fished you out. 
 You're too good to lose, my dear. I wouldn't have missed 
 this business for anything." 
 
 She chuckled. "Oh that's why you are glad you fished 
 me out, is it ?" she said. "That's a back-handed sort of com- 
 pliment, Chris. But tell me, you rebel against most of the 
 accepted beliefs and practices, where do you suppose I 
 should have gone?" 
 
 He shifted his look to the flowing water. "Frankly," he 
 said, "I haven't the least idea. That you your real self 
 would have gone somewhere, I don't doubt for a moment. 
 The extinction of life seems to me utterly inconceivable. 
 I find no difficulty in believing in the immortality of the 
 soul, indeed my difficulty lies in thinking that the smallest 
 insect that creeps or flies is not immortal. Of course what I
 
 270 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 question in their case is the consciousness of life, and if theirs 
 is a life that has never been conscious of a distinct existence 
 at all, as seems possible, maybe it will simply pass back, so 
 to speak, to the reservoir of life, whatever that may be, like 
 a drop of water that sparkles a moment in the sun and falls 
 back into the sea." 
 
 "Wherefore?" she queried. 
 
 "Well, therefore, we at any rate go on living. Where, 
 I don't know. How, I don't know. Why, I don't know. 
 Personally I am inclined to think that down here we simply 
 cannot know those things. Just as a fish, even if endowed 
 with reason, could hardly conceive of our life, so I think we 
 cannot conceive of our own life hereafter. It will be of 
 another order of things. That's all there is to it." 
 
 Pamela reached for another cheese sandwich. "I know 
 what you mean," she said. "I read a novel the other day 
 which imagined life in Arcturus. It was jolly clever, but 
 towards the end your brain fairly went on strike. There 
 was so much in Arcturus totally unlike the things of Earth 
 that the author had to invent new names and phrases to de- 
 scribe them. But it conveyed nothing to me. There were 
 new colours, but to be told that 'jale' bears the same relation 
 to blue as red does to green fails to give me any idea as to 
 jale." 
 
 Chris nodded. "And St. John, being wiser than your 
 author, said there was gold in Heaven because it would have 
 been quite useless to call it jale." 
 
 "I regret the loss of the streets of gold," said Pamela. 
 
 Chris laughed. "Cheer up," he said. "Gold's only a 
 certain combination of positive and negative electrons, and 
 who can say that electrons will not be in Heaven !" 
 
 "Pass me that flask of whisky," said Pamela. "It's my 
 turn. Thanks. Chris, what about Spiritualism?" 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. "It's beyond me," he replied. 
 "A lot of fraud and a substratum of truth, I think. But 
 most of the jargon is impossible. I should insult my friends
 
 [THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 271 
 
 to think that their spirits would think or act as those fellows 
 say." 
 
 Pamela was silent At last she looked up. "So that's 
 all?" she queried. 
 
 "What else is there?" retorted Christopher. 
 
 "Nothing in life has taught you to say more?" she per- 
 sisted. 
 
 "No," he said, plainly a little bewildered. 
 
 "Let's get on, then," said Pamela, abruptly. 
 
 It was a curious business, this work of retracing their foot- 
 steps without the others, and curious, too, how different the 
 aspect of everything was to-day. Yesterday the Range had 
 lain behind and had been shrouded in rain-clouds; to-day, 
 though sullen and unrelieved by sun, it lay ahead, and hour 
 by hour they drew nearer to it. Their spirits rose distinctly 
 with the miles. Pamela was happiest on mountains, and the 
 wilder they were, the better she liked them; Chris, too, 
 albeit he by no means despised the advantages of civilisation, 
 liked, as he had once put it, to sleep some months in the year 
 under the stars. The Drakensberg were, moreover, a new 
 experience to them both, and, unlike last week, they would 
 have fewer servants about them and be more on their own. 
 Thus, near the police station, when Chris reined up and 
 suggested a call, Pamela vetoed it heartily. "There's no sign 
 of life," she said, "and I expect he's out." 
 
 "But his wife will be in," objected Chris, "and it seems 
 decent to call." 
 
 "Hullo !" cried Pamela. "The man of conventions again, 
 eh? Let's call by all means." 
 
 That, of course, settled it, and they rode on. The gloomy 
 day was gloomier in the Pass, and Pamela, after glancing 
 again and again at her companion, burst out into a laugh. 
 
 "What is it now?" demanded Chris, amused. 
 
 "Oh, my dear," gasped Pamela, "this is rather priceless 
 you know. Here are you and I riding together into the 
 unknown. Red-hot from caves and ghosts, we are now
 
 272 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 riding up a gloomy Pass to sleep in a ghost cave and venture 
 forth into these mountains to seek fate. If our boys knew 
 what we know or at least what I know do you suppose 
 that they would come ? Not a bit of it. They'd think I was 
 a witch and you a devil." 
 
 "Probably they'd be right in the identifications, to some 
 extent," said Chris smiling. "But what do you know espe- 
 cially?" 
 
 "Well," replied Pamela, "you remember Auntie Tot, don't 
 you? She has her stories of this Pass." And she related 
 to him the old servant's history as far as she knew it. She 
 narrated well. Something of the pitiful mystery of it all fell 
 on Chris. 
 
 "It's a ghastly old world," he said. "Think of those days, 
 eh? Think of that armed gang travelling through the 
 night, possibly to this very cave, and then the red cold 
 massacre, and the ride back in the morning with the naked 
 captive children crying for fear and being silenced with 
 blows." 
 
 "Yes," said Pamela, "and think of what these old moun- 
 tains have seen besides that. What primitive races, do 
 you suppose, lived here when the world was young? Who 
 knows what monsters used this valley as their lair ? Think 
 of those Bushmen coming from God knows where, blot- 
 ting out the poor creatures called human to whom even 
 they were a higher type, and then taking possession to live 
 their day and go the way of the rest in the end thereof. 
 And all the time those old heights have looked on im- 
 movable, and if a crag now and again toppled crashing 
 into the valley, it was not to punish a murder or to answer 
 a prayer. But see, there's Philip. Our crowd are here 
 all right then. We must dismount here. Philip'll take the 
 horses." 
 
 They got off and commenced to climb up to the cave 
 above. The hill-side was steep and broken and it was no 
 easy task, save that bushes and scrub gave some help by 
 lending a grip here and there. There was no path to speak
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 273 
 
 of, and sugar-bush and dwarfed trees grew right up to 
 the cave itself. Some fifty feet below it, they did how- 
 ever stumble on a tiny trail made by herd boys for their 
 goats, and this they followed, winding in and out, until 
 a turn showed them the cave's mouth ahead and slightly 
 lower than the level at which they now stood. There was 
 a fire already burning in the entrance, and the Urfurds' 
 other boy, with the native who had gone on ahead of them 
 with the Eldreds' horses, was squatting before it. 
 
 The two natives got up when they saw them. Pamela 
 asked after the other horses, and she was told that they 
 were pasturing in a fold of the hill behind the kopje of 
 which the actual cave was a part. She and Chris entered 
 and looked curiously around. The place was not unlike 
 Pamela's own cave on the Umtamvuna, that is to say it 
 was more a great sloping hollow, with a wide mouth which 
 rapidly narrowed and did not extend far back, than what 
 is called a cave in England. The ground, however, did 
 not slope from the mouth as did Pamela's, but stretched 
 smooth and soft and level to the rocky wall where smaller 
 hollows made door-less chambers in the gloom. They 
 entered, and Chris got a candle out of a pack-saddle to 
 allow of a detailed examination. Its flickering light fell 
 on the rough walls and scared a flight of bats far over- 
 head. But it showed clearly enough, at the back of the 
 larger of the interior rooms, a great surface liberally 
 drawn with figures in black and red and scarcely defaced 
 at all. The chief scene from those far vanished days evi- 
 dently depicted a hunt. Plainly-figured wildebeest and 
 other buck fled in a herd before human figures armed with 
 bows. One beast was down, with an arrow sticking in 
 him, and another was in the act of leaping high over its 
 fallen companion. They looked at this in silence for awhile, 
 and then Pamela, sharp-sighted and knowing besides what 
 to expect, told Chris to carry the light on a bit farther. 
 Here a crude and amazing beast stood by itself. It was 
 probably meant for a hippo. Still farther, and not con-
 
 274 
 
 nected with it, were more human figures obviously fighting, 
 and it was here that the jackal-headed creature was drawn 
 again as on the Umtamvuna, but this time mingling appar- 
 ently with the men. 
 
 "If it's Anubis, I suppose you might call him the son 
 of the devil," said Chris. 
 
 "No," said Pamela, "I don't think so. It's not quite 
 that. Set was not the devil as we understand that gentle- 
 man. It's a different conception. He was god of the evil 
 world not this world, but the world of evil. Perhaps his 
 son is more like our idea of fate, but mingling among men 
 and driving them on to their deeds of crime and shame. 
 Still, perhaps, the world of evil is after all meant to be 
 this world, and perhaps Anubis still moves amongst us all, 
 though we call him by different names and make no at- 
 tempt to picture him." 
 
 Chris laughed. "You're a cheerful companion for a 
 night in a gloomy cave," he said. 
 
 "Your nerves can stand it," retorted Pamela. "All the 
 same, I wish we had Nanea here. I'd like to see if Haket- 
 sebe would recognise the place. Suppose we hypnotise one 
 of the boys to-night? Philip might do; he's a trustful 
 creature and knows me well. Or let me try on you. Think 
 how entrancing it would be, Chris !" 
 
 He looked at her across the candle which was burning 
 smokily with an over-long wick. Her narrowed eyes glit- 
 tered in the light and there was the suspicion of a mocking 
 smile about her mouth. But as he looked, her expression 
 changed. Everything unpleasant died rapidly out of it. 
 The smile widened and her lips parted slightly. It struck 
 him again how red they seemed to have become. And he 
 smiled back at her. 
 
 "Where are you going to sleep?" he asked. "Here?" 
 
 She glanced round. "I'll undress here," she said, "and 
 Philip shall bring my bags in. That corner of rock is quite 
 a good screen, and the hollow beyond shall be my dressing-
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 275 
 
 room. But I prefer to sleep where I can see the stars and 
 not this roof of rock. Let's go and choose a place." 
 
 They walked to the entrance again, and away to the left 
 found a perfect place perfect, at least, if it did not rain. 
 The cave rapidly narrowed here and became a mere shelf 
 of rock, fringed at the edge with grass and bushes and 
 loose stones, and allowing plenty of room to lie down. 
 The rock-side was broken into small recesses or pockets 
 which would do admirably, Chris said, for matches and 
 candle and cigarettes. Some twenty feet above, the roof 
 sloped slightly over and formed a protection from any 
 light rain, but the wide expanse of valley and sky stretched 
 away before them. Moreover it was a kind of cul-de-sac. 
 One could approach from the cave proper, but not go on 
 far beyond. The shelf ended in a breakaway of the cliff, 
 which fell steeply a hundred feet or more. 
 
 "If it's all one to you, Chris," said Pamela, "I shall use 
 the room in the cave for dressing but spread my blankets 
 here. And if you put yours on the cave side of me, I shall 
 be as safe as possible, and we can converse in the mid- 
 night hours if Anubis prevents our sleeping!" 
 
 "Right you are," said Chris amusedly. "I shall use it, 
 however, as bedroom and dressing-room combined if you've 
 no objection. That is to say, unless it rains. Then, I take 
 it, we shall both have to invade the main cave. Where 
 will the boys sleep?" 
 
 "Oh down there, round the fire. And now, since the 
 daylight, such as it is, is fast departing, what about a kit 
 inspection ?" 
 
 For the next half hour they were busy. Their personal 
 effects were carried to their respective dressing-rooms, and 
 Pamela inspected all the stores. Philip turned out to be 
 a first-class cook. The Eldreds' boy had been sent by him 
 up the Pass with a water-bottle, and he now returned with 
 it full of milk which he had got from herd-boys in a kraal 
 up there. Philip had brought on from the Tselike the best
 
 276 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 part of a sheep presented to them by the local chief, and 
 they finally sat down to soup, chops and fried potatoes, and 
 coffee, to which Chris added a liqueur of brandy from the 
 bottle in the pack. They had to have candles before they 
 had finished; and they sat on afterwards, smoking ciga- 
 rettes and scarcely speaking, while the boys built up the 
 fire from time to time with brushwood which flared high 
 for a minute or two before dying down to a dull red glow, 
 and threw ruddy shadows over the cave and the mountain- 
 side. Now and again stars appeared in the sky, twinkled 
 for a while, and then were dimmed out silently by masses 
 of slow-moving clouds. Little sounds came up to them 
 the far-away murmur of the stream, the bark of a dog 
 probably at the kraal of the herd-boys, and the occasional 
 voices of their servants speaking in musical Sesuto. 
 
 Chris drew a deep breath at last, and reached for his 
 pipe. "Lor', but this is good, Pam," he said, and there was 
 an affectionate ring in his voice. "I owe this to you, d|ld 
 girl." 
 
 She did not at once reply. Then: "And fate," she said. 
 
 Chris struck his match and it burned steadily. "Wind 
 has dropped," he said. 
 
 "Which means the likelihood of more rain," said 
 Pamela. 
 
 "Don't suggest it," he replied, "or else touch wood, if 
 there is any to touch. But seriously, Pam, why in the 
 world do any of us ever live in towns and habitations?" 
 
 She chuckled. "You'll be glad enough to get back," she 
 said. "Clubs, Chris, and theatres and champagne and Pic- 
 cadilly Circus and " 
 
 "Oh don't," he cried; "it's profanation!" 
 
 "Men are easily profane, I've noticed," said Pamela 
 drily. " 'Specs it's natural,' as Topsy said." 
 
 Chris smoked on in silence. As if the gods had heard 
 him, the wind got up far away. African travellers know 
 the kind of thing. For some unknown reason, it came 
 blowing across the face of the earth, first a mere whisper
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 277 
 
 far far off, a sigh, scarcely that. Then nearer and nearer, 
 ever more and more strong, rustling the grasses, blowing 
 the acrid smoke of the fire across them, moaning in the 
 rocks, howling down the Pass ; and then passing, more and 
 more faint, till it died absolutely away. Its last voice was 
 the echo of a breath among the distant mountains. 
 
 "Anubis passes," said Pamela in a low tone. 
 
 It affected Chris far more than he cared to acknowledge. 
 He glanced almost apprehensively behind him, and he was 
 far from jesting. "One might believe anything up here," 
 he said. 
 
 "Even in heaven or in hell," said Pamela in the same 
 tone. 
 
 "Or in purgatory," said Chris, with sudden bitterness. 
 
 "Why purgatory?" queried the girl. 
 
 The man moved restlessly and knocked out the dottle of 
 his pipe. "Oh," he said, "that wind is like the sighing of 
 souls outside the gates of paradise." 
 
 Pamela made a slight change in her position and slipped 
 her hand into his arm. "Poor old Chris," she said. 
 
 He felt the light touch, but he did not move. Seconds 
 slid by, and thoughts raced in both their minds. Pamela's 
 were infinitely more deliberate; Chris's, questioning, dubi- 
 ous. In the end, they irritated him. "Let's turn in," he 
 said. "It'll be warmer in the blankets." 
 
 Pamela laughed quietly and withdrew her hand, jump- 
 ing to her feet. "Heavens!" she exclaimed, "I'm quite 
 stiff! I wonder if Philip has arranged my bed." 
 
 The two moved together to the ledge and inspected it by 
 the light of matches. The two valises lay side by side not 
 a foot apart, the top string of each undone and the blankets 
 within turned invitingly back. Chris smiled under cover 
 of the dark, but Pamela was quite unperturbed. 
 
 "Do you snore, Chris?" she asked. "I think I won't 
 risk it. Take my outfit by the head, will you, while I take 
 it by the feet, and move it a bit farther away. Yes, that 
 will do nicely. No, there's a stone, of course, selecting to
 
 278 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 lie exactly where will shortly be the small of my back. 
 That's better. And now I'll withdraw to my dressing- 
 room. How long will you be? There's no door for me 
 to knock upon before I come in." 
 
 "I shall probably be between the blankets before you've 
 done to your hair whatever you do at night in the wilder- 
 ness," he said, laughing. 
 
 But he exaggerated a little. For one thing he had to 
 find convenient holes for so many things studs and socks 
 and the contents of his pocket. Then, when he had drawn 
 off his shirt, he stood bare-backed in the night air for a 
 few minutes, hidden there out of sight of the main cave. 
 The wind caressed his skin and he stretched his arms out 
 above his head. The silent sleeping valley lay at his feet 
 and the sky was clearing again. Christopher Ashurst had 
 ceased to pray, but a thought flashed through his mind as 
 he stood there, drinking in the serene beauty of it all and 
 the tonic of the night air. In his own modern way, he was 
 saying his prayers. A movement below struck on his ear, 
 and he glanced to the right. Philip, in his blankets, dimly 
 seen in the light of the fire, was kneeling before he too 
 turned in. Chris watched him a minute, and then he 
 reached for his pyjama jacket and got between the bed 
 clothes. 
 
 "Chris?" called Pamela, inquiringly. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Are you in bed ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Right; then I'm coming." 
 
 He watched her shadowy figure emerge from the cave 
 and come towards him. She stepped over his feet, a seem- 
 ingly tall figure against the far sky, and he moved his head 
 ever so little to watch her step into her valise. She se- 
 renely shed her dressing-gown, folded it, and put it into the 
 bag beneath the head of her sleeping-outfit. Then she 
 groped for a moment and drew out a cigarette case. "I
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 279 
 
 must have one more before I really try to go to sleep," she 
 said. "Will you?" 
 
 ".No, thanks," said Chris. "Don't set yourself afire." 
 
 "No fear," she replied, and struck a match. Its light 
 revealed her face, her braided hair hanging over her shoul- 
 der, and her slight figure in her pyjamas. Then it died out, 
 and, in the contrasting blackness, Chris could not see her 
 actually get into bed. But as her rustling died down, the 
 glow of her cigarette showed her to him again, well tucked 
 in, her right arm under her head, and her left hand outside 
 manipulating the cigarette. He watched its glowing end 
 for a few minutes and then laughed. 
 
 "What's up now ?" she queried. 
 
 "I was thinking how delightfully improper all this is," 
 he said. 
 
 She chuckled in the darkness. "Oh rubbish," she re- 
 plied. "Improper? Not a bit. Mrs. Grundy might think 
 so, but then Mrs. Grundy is well, Mrs. Grundy. We've 
 done positively nothing improper. You haven't even kissed 
 me good-night. Why, considering that we are cousins, 
 you might easily have made that excuse!" 
 
 Chris was conscious again of that slight irritation he had 
 felt in the morning. "You're always insisting on the cous- 
 inship," he said, "and, as a matter of fact, it's second or 
 once removed or something, isn't it? Besides it was only 
 this morning you told me you had kissed me for the first 
 and last time." 
 
 Pamela chuckled again. "Perhaps," she said, banter- 
 ingly. "But I didn't say anything about your kissing me. 
 Or does it take two to make a kiss? I've had so little 
 experience." 
 
 Chris suddenly and acutely remembered recent kisses. 
 "Don't, Pam," he exclaimed, half involuntarily. 
 
 "Oh I'm so sorry," she said quickly, in quite another 
 tone of voice. "Forgive me, Chris." 
 
 He warmed at her words. "It's all right, dear," he said.
 
 280 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 Her cigarette glowed for the last time as she drew on 
 it, and then disappeared as she ground out the red hot end 
 in the sandy earth by her side. In the darkness she rustled 
 about a little again, and then was still. 
 
 "Good-night, Chris," she said. 
 
 "Good-night," said he 
 
 Miles away, Cecil, unable to sleep, moved ever so quietly 
 in bed lest Hugh should still be awake. Her wet handker- 
 chief was a crushed ball in her hand. She could not get 
 the words she had heard that day out of her ears. A voice 
 seemed to drone them endlessly. "I am the Resurrection 
 and the Life," it said. "The Resurrection and the Life; 
 and the Life; the Resurrection and the Life;" oh, end- 
 lessly.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 CHRIS dreamed that he was swimming, and he revelled 
 in the cool sting of the water. He got out on some 
 sort of a rock for a dive, and then Cecil appeared suddenly 
 and began to splash him. He jumped into the sea to clasp 
 and duck her, and awoke. It was light, and a small rain 
 was falling on his face. Also he was cold. He swore 
 gently and looked round for Pamela. She was still asleep, 
 for since she had been lying nearer the rock than he her 
 face was hardly wet. He slipped out of his valise, put on 
 a Burberry over his pyjamas, and went over to the boys. 
 Philip was up and making a fire. With his help, Chris got 
 out a small patrol tent, inserted its poles, and carried it like 
 an umbrella to Pamela. She was apparently dead asleep, 
 and he thought as he looked at her how tired she must 
 have been. Without waking her, they rigged the tent up 
 more or less securely so that it sheltered her valise, and 
 Chris threw another blanket gently over her body. 
 
 Then he surveyed the world at large more carefully, but 
 it was rather a dreary prospect. Rain-mists hid the farther 
 side of the valley and Philip gave it as his opinion that 
 it would be wet all day. So Chris decided to vent his 
 wrath on something. He put a towel round his neck as a 
 muffler under his Burberry, took his gun, rolled up his 
 pyjama trousers to the knee, slipped on an old pair of 
 slippers, and left the cave. For half an hour he toiled 
 among slippery wet rocks and grass, but he got warm in 
 the process and begar to realise that it was all very lovely 
 anyhow. The valley was clean, silent, wild, and the air 
 invigorated him. At last he reached the river and had two 
 shots at doves as they flew up from the willows. His first 
 
 281
 
 282 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 shot missed, but his second brought down a couple. One, 
 of course, fell into the river. The pool into which it drifted 
 was deep and calm, well ringed with great rocks and trees, 
 and very tempting, despite the rain, to the man warmed 
 with- exercise. He thought he would fulfil what he could 
 of his dream, threw off his things, and took a cautious 
 header into the pool. It was not a bit too cold, and very 
 refreshing. He swam a few yards, turned on his back, 
 kicked up the water in a cloud of spray for the sheer joy 
 of living, rolled over again, and made with a swift trud- 
 geon stroke for the bank. Seizing a willow branch, he 
 pulled himself half out of the water and found himself 
 staring into the amused eyes of a couple of native women 
 closely wrapped in blankets. 
 
 These incontinently fled. Chris finished pulling himself 
 out with a laugh, towelled down, and resumed his pyjamas 
 and mackintosh. He strung his birds together, picked up 
 his gun, and set off down the course of the stream feeling 
 himself a kind of Robinson Crusoe. 
 
 There had been a rift of blue in the sky, but when he 
 regained the cave even that had disappeared. The rain 
 was falling distinctly heavily. He threw the birds to Philip 
 and entered the mouth of the cave to find that the boys 
 had laid out his clothes on his valise with the contents of 
 his pockets from the rock face of the sleeping place. Pam- 
 ela was not to be seen, and he began to dress, and was 
 fastening his braces when he heard her laugh behind him. 
 She was standing in her 'dressing-room/ half in and half 
 out of the 'door/ wearing a kimono and brushing her hair. 
 
 "Hullo," he said, "good-morning. I wondered if you 
 were awake, or if you had gone inside to finish your sleep." 
 
 "Well I am awake," said Pamela. "Isn't it a beastly 
 morning? What's to be done?" 
 
 "Have breakfast," replied Chris. "I'm dying of hunger. 
 Are you nearly ready? It's not half as bad out as it looks/' 
 
 "Five minutes," she called, and disappeared. 
 
 They discussed porridge and eggs and bacon not with-
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 283 
 
 out a certain return of good humour. "Really," said Chris, 
 "it's rather amusing. What's to be done? as you rightly 
 say. I suppose we can, one, go back; two, stay here; three, 
 go on. What do you say?" 
 
 "No, to the first, emphatically," she replied, slapping 
 marmalade on to bread and butter. "Why should we go 
 back? Are you bored with me already? No; well, then, 
 we don't go back; that's settled. As to going on, I vote 
 we ask Philip. He'll have views. He has some sense, that 
 boy." 
 
 "Right," said Chris. "Philip r 
 
 "Baas!" He came running up. 
 
 "What's to be done?" demanded Chris. "Shall we go 
 on? How far can we get in this rain and where shall we 
 camp to-night? Do you know another cave?" 
 
 The boy grinned after the manner of his kind. "Other 
 cave much too far/' he said. "Road very bad, and rivers 
 very full in Sehonghong. We go on if baas wishes, but I 
 think it will rain all day to-day and all to-morrow. If baas 
 go, we camp in rain very bad for missus. Very cold up 
 there too." 
 
 "There you are," said Pamela. "That's my view. Also, 
 why go on? We have plenty of food, plenty of fuel here, 
 a dry place, and lots of time. I vote we wait till the rain 
 stops if we wait a week ! Give me a cigarette." 
 
 Chris smiled and handed her his case. "Very well, 
 Philip," he said, "you hear the words of the missus. The 
 other boy had better go and see if the horses are all right, 
 and you can think of a good dinner for to-night." 
 
 "Boy been already," said Philip. "What baas say to stew 
 to-night?" 
 
 Pamela chuckled. "The day of stews now begins," she 
 said. "We'll leave that to you, Philip." 
 
 "Right, missus," he said, and withdrew. 
 
 Chris commenced to fill his pipe. "And what do we do ?" 
 he demanded. "Sit here all day? There are cards in the 
 pack; we can play picquet."
 
 284 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 "And I can tell your fortune," she replied, "but not now. 
 I suggest that we assume bathing kit and macs., and go off 
 for a walk and a bathe. Also explore. The mud won't 
 matter ; the world is before us ; and no one about or likely 
 to be." 
 
 "I've bathed once," he said, "and had an audience of two 
 native women. I was au naturel, too." 
 
 She smiled. "But you can watch me this time," she said. 
 
 They went off finally together, to the amusement of he 
 natives who saw no necessity for such exertion, but spent 
 the morning exploring mutton bones for their marrow. 
 Chris had had no morning quite like it in all his life and 
 began to wish it would rain for a fortnight. In the valley 
 they shed and hid their clothes under a great rock, and, 
 with their exercise, they were warm enough and were con- 
 tinually half in and half out of the water. They dived for 
 white stones in the pools, swam to little beaches ungetatable 
 except by water, discovered a forest of bamboo through 
 which they wandered with the world out of sight, climbed 
 high crags over the stream, and lay half exhausted after a 
 swimming race on a bed of pure white sand. Pamela was 
 wholly in her element. In her tight-fitting simple bathing- 
 suit, with bare strong arms and legs and her hair in one 
 thick plait, she looked like a nymph of the stream. She 
 was well knit like an athlete rather than full- formed, her 
 breasts firm, her shoulders grace and strength. Chris, in- 
 deed, had had no idea how strong she was or how thor- 
 oughly at home in such surroundings. She knew the names 
 of all the birds and plants and the uses to which the natives 
 put them. She was not in the least like a man companion, 
 but she was equally unlike any other girl he had met. This 
 was exactly how he would have liked to have spent a day 
 with Cecil and how he knew she would have liked to have 
 spent it with him. Yet he knew that even she would not in 
 some ways have been so ideal a companion as Pamela 
 proved herself to be. She would not have forgotten or 
 apparently have forgotten her sex as Pamela did. He
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 285 
 
 knew well enough that they would not have gone far, but 
 on some such bed as this have spent the hours in each 
 other's arms. At the thought he hid his face in his hands, 
 but raised it in a minute to look at Pamela and wonder 
 if she would have cared so to spend it with anyone as 
 well. 
 
 She lay at the moment face downwards on the sand, 
 resting on her elbows and digging idly in it with her fin- 
 gers, her toes delving into the soft stuff also. Her usually 
 rather colourless face was flushed with exercise and wet 
 with rain, and if no one would ordinarily call her beautiful, 
 her figure at any rate was such, and her features at least 
 intensely interesting. 
 
 "Penny for your thoughts," said Chris suddenly, like a 
 boy. 
 
 She propped her face on a sandy hand and looked up at 
 him, her eyes narrowing and a smile of amusement gather- 
 ing at her mouth. "Worth more," she said. 
 
 "How much ?" 
 
 "More than you have to give, Chris," she said enigmati- 
 cally. 
 
 "Pam, you're a beast. Shall I tell you what I was think- 
 ing? I was wondering whether, if I were an artist in 
 paint and not in print, I could get you to pose for me. If 
 I asked it of you, would you pose for me in the nude? Or 
 would your unconventionality stop short at that?" 
 
 "I was inclined to say right off that I would certainly," 
 she said after a second's hesitation that had in it, however, 
 no sign of embarrassment, "but I'm not quite sure, to be 
 honest." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because, perhaps, I can't think of you as an artist. I 
 very much doubt if v/>u could be one. I doubt if you could 
 treat me as a model. An artist, for whom I would pose 
 without a second's hesitation, would see my body as a 
 beautiful natural thing, and as nothing more. So far as 
 I am concerned, he might do so, and, far from minding, I
 
 286 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 should think it a great honour to inspire a good picture. 
 But you would see me as a nude woman known to you, as 
 Pamela Urfurd without her clothes. And I'm not sure 
 that I would permit that." 
 
 Chris was distinctly annoyed again. "Do you know," he 
 said, "that you've said several beastly things to me, fair 
 cousin, since we started on this excursion. Do you hon- 
 estly think I'm such a rotter as all that?" 
 
 "I never said you were a rotter," she retorted. 
 
 "You implied it." 
 
 "I did not. I told you that I thought you were not suf- 
 ficiently an artist for such a test with me. That is so. You 
 are, I fancy, very much of a man. I do not even neces- 
 sarily like you the less for it." 
 
 "So you were not sure whether or not you would pose 
 for the mere man," said Chris slowly, staring at her. 
 
 Pamela made no reply. She merely raised her eyes and 
 looked at him, with her head, characteristically, slightly on 
 one side. 
 
 To do Chris justice, that look was a surprise to him. He 
 had not angled for it. But being Chris he could hardly fail 
 to respond or so at least she thought. He moved dis- 
 tinctly nearer to her and put his hand on her arm. "Eh, 
 Pamela?" he said softly. "Would you?" 
 
 She chuckled. "Well, at any rate, I am not sure" she 
 repeated, and rolled over in the sand on to her back, put- 
 ting one hand beneath her head, stretching the other arm 
 out to its full extent, and lazily watching her fingers as 
 she opened and shut them. 
 
 There was such abandon in her pose, such insinuation in 
 her words, that the blood pounded in Chris's temples. He 
 half moved towards her, and then, suddenly and incon- 
 sequently, recalled Cecil. He ceased to move, and lay quite 
 still. The blood ebbed from his face. It was Pamela's 
 turn to be surprised, and she turned her head to look at 
 him. "You're very silent all of a sudden," she said smil- 
 ing.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 287 
 
 He jumped suddenly to his feet. "God!" he exclaimed. 
 "I believe you're half a devil, Pamela !" 
 
 She was not in the least annoyed. "Possibly," she said, 
 "half devil and half woman. Which half do you want, 
 Chris? Or is the combination so displeasing?" And with 
 her little chuckle, she, too, leaped up, lithe and unexpected, 
 ran swiftly forward and dived suddenly far out into the 
 stream at their feet, cleaving the water with scarcely a 
 splash, a train of little bubbles rising where she had dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 Chris hesitated a moment on the brink and then went 
 in after her. Down in the cool green depths, gliding to 
 the full extent of his plunge, he was conscious of a revul- 
 sion of feeling. "Cecily, Cecily darling," he whispered to 
 himself, "I won't forget." But he hated himself as he 
 realised how near a thing it had been. 
 
 Pamela was wise enough to see that she had gone far 
 enough that morning, and after lunch, she remained in the 
 cave making a careful sketch of the Bushman paintings 
 while Chris departed up the sides of the pass with his gun 
 to have a shot at the rock pigeons. It was dusk when he 
 returned, exceedingly pleased with a big bag. Then they 
 sat on the ground together and had sundowners, while 
 Philip developed immense activity and prepared roast 
 pigeon for their evening meal. It was a great success, and 
 afterwards, by the light of a candle-lantern, they played 
 their picquet. Pamela held all the cards however, so that 
 the game palled on them both in a little and they agreed 
 mutually and without words to stop it. Pamela sat there 
 idly shuffling the cards, and at length looked up slantwise 
 at her companion who was staring out into the night, his 
 thoughts far away. "Come, Chris," she said, "I'll tell your 
 fortune." 
 
 He rolled over towards her, amusedly. "All right," he 
 said, "what do I do? Cross your hand with silver?" 
 
 "Oh no. Shuffle well and cut, that's all." 
 
 He did so, and lay watching her long thin fingers dealing
 
 288 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 out seven small packs. "The first is yourself," she said, 
 dealing it, "the second your house, the third your friends, 
 the fourth what is coming to you, the fifth is certain to 
 come true, the sixth is your wish, and the last and seventh 
 only the dealer may see." 
 
 "Oh rot," he said. "I want to see that as well." 
 
 "Well you can't. And if you do, the whole thing will 
 be meaningless." 
 
 Chris roared with laughter so that, in the silent night, 
 the boys around the fire turned their heads momentarily to 
 watch. "I might as well look then," he said. 
 
 Pamela smiled secretly. "Have you wished?" she de- 
 manded. 
 
 Chris sobered suddenly. "Yes," he said shortly. 
 
 Pamela, her eyes on his face, shrugged her shoulders 
 ever so slightly but said nothing to that. 
 
 "Well," she went on, still looking at him, "what are you, 
 I wonder? Let me see, the king of diamonds I should say. 
 Yes, and you cut up in the first pack; with a very fair, 
 almost red-haired woman, I should think not rich, young. 
 Now for your home why this is funny it's at sea, I 
 think; let us say a ship and here's the girl again, and 
 there's love between you, a kiss at any rate." 
 
 Chris gave a little exclamation. Pamela looked up at 
 him, very solemnly. "One never can tell if it's past or 
 future at first," she said. "Have you any idea?" 
 
 Chris bit his lip in the dark. "I'm quite sure it's a lot 
 of rubbish," he said. 
 
 Pamela chuckled interiorly (if there is such a thing). 
 She was wickedly enjoying herself for she was well aware 
 that he could not possibly divine how she would know any- 
 thing of this. She took up the next pack. "The fourth 
 shows us what you will not get, as well as what you will, 
 and I much fear, Chris, that that's the red-haired girl. 
 There's no trace of her. There's a lot of money in it 
 though, and a journey, so I dread lest you are going to be 
 insufferably rich and will probably go on some journey or
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 289 
 
 other that you expect or plan. That's all I can see there. 
 The fifth is certain to come true. Hum hum. I don't 
 quite understand. There's a birth in it, and a letter oh, 
 I can't read that! The sixth is your wish. Well, you're 
 here anyway, between two women, both dark the very fair 
 one has quite gone, I fear, Chris. And that card's your 
 wish. It's curious, its being placed like that. It's doubt- 
 ful still, I think, but more likely to come true than not. 
 There's a man mixed up with it, but not exactly interfer- 
 ing. Yet he seems to have control of the situation. But 
 it's these women whom I can't understand. It looks almost 
 as if either might give it you or perhaps either 
 prevent it. Best have nothing to do with the women, Chris 
 which is good advice but difficult for a person like your- 
 self to follow. And the seventh, the dealer alone may see." 
 And she picked up the cards and fell to studying them, 
 keeping their backs towards, him. 
 
 Chris made a sudden snatch at them, but she was too 
 sharp for him, flinging them quickly on the pack and 
 hastily confusing it. He laughed, with a slight note of 
 vexation in his merriment. Pamela drew up her legs and 
 clasped her hands round her knees. "You might at least 
 say thank you," she said. 
 
 "Do you really believe that rubbish, Pam?" he de- 
 manded. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. To herself she said silently, 
 "Everything's fair in love and war." 
 
 "You're an odd girl," he went on, "but it's curious with 
 
 the cards how sometimes, almost And all races have 
 
 believed in them," he added meditatively. Then, turning 
 sharply to her, "Look here, Pam, what do you really make 
 of those words of Haketsebe's: 'The weak shall be strong 
 and the strong shall be weak.' She certainly seemed right 
 over the Falls of the Tselike for it was emphatically a place 
 of fate. But which of us did she mean by the rest of it? 
 Have you any idea?" 
 
 "No," said the girl slowly, "I don't understand. Hon-
 
 290 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 estly I don't, Chris. But I believe it was more than mere 
 nonsense. I fancy we shall understand one day. Also 
 the last sentence: 'The voice of the child is not to be 
 silenced.' But that I think I understand more than any- 
 thing else." 
 
 "Well, what does that mean? I see no particular sense 
 in it." 
 
 She said nothing, nor did she look at him. 
 
 "Well?" he queried impatiently. 
 
 She released her knees and turned round to him, her 
 eyes glowing in the candle light. He stared back at her 
 and was suddenly aware again of the unfathomable depth 
 of those eyes. The place, the time, even something con- 
 jured up by her fortune-telling, laid some sort of a spell 
 on him, and he made no effort to resist them. They burned 
 very brightly, he thought, and her face seemed to him to 
 grow larger. He had no idea whether it was five seconds 
 or five minutes that he had sat so, and he heard the mourn- 
 ful eerie cry of an owl flying by night, first close at hand 
 and then farther and farther away as it sped up the valley, 
 as if the sound came from another world and had no rela- 
 tion to him. Then she spoke, and he was dimly aware of 
 a curious sense of wonder. It was as if she spoke within 
 him and not exteriorly at all. He, himself, was not at first 
 aware of what she said. Then it dawned on him: "What 
 do you see ? What do you see ?" she was saying insistently. 
 He peered at her, at those big eyes, into those deep pools. 
 What did he see? Did he see anything? He would look, 
 look; she should not ask in vain. And then, suddenly, he 
 felt afraid; he did not want to see. He tried to pull up, 
 for he was slipping down, down, down, yes, down and 
 down and down. With the last vestige of semi-conscious- 
 ness he told himself that it was only Pamela, little Pamela ; 
 he was not afraid of her! He willed to look deep down, 
 or he thought he willed. And then . . . "What do you 
 see?" demanded a voice again, not Pamela's voice surely; 
 "What do you see? Tell me!"
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 291 
 
 Then he saw. He thought at first it was water, but he 
 looked closely and more curiously. No, it was not water. 
 It was more like mist, a smoke, a swirling stream of it, 
 rushing incessantly and silently by, writhing and tossing 
 as if it were alive. He knew that it was alive no, that 
 it was life. An idea glimmered in the back of his brain, 
 the memory of a phrase, 'the ocean of becoming.' He did 
 not know that he said it aloud. 
 
 "Whom?" demanded that now resistless voice, "Whom? 
 Whom do you see?" 
 
 Well, there was no one. Yes, there was. Oh God, he 
 had not noticed! Deep, deep down, deeper, deeper, he 
 would reach her a face, a figure Cecily. He cried her 
 name, cried to her, but she would not look at him. She 
 was holding something in her arms, bending over it. The 
 swirling stuff hid it, but perhaps if he bent lower, closer, he 
 would see. He leant nearer, much nearer; he looked, as 
 it were, over her shoulder. Oh it was Ronnie, of course, 
 and the child was smiling at him. He could see its eyes. 
 They puzzled him. There was something he ought to re- 
 member, he knew that. And then he knew. "But Ronnie 
 is dead," he muttered stupidly. 
 
 Then Cecil turned and looked at him. He forgot the 
 child; he forgot everything. Her eyes were as they had 
 been that day she rode away from him, years and years 
 ago, by the Falls of the Tselike, and he cried some foolish 
 thing, like a child, as he read what seemed to him to be 
 accusation in them. But never mind her eyes; it was her 
 lips that he desired so passionately. He bent forward still 
 more. "Kiss, kiss," he whispered huskily. 
 
 She did not refuse him. He felt them hungrily beneath 
 his own, warm red lips* Still kissing, he raised his eyes to 
 her again. Oh, but it was not Cecily at all ; it was Pamela ! 
 A sudden sense of his mistake and disappointment shot 
 through him like the stab of a knife. He jerked his head 
 back swiftly, and was aware of the candle that flickered in 
 its lantern, and of the arched roof above him, and of Pam-
 
 292 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 ela sitting there, flushed, silent. He stared at her. His 
 hand reached out and touched the blankets on which they 
 were sitting, and felt the texture, very real and warm. He 
 was rapidly becoming himself again, but as swiftly as a 
 sense of his surroundings returned, he forgot, or nearly 
 forgot, what he had seen. He found himself talking 
 stupidly. "What did you say?" he asked aimlessly. 
 
 Pamela laughed a little harshly, and got up. Chris stared 
 up at her, still a little confused. "Pam," he said help- 
 lessly, "did I go to sleep? I thought I saw Cecily. I re- 
 member now. And I kissed her no, it was you I kissed. 
 Oh, Pamela, what the devil did I do?" And he too was 
 on his feet. 
 
 Her face changed, and grew very tender. She slipped 
 her arm lightly and confidingly into his. "It was nothing, 
 my dear," she said. "You were sleepy, I think. Anyway 
 it is time to turn in now. Wouldn't you like a night-cap? 
 I see Philip has put my valise into my dressing-room to- 
 night and yours away down there, in that other room, for 
 fear of the rain, I suppose. Will you get another candle? 
 There are some in the pack by the fire. And a glass will be 
 over there too. See, the boys have turned in; we have the 
 place to ourselves. You have your flask? Good-night. 
 I'm off to bed. But don't hesitate to call me if you want 
 anything." 
 
 She had been leading him into the cave, and talking, he 
 thought, as if to fill up time. But there was a singular 
 caress in her voice, and he was wide awake now anyway. 
 He was suddenly very conscious of her, and aware that 
 she was very desirable and he tired and lonely. After all, 
 she was dear old Pam, and he wanted sympathy and and 
 forgetfulness. Where were the boys? Oh yes, over there, 
 asleep by the fire. They were alone, and she had said it. 
 . . . "Yes, I'll get a night-cap," he said. "Good-night, 
 dear." 
 
 "Good-night," she said again, and left him. 
 
 He walked uncertainly across the soft floor to the dying
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 293 
 
 fire, and by its light, fumbled for a candle and a glass. No, 
 glasses. He poured out and tossed off a first tot and waited 
 a little to allow it to clear his head ; now two more, one for 
 himself and one for Pamela. He splashed some more water 
 in, with a steadying hand as his purpose became clearer to 
 himself, set the candle in another lantern, and swung it on 
 his wrist. Then, a glass in each hand, he walked over to her 
 side of the cave. 
 
 The light from her candle shone out round the projecting 
 shoulder of rock that made her insufficient door. Grotesque 
 shadows came and went in it, made by her movements within. 
 Chris advanced slowly. He was remembering that incident 
 by the swollen river, and could almost feel again her warm 
 body under his hand. At the partition he spoke. "Pam, 
 dear," he said. 
 
 Pamela had heard him coming, of course, but she had 
 gone on brushing her hair with slow deliberate movements, 
 a little smile hovering on her lips. She had taken off her 
 blouse and skirt, but she had made no attempt to reach a 
 wrap. "Yes?" she said. 
 
 "Won't you have a night-cap as well? I've brought you 
 one." 
 
 Pamela could not help a little chuckle. She gave one swift 
 little glance at all she could see of herself in the travelling 
 mirror propped up before her. Then : "You're a dear," she 
 said. "Yes. I will, if you will excuse the neglige" And she 
 stepped with deliberation half round the rocks towards him. 
 
 He could see her quite plainly, in her dainty laces, her hair 
 tumbling about her shoulders, a comb in her hand. She 
 took the whisky, and raised it to him. "Cheerio," she said, 
 smiling. 
 
 He moved ever so slightly forward and held out his own 
 glass. It chinked on hers. "To luck and love, Pamela," he 
 said softly. And they drank. 
 
 He swallowed the spirit and felt its secret flame tingle 
 in him. She held out her empty glass to him, and he took 
 it, his eyes on her face. Another step surely he read
 
 294 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 aright and she would not resist if he took her in his arms. 
 Yet he hesitated. Again, in the very moment, he remem- 
 bered Cecil. Something in the other's very readiness recalled 
 the drawing-room at Springfontein. The thought of her 
 grew swiftly on him like a physical presence; indeed he 
 turned his eyes from his cousin's face to search involuntarily 
 the darkness beyond them. The action saved him. A sense 
 of his loss and desolation swept upon him, and he drew 
 himself up. "Well, good-night, Pam," he said again, and 
 turned sharply away. 
 
 Pamela's little mirror was stuck up above her candle on a 
 rocky shelf, and she went back to it, staring at her own face 
 in its light. A little frown gathered involuntarily there. 
 " 'The weak shall be strong and the strong shall be weak/ " 
 she muttered to herself. "But it's humiliating. It looks as if 
 I had interpreted it before the wrong way about. Cecily, 
 my dear, if it wasn't for you, I'd chuck in my hand. What 
 else does the man want me to do ?" 
 
 She finished undressing and slipped into her blankets. But 
 she was brave enough to face quite frankly her own thoughts. 
 "Dear old Chris," she said to herself, "I didn't think he had 
 so much in him." 
 
 Chris, on his part, rolled himself in his blankets and stared 
 out at the night. He tried to reconstruct the evening and 
 was not able easily to do so. "By Jove," he said to himself, 
 "that girl pretty near hypnotised me in more senses than one ! 
 And there's a week at least yet ! Christopher, my son, there 
 must be no more playing with fire if you don't want to get 
 burned!" 
 
 He lay a while considering. For the conventions, he cared 
 not at all. For ordinary morality, he had precious little use. 
 And Pamela was his counsin once removed, perhaps, but 
 still his cousin. There was the family to consider. He 
 liked Urfurd, and he knew Urf urd liked him. For that mat- 
 ter, an engagement, a swift marriage even, would only please 
 them all. But Cecily, little Cecily. . . . His heart warmed
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 295 
 
 at the thought of her, and grew very tender. There was no 
 one on earth like Cecily, his little Cecily. . . . And closing 
 his eyes, he slept. 
 
 Without, the rain fell steadily, relentlessly.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 "VTOWHERE are changes in temperature more rapid than 
 i-^l in the Drakensberg. Chris slept badly because of the 
 growing warmth, and in the dawn gave up the attempt to 
 sleep at all. He got up and went to the mouth of the cave, 
 and stood drinking in the early sunlight and the glory of it 
 all. Birds chirped in the rain-washed bushes. Both boys 
 were away, Philip gathering brushwood at a little distance, 
 and the other, Motseke, climbing a stony path a mile off in 
 his search for the horses who appeared to have wandered a 
 little in the night. Chris felt in a packbag for a new box of 
 cigarettes, and was in the act of lighting one when he heard 
 his name. 
 
 "Chris!" called Pamela, and then, taking in the beauty 
 of the morning, "oh, isn't it good ! I must come out." And 
 just as she was, in her pyjamas, looking very young and 
 sweet, she suited the action to the word and joined him. "A 
 perfect day," she declared. "Let's go off and bathe quickly. 
 We ought to make an early start." 
 
 The frank companionship of the earlier hours yesterday 
 seemed to have come back to them both. In their bathing 
 kit and kimonos this time they went down to the river and 
 had a dip, and as frankly and companionably returned. 
 Breakfast was a scratch affair coffee and rusks while the 
 boys saddled up, and soon they were heading for the lip 
 of the Pass, talking freely and gaily of the things about 
 them. 
 
 Once over the toilsome climb to the very top, there was 
 good going. The veld shone in the sun, and every little 
 peaty pool reflected the clear blue above them. A string of 
 duck rose off a little lake, but Chris made no effort to get 
 
 296
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 297 
 
 at his gun. "It's too good a morning to kill anything," he 
 said. "I fear I'm not a proper Englishman and not more 
 than half a sportsman. I want to shoot only when the pot 
 requires it, or when I feel savage. Your average Englishman 
 shoots for exactly the opposite reasons, unless he's obliged." 
 
 Thus, then, began the companionship of three days and 
 two nights of travelling which had its own effect on both of 
 them, but especially on Pamela. They were, of course, 
 thrown entirely upon each other's company during hours of 
 exceeding monotony if of real beauty. They had decided, 
 time being no particular object, to go on to Mokhotlong and 
 up from there to Mont aux Sources, and that meant travers- 
 ing border country almost the whole way. Border country 
 is rough, wild and comparatively barren; it offers indeed 
 incomparable views, air like wine, and a spectacle of savage 
 grandeur in crag and peak that once seen is never forgotten. 
 But hour by hour the track winds interminably over broken 
 plateaux and moors. A few birds, an occasional sheep 
 that is all. Pace is set by the pack ponies, and the jogging 
 of the wearied riding horses of the travellers dominates their 
 existence. As one rounds a corner, there is the leader ahead ; 
 as one glances back, there is the straggler behind. That is 
 all. For oneself jog, jog, jog; that is all. 
 
 Nine-tenths of such a day cannot be described. There is a 
 minutiae of incident, for the most part, which is merely 
 cumulative in effect. There is the vastness of things ; there 
 is the silence; there are a thousand moments; and there is 
 one's companion. Looking back, the nights will stand out, 
 and perhaps the dawns; a lunch hour or two; possibly a 
 minor accident when a strap broke. But these do not account 
 for the days, nor do these explain why one's fellow traveller 
 bulks so big in the retrospect. He, and the million little 
 unnoticed things, that is the trek. 
 
 To Pamela, then, Chris and the million little unnoticed 
 things made up the trek. She had said to herself, that night 
 in the cave, that she did not know he had so much in him, 
 but what exactly he had in him, only such days as these
 
 2g8 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 could show her. Imperceptibly, they wrought a change on 
 Pamela in this regard. She had said of herself that she was 
 not sentimental, and it was without sentiment that she had 
 begun their odyssey. Cecil needed saving; chat was all. 
 She knew her cousin well enough to be aware that, trifler 
 as he might be in a flirtation on shipboard, he was honour- 
 able at bottom. If she snared him, snared him even to one 
 unguarded hour of passion, Cecily was saved. Her body was 
 to be the bait ; put blankly, it was not the prettiest business ; 
 it was like her that she did not hesitate. Gwen had not 
 called her ruthless for nothing. 
 
 But she had reckoned without the Drakensberg. She had 
 not realised what the mountains and the solitudes might have 
 to say. Foiled in the Pass, she had expected to try night by 
 
 night, or wait the chance of an hour, until But Chris 
 
 was at hand all the day, at hand with a laugh, a cheery 
 philosophy, a story of his wanderings somewhere or another ; 
 at hand with a cigarette, a blanket, a little help here or there, 
 and all without a trace of sentiment which would have spoilt 
 it for her. Pamela postponed her temptation. She gave 
 herself up to the ease of the moment and the zest of the 
 rough living. And in the end well, even at the end a 
 woman's soul is a very secret thing. But Pamela had heard 
 the shouting of the sons of God for joy in the dawns and at 
 the sunsets during days and nights of mystery, and it was 
 not in Pamela at least to hear in vain. 
 
 They off-saddled for lunch on a stream that Philip assured 
 them was the Tselike near its source, but it was hard to be- 
 lieve it as they seemed to have been travelling too far north. 
 But it was a matter of indifference to both of them. All the 
 world was good that day wherever they journeyed. Besides 
 it was at any rate a clear purling brook that flowed between 
 grassy banks, with mealy lands and a native settlement at 
 a little distance. Then on, and up. Always up. Pamela 
 knew what to expect, and explained that now they left a 
 big peak of the range Thatamatuwe on their right (that 
 was it, she supposed, pointing to a sugar-loaf of a mountain
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 299 
 
 half hid in drifting mist clouds) and climbed up to the 
 10,000 foot level. It certainly was a climb. Cultivated lands 
 grew fewer and finally ceased altogether. The road became 
 a mere track and in places practically disappeared. All the 
 afternoon they rode across a barren plateau on which grew 
 little but a strange green shrub (good for the fire even when 
 green, Philip said), dry brownish grass, and occasionally 
 most lovely flowering rushes, each with half a dozen or more 
 fairy bells of white and pink swaying in the breeze three or 
 four feet above the ground. 
 
 Pamela grew a little tired, but she would not show it. 
 Towards night-fall they reached an open depression in the 
 high veld, making a great cup perhaps a mile to a mile and 
 a half wide, rather wet and crossed by innumerable streams. 
 Groups of half-wild ponies grazed around and fled with 
 streaming tails and manes before them, and here Philip and 
 Motseke rode for awhile together and obviously had a dis- 
 cussion. Philip at last, reined up his pony and waited for 
 them. "Best camp here, morena," he said to Chris. 
 
 "What's this place, then?" demanded Christopher. 
 
 "That the Mashai, down there," the boy answered, point- 
 ing with his finger. "Very steep bad place down there. We 
 go on to-morrow round him, over those hills morena see 
 across the veld. But no good place up there for camp." 
 
 "Isn't it damp here, Philip?" Chris queried. "And what 
 about the fire ?" 
 
 "Oh plenty liso, morena, and we find dry place for tents." 
 
 So it was agreed. The horses were turned loose after 
 careful inspection of their backs lest they should have rubbed 
 sores, and the two tents put up on a bit of rising ground 
 within a cluster of great boulders. Motseke took his blanket 
 and, using it as a bag, wandered off after the sun-dried dung 
 that the natives call liso. Pamela watched him, and then 
 said chuckling to Chris: "I shall do the same. You go 
 one way and I'll go the other. Bet you I get most !" 
 
 Half an hour later, in the now thickly gathering dusk, 
 Chris looked back on the little encampment. It looked
 
 300 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 surprisingly tiny in that vast expanse, and when he stood 
 still there was not a sound to be heard. The fire was already 
 alight, burning with an occasional flicker of red welcoming 
 flame and with a great streamer of grey smoke. Their two 
 tiny patrol tents looked infinitely small among the rocks. 
 Pamela was not visible; she had gone towards the many 
 streamlets that made up the river whilst he had struck up 
 towards the Border. The horses were mostly invisible too, 
 except the grey pack who never strayed far from the camp. 
 And low down, far over Basutoland, hung the Southern 
 Cross. 
 
 His blanket was pretty full by now, and he sat down to 
 think. The peace of the place enveloped him like a sentient 
 thing. It seemed as if there were a presence there, brood- 
 ing over all, and as if earth and sky waited waited perhaps 
 for the rise of that curtain that hangs so impalpably between 
 the seen and the unseen. Then, he thought, would that 
 Presence step out amongst them. And whose? Up here, it 
 seemed impossible not to say God's. 
 
 Supper was a stew to-night beyond question, mainly com- 
 posed of the contents of a tin of bully beef, though one came 
 across surprise bits of pigeon. The spell of the place had 
 fallen on Pamela too, and they neither of them spoke much. 
 Once, when they had finished and Motseke had gone off 
 with the plates to the nearest stream, she said: "Chris, I 
 understand that bit in the gospels to-night where Peter at the 
 Transfiguration wanted to make his tabernacles. I feel as 
 if I'd like to make a tabernacle here for good and all. It is 
 good to be here." 
 
 He nodded, and did not attempt a conventional answer. 
 "But down below there were devils," he said. "We too, 
 it seems, have to go down to them." 
 
 "To cast them out I suppose," she said, thoughtfully. 
 
 They did not make the progress next day which Philip 
 had apparently expected. They were late in starting, for 
 one thing, and for another, the packs gave trouble on the 
 road and had to be taken off and adjusted two or three times.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 301 
 
 The weather held however, and neither cared. They lunched 
 at the head of a long valley, that of the Linakaneng river, 
 and then commenced to follow it up. Lands appeared again, 
 but chiefly of wheat, and among the wheat grew scarlet 
 gladioli that reminded Chris of the valley he and Cecil had 
 ridden up side by side on leaving Qacha's Nek. Wild mint 
 bloomed fragrantly by the water and scented the hot air, 
 and the hill-sides were clothed with masses of a dark brick- 
 red flower whose name they did not know. They rode 
 swiftly here, through little paths among the sun-lit stalks and 
 grasses saddle high, though the river wound interminably, 
 and it seemed an impossible direction when Philip insisted 
 on a sharp right-angled turn to the north and a climb up what 
 was almost another pass. The path zigzagged up, and soon 
 they had to walk. They stumbled up together, and at the 
 top Pamela threw herself on the ground. "Oh, Lor', Chris," 
 she said, "I thought we'd never get up. Aren't you dead- 
 beat ? My word, but this is trekking !" 
 
 "Where next?" asked Chris. 
 
 The charm and peace of the river-valley had fled. A 
 gloomy waste stretched about them and a wind had come up 
 chill from somewhere. They called Philip, and he came up 
 as cheerful as ever. 
 
 "Where the devil are you taking us to?" demanded 
 Chris. 
 
 "Moreno, see soon," said the boy. "We cross this vlei 
 and ride down the Linakeng river. Down there, we find the 
 village of Motseke's uncle's brother, and we sleep there. 
 They give missus huts and a sheep I think." 
 
 "But where the blazes is Mokhotlong?" demanded Chris 
 again. "I thought you said we should get there, or to a 
 store, to-night." 
 
 "To-morrow, morcna," said Philip smiling. 
 
 "The land of to-morrow," chuckled Pamela. "Come on, 
 Chris. 'All our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to 
 dusty death.' That's where to-day will light us if we stay 
 much longer in this ghastly place."
 
 302 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 Night fell, and they were still in the saddle. Motseke led, 
 and Chris followed the grey pack-horse who could be seen 
 ghostly ahead. Pamela followed him. Down, down, down. 
 They reached a river. In and out, in and out, up and down; 
 Chris even began to get sleepy in the saddle. Pamela had 
 been silent for some time; then, "Lights ahead!" she cried 
 suddenly. 
 
 That late arrival in the native village was unforgettable. 
 It stood fairly high on a little plateau over the river, and 
 a big fire was blazing before the semicircle of huts. In the 
 light of it, dark faces gathered round them and much talk 
 burst out. Women and children came to the doors of the 
 wind-screen reed fences in front of the round huts, and a 
 head-man in a blanket came solemnly up to shake hands. He 
 spoke rapidly in Sesuto, and Pamela translated that if they 
 would be patient and wait a minute, a hut would be got ready 
 for them. 
 
 "Do you want to sleep in a hut?" asked Chris. 
 
 "Oh yes," she said. "Their huts are very clean as a rule. 
 I have often done it." 
 
 "Well, we can't both sleep in the hut, I suppose," said 
 Chris, "though I don't know why a hut should be worse 
 than a cave, do you? However I'll have a tent put up, I 
 think." And he called to Philip. 
 
 "All right, but we can both eat in it, anyway. Look, it's 
 ready. Oh here's the head-man's wife," and Pamela 
 shook hands with a fat smiling woman who was prepared to 
 usher her in. 
 
 The hut was round, some six feet high at the top of the 
 rough stone walls and perhaps nine feet in the centre. The 
 walls were ornamented with patterns and figures in coloured 
 earths, rudely done, and a weird variety of things were hung 
 on pegs or stuck into the thatch their hostess' skirts, empty 
 bottles, some spears, a sheepskin, bags of tobacco woven from 
 grass, a bundle of twine, an ancient Tower carbine, and what 
 proved to be a prayer and hymn book wrapped in a handker- 
 chief. A pile of grain-bags occupied half the wall space,
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 303 
 
 and a couple of chairs, one minus its back, were brought in 
 *or them, as also a three-legged native stool roughly fash- 
 ioned out of a piece of log. Three half-naked little brats of 
 children crouched in the doorway, and ran off laughing when 
 Pamela tried to get them to come farther in. Philip and 
 Motseke appeared with the bags and saddles, all of which 
 they proposed to store in the hut. Chris asked for water in 
 which to wash, but this was more of a luxury as the river 
 ran some distance below, and the basin that made its appear- 
 ance held but a limited supply. However, as Pamela said, 
 it was clean dirt on their hands, and they made a rough toilet 
 and sat down to wait events. 
 
 Pamela had begged Chris to say nothing about food but 
 to see what was brought them. In due time a procession 
 appeared the head-man, his wife, the eldest child, and their 
 own boys. In various dishes, a chicken, about a dozen hard- 
 boiled eggs, some native wheat-bread looking like penny buns 
 and tasting excellent when new, a bowl of beans and another 
 of ntafi or thick milk, made their appearance. With renewed 
 apologies for having what they called nothing to offer them, 
 the natives withdrew. 
 
 Pamela sprang up. "Now," she cried, "don't move and 
 I'll prepare the dinner." She got out their tin plates, mugs 
 and cutlery, sent off Philip to make the coffee, and opened 
 a tin of blackberry and apple jam and another of anchovy 
 paste. "Course one," she said, "eggs and anchovy. I'm 
 sorry there is no toast but they go well together without it. 
 Course two, chicken, beans and bread ; course three (sweets), 
 mafi and jam ; and coffee to wash it down. Chris, you won't 
 fare better even when you get back to London!" 
 
 The ride had sharpened their appetites, and there was an 
 air about Pamela that was infectious. But the supper was 
 good. Two candles, stuck to the mud floor by their own 
 grease, made the illumination, and through the open door, 
 over the top of the Iclapa* twinkled the stars. They could 
 hear the voices of the men from where they sat out of 
 
 * Lelafio (Sesuto), wind-screen of reeds built before a hut door.
 
 304 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 sight around the village fire, and from some hut along the 
 line to the left the occasional laughter of women. In every 
 moment's silence, the ceaseless song of the river below came 
 up to them. 
 
 Chris took his last spoonful of mafi and set the plate on the 
 floor. Pamela looked at him and chuckled. "Good?" she 
 queried. 
 
 "Perfectly priceless," he said. "Have you finished? May 
 I smoke?" 
 
 "Do," she said. "I've only coffee to finish, but I won't 
 light up yet." 
 
 His pipe going, Chris said thoughtfully, "There's some- 
 thing extraordinarily attractive about this. I've travelled 
 a good deal among natives, but never quite like this. I owe 
 it to you, I think. If I'd been alone, I should have camped 
 outside the village and eaten my own stuff in my tent. But 
 you know, this hospitality of theirs is very wonderful and 
 delightful. Are the Basuto different from other South 
 African tribes in this?" 
 
 "Yes and no," said Pamela. "Yes, because they're not 
 conquered. This is their own country. They're far more 
 rich than the farm natives in the Free State or even most 
 of the Zulus in Natal. Some whites call them cheeky, but 
 that's all rubbish to my way of thinking. On the 
 whole, the native is a real if a raw gentleman. Up here, 
 where he is free and on his own earth, he is hospitable to a 
 fault and takes a pride in it. But the Basuto are different 
 from the others in that on the whole they don't cringe and 
 don't treat a while man as necessarily their superior. We 
 are 'chiefs' of course, each of us, by virtue of our colour, 
 but not masters. If you resent that, you will call these people 
 cheeky; if you understand it and live up to it, you'll like 
 them." 
 
 "It's plain how you regard it," said Christopher medi- 
 tatively. 
 
 "I suppose it is. And I'm not ashamed of it. I think some- 
 times I wouldn't mind living up here, or even in Pondoland,
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 305 
 
 all my days. The native is a primitive man, but I don't 
 think any great shakes of his civilised elder brother." 
 
 "And you'd marry a native?" queried Chris, amused. 
 
 Pamela lit a cigarette with her most deliberate and pon- 
 tifical air. "I don't honestly know," she said. "Somehow it 
 seems worse for a white woman to marry a black man than 
 vice versa. Logically, I don't know why. I've met a white 
 trader who lived with a native woman quite regularly, and 
 both he and she were very decent people, though no one 
 would go near them. I've met white men who lived with 
 black women quite irregularly and both parties were rotters, 
 though people did go near the men, and even appeared not 
 to notice it. But I must confess I've never felt inclined to 
 try the experiment." 
 
 "I should hope not," said Chris emphatically. 
 
 "Why?" she queried. 
 
 Chris smoked in silence. Then he laughed. "You have 
 me," he said, "for I refuse to be conventional. To say it 
 doesn't seem right and would injure the prestige of the 
 white man, is a poor enough reason I know." 
 
 "Exactly," said Pamela. "Our prestige has been injured 
 quite easily without that. When the impartial story of the 
 white man in Africa comes to be written, a thousand years 
 hence, it won't read over nicely. Slavery to begin with. 
 Jameson's got-up little war in Rhodesia and the cool 'expro- 
 priation' of nine million acres. The suppression of the Her- 
 rera 'rebellion' in German West Africa. And so on. No, it 
 won't make nice reading when the human race is welded 
 into one and the colours are as mixed as the Goths, Celts, and 
 Latins in Europe." 
 
 "That day will never come," said Chris. 
 
 "Won't it ? You have small authority for saying so, any- 
 way, my dear. But certainly we shan't see it, and meantime 
 I'm for bed." 
 
 Chris got to his feet and knocked out his pipe on the 
 stone step of the door. "Got all you want ?" he queried. 
 
 "Everything, thanks. Shall you turn in now?"
 
 306 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 "A last cigarette, I think. Good-night, Pam." 
 
 "Good-night, Chris." 
 
 He left the village, and found his tent beyond on a flat 
 piece of grassy land. Ten yards away, it and the huts were 
 all but swallowed in the darkness. He stood smoking and 
 looking down the valley, which a rising moon lit in the dis- 
 tance though a black shadow lay over the village itself. It 
 was utterly peaceful. He thought of Cecil and wondered 
 what she was doing ; then of Pamela, so unconventional and 
 frank. They were a curious contrast. He sighed, and threw 
 the glowing end of his cigarette into the black void at his 
 feet. It shone in the air like a miniature meteor for a minute, 
 and was gone. High overhead the real thing flamed in 
 sudden glory across the velvet sky. Our day lasts no longer, 
 he thought, in the story of the planet, and maybe our very 
 world, when it goes out in the end, will seem no more to 
 the inhabitants of some distant solar system. Then Philip 
 loomed up out of the night. "What is it ?" Chris demanded. 
 
 "Water for morena" said Philip, and held out a native pot 
 and his master's flask. "He have last drink, eh ?" 
 
 "Have one yourself," said Chris, on the impulse. 
 
 The boy shook his head. "Brandy no good for Basuto," 
 he said. 
 
 "Your people don't all think so," retorted Chris. 
 
 The boy's teeth grinned in the dark. "No, morena" he 
 said, "and it a great pity." 
 
 "You're right, Philip," said Chris, "but who taught you 
 that?" 
 
 "The Mission. Morena see church at Mokhotlong. 
 Priest there, these people say. He pass this way day before 
 yesterday. Good-night, morena." 
 
 Chris was still thoughtful as they rode next morning. The 
 path crossed the Linakeng and left it at right angles, running 
 due north again. They had to climb up a long valley, to ride 
 round some peaks very high up, and then descend the course 
 of another stream the other side. Philip pointed out a dis-
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 307 
 
 tant mountain mass. "That Mokhotlong, morena" he said. 
 
 When he had dropped behind, Chris turned to Pamela. 
 "Why does Philip call me morena now?" he asked, "It was 
 always Baas before." 
 
 "Because he is a Mosuto," she said, "and in his own land 
 drops the baas of the farm. The one means a chief, the 
 other a master. It's a subtle difference, and just what I told 
 you last night." 
 
 Chris nodded. "He's a good chap, that," he said, and told 
 her of the brandy incident. 
 
 "Yes, better than most," Pamela replied. "Father picked 
 him up in these parts, and he has never left him. We've a 
 good lot of servants, and a mixed crowd too, of which I'm 
 glad for it has taught me several dialects. You ought to 
 learn one, Chris." 
 
 He shook his head. "I'm no good at that sort of thing," 
 he said. 
 
 Mokhotlong is a Government camp, the smallest and most 
 remote station in the Protectorate. It is magnificently 
 placed, on a plateau that slopes to the Mokhotlong river itself, 
 a deep mountain torrent which flows below the camp less 
 than a mile away across the reserve and joins the Orange 
 not far beyond under some huge cliffs. The settlement itself 
 is a horseshoe of huts, with the sub-inspector's house at the 
 end of them, a bungalow of three rooms built in native 
 fashion with a couple of subsidiary rondhavels one on each 
 flank. They rode up slowly in the afternoon sun, past the 
 seven or eight rondhavels of the police, and the stables, and 
 drew rein by a line of white stones that marked a terrace 
 before the white man's quarters. As Chris helped Pamela 
 to dismount, he came out, bare-headed but in uniform, and 
 she uttered an exclamation. 
 
 "Mr. Mallory!" she cried. "Who would have thought 
 of seeing you here!" 
 
 He smiled. "And who in the world of seeing you !" he 
 retorted. "Well, at any rate, I congratulate you, Miss
 
 308 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 Urfurd. Not more than three or four white women have 
 ever got to Mokhotlong. But I thought you had gone home 
 a week ago." 
 
 Chris and he shook hands heartily, and Chris explained. 
 "But you," he added, "I thought you were off back to the 
 Nek and civilisation." 
 
 "Well," said Mallory, "I saw the Sinclairs to Ramat- 
 seliso's, but there I found an orderly from the camp with an 
 unexpected letter from Bosworth, our Assistant Commis- 
 sioner you remember, telling me to come up here at once on 
 a bit of police business. So I rode back to Moshebe's that 
 night, and despite the rain, packed on up here next morn- 
 ing." 
 
 "We were hung up by the rain two days in the Bushman's 
 cave," said Pamela. "We've had a topping time, Mr. Mal- 
 lory. I hope you're not utterly shocked at seeing us ride up 
 together." 
 
 "Not a bit," he said. "It's a thoroughly sporting pro- 
 gramme. Come right in. I am alone, as a matter of fact, 
 for our man up here is away on patrol and doesn't know of 
 my arrival. It's all very rough and ready, Miss Urfurd, but 
 I'm delighted to see you. Never mind the horses, Ashurst; 
 the police will look after them; we'll have some tea in a 
 couple of shakes. Do sit down, Miss Urfurd ; you must be 
 awfully tired. By Jove! it's perfectly priceless you two 
 rolling up. You must stop a week at least." 
 
 "Oh we can't trespass on you like that," protested Pamela. 
 
 "Well, it isn't on me," said Mallory, laughing. "It's on 
 Judson. But you needn't worry. We don't often get 
 visitors here and we're delighted to see them. There's a 
 store handy and sheep on the mountain, also buck, and fish in 
 the river. There's a garden full of vegetables, and even the 
 bar happens to be well stocked. You must rest your horses 
 for some days anyhow, and where do you go next? Back 
 to camp at Qacha's Nek ?" 
 
 "We don't know," said Chris smiling. "The idea was 
 simply not to waste the chance of the trek, but we're aiming
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 309 
 
 more or less for the Free State side. Can't we do Mont 
 aux Sources now we're about it ?" 
 
 The two men went off to the map hanging in the little 
 office, and Pamela looked curiously about her.. The floor and 
 the walls were of mud ; the table and chairs of unvarnished 
 wood. A huge stone fire-place opened at one end, and above 
 it was nailed the skin of an immense snake. There was a 
 shelf of books with a dozen or so of novels, and "Every- 
 man's Book of Medicine," and some law reports. These, a 
 cupboard, and a half a dozen heads of various buck, together 
 with a rack of rods and guns, completed the furniture. 
 Pamela stretched her feet to the fire, and lay back in her 
 chair with a sigh of content 
 
 Mallory gave her the right rondhavel, and he and Chris 
 shared the left. It was a curious life they lived together 
 for the next few days. It did not matter in the least at what 
 hour you rose, ate or slept. Mutton, in various forms, made 
 up the greater part of the menu. The second day, however, 
 while the men were out fishing, Pamela invaded the kitchen, 
 charmed the native cook (who happened to be a fellow 
 under arrest for manslaughter who was awaiting trial), and 
 turned out scones, a cake and a tart. Thereafter she was 
 voted house-keeper, and one night arranged a marvellous 
 dinner such as, Mallory declared, the place could never have 
 seen before. They even had a visitor from the lonely store 
 three hours' ride away, and the four of them played auction 
 bridge till midnight. Thus the days slipped away, but two 
 incidents are really worthy of note. 
 
 The first was a visit to the mission. The three of them 
 rode together across the Mokhotlong river and up a steep 
 path to where, in a fold of the hills, stood the little church. 
 It was a Sunday, and some couple of hundred natives were 
 gathered, from tiny remote villages, to the spot. The priest 
 came to meet them in his cassock, a red-haired slight man 
 at whom Pamela looked curiously because at Three Springs 
 little good was said of missions. She wondered what he 
 would say to her appearance, in so lonely a place with two
 
 3io THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 men for one thing, and in riding breeches for the second. 
 But she need not have wondered, for he did not seem to 
 notice or criticise anything. 
 
 "Are you often here, father?" she asked when they had 
 been introduced. 
 
 "No," he said. "Three or four times a year for say a 
 week at a time is about all I can manage. I've all these 
 mountains to visit, with perhaps a dozen more or less cen- 
 tral places at which I try to spend a Sunday or two. The 
 people are very scattered in the mountains, and it is a hard 
 task to keep them up to scratch." 
 
 "But what a tiny village this is," she said, looking round 
 on the eight or nine clusters of two or at the most three 
 huts each which were scattered over the hollow. 
 
 "Ah, you are not used to our small mountain villages, but 
 there are many all around. In the evening you can see the 
 smoke of the fires far away down the valley. Some of these 
 people here have come three hours on horseback to be 
 present for mass, and some have actually walked. Won't 
 you come up to the church and have a look ? It's poor, but 
 we are rather proud of it. It is so difficult to get anything 
 built up here." 
 
 They crossed the rough stone-strewn grass to a mud, 
 thatch and stone building like a big barn with a rounded 
 apsidal end. The priest's hut, no different from those of 
 his flock, stood by itself thirty feet or so beyond, and a great 
 crowd of people clustered about. All were in their Sunday 
 best and mostly in European clothes, the women hideous 
 with masses of skirts which made them look as if they wore 
 crinolines. Pamela drew the priest's attention to it. 
 
 "Yes," he said laughing, "it's terrible, isn't it? The fact 
 is that the first white women they ever saw in Basutoland 
 were the wives of French Protesant missionaries in the days 
 of the crinoline. Fashions die hard in Africa. This is the 
 native attempt to copy it. You can't dispossess them of the 
 idea, and after all, it doesn't much matter. Personally I'd
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 311 
 
 sooner they came in native skins and blankets, but they're 
 past that. It's not my fault, and I've more to do than worry 
 over it. But come to the church, will you ?" 
 
 The door was open and the visitors entered. A mud altar 
 stood out from the wall in the apse, with a crucifix and a 
 couple of candles upon it, and a picture of Saint Michael 
 treading the devil down into very red flames hung above. 
 ("The church is dedicated to St. Michael," said Fr. Wilfrid, 
 "and that's the best we can do.") The floor was mud, with 
 a few low mud seats running across it, but what at once 
 attracted their attention was a small crowd of some twenty 
 children kneeling around an image of the Virgin and saying 
 the rosary. An elder girl, herself possibly thirteen or four- 
 teen at most, led them, and scarcely a head turned on their 
 entrance. They stood and listened, and presently Pamela 
 distinguished the Gloria in the Sesuto. Then the leader 
 began to sing, and the child voices took it up. They were 
 singing the Salve Regina, set to a tune she knew well 
 "Hail, Gladdening Light," of the English hymn-book. 
 
 The simple devotion of the children, the utter spontaneity 
 of it for no one had known of their coming affected 
 Pamela very much, more indeed than she cared to allow. 
 "How utterly beautiful," she whispered to the priest as 
 they finished. 
 
 "Yes," he said tranquilly. "Our chief hope lies in the 
 children." 
 
 They came out into the sun. Chris looked antagonistic, 
 Pamela thought, and it was at once plain that she was right. 
 "Forgive me," he said to the priest, "but I should have 
 thought you had your work cut out to teach them about God 
 without dragging in the Virgin." 
 
 Fr. Wilfrid smiled. "You are a Protestant, Mr. Ashurst," 
 he said. 
 
 "I don't know that I am anything particularly," said Chris, 
 "but that is how it strikes me." 
 
 "Well, then, Mr. Ashurst, you will at least allow that we
 
 312 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 who believe Almighty God to have manifested Himself 
 through a woman may be excused if we endeavour to con- 
 tinue His method." 
 
 Chris shook his head obstinately. "There's a flaw in 
 that," he declared. 
 
 "I suppose you mean," said Fr. Wilfrid, "that that first 
 manifestation was a unique action and is no more than an 
 event past. But I do not wholly agree with you. God chose 
 to avail Himself of the chief and most lovely law in His 
 universe that of Motherhood. He uplifted, ennobled and 
 blessed it. Mary, like the rest of us, was immortal, but God, 
 through her, has made motherhood divine. If we ever come 
 to see God, Mr. Ashurst, we shall see His Mother by His 
 side. He does not forget or change. Therefore, in herself, 
 Mary has an eternal function, being the mother in a very real 
 sense of all her Son's brethren, and 'He is not ashamed to 
 call us brethren.' And even possibly more, she is an eternal 
 star in our night. She shows us that motherhood is some- 
 thing with which God can have to do, and that in motherhood 
 even the least of these poor African mothers can come near 
 to Him." 
 
 Chris was at least honest. "We see things very differently, 
 father," he said, "but I can at any rate understand that with 
 such ideals, however vain to me, you can sacrifice your life 
 to such a work as this. Still, if you set motherhood so high, 
 why not set a good example and marry?" 
 
 "Ah no, Mr. Ashurst," the priest said quickly, "there is 
 no sacrifice. Please do not say that. I would not exchange 
 this hut and my old cassock for anything you might offer. 
 Though I admit I could do with a new one," he added 
 comically, glancing down at his patched robe. "But as for 
 celibacy, why that is a matter of vocation. Surely you are 
 the last person to blame us for imitating her Son!" 
 
 "There's another flaw in that too," declared Chris, but 
 the priest said no more. 
 
 A little later they were shaking hands. Pamela lingered 
 a moment, and the two men left her to walk towards the
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 313 
 
 horses. She held out her hand to the missionary with a 
 folded note in it. "Take this for your work, father," she 
 said, "if you please. And and say a prayer for one who 
 finds it hard to pray." 
 
 He thanked her courteously and glanced quickly at her 
 face, seeming as if he would ask a question. But whatever 
 he saw, he did not. "I will, Miss Urfurd," he said, "very 
 gladly. And perhaps you will forgive sne if I ask you to 
 remember, should you need it at any time, that that Son and 
 His Mother understand human hearts." 
 
 "Chris, you were almost rude," said Pamela as they rode 
 home. 
 
 "Well," he burst out, "the whole thing annoyed me. Why 
 come to Africa to teach new superstitions? Haven't Africans 
 enough of their own? And this motherhood business is 
 beyond me. It's a fact of nature, but there is no need to 
 slobber over it." 
 
 "I thought so once," said Pamela. 
 
 "And not now ?" he queried. "Surely the sight of a hand- 
 ful of brats saying Hail Marys isn't going to upset you !" 
 
 Pamela's face hardened. "There are moments, Chris," 
 she said, "when you show yourself singularly dense. It 
 appears to me that we have been set a lesson these last six 
 months, and you haven't begun to learn the first syllable yet. 
 And it's a pity; you may need it." 
 
 Then there was the day they went shooting. The police 
 reported some buck on the mountain behind the station, and 
 they all three went after them. It was hard work, but very 
 glorious up there on a ridge of the world, the rolling miles 
 of mountains, fantastic and majestic, all around them. At 
 last, after a desperate stalk of half an hour just under a 
 ridge, they came in sight of a herd, and each man selected 
 his beast. Chris brought his down, but Mallory's dashed off 
 wounded. For an hour or more they tracked it, and at last, 
 in a little kloof, came suddenly on the creature, desperately 
 wounded and unable to go farther or escape them. Mallory 
 stepped quickly forward and fired, but not before Pamela
 
 3H THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 had seen its eyes turned on them with a look of terror and 
 pain not easily forgotten. 
 
 "Oh!" she exclaimed, "the poor beastie!" 
 
 "Yes," said Chris, looking down on it, "it's easy to be 
 absurdly sentimental, but there are times when I hate myself 
 for shooting." 
 
 Mallory sat down and spread out his legs. "Phew!" he 
 said, "that's tiring ; do sit down, Miss Urf urd." 
 
 Pamela sat down likewise, but still regarding the dead 
 buck. "What a horror life is," she exclaimed impulsively. 
 "How?" queried Mallory, looking at her under his heavy 
 bushy eyebrows. 
 
 "Oh I can't exactly explain," said Pamela dreamily, "but 
 it all came over me at the sight of that poor desperate thing. 
 Think of it the sudden, unexpected, unexperienced, un- 
 known shock of the bullet; the pain; the blood; the wild 
 dash for safety ; its utter exhaustion ; and then our incredibly 
 awful appearance, hot with the blood lust, eager for its 
 death. And it's a picture of life. Aren't we ourselves struck 
 down again and again by just that sort of thing? Look at 
 little Ronnie and Hugh and Cecil. Suddenly, out of the blue, 
 the blow of fate. Or we are driven by what we do not know, 
 we dash here and there to escape. We would give anything 
 to get away, to avoid, but fate is hard on our heels for no 
 motive that we can see, and utterly merciless. Oh I know 
 it is easy to be sentimental, as Chris says, and foolish, but 
 that is life! There is not one of us who wholly escapes it. 
 And some of us get caught in the toils and driven against 
 our will and minds, to some such bloody end as this." 
 
 Chris, who had been standing looking at the dead buck, 
 turned impulsively and threw himself on the ground by her 
 side. Mallory sat on, regarding them both quizzically. He 
 was a straightforward sort of person in a practical straight- 
 forward sort of job, but he was by no means without some 
 sort of understanding for these two who were neither of 
 them in the least usual. He half expected Chris's outburst. 
 
 "And yet you can talk about God, Pamela, and mother-
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 315 
 
 hood, and all the rest of it ! Can't you see how sickening it 
 all is by the side of reality? Of course simple primitive folk 
 find some sort of consolation in such tales, but we moderns, 
 who see so much more clearly and who have had the pretty 
 delusions smashed fairly extensively about us, know better. 
 That's why the modern man is a rebel. He knows that there 
 is no god in heaven or earth or under the earth but himself, 
 and he only god in his own hour and right if he masters 
 himself, sees his own pleasures and ends, and moves relent- 
 lessly towards them. We shot this poor beast who has done 
 us no harm and was as glad of its life as we were, simply for 
 an hour's amusement and perhaps, secondarily, for an unnec- 
 essary flavour in to-night's pot. It's damnable, put like that. 
 But the damnation does not rest on us. It rests on what- 
 ever blind power, in whatever fit of drunken madness, made 
 the world. Nor is there any clue to any escape. Therefore, 
 since we are masters, since we, for example, have been able 
 to make such a deadly foul thing as this rifle, let us walk 
 through the world around and kill our fill. And at the last, 
 if there be a throne of judgment before which we must 
 stand, well, we will laugh in the face of God and tell Him He 
 is welcome to break and torture the poor devil that He 
 Himself was brute enough to make!" 
 
 His fierce invective wrought absolutely the opposite effect 
 from what he probably expected in both his hearers. A 
 rather sad smile gathered on Pamela's face. "You're rather 
 a dear, Chris," she said, heedless of Mallory, "but there is 
 no escape from the trap by that road." 
 
 And then Mallory showed them suddenly a side of his 
 character not often seen. "The matter with you, Ashurst," 
 he said, "is that you've seen a lot of life, but only one side 
 of it. You are not a father. Wait till you see your wife with 
 her first baby in her arms. Then say your say of God and 
 His universe." 
 
 Chris was most lovable in that he could take a defeat and 
 admit it. So now he looked at the speaker for awhile in 
 silence, and then got slowly to his feet. "A month ago,
 
 316 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 Mallory," he said in a subdued voice, "I should have laughed 
 at you. But by God though I do not know Him there 
 may be something in what you say." 
 As for Pamela, she hardly spoke all the long road home.
 
 HE three of them became great friends in the ten days 
 A or so they eventually spent at Mokhotlong, and when 
 Pamela declared it was time for Chris and herself to con- 
 tinue their trek, Mallory offered to accompany them part 
 of the way. The need of patrolling the Border up to Mont 
 aux Sources could be made excuse for doing so, and thus 
 the three of them set off together. It was a queer com- 
 panionship. In a sense the long days together remote from 
 the world, made Chris and Pamela both forget for a while 
 the interwoven story of life in which they had their parts 
 to play, each surrendering to the moment and allowing 
 Mallory's ignorance of so much of that story to serve as a 
 protection. To him they were simply unconventional 
 cousins, and Cecil no more than the friend of both of them. 
 They had perforce to hide from him knowledge of the rest, 
 and in so doing lapsed easily into a frank friendship. But 
 out of that very friendship something else grew in Pamela's 
 case, grew against the day when they were once more alone 
 together for, as it were, the last act in the drama. 
 
 Mont aux Sources had been visited, and a night spent in 
 "The Eagle's Nest." Then, after a consultation with a 
 sergeant of native police who knew the country well, the 
 three had ridden west until they struck a broad trail run- 
 ning north and south in its lonely way across those upland 
 solitudes. Here they drew rein. "There you are," said 
 Mallory. "I go south, and this road will land me at Mok- 
 hotlong again; you ride north, and you will find it veer 
 west in an hour or two and bring you out at the summit of 
 the Moteng. You should be there soon after mid-day. 
 Then, if you like, you can make a store for the night, or
 
 3i8 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 else sleep at the foot of the Pass and make Butha-Buthe 
 the next day. Butha-Buthe is a couple of hours only from 
 the railway and you could if you wish catch the night train. 
 Or else ride on south to Leribe it's a road worth seeing 
 and catch the train the day after at Ficksburg." 
 
 "Sure you can't come?" queried Chris. 
 
 "No," said the other, shaking his head. "It's all right 
 up here and I'm in my own district still, but you'll see what 
 the Pass is like. One doesn't go up or down it just for 
 fun. And once down, I'm trespassing in another district 
 and should have to give a reason why." 
 
 "Am I not good enough reason?" laughed Pamela. 
 
 "I fear not, Miss Urfurd," said Mallory smiling. "If 
 we could make away with Ashurst now, then I should have 
 to escort you home, but as it is . . ." 
 
 "You see what a nuisance you are, Chris," said she. 
 
 So they had parted, and now at mid-day the cousins stood 
 dismounted at the lip of the great Pass. It was, indeed, a 
 wonderful sight. The tiny trail slipped out of sight below 
 them between two towering bastions that rose, one on either 
 side, as if on guard, and they had literally to crane over to 
 see it winding among the stones for the first thousand feet 
 of the precipitous descent. Thence, the Pass widened out 
 like a funnel. Spikes of rock, each crag hundreds of feet 
 high, rose from below, with other bastions, peaks and foot- 
 hills among which nestled at last the little river that owed 
 its existence to the hundred tiny springs bubbling up in this 
 split mountain gorge. Away and away in the Free State, 
 across lower Basutoland, which, from this height looked no 
 more than a flat plain, other mountains rose on the hori- 
 zon, the sun gleaming golden on them so that they looked 
 like a Promised Land. Between, in one place, a storm was 
 in progress. The plane of their sight was far above that 
 of the clustering black clouds which, to those beneath them, 
 would have seemed to be all but the entire sky, and they 
 could watch the rods of falling rain. Intense stillness 
 hemmed them in. The boys were a mile or so behind, and
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 319 
 
 only a little wind sang gently among the great rocks and 
 stirred the long grasses. 
 
 They stood side by side, their horses grazing a few yards 
 away. And for some minutes neither spoke. Each was 
 realising that their mountaineering was all but at an end; 
 that the respite was over; that down below lay the world 
 of life and the stage upon which they had each a part to 
 play. Pamela thought fiercely of the start, now weeks 
 before, on that other side behind them, and of her plot 
 to save Cecil ; and she realised suddenly how much more 
 had come of it than she had intended. In a few hours they 
 would be below again, and what then? She felt as if she 
 had been dreaming these last few days, but was awake again 
 at last. Of what was Chris thinking? What was, after 
 all, to be the end ? 
 
 Her eyes narrowed as she stood there gazing, and her 
 mouth hardened a little. Had she yet saved Cecil? And 
 what about herself? 
 
 "Twenty-four hours, Chris," she said, "and as like as not 
 we'll be in the train. Can you realise it ?" 
 
 He shook his head, still silent. 
 
 "What are your plans, old boy ?" she asked. 
 
 He did not reply at once, and then Socratic fashion. 
 "Pam," he demanded suddenly, "do you think I can return 
 to Cecily yet?" 
 
 Pamela heard but did not look at him. She swept that 
 great expanse below her, and time seemed to stand still 
 as it will at a crisis. Characteristically, it was in that mo- 
 ment that she made up her mind, indeed in that moment 
 she saw her own mind clearly for the first time since they 
 had set out together. She knew, then, her deeper purpose, 
 and how it merged with her promise to Cecil. She sur- 
 veyed the lists, and knew them to be set for the last encoun- 
 ter. And it was not in Pamela to fight with gloved hands. 
 
 "I must think, Chris," she said. "I'll tell you later. Let's 
 get on down. The boys are coming, and we had better be 
 well ahead of the packs."
 
 320 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 Scrambling, slipping, shouting at the horses, panting for 
 breath and now and again resting in temporary exhaus- 
 tion, they descended. They had to negotiate three thou- 
 sand feet of mountain side as steep as it is possible to get 
 a Basuto pony up or down, and what exactly that means 
 has to be experienced to be realised. It was well on in the 
 afternoon before they reached a bit of open ground at the 
 mouth of a little kloof and saw by the track ahead that it 
 was possible to mount their horses there. A stream flowed 
 at their feet, and another purred down from the kloof to 
 meet it. Pamela threw herself on the ground and laved 
 her hands in the water. It was quite hot down there, 
 although it had been cold enough on the top. 
 
 "Well?" she queried. 
 
 Chris looked round and smiled. "Yes," he said. "I take 
 it that the committee is agreed. There may very likely be 
 a store three hours on; I can quite believe it; but it can 
 stay there comfortably without our bothering it. I vote we 
 camp our last night right here." 
 
 "Carried," said Pamela, "only I propose we pitch the 
 tents a bit up that kloof so as to be away from the road." 
 
 There was the usual hour's bustle, but at last nothing 
 more remained to be done but to wait for the dinner to 
 finish cooking. The two tents stood close to each other in 
 a little semicircle of bush, and in the centre of its chord 
 burned the fire. Saddles had been piled out of sight where 
 the boys would sleep, away among the bushes to the right 
 and in the lee of the side of the krantz. The two whites 
 were sitting on a blanket by the clear purling water, deal- 
 ing, as is fitting at the close of the day, with sundowners 
 and tobacco. 
 
 Chris himself opened the conversation. "Pam," he said, 
 "I can't forget that day we visited the Mission, and our 
 talk when we had shot the buck. What do you honestly 
 make of life? We're going back to it now, and there is 
 still in my mind what you forced me into saying that day.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 321 
 
 I begin to wonder if things do really look to me exactly 
 as they once looked. But I can't straighten them out at all." 
 
 "How precisely do you mean?" Pamela asked him 
 slowly. 
 
 Chris moved restlessly. "Oh," he said, "I know I put 
 it badly then, and I know I can't put it very much better 
 now. But it comes to this, Pam : I'm going back to Cecil to 
 persuade her to rebel, to break laws, to strike out as an 
 individualist, and I know she will agree and rebel with me. 
 But all these weeks up in these mountains I've been won- 
 dering more and more if well, if perhaps there isn't more 
 in things than I've allowed. Up here there are no trap- 
 pings or fripperies in nature. It's all gaunt and huge and 
 nude. I get a kind of fear as I think of it. It's not merely 
 conscience, of which I don't think I have much. But one 
 might dash oneself to pieces against these rocks, and they 
 would not care. The Power that set them here would not 
 be moved. The eternal plans and purposes would go on 
 working themselves out. It comes to this: Can one rebel? 
 Is not rebellion no more than a mad kind of suicide? Can 
 one rebel, Pam?" 
 
 Pamela rolled over on to her chest and stared up at him 
 with an almost savage look in her eyes. "One can," she 
 said huskily. 
 
 He glanced at her curiously. "What do you mean?" he 
 asked in his turn. 
 
 "Some of us are not made to submit, Chris," she said. 
 "We're born rebels. I see what your mountains mean and 
 say to you, but a fig for them! Man is the master of 
 things. I see that some submit; more are driven to sub- 
 mit ; some are born under the law and stay there ; but some 
 are not. I am not. You are not." 
 
 "And Cecil?" he inquired, under her spell. 
 
 Pamela shrugged her shoulders. Then she stretched out 
 a hand and placed it on his arm. "Does that matter just 
 now?" she whispered softly.
 
 322 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 He made no reply, but she felt a quiver pass through 
 him, and she went on speaking intensely. "Chris, listen to 
 me. There's so much that one doesn't know and can't 
 know, and surely it is only the cowards who fear what they 
 do know for the sake of what they do not. And I don't 
 fear to tell you what I know, Chris, know about myself 
 and know about you. We're both rather primitive people, 
 Chris, passionate folk, eh, my dear? The conventions 
 don't appeal to us much. They were framed for the soft 
 people and the cowards. It's in revolt, in passion, in fierce 
 things, that joy lies for you and me. Aren't we alike in 
 that, Chris?" 
 
 The man beside her moved his arm that he might take 
 her hand, and he drew her a little towards him. The 
 movement, slight as it was, broke down the last barrier of 
 her restraint, and with the fierceness of a wild thing she 
 sought to make him her own. Yes, sought, though she lay 
 still on the ground and the colour ebbed from her face, and 
 left her eyes, narrowed and burning, to glow at him out 
 of her white skin. 
 
 "Yes we are," she cried in a torrent of speech, "and that 
 is why I can talk to you instead of waiting like some soft 
 drawing-room girl for you to talk to me. Chris, I love 
 you why I don't know, but as I think you have never 
 been loved and never will be again. I love you not mar- 
 riage, not children, not a position, but just you. You need 
 not marry me I'll go round the world with you as your 
 mistress; you need give me no child, though if you like I 
 will bear you children; but give me love, Chris, feed the 
 flame in me, meet the need in me, satisfy yourself with me, 
 Chris, and so give me the satisfaction that I want. When 
 you have done with me, say so; I shall know what to do. 
 But love is the reality of life, Chris, and Chris, Chris, give 
 me love!" 
 
 Chris bent over her, and caressed her cheek with his 
 hand. But he did not even kiss her. Emotion was rising 
 in him like a flood, and the stirrings of desire as the
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 323 
 
 thought grew steadily in his own consciousness that this 
 woman was his, there and then, if he cared to take her; 
 but the very strangeness of this love-making seemed to 
 make the conventional signs of it unnecessary and foolish. 
 And as he caressed, she continued. "Have you never seen 
 these natives talk together? I have, a hundred times. 
 Chris, I've wished before now that I could be as free as 
 they. Why the man scarcely woos the girl at all ! He sees 
 her, he desires her, and he orders her to follow him. And 
 as a rule she goes. There's something fine in it. It is 
 afterwards that arrangements are made and their little rules 
 and conventions of life come in. But it is that wild rap- 
 ture of living that I want, and want now from you, Chris. 
 Let's turn and go back the way we've come! Not to the 
 Camp, but back to the mountains, back to our cave, back 
 to the clean air and water and grass. Don't let's go back 
 to drawing-rooms and cities, Chris. Will you? Do you 
 hate me? Can't you be glad in me, Chris?" 
 
 Before he could reply, there was a sound in the bushes 
 of some one's approach, and he had scarcely time to with- 
 draw his hand when Philip stepped out. "Dinner ready, 
 morena," he said, utterly unconscious of the bathos, and 
 smiled at them and turned away. Chris caught his breath 
 and leaped to his feet, and Pamela rose to hers. So they 
 stood, looking each other for a second or two in the face. 
 Then a smile gathered slowly in the girl's, and frankly and 
 impulsively she held out her hands. "Well?" she queried, 
 "am I impossible, Chris?" 
 
 Passion flared up in him. He ignored her hands, but 
 caught her by the shoulders and drew her to him fiercely. 
 "God ! no, Pamela," he exclaimed. "You offer all you have 
 to give and do you think I don't love you for it? See, I 
 thank you so," and he kissed her hard upon the lips. 
 "There, I take that, but more I will not take not now at 
 any rate, and I think never. For I can't turn back. If I 
 took all that you offer me and I love you, savage woman 
 that you are, for offering it then I would indeed turn back.
 
 324 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 I could not help it. We would wander off together, 
 Pamela, you and I." He laughed. "God, Pam, it would be 
 great ! You tempt me ! But I won't. I go on." 
 
 "Why, Chris?" she begged, her heart faint within her. 
 
 "Why?" he queried, still holding her, "why? Because 
 I've looked on Eve, I suppose," he said, "and she was made 
 for me." 
 
 For Pamela, time hung still. Then she mastered herself 
 and it, as few could have done. "Let's eat," she said laugh- 
 ing a little. "I'm actually hungry and that's another primi- 
 tive passion." 
 
 They walked arm in arm to the fire for the last stew 
 of the trek, and Chris doled it out, Pamela watching him. 
 They ate at first in silence, but then she said: "I'm not a 
 bit sorry we had that scene, Chris. A barrier is down be- 
 tween us. I'm even happier to-night than I've been any 
 night before." 
 
 "You're a queer person, Pam," he replied; "why?" 
 
 "Because we don't pretend any more. Because we shan't 
 surprise each other any more. Because I know you better 
 now, and you me. And because I love you, I'm glad of 
 all these things. When we've finished supper, we'll sit 
 together on a rug and talk of life and prospects of life, 
 shall we?" 
 
 Chris was a little piqued. She appeared to take it so 
 easily. "Do you really love me, Pam?" he asked. "If you 
 do, how can you talk so lightly of the future?" 
 
 Pamela tipped off a mug of tea and put it down. She 
 spoke easily, but her hand shook a little. "Oh yes, I love 
 you, Chris," she said. "Look here, my offer stands. It 
 stands till we part. Isn't that proof enough?" 
 
 "Are you flesh and blood at all, Pam?" he asked slowly. 
 "Do you know how you tempt me?" 
 
 "I don't," she said, and dared to smile in the firelight. 
 "There's a stronger than I." 
 
 He moved uneasily, and Pam noted it. She chuckled
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 325 
 
 to herself, her face hidden. The battle was not yet over. 
 She was stronger for her very defeat. 
 
 So in the glow of the dying fire, they sat together. Chris 
 put his arms about her and she leaned against him, though 
 she made no other movement to attract his caresses. "TeL 
 me what you will do when you get back," he asked curiously. 
 
 "Seek out Nanea," said Pamela promptly, "and make 
 her speak again. I've dabbled before in the thing; I shall 
 plunge right in now. I shall see what I can do with Auntie 
 Tot, and this boy Philip, I fancy. What shall you do ?" 
 
 "Go on to Jo'burg and the Northern Transvaal, and then 
 back to Kokstad. Shall I come and visit you on the way ?" 
 
 "Oh no," said Pamela. 
 
 Chris frowned in the dark. He felt himself slighted 
 again. "Why not?" he asked, kicking the embers into a 
 sudden spurt of flame. 
 
 "I will keep my memories," said Pamela. 
 
 Chris stroked her hand. "Oh my dear," he said, "I'm 
 so sorry." 
 
 "You need not be," said Pamela. "What is, is. I think 
 if one only rebels it does not matter so much if rebellion 
 be unsatisfactory. But you will end by drifting with the 
 stream. Life will hold you, despite your will. Probably 
 you'll end in a London suburb with a host of children. But 
 not I. Adam and Eve bowed to the inevitable, and they 
 ended by fighting thistles for their daily bread. The Arabs 
 say Lilith wandered into Africa and died in Kilimanjaro, 
 where natives worship at her grave to this day. Perhaps, 
 in a hundred years, they will be worshipping my remains 
 in some cave in Pondoland. No, in my own cave. It 
 doesn't matter. It's as good an end as any." 
 
 "And if we went back together?" queried Chris. 
 
 The girl grew still in his arms. "Well?" he repeated. 
 
 "I do not know," she said. "That road is eastward at 
 least, towards the sun." 
 
 Chris touched her hair with his lips. "Witch," he whis-
 
 326 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 pered, "you tempt me. I do not know my own mind to- 
 night." 
 
 And then Pamela made a mistake. "That is not like 
 you, Chris," she said. "You knew it clearly enough in 
 Kokstad." 
 
 A log fell in the fire and sparks shot up. Chris loosened 
 her arm. "By God, I did," he said in a changed voice. 
 "Thank you for reminding me, dear. That was daylight. 
 Let's to bed." 
 
 But he kissed her as they parted for the night, and no 
 kiss is without significance. In his tent, it was Pamela 
 who filled his thoughts, and in hers, Pamela lay very long 
 staring upwards at the canvas above her. 
 
 The next day they reached the camp of Butha-Buthe, 
 riding up the steep cross-country path, past the Residency 
 garden and the police huts at the top of the hill, and draw- 
 ing rein in the little street with its three stores and one 
 other European house and the veld stretching wide and free 
 behind and before. 
 
 Butha-Buthe welcomed them in the fashion of the coun- 
 try. Chris went up to the magistrate's office to inquire the 
 way, and found a short, prematurely rather grey-haired 
 man who was very courteous and plainly delighted to see 
 him. He asked how far they had come that day and abso- 
 lutely refused to let them go on. He walked with them 
 across the road to his house, sent the boys and horses to 
 the stables, and introduced them to his wife. While tea 
 was preparing, he insisted on giving Chris a whisky and 
 soda, and his wife took Pamela to her room. She was a 
 short dark-haired attractive girl whom Pamela plainly im- 
 pressed. 
 
 "You must have had a perfectly thrilling time," she said. 
 "I wish I could do something like that. But I've got babies, 
 you know. They finish you." 
 
 "How many?" queried Pamela, amused. 
 
 "Two, both girls, and rather dears you shall see them. 
 And how long have you been on trek?"
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 327 
 
 Pamela told her. "Aren't you scandalised at my going 
 alone with Chris?" she asked. 
 
 "Heavens, no!" exclaimed the other. "Jolly sporting, I 
 call it. Besides he was introduced as your cousin. Isn't 
 he?" 
 
 "A little distant," said Pamela smiling, and to see what 
 she would say. 
 
 "Well, make him a first to my husband," the girl said. 
 "He's rather proper really. Personally, I should have gone 
 with him if he had been no relation at all. I've read his 
 novels, and I could not have resisted it." 
 
 "Don't tell Chris," said Pamela. "He's quite conceited 
 enough already, though he does hide it rather nicely." 
 
 So they had tea on the stoep, and then wandered in the 
 rose-garden and admired a new pergola; and Pamela 
 watched the babies bathed and was not at all sure that she 
 would not have given a good deal for two herself. And 
 then, after dinner, they played auction while the crickets 
 cried in the roses, and under the willows, below the garden, 
 the frogs croaked in the little stream. 
 
 The magistrate had a trap, and in the morning insisted 
 on offering it to them. He and Chris had a consultation, 
 and it ended in the boys and horses being left there to rest, 
 thence to be sent back by the direct road in ten days' time. 
 The trap was brought round about eleven, and not without 
 much pressing to stay another day (or another week) they 
 climbed into it. It was explained that at Fouriesburg they 
 must lunch, and get a taxi later on to the station some miles 
 distant from the dorp. Then the train would take them 
 both to Ladysmith, where Chris would change in the early 
 hours for the Johannesburg mail, and Pamela, by sitting 
 still, get finally to Durban in the afternoon. Philip and 
 Motseke came up for good-byes. Philip begged Chris, to 
 whom he had taken a fancy, to come up to Three Springs 
 and arrange another trek, and Motseke talked at length in 
 Sesuto. 
 
 "What does he say?" Chris demanded.
 
 328 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 Pamela had the grace to blush, seeing there was com- 
 pany listening, but Mrs. Magistrate, who had overheard, 
 was highly amused. She glanced round and saw that her 
 husband was out of earshot. "He says, Mr. Ashurst, that 
 if you and Missus set up house together, here or anywhere, 
 you must be sure to send for him !" 
 
 Pamela recovered. She shot a glance at Chris, and said 
 to her new friend: "That wasn't all." 
 
 It was the other's turn to look a little confused. "He 
 says he's good with babies, Chris," said Pamela. 
 
 "You are an awful pair," laughed their hostess. "Get 
 in, for goodness' sake. Good-bye, but come again and stay 
 a decent time." 
 
 "The voice of Basutoland 'Good-bye, but come again,' " 
 said Chris as they drove off. "Heavens, Pam, but they're 
 a jolly set." 
 
 It was not to be wondered at that both of them found 
 it hard to be cheerful on the way to the station. An experi- 
 ence not likely to repeat itself was over, and each had per- 
 sonal reflections to make on it. The day, even, was cloudy, 
 and Fouriesburg is of all places the most depressing at any 
 time. Presently, over the veld, the hideous red and white 
 brick towers of its Dutch Reformed Church came into 
 view, and at length they drove down the deserted street. 
 At the hotel, a sleepy waiter thought they could have lunch- 
 eon in an hour and told them that a car would be going 
 to the station in which they could have seats. There was 
 nothing to do during the hour but wander about among the 
 stores and bungalows and speculate as to what man did in 
 such a place. By meal time, however, things looked more 
 cheerful, for a dozen of young Dutchmen were drinking 
 in the bar and there was a car or two before the hotel stoep. 
 But the meal itself was a feeble performance, and when 
 Chris said that he wished Philip was serving them a stew 
 in the Moteng Pass, Pamela felt that she wanted to get up 
 and cry. 
 
 At the little station they had not long to wait, and the
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 329 
 
 conductor had had their wire and reserved them a coupe. 
 Once in, and their little baggage stowed away, they watched 
 the distant mountains in the dying light, till stars twinkled 
 over the veld and it was time to dine. 
 
 The dining car was cheerful, and its lights roused them. 
 Chris insisted on champagne as a fitting climax, and they 
 got back to their compartment pleasantly stimulated. A 
 half-caste knocked at the door. "Beds, sir?" he queried. 
 
 Chris looked at Pamela and laughed. "Shall I tell him 
 to make up two?" he demanded. 
 
 Pamela glanced from him to the waiting boy with a flicker 
 of amusement in her face. "No," she said, sotto voce, "we 
 can't now, Chris. Anybody might be on the train." 
 
 Chris shrugged his shoulders. " 'Is Saul also among 
 the prophets ?' " he quoted good-humouredly. Then to the 
 boy, "Make up one" ; and to Pamela : "Come on ; let's stand 
 in the corridor while he does it." 
 
 Outside Pamela gravely selected a coin. "Toss you for 
 the bed," she said. 
 
 He shook his head. "Oh no. We go back to the con- 
 ventions, I see, so of course it's yours." 
 
 "Well, what will you do?" 
 
 "Get another place, I suppose." 
 
 "What's next door?" 
 
 It proved to be the other half of their coupe, and empty. 
 "By Jove, what huge luck !" cried Chris. "Here, boy, shove 
 a second bed in here." 
 
 There was a door between the two compartments, and 
 when the lights in both were on and their goods divided 
 and the doors on to the corridor shut, a sense of isolation 
 and of their own proximity descended upon them such as 
 they had not had even on trek. In the mountains, it had 
 seemed far less strange, far less provocative, that they 
 should sleep near each other. Here, in civilisation, each 
 dressed accordingly, there was a new sensation to face. 
 Pamela's heart beat fiercely. She had hoped for this, but 
 she herself had scarcely realised what it would mean.
 
 330 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 They chatted desultorily, and at Bethlehem got out to 
 walk the platform during the few minutes' wait. "Have 
 some coffee?" asked Chris, and Pamela consented. They 
 were served in the little refreshment room, and then, arm in 
 arm, walked the length of the station in the dark, back 
 through the lights of the central portion, and out into the 
 dark beyond again. 
 
 "Did you see anyone you knew?" queried Chris. 
 
 "Not one," said Pamela, "but I'll look again." 
 
 So they strolled back. The passengers, mostly men, were 
 grouped at the doors of the compartments or strolling about 
 as they themselves were doing, but they recognised none. 
 When the whistle blew, they re-entered the carriage with 
 that sense of loneliness which is only to be obtained among 
 unknown human faces. 
 
 "Have a nightcap with me, Pam," said Chris, and got 
 out his flask. 
 
 The swaying train rocked through the night and their 
 glasses chinked. "Here's to you, dear," he said, and she 
 smiled her reply. 
 
 Then a cigarette; and constraint settled upon them in 
 some measure. "Let's go and look at the night before we 
 turn in," suggested Pamela. 
 
 So they stood together, arm in arm, on the creaking cab 
 of the carriage. The stars shone down peacefully on the 
 black veld, big and sparkling and unclouded, and the two 
 watched in silence. 
 
 "Say something, Pam," said Chris. 
 
 "What am I to say?" she asked softly. 
 
 "Say you've enjoyed yourself," he demanded foolishly. 
 
 "I've enjoyed myself very much, thank you Christopher," 
 she said. 
 
 His hand tightened on her arm, and she glanced up at 
 him in the feeble light of the poor lamp that burned above 
 their heads. Their eyes met, and something ran through 
 his veins like fire. She looked delectably feminine, and he 
 had scarcely noticed just that trait before. Her hair
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 331 
 
 escaped from the little hat and her lips were parted slightly. 
 
 "Oh, Pam," he exclaimed with sudden realisation, "we 
 shall never have this again." 
 
 She made no reply, but his own heart questioned why 
 not? Why not consummate the journey and their rela- 
 tionship? Why not carry both on indefinitely? Why not 
 go back to their silent compartment with that unlocked 
 door between, and gather her into his arms and drink her 
 love? He knew well enough she would not refuse. Fate 
 thrust his happiness into his hands ; should he finally reject 
 it? And the train raced over its iron way and roared 
 through the night. 
 
 "Let's go back," he whispered, and hardly knew his own 
 voice. 
 
 The corridor door was shut. He took her in his arms. 
 "Chris," she whispered. He bent his lips to hers, and so 
 they stayed, locked for a moment in an embrace. He released 
 her. "I've been a fool these weeks," he heard himself 
 say. 
 
 Pamela raised her hands and took off her hat deliberately. 
 She placed it on the rack and turned back to him. "Go and 
 change. Chris," she said, but she did not meet his eyes. 
 "Don't shut the door; let's talk while we undress." 
 
 They talked fragments of stupid sayings while all the 
 while something hammered in his ears and desire tingled in 
 his body. "Isn't it hard to undress in a carriage?" she said. 
 
 "Yes," he called back, "but harder for me than for you." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Oh trousers terrible things to get off." 
 
 A ripple of laughter. "We've got as bad; sit on your 
 bunk." 
 
 "Can't. I knock my head. There! I've done it!" 
 
 "Poor old thing," she replied. "Shall I come and rub 
 it?" 
 
 "Half a moment. I'm just getting into my pyjamas." 
 
 He reached for them, a new folded pair among the clean 
 linen kept for this final stage of the journey. And as he
 
 332 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 took them down, a tiny crumpled handkerchief slipped out 
 and fell to the floor. He stooped for it ridiculous in his 
 shirt and fumbled for the corner and the initials. There 
 was suddenly a mist before his eyes. He remembered his 
 finding it while packing at Kokstad, and his not returning 
 it. Yes, there they were. "C. S." 
 
 Pamela slipped on a soft embroidered night-gown, hung 
 by ribbons on the shoulders, transparent at the breast. She, 
 too, had been reserving this. She glanced at herself in the 
 little glass, and considered a minute. He was very quiet. 
 Then she made up her mind and slipped between the sheets. 
 "Aren't you ready ?" she called. "What an age you are !" 
 
 Chris started. "Yes, I'm nearly ready," he said, and 
 deliberately he raised the fragment of lace to his lips. 
 
 Pamela heard his movements. She was trembling ever so 
 slightly. In a moment he would come some excuse per- 
 haps, even now, like a man but then . . . She closed her 
 eyes. 
 
 Then she heard the sound of his sheets, and unmistakably 
 that he was getting into his own bunk, there, behind the 
 partition, but a partition with an open door not two paces 
 from her. 
 
 The train rolled on through the night. 
 
 "Good-night, Pam," he called. 
 
 A flash of anger swept through her, but she controlled her 
 voice. Her brain worked swiftly. "You're never in bed !" 
 she called back. "Oh, Chris, I want a cigarette and I thought 
 you would light it for me, and you must turn out my light. 
 I can't get up now. I thought you would." 
 
 "I'm sorry," he replied. "I'll come." 
 
 Quickly she pushed the bed-clothes a little farther off her 
 and pulled a shade looser the ribbon at her breast. Bare- 
 foot, in his pyjamas, he came through the open door, smil- 
 ing. Her heart leapt. Surely, at last . . . 
 
 He bent over the bed. His eyes took in the slightly flushed 
 face, her bare arms and neck, the flesh but half concealed
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 333 
 
 beneath the soft open cambric. "You lazy old thing," he 
 said, and held out a cigarette. 
 
 She sat up, rosy, but deliberate. But she did not want a 
 cigarette. Was he blind? 
 
 He produced a box of matches and struck one. The tiny 
 flame burned between them and he held out his hand. She 
 put the little tube of tobacco between her lips and leaned 
 forward. His hand rested on her throat ; she could see, and 
 so must he, where now the laces fell forward from her 
 breasts. She drew in the smoke. 
 
 "There !" he exclaimed, blowing out the match, and kissed 
 her gently on the forehead. "Good-night, my dear. Shall 
 I switch off the light now for you? Sleep sound!" 
 
 "Yes," she said, and wondered that she could say it 
 calmly. "Good-night, Chris." 
 
 The switch clicked, and he climbed back into his own bed. 
 In a moment his coupe too was dark, and in the dark, so 
 near and yet so separate, these two fought a last round. 
 
 She stared into the blackness above her. She would not 
 speak. But she willed him back, desperately, and now and 
 again she heard him move and knew that he did not sleep. 
 Why? why? why? she queried again and again. Surely, 
 on the cab outside, victory had lain with her. Surely that 
 little futile conversation, and that note in his voice the 
 while, had meant that victory lay with her. And now? 
 
 Once she actually sat up to go to him. But her pride 
 rebelled at that. After all that had been said and done, this 
 she could not do. She would wait half an hour at least, and 
 she began to count the minutes. That was fatal. She was 
 worn out with excitement though she hardly realised it; the 
 train rocked her to a rough lullaby ; she slept. 
 
 Chris did not. He lay and fought the beasts at Ephesus. 
 He had never so fought before. Even the image of Cecil, 
 conjured up in his mind, was scarcely strong enough, and 
 lest he should prove too weak, he rose silently at last and 
 dressed. Out in the night air, he grew more cool. He
 
 334 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 reviewed the days and night past, saw again their camp-fires, 
 questioned more surely his own heart. And when the lights 
 of Ladysmith shone out in the night, he knew that he would 
 go to Cecil unashamed. 
 
 The Johannesburg train was in. He gathered his things 
 quietly and looked round the open door at Pamela. In the 
 faint morning light he could just see her, and that she still 
 slept. He did not dare enter, and he softly closed the door. 
 
 They bring round tea at 6 a. m., and Pamela started awake 
 with the voice of an Indian waiter at the window in her 
 ears. Ladysmith ? The Johannesburg train must have gone 
 then ! "Chris !" she called, hopelessly. Then she put the 
 cup on the little table by her side, and rolled over in her 
 bed, her face to the wall.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 IT was hot among the plantations below the farm at 
 Springfontein, but Gwen thought as she walked that it 
 was all very lovely. Above, glimpsed through the screen 
 of boughs and leaves, the sky stretched out infinitely in one 
 deep unflecked transparent blue, so that, as you looked up, 
 you seemed to be staring into the great untroubled depths 
 of some unsailed ocean. The green woods about seemed to 
 crouch at rest as if their separate growths had merged into 
 one living breathing sentient creature. A faint perfumed 
 sweetness of gums and mosses rose all about her, and she 
 moved idly and dreamily through it, her mind content to 
 rest. A maple ring-dove flew suddenly into an immense 
 weeping-willow before her with a great stir of wings, settling 
 beside its drowsy mate and bursting out into its triumphant 
 cry. The hen, plainly visible to Gwen, just turned her head 
 and looked at him, and the other broke off with, as it were, 
 a sudden self-conscious bashfulness. Gwen smiled to her- 
 self. It was exactly as if the bird had said sleepily to her 
 mate : "Oh do be quiet. This isn't Spring, and can't you see 
 that everybody is trying to rest?" 
 
 The next minute she espied Hugh. He was lying on the 
 ground, face downwards, beneath that very willow, half 
 curtained by its long green sweeping tendrils and twigs, and 
 he was as still as everything about him. His face was hid- 
 den in his left arm, and his right was stretched out in front 
 of him. She wondered if he was asleep, as Cecil was in her 
 hammock on the stoep, and she thought with a little amuse- 
 ment that if she went and lay down beside him silently and 
 slept too, then he would find her so on awakening. But she 
 dismissed the idea; she was not quite sure of Hugh these 
 
 335
 
 336 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 days; he was so silent. So she took a few careful steps 
 intending to pass him by, and would have done if she had not 
 caught a low sound and noticed a tremor run through his 
 body as he lay. 
 
 She stood stock still. The male ring-dove, regarding her 
 inquisitively, decided that there was no more energy in this 
 human this hot afternoon than in his mate, and he sidled a 
 step nearer that fat bundle of grey feathers, preened his 
 tail for a few seconds, gaped deliberately, and settled him- 
 self by her again. There was not another sound. "Hugh," 
 whispered Gwen at last. 
 
 The man started and looked quickly up. "You here," 
 he said inconsequently. Gwen walked softly across to him. 
 "I thought you were asleep," she said. 
 
 "No," he replied, half sitting up. 
 
 "Don't move," she said, sitting down beside him, choosing 
 meticulously a soft spot and brushing aside a couple of 
 sticks. The lady ring-dove, whose feathers had drawn tightly 
 about her head as the girl moved, giving her a startled ex- 
 pression, decided it was all right and fluffed them out again. 
 Her mate blinked one eye, and closed it contemptuously. 
 
 "Isn't it hot," said Hugh, dropping his head once more, 
 but this time sideways so that he could see her. 
 
 "Delicious," she said. And again, "Don't move." She 
 leaned back against a tree, and stared down the glade ahead 
 of her. In the distance she could just catch a glimpse of the 
 white road up to the farm. That thread of dusty white 
 fascinated her. Up it Hugh and Cecil had driven once, 
 she imagined, when he brought her as his bride to the farm ; 
 up it Christopher Ashurst had come riding into their lives ; 
 up it, not so many weeks ago, they had brought little Ronnie 
 home for the last time. She wondered what next would turn 
 its dust, coming to the farm. Or who down it, going 
 whither? And at that she reached out restlessly for a little 
 stick, and broke it nervously into pieces in her brown hands. 
 
 Hugh watched her. "That's how my life has broken," he 
 said harshly.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 337 
 
 Gwen started. Then she almost smiled. It was so unlike 
 Hugh to make parables of little things and moralise over 
 them. But even as it struck her how unlike it was, she could 
 as suddenly have wept. Indeed the hot tears burnt already 
 in her eyes. "Don't, don't, Hugh dear," she cried. 
 
 The sweet hot silence fell on her words and buried them, 
 as it were, before either of them spoke again. Then : "And 
 I've been a beast to you," said Hugh. 
 
 His words were again so unexpected by her that not only 
 did they take her utterly by surprise, but they stabbed her 
 too. She paled suddenly under her tan and bit her lip. Then 
 she turned her head fearlessly and looked at him. "Oh no, 
 Hugh," she said, "fortune of war, that's all." 
 
 Their eyes met. She did not flinch even then, and the 
 man reached out his hand and laid it upon hers as it sup- 
 ported her, palm downwards on the ground. "You brave 
 little girl," he said quietly. 
 
 Gwen twisted her fingers over and for a moment or two 
 they locked tightly in his. Then she withdrew them. Not 
 another word on that subject, then or later, did either ever 
 say. It was like them both. 
 
 When the silence was broken again, it was Gwen who 
 spoke, and she took up his first sentence as if the second 
 had not been added. "Don't say that, Hugh," she said. 
 "Life is not broken as one breaks a stick you know. It 
 means a new beginning, that is all." 
 
 The man sat up. "Perhaps," he said quietly, "but when 
 one is married it means that two have to make that be- 
 ginning." 
 
 "Well," said Gwen lightly, "begin again with Cecil." 
 
 "Can I?" queried Hugh. 
 
 Gwen's heart leapt momentarily and then seemed to stop 
 still. The very quiet of his question startled her so much. 
 It suggested that he had quite definitely decided on the 
 answer. And her mind began to race down the track of 
 time, through the incidents of their trek, back to the com- 
 ing of Ashurst. She lingered on that. Then, slowly, she
 
 338 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 began to recall it all again, dwelling on this and that, piec- 
 ing a story together that she had not seen as a whole until 
 now. The moments of silence lengthened. She wished, 
 fiercely, that she had answered at once; now, what could 
 she say? She realised at last that truthfully she could not 
 answer at all. And yet she had not consciously, even in 
 her own mind, settled upon anything. But she knew she 
 dared not attempt a settlement. 
 
 From far away came the sound of horse-hoofs. Faint in 
 the distance, it was Hugh who first heard and turned his 
 head to listen. Gwen caught the look on his face and lis- 
 tened too. The sound grew near unmistakably. "Some one 
 coming," said Hugh unnecessarily. 
 
 "Let's go and see who it is," said Gwen, glad of the excuse 
 to move. 
 
 They got up together and moved down the woody path 
 towards the road. As they emerged, they saw how the heat 
 danced upon it, and they hesitated, in the fragrant shade, to 
 step out into the sun. Fifty yards or so lower down, there 
 was a corner, and they stood to watch for the rider to 
 round it. The horse was cantering easily and they had some 
 seconds to wait. Gwen caught herself wondering again at 
 that fateful road, and stared eagerly out into the sun. Then 
 round the corner came Pamela Urfurd. 
 
 Gwen shot a quick glance at Hugh. He was frowning 
 ever so slightly. "Pamela !" he muttered. The girl slipped 
 a hand into his arm. 
 
 Pamela had seen them now, and waved. Hugh lifted his 
 hat as she rode up and reined in her horse, "Hullo!" she 
 cried, "you two !" 
 
 "Good afternoon, Miss Urfurd," said Hugh courteously. 
 "Where in the world have you sprung from?" 
 
 She glanced from one to the other and smiled down on 
 them. "That's a long story," she said, "but the bits that 
 matter most just now are that I found father busy at Dur- 
 ban arranging for the publication of his book, and as I felt 
 I hated Durban I thought I'd go home. But on the very sta-
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 339 
 
 tion I began to feel that I hated home too and couldn't go 
 off there alone without seeing you and Cecily, so I came 
 on here instead. I thought you'd put me up for a night or 
 two. I've got a little luggage coming on a wagon that was 
 leaving Kokstad for you, Mr. Sinclair, but I said I'd ride 
 and I got this beastie at the hotel. Where's Cecil? How 
 is she?" 
 
 "Rather limp," said Hugh, "but you'll find her up at the 
 house. Do ride on. We'll follow. I'm sure you want 
 tea." 
 
 "I do," confessed Pamela. "All right. I'll ride on and 
 take her by surprise. Up, beauty." 
 
 She shook her rein and was off again, riding easily as she 
 had come. Little spurts of dust rose from her horse's hoofs 
 and she did not look back. The two stood and watched her 
 go. "I wonder why she's come," said Hugh, hardly aware 
 that he spoke aloud. 
 
 And for the second time that afternoon Gwen felt he had 
 asked a question she could not answer. 
 
 Pamela drew up at the farm and hesitated. No one was 
 visible, and in the heat the place seemed asleep. She leant 
 out of the saddle, and lifted the latch of the garden gate 
 with her riding whip. Inside, she turned her horse adroitly, 
 and closed as she had opened it. Then she walked him 
 round to the front stoep. Cecil at last heard the horse- 
 hoofs and started up in her hammock. "Pam !" she cried. 
 
 Her friend jumped lightly to the ground, drew her bridle 
 over her horse's head, and slipped it over the gate-post of 
 the entrance to the stoep. Pulling off her gloves, she 
 walked swiftly to the hammock. "At your service, Cecily," 
 she said banteringly. 
 
 Cecil flung herself into her arms. 
 
 Cecil disengaged herself. "Where's Hugh?" she de- 
 jnanded. "Did you see him?" 
 
 "Following, with Gwen," said Pamela. 
 
 "Where's Chris?" she whispered. 
 
 Pamela shrugged her shoulders. "Lor', Cecily," she said
 
 340 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 lightly, "you are a great girl, my dear, I must say. I arrive, 
 and you haven't a word for me. 'Where's Hugh?' say you, 
 as if I owned him, and then 'Where's Chris?' as if I owned 
 him either. As I've neither in my pocket, perhaps I'd better 
 go, more especially as I see my pony is eating jasmine, which 
 is neither good for him nor the jasmine, I suppose, and you 
 don't seem inclined to call a boy or otherwise prepare 
 for me." 
 
 "Oh Pam, I am sorry. But it was all so unexpected, and 
 you know what I mean. There's Letsei coming. Letsei, 
 take the missus' horse and tell Blandina to bring in tea at 
 once. And now, my dear, I'm simply dying to hear your 
 news." 
 
 Pamela smiled. "You are a damned little liar, Cecily," 
 she said. "You don't in the least want to hear about me." 
 
 Cecil flushed suddenly. "Don't, Pam !" she cried. 
 
 Pamela realised suddenly the pathos of that little cry, and 
 the pathos also of that slight figure with unwonted touches 
 of black in the blouse, and the sombre skirt. She passed 
 her hand through the other's arm and drew her into the 
 drawing-room. "Well, well, Cecily," she said, "I'll tell you 
 all about him. But it's a long yarn. Can you put me up for 
 a night or two? I simply had to see you, and as I found 
 father busy, I thought I'd come right on without waiting. I 
 got to Durban last night, about the same time as Chris got 
 to Jo'burg, I suppose. He slipped off in the night at Lady- 
 smith without saying good-bye. Or at least he said good-bye 
 the night before." 
 
 "Is he coming here?" asked Cecil breathlessly. 
 
 Pamela threw herself into an armchair. "Chris does un- 
 expected things, but I hardly think so yet," she said. 
 
 Cecil was still standing staring at her. Now she dropped 
 on to a cushion at her friend's feet and laid a hand caress- 
 ingly on her knee. "Pam," she said, "you're playing with me. 
 I can tell. What's the truth?" 
 
 Pamela did not reply all at once. She was studying the 
 childish face, the rich black hair, the eager brown eyes of
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 341 
 
 the younger girl. Her own narrowed as she looked. Then 
 she laughed lightly. "I'll not speak in parables, Cecily," she 
 said. "You shall know all there is to know. But there's 
 not time now. To-morrow you shall hear the whole story, 
 you, with your life in your little hands. And to think that 
 I always thought them weak, Cecily!" 
 
 "But but " whispered Cecil. 
 
 "He loves you with all his heart, if you mean that," said 
 Pamela. 
 
 They heard Hugh on the stoep and Pamela's tone changed. 
 "Cecil," she declared, "I've never wanted anything in my 
 life as I want that tea." 
 
 ("You are a damned little liar," whispered her heart.) 
 
 Pamela had not realised how hard that evening was likely 
 to be. For one thing, their reunion inevitably recalled the 
 last night they had spent together. Then Gwen hardly 
 looked at her, and when she did, Pamela thought it was 
 with almost definite hostility 4 The girl was distraite too, 
 and indeed she might well be, for her mind was still re- 
 reading the past in the light of Hugh's words. He himself 
 was inscrutable. Possibly only a close observer would have 
 noticed anything, but Pamela was such an observer and she 
 noticed that he held himself in hand, as it were, the whole 
 time. He did not sleep after dinner now. He was just as 
 tender to his wife, but with a curious dignity which had never 
 been his before. Pamela could not make him out. She could 
 not decide if he suspected Chris or had merely become aware 
 of a barrier between himself and Cecil. 
 
 As for Cecil herself, she, poor girl, hung on her guest's 
 words, asking little probing questions, continually referring 
 back to that trek if ever the conversation drifted away from 
 it. And Pamela must needs tell of her ride there was no 
 escape from that but possibly only Cecil, who wanted so 
 much, realised how little it was she told. She discussed the 
 Bushman paintings, native life, the Basutoland Government 
 Service, Mokhotlong, Mont aux Sources, gaily, freely, char- 
 acteristically. But as she brushed her hair before her mir-
 
 342 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 ror, when bed-time had at last come, there was a hard smile 
 about her mouth. She realised she had told in detail but one 
 night's camp, that with Mallory in the Eagle's Nest. 
 
 It was on the bare hill-side above the farm that the two 
 friends continued their interrupted talk. Gwen had gone 
 off with Hugh in the car, and they had climbed through 
 the young plantations and reached a place of great boulders 
 near the crest of the hill, high up in the pure still air. No 
 sound reached them there but the distant bleat of a sheep 
 in the pastures below when, now and again, a little wind 
 blew up in their direction. The wide landscape slept in the 
 sun. Over a fast browning 'land' a couple of ploughs moved 
 slowly backwards and forwards, and on the distant Berg, 
 the little clouds were drifting together like an aimless flock 
 of sheep. The farm lay silent and motionless at their feet. 
 They were too far to hear even a dog bark in the yard or a 
 dove coo in the woods. 
 
 Cecil sat on a great tuft of scented grasses; Pamela had 
 fixed herself on a slab of rock which offered a convenient 
 rest for her feet and allowed her to lean her head back in 
 her hands against its smooth surface. She told her story 
 with the clearness, truth and calm of an admirable witness 
 in a court of law. She scarcely omitted an incident none 
 that mattered anyway; and she did not hide any detail out 
 of regard for her hearer. But in one particular she was 
 obdurate. She ascribed no motives to herself or to Chris. 
 She might have been given the customary legal warning and 
 to have resolved to bear it always in mind. They had, for 
 example, she said, dined together that second night of the 
 rains in the cave; they had played picquet; she had told his 
 fortune, tricking him with an incident of his voyage she had 
 by chance learned from Gwen; later, it had been curiously 
 easy for her all but to hypnotise him, on an impulse of the 
 moment ; it had nearly succeeded, so nearly that he had seen 
 her, Cecil, in a kind of trance, and had kissed her, Pamela, 
 by mistake; he had been awakened and they had gone to 
 bed; he had brought her whisky and she had come out,
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 343 
 
 en deshabille, to drink it ; so they had slept. Thus and thus 
 the story went on: Mokhotlong, the Mission, the shooting, 
 Butha-Buthe, the railway train ; only she did not say why she 
 had done this or that, nor did she give her hearer details of 
 conversations which would have made that clear. Thus she 
 allowed Cecil to watch the play, as if, with a powerful tele- 
 scope, she were even now gazing at some incident being 
 enacted on the great Range on the horizon. Nor, even, did 
 the tones of the reciter help her listener much, so level and 
 emotionless were they. Pamela's sentences were however 
 curt and witty as they always were. And her method was 
 deliberate. It was for her to tell the story, but for Cecil's 
 own heart to interpret it, if she could. 
 
 Truth to tell, Pamela said less than she might have done 
 as a result of her listener's manner. Cecil had, in the be- 
 ginning, glanced now and again restlessly at her, and had 
 interrupted with a question or two ; but in a very little while 
 she had abandoned both the tricks that had been so common 
 to her in the old days. She had sat, for the most part, quite 
 still, staring out at the Malutis. And when Pamela had fin- 
 ished, she sat on as still. 
 
 At long last she heaved a little sigh. "So that's that, Pam, 
 is it?" she said. 
 
 "That is that, Cecily," said Pamela nonchalantly. 
 
 "Dear old Pam," said Cecil softly, and not till then did 
 Pamela know that she understood. 
 
 It was characteristic that she did not attempt to evade, 
 still less to deny. She even chuckled. "There's no need for 
 sentiment, Cecil," she said. "The biter got bit, that's all, as 
 I see you've guessed. The wound heals or the beast dies. 
 It's quite simple." 
 
 "Pam, don't!" cried Cecil, and turned now impulsively 
 towards her. "Oh Pam, what shall you do?" 
 
 The elder girl shrugged her shoulders. "Chris asked that, 
 and I told him," she said. "Much the bigger question, 
 Cecily my dear, is what will you do ?" 
 
 "Ah," said Cecil, and stared out again at the Malutis.
 
 344 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 Perhaps Pamela's story had taken more in the telling than 
 she was disposed to own. At any rate she allowed a trace 
 of impatience to come into her voice. "Well, my dear," 
 she said, "you must decide. After all, you made him a 
 promise on the Berg yonder, and he's gone through a pretty 
 fair test since then. Chris will be here red-hot after you 
 the moment that he thinks he can. I said I would get you to 
 write, but that was before our slightly dramatic finale, and 
 I've made good by coming instead. But write something 
 you must. If you don't he will come without it. ... Thus 
 you will write, but what will you write?" 
 
 Cecil shook her head rather piteously. "I don't know, oh 
 I don't know," she said. "At least I shall write and say 
 he cannot come yet, whatever happens." 
 
 "And what will happen, Cecily?" pressed Pamela re- 
 morselessly. "You must act at last ; what then will you do ?" 
 
 Cecil disengaged a little stone and tossed it away from her. 
 Then another and another. Pamela swore under her breath. 
 At that Cecil flushed a little. "What would you do?" she 
 questioned. 
 
 The simple words unlocked a flood gate. Pamela threw 
 herself off her rock and stood before her companion, her 
 eyes blazing. "Do?" she cried, "what would I do? Why, 
 go to him and not wait for him to come to me, yes, and go 
 at once ! There is a man who loves you, and a man who is 
 worth loving. Do you think I would hesitate a single sec- 
 ond? Why now, even now, if he lifted a little finger, I'd go 
 to him, yes, /. I'd trail across the world after him, his mis- 
 tress, his his thing. I would give him children and chil- 
 dren would link our love. I would share his exile, ease his 
 pain, bear his burden, and and kill myself when he had 
 done with me!" 
 
 But Cecil did not move. She even smiled a little at the 
 other's outburst. "Oh Pam," she said gently, "how are the 
 mighty fallen! The first day I met you, did you not jeer 
 at this very thing? Was this not what poor Eve did, and 
 what the black Eves do now ? Did you not wonder why, in
 
 345 
 
 those days, Pam? You called yourself by a different name 
 then, dear, if I remember rightly." 
 
 Pamela stared at her. Then, unlike herself, she dropped 
 at her friend's feet. "You're very right, little Cecily," she 
 said and leant her face on the girl's knee. "But Cecily, I 
 was a fool, oh yes, a good big fool. I've learned a thing or 
 two, my dear. Possibly, for all that, I was partly right; 
 possibly love is a trick of old nature, and its ways pretty 
 rough ; and possibly Lilith is spared some pain and a deal of 
 drudgery. But and it's a big but. Listen. There is noth- 
 ing in the world to set beside love. I advised you once as 
 you remind me, and I remember I advised you again later 
 on. Now, having learned a lesson in the interval, I advise 
 you again. You love Chris, Cecil, and I know he loves you. 
 It is rather wonderful to me how much he loves you, Cecily. 
 He is no Hugh, and this love of yours for him is not as your 
 love for Hugh either. Go to him, Cecil, go to him, little 
 girl. Never mind what comes, go to him. Don't throw 
 away your chance. The gods offer you both a deep drink; 
 drain the glass. Or else you may be sorry all your days." 
 
 Cecil stretched her hand out and touched the other's hair 
 caressingly. She let her fingers linger upon it, and even as 
 she did so, she smiled that she should so be treating Pamela. 
 "But why, Pamela?" she queried. "I mean why have you 
 changed ? What has made you understand love so that you 
 should come teaching me? What has made you love, Pam 
 dear?" 
 
 But Pamela did not answer for awhile. Cecil did not press 
 her question. So still they sat and so intent, that a rock 
 rabbit emerged from his hole and began to nibble grass roots 
 with great content. They both stared at him gravely until 
 Pamela said suddenly "Cheek !" and sat up. He bolted. 
 
 She fished in her pocket for her cigarette case. Then she 
 selected and lit her cigarette with every bit of her old ac- 
 customed ritual, and Cecil caught herself wondering how 
 often she had watched her do it. And then at length she 
 spoke.
 
 346 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 "At long last, Cecil, you know as well as I do that I can- 
 not answer you. Why we women love, God knows. We 
 may guess why He wants us to love, but why we do it, seeing 
 
 all we know " and she shrugged her shoulders again. 
 
 "But I can see what immediately has made me, if you wish 
 to hear. His rescue of me first, I fancy. I felt he was a 
 man ; I had never felt that about any man before. And then 
 those old old mountains, and the silences, and the nights. 
 And then the Mission, and those little black brats about the 
 Mother and the Child. When Father Wilfrid talked of 
 motherhood, something gave way finally in me. Not that I 
 want it frightfully, but I know that I want passionately all 
 that leads up to it, and I can see it at the end, a veiled mys- 
 tery, waiting me. I see it, and I no longer fear to see. I 
 am willing to tread my path even if, at the end, I must lift 
 that veil. And those are the things that have taught me, little 
 Cecily." 
 
 Tears stood in Cecil's eyes. "I wish I could even see 
 things as beautifully as you do, Pam, let alone say them," 
 she said softly. 
 
 "Nonsense," said Pamela. 
 
 "It's not nonsense, but though I can't see things so beau- 
 tifully, your story has carried me with you step by step, and 
 I can even see a wee bit farther than you can, Pam." 
 
 "Eh?" queried the other, just a little mystified. 
 
 "Yes, farther. 'Why we women love, God knows,' you 
 said. Yes, but others know too. I'll tell you something 
 else, Pam; how we women love, those others know that 
 also. And only those others, I suppose," she added dreamily. 
 
 Pamela pushed against her slightly. "You're fey, Cecily," 
 she said laughingly. "But tell me how and why." 
 
 "I can't," said Cecil. 
 
 "Can't? Why not." 
 
 "No one can tell you. You'll have to wait." 
 
 "Wait! What for?" 
 
 "Till you've come to the end of the path and lifted the 
 veil, I think, Pamela," said Cecil.
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 347 
 
 Pamela stared at her. Then she moved her head and 
 turned towards the golden panorama at their feet. "So," she 
 said at length. "What will you do then? We've wan- 
 dered round the bush, but it comes back to that." 
 
 Cecil sighed. "What shall I do? Oh, I don't know," she 
 said wearily. "Write and put him off for a while anyway, 
 as I said. And think over all this, Pam," she added. "I've 
 been thinking, thinking, thinking, all these weeks, but now 
 you've sent me to school again you see." 
 
 "Finish the course quickly then," said Pamela sarcasti- 
 cally. "It only took me a fortnight" 
 
 "Ah, but there's an extra lesson in mine," retorted Cecil, 
 quickly. Pamela drew on her cigarette and said nothing. 
 
 It was agreed that Pamela should stay over the week-end, 
 and on the Sunday afternoon, at tea, Cecil, who had been 
 very quiet, looked up from her tea-tray and said: "Hugh, 
 will you come to church to-night? I rather want to go." 
 
 Hugh's hand, holding his cup, shook a little. He put it 
 carefully down. Neither of them had been to church since 
 Ronnie's funeral. "Just as you like, my darling," he said. 
 
 "Will you come, Pam ?" asked Cecil. 
 
 Pamela glanced across at Gwen. "What about you ?" she 
 said. 
 
 "Oh I'll go, I think," said Gwen. 
 
 "Well in that case I'll make up the party," said Pamela. 
 "We shall greatly augment the congregation. Mr. Gressly 
 will have the chance of his life, but really we ought to have 
 given him warning." 
 
 Cecil smiled. "He won't take it then, you'll see." 
 
 "It will interest his wife anyway," retorted Pamela. 
 
 So the car was ordered out and they drove in together. 
 Dusk was falling on the little township as they entered, and 
 through the golden air, the sound of the church bells was 
 very homely. They garaged the car at the hotel, and walked 
 up the street under the trees the few hundred yards to the 
 little church. It really looks like a church, for it has a 
 tower and some architectural pretensions. A motley crowd
 
 348 THE MOTHER OF ALL" LIVING 
 
 drifted by them in twos and threes Boers on their way to 
 the Dutch Reformed Kirk, Griquas making for the Mission, 
 Kaffirs in Sunday best, a car full of a gay tennis party re- 
 turning home. Cecil walked by her husband, a thin black 
 veil over her face, and grew yet more silent. She began to 
 wish she had not suggested their coming. Within, a sparse 
 congregation gathered under the oil lamps, and Mr. Gressly, 
 in his surplice and Oxford hood, cast his usual and trained 
 glance around before he began the service. The Springfon- 
 tein party made a noticeable little group: Hugh erect and 
 impassive ; Pamela visibly curious ; Gwen with a determined 
 air as if, since she was there, she really had made up her 
 mind not to miss a word or an Amen; and Cecil, a slight 
 figure, bunched up, withdrawn. "When the wicked man 
 . . ." intoned Mr. Gressly, faultlessly. 
 
 Cecil hardly heard him. To her it seemed that a little 
 coffin stood even yet on its trestles at the entrance to the 
 sanctuary, and that the place was still full of the half sym- 
 pathetic, half morbidly curious throng from which she had 
 so shrank but a few weeks before. It was almost as if 
 Mr. Gressly was still saying: "I am the Resurrection and 
 the Life . . .," away down there by the door, as the shuf- 
 fling feet bore in their burden and Hugh followed to join 
 her in her pew. 
 
 Half way through the psalms, she sat down, and Hugh 
 bent over her. "Too hot, dear?" he whispered tenderly. 
 She shook her head. Oh no, it was not that, but what did 
 she care for those old psalms ? she wanted to dream of her 
 dead. And dream she did, setting wonderingly before her- 
 self the scenes she associated with him, from those early 
 nights of rapture with her husband, to those last days when 
 the little fellow had so often irritated her though all the 
 while she loved him. She heard not a word of the lesson, 
 and it might have been some one else in her body who stood 
 for the Magnificat. But when the minister came out to the 
 lectern for the second lesson, some phrase or tone struck 
 her, and recalled that dinner at the farm ; and Chris. Chris !
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 349 
 
 She was off again now. The impetuous, clever, vehement 
 Chris how she loved him. Chris who generalised so dog- 
 matically on everything the world, morality, women, God. 
 She half smiled to herself ; love her as he did, how little he 
 understood her. But did she understand herself ? 
 
 Her own short story began to race through her mind, with 
 its school-days, its home-coming (which she saw always as 
 if it had been perpetual sunshine then of a sort that never 
 
 came in these days), her marriage, her child, and now ? 
 
 What should she do? Where was she drifting? What 
 could the future hold for her? 
 
 And then, in that sudden way that we all know so well, a 
 single verse of the lesson leaped out and arrested her con- 
 sciousness. "She shall be saved through child-bearing, if 
 she continue in faith and love," read Mr. Gressly pom- 
 pously. And not another word of service or sermon did she 
 hear. 
 
 After supper, they sat on the stoep, but with coffee fin- 
 ished Cecil excused herself. She had a letter or two to 
 write, she said. She came out later, and seemed much 
 brighter, much more her old self. She chaffed Hugh a little 
 and saw her guests to bed. On her way back to her own 
 room, she passed her husband's door and glanced in. He 
 was standing at a small toilet table, taking off his collar and 
 tie by the flickering light of two candles. Through the open 
 window behind it, she could see the flood of moonlight on 
 the lawn. Across the room was a camp bed whereon he 
 slept, these days. 
 
 "In a hurry, Hugh?' she said, smiling. 
 
 He started and turned quickly. The realisation that he 
 was surprised stabbed her. "No, my darling," he said, gaz- 
 ing at her. 
 
 "Not tired?" 
 
 "Of course not. Why do you ask? Do you want any- 
 thing?" 
 
 "Well, come in and say good-night, will you? I haven't 
 had a chance to talk to you all day."
 
 350 
 
 "Well, dear," said Pamela, "it's good-bye again for a bit. 
 Drop me a line and come and see us, just when you please. 
 The sooner the better, Cecily." 
 
 They were standing on the stoep, and Hugh had gone with 
 Gwen to bring round the car. "Good-bye, dear," said Cecil. 
 "I'm awfully glad you came. You come here too whenever 
 you want, won't you? dear old Pam. I can never thank you 
 enough for all you've done for me. And by the way, would 
 you mind posting this in town?" 
 
 She handed her a letter, face upwards, and Pamela glanced 
 swiftly from her face to the envelope. "C. Ashurst, Esq.," 
 she read. 
 
 Pamela could not help it. "What have you written, 
 Cecily?" she whispered. 
 
 "That he mustn't come just yet, but that I shall arrange 
 to be in Durban in six months or so, and will let him know 
 how I am then," said Cecil, serenely. 
 
 A score of persons might have watched Pamela put that 
 letter in her bag, and guessed nothing of what she felt. 
 "Good," she said. "If I can help at all, let me know." 
 
 Tears gathered swiftly in Cecil's eyes. "You darling," 
 she said gently, "you dear old darling. But I shall manage 
 alone, Pam, when the time comes." 
 
 "Why wait so long?" queried Pamela curiously. "I don't 
 think I could, Cecily." 
 
 "I shall bide my time," replied the girl. "Good-bye, 
 darling." 
 
 "Good-bye." 
 
 They kissed, and Pamela ran down the steps into the gar- 
 den, turning a moment to wave her hand cheerfully. Then 
 she rounded the corner and unlatched the garden gate. "The 
 beast goes home," she said to herself, biting her lip sav- 
 agely.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THAT will do, Auntie Tot," said Pamela, glancing over 
 a heap of cut roses at the old servant. "I've not flowers 
 enough for more." 
 
 Auntie Tot set down her tray and removed from it to the 
 table two or three large bowls nearly filled with water. 
 That done, she stood a moment watching her mistress as she 
 took up rose after rose, stripped a leaf here and there, cut 
 a stalk occasionally and cleverly filled the vases. She was 
 a motherly old body and she had detected the note of weari- 
 ness in the girl's voice. "Missus sit down, and let Auntie 
 Tot finish," she volunteered. 
 
 Pamela smiled. Auntie Tot's method of flower arrange- 
 ment was primitive, and not particularly helpful since it all 
 had to be done again sooner or later. But she was grateful 
 for the offer. She welcomed the affection and care that 
 underlay it more than at one time she would ever have 
 thought possible. She had always been so entirely independ- 
 ent ; in these days she would have given a good deal to have 
 been able to sit still and let another take control. 
 
 So she smiled, but she was quite firm. "No, thanks, Tot," 
 she said. "I'll do it. Bustle out and look to your cooking 
 now. Baas Urfurd will be back for lunch." 
 
 The old woman took up her tray and went out. 'Bustle' 
 was not however the word for her departure. Auntie Tot 
 had her own views as to the necessity for hurry. So far as 
 they went, she preferred the household with her young mis- 
 tress away. The baas took his meals when they were ready ; 
 Pamela would have them when she was ready. Auntie Tot 
 had no doubt as to which made for comfort.
 
 352 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 Left to herself, Pamela went on steadily with her work, 
 and was filling the last bowl when a sound made her pause. 
 She listened again. It was unquestionably the sound of a 
 motor. At Three Springs, set in its woods, you could hear 
 nothing until a visitor was almost at the door, but when you 
 did hear a car there was no question as to where it was 
 going. 
 
 She glanced at a little clock on a side table and decided 
 that it was impossibly early for her father. Still with that 
 long-stalked white rose in her hands, she raised her head 
 to listen, staring across the lounge and out through the open 
 door on to the stoep. The car stopped. There were quick 
 foot-falls. A man came into view ascending the low rock 
 steps to the stoep in haste, two at a time. Pamela bent over 
 her rose-bowl and with a steady hand set her last rose in 
 position. 
 
 "Pamela!" 
 
 She looked up quietly, and saw him framed against the 
 sunlight in the doorway. "Hullo, Chris," she said coolly. 
 "Where in the world have you sprung from? Come in." 
 And then she turned again to her roses, stepping back a 
 little and giving them a last glance, her head a bit on one 
 side that she might decide the better as to the perfection 
 of their arrangement. 
 
 He hesitated perceptibly at his reception. Then he ad- 
 vanced slowly, in contrast to his quick run up the steps, and 
 placed his hat and gloves on a convenient chair. "It's good 
 to see you again, Pam," he said. 
 
 She pushed her rose-bowl to the centre of the table and 
 at last turned wholly from it to her visitor. "Really," she 
 said, looking at him out of narrowed eyelids with the sug- 
 gestion of a smile about her mouth. 
 
 He came across to her, half ready to take her hand, but 
 she did not offer it. "Yes, it's good," he said. "I did so 
 hope I'd find you at home. Where's your father?" 
 
 "In Harding. He'll be in to lunch. I thought at first that 
 it was his car I heard, but we've an hour or so to wait. Sit
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 353 
 
 down, won't you. Will you have a drink? I'll just call 
 Tot." And she took a step towards the door. 
 
 "No, please don't," he said quickly. "I don't want one 
 really. But I will sit down, if 1 may. I'm dog tired." 
 
 She turned back and sat down herself in a lounge chair 
 by the table, motioning him to another on a great kaross 
 before the big fire-place with its piled but unlit logs. As 
 he seated himself, she leant her head on her hand and looked 
 at him closely. She noticed, then, that he had shaved 
 hastily, that his tie was a bit awry, and that altogether he 
 had the look of a man who had travelled far and in haste. 
 "Where have you come from?" she asked again. 
 
 "Durban," he said. "This morning." 
 
 "This morning? My dear Chris! Whatever time did 
 you start?" 
 
 "I don't know. A little before sunrise anyway. I couldn't 
 sleep a wink, and I made up my mind at last to come here. 
 So I got a car and came." 
 
 Pamela said nothing for a moment or two. Then, slowly : 
 "I thought you would have been travelling East rather than 
 West, by now." 
 
 "East?" queried Chris. Then he understood. "I know," 
 he said. "So did I. That's why I've come." 
 
 Pamela settled a little in her chair and moved her hand a 
 trifle farther forward to shield her eyes. "Tell me," she 
 said. 
 
 "I want to, Pam. I've come for that But God knows 
 how I can." 
 
 She made no reply. He was plainly to be left to his own 
 devices. He realised it, and leant forward in his chair al- 
 most as if to see her face better. "Cecil is expecting an- 
 other baby." he said abruptly. 
 
 If he had expected her to show surprise, he was mistaken. 
 She sat on silently for appreciable seconds. Then she 
 moved, letting her hand fall and looking up at the picture 
 of herself in front of her, over the fire-place. "I confess 
 I did not expect that development," she said.
 
 354 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 Something in her tone gave the man a clue to her mistake. 
 "Hugh is the father, of course," he said quietly. 
 
 Now, at any rate, she was startled. She glanced swiftly 
 at him and her thoughts raced. It was some six months 
 since she had parted from Cecil last at Springfontein, Cecil's 
 letter to Chris himself in her hand. She had thought then 
 . . . Oh, it was astounding ! "Hugh !" she exclaimed invol- 
 untarily. 
 
 He nodded. "She told me herself," he said, "and what is 
 more, I think I understand." 
 
 Once more Pamela studied him, and she read more in his 
 face than she had done before. "Tell me, Chris," she said 
 again. 
 
 His eyes fell before hers, and staring at the kaross at 
 his feet between them he began his tale. "It's all very 
 simple," he said. "She has, I think, made no false or hur- 
 ried step since well, since you were at Springfontein. Yes, 
 I know about that now. She wrote to me, you remember, a 
 short letter, non-committal, kind, loving if you like, but non- 
 committal. I see that now. She said I was to wait. That 
 she would be at Durban in six months, and would write 
 again and let me know when she would be there. We could 
 meet then, privately, she said, and talk over things." 
 
 He stopped as if he found it hard to go on. Pamela en- 
 couraged him this time. "Yes ?" she queried kindly. 
 
 "Well, I lived through those six months, but honestly, 
 Pam, they were hell. I won't attempt to hide it from you : 
 I wanted her with all my heart. This week she wrote. And 
 yesterday I met her at Durban." 
 
 Again he stopped. He was rather like a schoolboy jerk- 
 ing out an awkward confession, Pamela thought even then, 
 It was unusual for Chris to be hard up for words. "Go on," 
 she prompted again. 
 
 He leant back in his chair and lifted tired eyes, first to 
 her face and then to her roses. "Yes, we met," he said. 
 "It was very wonderful ; I shall never forget it. You know 
 how the parade ends beyond the baths and how the bush
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 355 
 
 comes down to the shore there, where nobody ever seems to 
 go? Well, we had agreed to meet there. I was a little early, 
 and I thought I would walk to a clump of bananas I could 
 see and turn back to meet her from them. I thought I should 
 see her, then, coming to meet me. Oh Pam, I was so sure 
 that I had the very tickets in my pocket." 
 
 He made a sudden dramatic movement and pulled an en- 
 velope from his jacket, tossing it down on to the kaross be- 
 tween them, where it lay, a small white momentous thing 
 to Pamela of which she grew almost afraid as the seconds 
 went by. For he went on now, speaking rapidly as if he 
 had got rid of a load. 
 
 "You must know all. I had the very tickets a state- 
 room in a Jap liner for the Far East. You guessed splen- 
 didly. And so I went to my banana clump, thinking, in that 
 silly way we do you know, that I would actually touch them 
 before I turned and saw her coming to meet me along the 
 beach. It is all so real; I can see myself trudging still 
 through that loose sand and flicking at drift-wood with my 
 stick. I reached the bananas and she was there. It seemed 
 to me like Fate that she should have chosen that very place 
 to wait for me. It was as if it were all arranged." 
 
 "Will you ever learn realities, I wonder, Chris?" asked 
 Pamela, bitterly. 
 
 His glance challenged hers swiftly. "I have," he said 
 shortly. 
 
 But her scorn had checked him. Silence fell between them 
 again. She moved restlessly at last, conscious that this 
 must end. "And so?" she queried. 
 
 "So," he went on, in that new tired voice of his, "I took 
 her in my arms and she suffered me. But then she made me 
 sit down. She made me tell her the whole story of our 
 trek, and I did; I hid nothing. And then I asked her how 
 soon she would come away with me." 
 
 "And she told you that, after all, she preferred her old 
 prosaic sober-sided Hugh. Poor Chris!" 
 
 But not even the sarcasm of her swift guess had power at
 
 356 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 that moment to provoke him. "Oh no," he said, "that was 
 not what she said, Pamela. She is far more wonderful than 
 that. You and I together are not a patch on Cecily, Pam. 
 Who would have thought that that little girl . . ." He 
 broke off abruptly. 
 
 Possibly for the first time in her life, Pamela was jealous. 
 "You might spare me the rhapsodies, Chris," she said. 
 
 The man moved quickly, and she thought suddenly that 
 if he had been nearer he would have tried to take her hand. 
 "Don't, dear," he exclaimed. "Really, I'm past that. Pam, 
 do you know I see what a conceited selfish bore and fool 
 I've been all my days. She has shown me that. It makes 
 no difference that she would deny it. If I love and admire 
 her more than ever, it is quite differently now. But I owe 
 it to her, and you would not have me ungrateful." 
 
 Pamela was more moved by his tone than she cared to 
 show. This was a new Chris indeed, but she wished that 
 somehow he did not make her long to take his head in her 
 hands and pillow it on her breast. "I'm sorry," she said, 
 and could not help something of her feeling creeping into 
 her voice. 
 
 He looked up steadily, and this time his eyes did not leave 
 her face. "Thanks," he said humbly. "You see, she was 
 really very wonderful, Pamela. She didn't preach of course, 
 not one little bit, but it was of Ronnie that she talked. She 
 said that he was more alive to her than ever. That she felt 
 pledged, bound, to him, and through him to Hugh. And 
 she just said that she had come to see that we could not do 
 as we liked with life ; that it was much bigger than we ; that 
 we just had to play our part in it as things worked out for 
 us; and and leave the rest to God." 
 
 The girl had never heard him use the Name before as he 
 used it then. She could not have interrupted him now. He 
 went on: "We parted at last, for good in that way. She 
 went back to her life, and she sent me back to mine. I went 
 to the hotel, but all night I couldn't sleep a wink. I felt down 
 and out, Pam. I felt I couldn't go on alone. And then I
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 357 
 
 thought of you, and I came straight away to you, dear. 
 That is why I'm here now, to ask you if you will marry 
 me, Pamela." 
 
 It was utterly unexpected. A flood of feeling surged 
 through her so tumultuously that it hardly seemed possible 
 that she could sit still and bear it. But ultimately an un- 
 welcomed thought dominated the rest. She could not help 
 it. "Leavings, Chris," she said bitterly. 
 
 It was as if a blow had been exchanged between them, but 
 Chris took it manfully. He stood up. "I know it looks like 
 that, dear," he said bravely. "I deserve all that, and more. 
 
 But but " (he hesitated). "Pam," he burst out at 
 
 last, "it's not quite that. You can hardly wonder that I 
 loved Cecil, that I love her still. Any man would. She 
 is one of those women you can't explain the very Woman 
 God once made. Yes, she's that, though she's little and 
 young and natural and and very very lovable. But she's 
 mothered something in me into life. I feel almost as if, if I 
 could, I'd hardly dare ask her to marry me now. I feel so 
 little. And I want somebody, Pam, and I want you. You 
 understand. You've no delusions about me, and you've said, 
 after all, that you love me even as I am. And I want your 
 love, dear ; it will complete me ; it's become the sunshine that 
 I want in my life. I want it more than I can say. I don't 
 deserve it; never, I think, has any woman been asked to 
 forgive all that I am asking you to forgive. But I do ask 
 it. I put all that I am at your feet. Will you take it, Pam ? 
 As my wife?" 
 
 The girl made a quick movement. "Words," she said 
 scornfully, "words that I expect she put in your mouth." 
 
 "Before God, I swear that she did not," he cried quickly. 
 "We did not discuss you, Pamela. If she said anything 
 about you at all, it was only that you had been a wonderful 
 friend to her. And it's something of that that I'm asking. 
 It doesn't seem to me possible that you can love me much, 
 but if you would just take me over, dear, I'll give you my 
 love, for you've won it, and serve you all your life."
 
 358 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 
 
 Once again the girl had hidden her face behind her hand, 
 and she did not at once reply. Then she spoke evenly, 
 slowly. 
 
 "Do you realise that I threw myself at you, Chris ? Have 
 you forgotten all that passed between us? It seems to me 
 that in the years to come you might hold me pretty cheap. 
 You may be at mine now, but I was once at your feet. I 
 was not even asking for a husband. And you left me for 
 Cecily without a word, to come back now, straight from her 
 refusal, to ask me to marry you across that very envelope 
 on the floor !" 
 
 Outside the sun flooded the flowers and trees, but the man 
 stared at them unseeing. "You know what I would say, 
 but it is useless for me to say it," he said huskily. 
 
 She made no reply or movement. 
 
 "And that is your last word, Pamela?" he asked, looking 
 down at her. 
 
 "Need you ask again ?" she retorted bitterly. 
 
 He hesitated a moment and made as if to speak. But he 
 choked back the words. Then he walked across the room, 
 took up his hat and gloves, and came back in her direction a 
 step or two. Still she had not moved. 
 
 "You are quite right, dear," he said. "It was almost an 
 insult to ask you. I beg your pardon. I will go. But I 
 did not mean to be insolent. I love, admire and respect you 
 with all my heart, Pamela. And I am very grateful to you. 
 Cecil has made a man of me, I hope, but you have shown 
 me how to take hard knocks. Thank you for that, and 
 and for everything. Good-bye. God give you great happi- 
 ness one day, dear, for you deserve it. And think not alto- 
 gether unkindly of me, if you can." 
 
 He waited, uneasily, for a moment. But she made no 
 sign at all. Then he turned to the door. "Good-bye," he 
 said again, "and thank you." She heard him pass heavily 
 out. 
 
 It was stupidity, but she blinked back tears. Through 
 them, she saw herself over the fire-place again, and found
 
 THE MOTHER OF ALL LIVING 359 
 
 herself momentarily wondering what the artist had seen in 
 that long-ago self of hers that he had so painted the child's 
 eyes. She dimly remembered the sittings, and in the swift 
 rush of a few seconds she saw her life from that day to one 
 other why should her thought stop at it ? when she had sat 
 up in an empty railway carriage and been mocked with the 
 sound of her own voice. Was it to mock her for ever ? 
 
 How or why, she scarcely knew, but she was on her feet. 
 "Chris!" she cried. 
 
 He heard upon the garden steps. His heart leapt and he 
 turned and ran back. 
 
 She was standing on the big kaross, her hands clasped be- 
 hind her neck, her head thrown back, her eyes alight with 
 mischief. At her very feet lay his discarded envelope. "It's 
 a pity to waste those tickets, Chris," she said laughingly.
 
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