The Expiation of Wynne Palliser: a novel of contrast, etc

Front matter

BY THE SAME AUTHOR. And uniform with this Volume. The Curse of Clement Waynflete: A Story of Two South African Wars. " A thoroughly exciting story, full of bright descriptions and stirring episodes." — Daily Telegraph. A Veldt Official : A Novel of Circumstance. " We have seldom come across a more thrilling narrative From start to finish Mr. Mitford secures unflagging attention." — Leeds Mercury. WARD, LOCK & BOWDEN, LIMITED. THE EXPIATION OF WYNNE PALLISER. ' O sun of heaven above the worldly sea, O very love, what light 19 this of thee I My sea of soul is deep as thou art high, But all thy light is shed through all of me, As love's through love, while day shall live and die. ' Ah who knows yet if one be twain or one, And sunlight separable again from sun, And I from thee with all my lifesprings dry, And thou from me with all thine heartbeats done, Dead separate souls wbile day shall live and die?' SWUCBUKXZ.

" She stood rigidly erect .... her proudly-outlined form drawn up to its full height." The Expiation of Wynne Palliser.] [Page 296. THE EXPIATION OF WYNNE PALLISER: H IRovel of Contrast. BY BERTRAM MITFORD, AUTHOR OF "THE GUN-BUNKER," "THE CURSE OF CLEMENT WAVNFLETE "THE KING'S ASSEGAI," "A VELDT OFFICIAL," "THE WHITE SHIELD," ETC. ILLUSTRATED BY STANLEY L. WOOD. LONDON: WARD, LOCK & BOWDEN, LIMITED, WARWICK HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE, E.C. NEW YORK AND MELBOURNE. 1896. [AU rights reserved.] CONTENTS.

Book I. Chap

PAGE I. THE WALL-BUILDER . . . . 1 II. THE THIRD OF THE TRIO ... 9 III. "THAT GLANCE OF THEIRS, A CLINGING kiss" 21 IV. CONCERNING SOME FUN .... 35 V. "GIYA BONA—NDIYATANDA" ... 48 VI. TWO WARNINGS ..... 62 VII. THE STOOP OF AZRAEL .... 74 VIII. FOR DEFENDING HIS LIFE ... 86 IX. THE CARD UP SHAFTO's SLEEVE . . 99 X. THE VERDICT 108 XI. A SHUFFLE OF THE PACK . . . 123

Book II

I. " THE ROSE OF THEIR REMEMBRANCE " . 133 II. "YOU HAVE BUT ONE LIFE " . . . 145 III. LIFTING CLOUDS 157 IV. "THE ROSE-RED SIGN " .... 166 V. "LOOK IN MY EYES. WILT THOU CHANGE ...?". . . . 177 VI. THE POISON AND ITS ANTIDOTE . . CONTEXTS.

Book III. Chap

PAGE I. MAPUNLHA'S KRAAL ..... 203 II. " MAPUNHLA'S WHITE MAN " . . . 213 III. A MOMENTOUS WANDERING . . . 222 IV. "light of love's all ..." . . 231 V. Oliver's laager ..... 244 VI. " I, CAN I DRAW THEE ME-WARD ...'?" . 258 VII. THE GATHERING OF THE STORM . . 270 VIII. THE BURSTING OF THE STORM . . 286 IX. BY THE WATERS OF MARAH . . . 299 X. REVANCHE 311 XL "THE LIFELESS LIFE OF NIGHT ..." . 325 HLALANIGAHLE book I.

Chapter I. The Wall-builder

" ' Giya bona — I see — Ndiya tanda — I love.' Hallo, Sam ! Back already ? The stones haven't come yet. I don't hear the cart." And the speaker flings aside the Kafir grammar, whose vocabularies he has broken off from repeating to himself ; and rising from his easy, lounging atti tude, sits up, confronting the disturber of his alfresco studies. " De stones not come yet, Baas," replies the latter in fair English. "De cart break — break. Bang — smash — so." " Oh, the cart's broken down, has it ? Where ? " " In de dry drift, Baas. You can see from up here just now," says the native — a lithe, active young Kafir, whose sole attire consists of an ancient pair of cord trousers, which grease and smoke and wear have brought into a near conformity of hue with his own dark hide. " Cobus drunk again, I suppose."

"I tink so, Baas," chuckles Sam, rubbing his woolly head, and grinning from ear to ear. "Well, I'd better go down and see to it," says the white man rising. And picking up the book he has v. flung aside, he deposits it beneath his jacket, which lies on the ground where it has been carelessly thrown, and having lighted a pipe, starts off to in vestigate the extent of the disaster. The land lies in a shimmer of heat beneath the afternoon glow of an African sun. The shrill chirrup of crickets is seldom hushed, and the drone of bees, and twittering bird -voices from feathery mimosas, wherewith the slope is plentifully dotted, relieve in an endless and somewhat monotonous cadence what would be, but for it, a yet more monotonous stillness. Stretching away from this spot, straight as a line over the veldt, runs a newly built stone wall, about five feet in height, its further end lost to sight in the bottom of a bushy hollow three or four hundred yards distant, its nearer end ragged and unfinished where its constructor stands, awaiting the load of stones which shall enable him to continue his labour.

A crowbar or so, a heavy hammer, and one or two like implements of his calling lie around, and the ground is plentifully bestrewn with stone chips. As he moves away down the slope it can be seen that he is light of step, and wiry rather than powerful of frame. He carries his five foot eleven straight and erect too, and his face, burnt to a healthy brown by exposure to weather, is the face of a man who is neither old nor young, but who has had his share of life's experiences, and the glance of his grey-blue eyes is penetrating and clear. He is dressed in a light flannel shirt, open at the throat, cord trousers, belted round with a coloured sash, and he wears a broad brimmed slouch hat. Now wall building— or "packing," as it really is, for no mortar or cement of any kind is used — wall building, then, upon the South African stock farms, THE WALL-BUILDER. is usually undertaken by itinerant operatives of varying nationality— Basutu natives, who are reliable and skilled at this kind of work ; sober, industrious Germans, or Englishmen of the baser sort and neither sober nor industrious, save at intervals, and then perforce.

But this man, although an Englishman, is emphatically not one of the baser sort ; no second glance is needed at the thoroughbred head and clear cut features to convince the looker-on of this. How, then, does he come to be constructing stone paddocks, at so much the running yard, for Leonard Flint, sheep, cattle and ostrich farmer, of Kalkoen Krantz, on the Kunaga Biver Band, in the Eastern Province of the Colony of the Cape of Good Hope ? But before he has gone far there arises a sound of distant whip cracking, varied by harsh and hideous yells, and soon there heaves into view, winding among the bushes, bumping and twisting over stones, a Scotch cart drawn by four oxen and driven by a sullen, heavy-faced Hottentot, who lurches unsteadily along, snarling out Dutch oaths, now at the oxen, now at the leader — a small Fingo lad entirely innocent of breeches — now at the ground or at the sky, but never at himself.

" Well, Cobus ? " says the white man in Boer-Dutch as this outfit draws near. " How did you manage to break down? Why, you've only brought half a load," noticing the small quantity of stones the vehicle contains. " Oh, jy ! A Scotch cart can't load up the whole world," answers the fellow defiantly. " Stand still, Engelschman ! " he roars, bringing his whip down with a sounding whack upon the flank of the ox of that name. "Drop that!" says the other, upon whom the meaning of this scarcely veiled insolence is not lost ; "You'd better." drunken and sulky Cobus scowls, stares, and — shares the speaker's last expressed opinion. But he asserts his equality in the sight of heaven by studiously omitting to use any term of respect to wards one who, although a white man, he looks upon as a paid servant like himself.

"We'd better get on, and off load," he replies, " And I only brought half a load, because the Baas wants the oxen at once, and I hadn't time to load up more. Trek ! " And vouchsafing no further explanation, the ill conditioned Hottentot flourishes his long whip in a series of rifle-like cracks, sending the toiling span up the slope a good deal faster than he has any business to, and in a trice the scene of building operations is reached, and the stones ars shot out amid a rumbling shower of dust and chips. " If that fellow belonged to me, Sam, I'd hammer him some," says the wall-builder to his sable assis tant, as the two stand gazing for a few moments after the retiring Cobus, who, having shot his load, has lost no time in making himself scarce, and is driving the now empty Scotch cart down the stony, bush-covered slope at a pace which threatens material damage to that vehicle and its motive power, with every jolt.

"However, he doesn't, so it's no business of mine. But one thing is certain ; if they won't supply us with any more stuff to-day, we can't go on building without it. So turn to, Sam, and we'll soon finish this lot off, then you can clear out." The boy — who is not in the wall-builder's pay, but is supplied to him, together with all other requisite material, as part of the contract — turns to with a will, elated at the prospect of getting away early enough to start for a beer-drinking and dance h6 knows of at a distant farm whose owner is absent from home ; and the afternoon is no more than half gone by the time THE WALL-BUILDER. they have packed another yard of wall, which is all the stones at their disposal will allow of. "Hottentot nigga no good, Baas," says Sam, gathering up the hammer and crowbars to carry them back to the quarters of his temporary master.

" Cobus, he damn bad Hottentot nigga — Always drunk. Au ! " But in his heart of hearts the rascal feels very fraternal towards the absent Cobus, for has not the latter been instrumental in procuring him what is nearly a half holiday ? — and the Kafir who likes work for its own sake has yet to be born. So when they arrive at their destination he grins gleefully at the gift of a stick of tobacco, and scuttles away over the veldt with an effusive farewell to his temporary master. The dwelling of the latter consists of a large and well-built Kafir hut which has been run up for him conveniently near the site of his work, for his contract will take some time to carry out. Now, such a structure may be turned into a fairly comfortable abode, and this one has been so rendered by the in sertion of a couple of panes of glass, constituting most efficient windows ; and a hole in the domed thatch, which can be closed at will, does service for a chimney.

The furniture, if indeed it can be so called, is of the scantiest, — a wooden chest and a tin basin — not even a chair — a cooking pot and a frying pan, a couple of tin beakers, and a pail now half full of water — while bed is represented by a bundle of rolled up rugs. The first thing the wall-builder does is to fill the tin basin to the brim, and, plunging his head again and again, indulges in a copious and most refreshing " souse." Then clean and cool after the toil and heat of his hard manual labour, he prepares to get through the remainder of the day as best he may. hut, which is situated on a high eminence, commands a really grand and sweeping view. Miles upon miles of rolling country lie outspread; here plains, green and undulating ; there, dark tracts of thick bush-veldt; here a rugged cliff or high bluff marking the course of some distant river, and beyond, crowned with feathery forest trees in hazily defined outline, a maze of distant foothills rising tier upon tier against their background of mountain range, whose soaring peaks are even yet dazzling, in what remains of their winter snowcap, against the cloudless blue, — a gladsome and beauteous scene — open, far reaching.

Yet joyous, inspiriting as this golden panorama should be, its effect at the present moment seems to be to deepen within the solitary spectator a tinge of melancholy, a frame of mind too easily arrived at, as he owns to himself. For Wynne Palliser's Use is nearly all behind him. Such chances and potentialities which it may still hold can hardly be worth any consideration to speak of; else why should he now be occupying a solitary hut in the middle of the veldt, earning subsistence by doing the work of a mechanic, and not a very skilled order of one at that. He stands for a moment in front of his primitive abode, contemplating the wild and sweeping range of veldt. Beyond the further ridge a thread of blue smoke, between two and three miles distant, arises from Leonard Flint's homestead which is just not visible from this point.

Then Wynne, mechanically taking up the Kafir grammar book, strolls leisurely towards the thick belt of scrub which crowns the rise about a hundred yards at the back of his hut. Here the warm afternoon air gives place to the coolness and shade of foliage. The change is delightful. Spekboem, spongy and moist, the plumed THE WALL-BUILDER. 7 euphorbia and the Kafir bean with its bright scarlet blossoms, feathery tree fern and spiky aloes, the hum of insects and the twitter of birds. The trees gain in height, and soon he reaches a glade overhung by a pile of rocks, down whose moss-grown and miniature gullies a trickle or two of moisture serves to nourish a luxuriant growth of delicate maidenhair fern. It is a delightful spot for a siesta, and here he casts himself down, and opens his book. But instead of pursuing the rather useful study upon which his mind had been set, his gaze wanders at random from the page, and his thoughts are busy with matters clearly not of the pleasantest.

Then, with a start, his attention is brought round to tho book, and again he repeats aloud, several times over, the vocabulary he is learning by heart : — " Giya bona — I see. Ndiyz tanda—I love " " The deuce you do ? And who is the favoured one, Palliser ? " This time the wall-builder does not start. His nerves are in as good order as those of a man leading an outdoor, natural life of tolerably hard physical labour, ought to be. Besides, he knows the voice as that of his employer, Leonard Flint. The latter is a tall, well-built, good-looking fellow, some four or five years his senior ; a man with a keen sense of humour, and a certain dry method of expressing the same which is irresistibly comic. He can never forego a chance of saying a good thing, and if at times his fun is satirical, it is not often so, for he is the soul of geniality and good nature ; and, unlike the average popular man, the popularity of Leonard Flint is thoroughly and unaffectedly deserved.

Not upon the latter does the glance of the wall builder first rest, as he looks up quickly, the words of the Kafir vocabulary still upon his lips. Not upon Flint's eldest daughter either— a pretty, blue-eyed girl of seventeen who is beside her father — but upon another, who completes the trio. And, resting upon that other, it seems to linger there as though for the moment clean forgetting the presence of the first two/ " So you're only learning Kafir, are you, Palliser ?" Bays Flint, the mischievous gleam still lurking in his eyes. " We thought you were making confidences to the veldt at large. Didn't we, Minnie ? " " I don't know that I quite heard what Mr. Palliser was saying, father," replies the blue-eyed girl, the laugh upon her face, however, belying her words, as they shake hands with the wall-builder.

For although the latter is engaged in a handicraft usually followed by a low class of mechanic, and even by natives, as we have said, yet Leonard Flint is quick to recognise the hall-mark of birth and breeding, and, recognising it, is both sorry and glad in about equal proportions, and for wholly diverse reasons, that his somewhat mys terious employe' should keep so persistently and so entirely to himself. " Oh yes. I fill up spare time that way, and it's sure to come in useful," is the careless reply. " But where are your horses ? " " Haven't got any. We walked." " Oh, by the way, I forgot," adds Flint, noting the glance, or rather exchange of glances, between the third member of his party and the wall-builder. And then an introduction follows. "Miss St. Kerrian!" repeats Wynne to himself, unconsciously.

" A name I never heard before, and fitted to a type I never quite met with before." And then in a fantastic sort of mental devil-dance, the last words of his Kafir vocabulary re-echo again and again in his mind. " Giya bona Ndiya tanda." CHAPTEE II. THE THIRD OF THE TRIO. Above the medium height ; her frame cast in Nature's most seductive mould ; outlined like a Juno ; every movement one of soft, gaze-compelling, easy grace ; Ethel St. Kerrian's personality would have been striking enough anywhere, Here, breaking suddenly upon the vision of this solitary bush-dweller, it impressed him, as even in that brief moment he was fain to acknowledge to himself he had never been impressed before. There was a power in those swiftly playing eyes, fringed by their thick dark lashes, which held his glance, fettered his attention ; as though speaking from their hazel depths they said : " I hold you.

I defy you to break loose — until I choose." There was a subtle seductiveness in the soft, sweet contour of the face, dark in its warm paleness, in the quick, flashing smile, even in the rich glint of the sunshine upon the wavy brown hair, which stirred the senses of him who now beheld it for the first time with an enhancement as though some spell were wreathing itself around him. It was a face which showed vast potentialities, in its ever changing lights— the capacity for infinite passion, tenderness, resolve, but no halfway halting. Looking upon it, and upon the beautiful form — a perfect harmony in its faultless curves — Wynne decided that he had never beheld a more enthralling picture in his life. The voice of Leonard Flint broke in upon the spell. " We were taking a walk, Palliser," he said.

" So I thought we might as well look round your way and explain how it was I couldn"t ride you any more material to-day. The fact is, I wanted to send the waggons into Gydisdorp, and found at the last moment that three of the oxen had strayed, so I hadn't enough to make up two full spans without using yours. They'll be back first thing on Monday morning, in time to ride you on loads before the middle of the day. To-morrow, Sunday, would be an off day anyhow, so beyond an hour or two this afternoon, and two or three more on Monday, you won't have lost much time." The other declared that such loss of time made but little difference. Meanwhile, as they talked, they were returning towards the wall-builder's hut. "It must be a lonely way of living," said Ethel St. Kerrian, gazing interestedly at the somewhat improved Kafir hut.

" Like most things you soon get used to it," he replied. She shot a glance at him. The tone, ordinary as it was to her perceptive ear, spoke more than the words. Unconsciously, perhaps, her own took on a sympathetic ring. '• And — what do you do with yourself of an evening? " " What do I do. Oh, study Kafir— and things." His glance met hers full, and remembering the words they had overheard as a specimen of his studies in the Xosa tongue, the meaning in them thrilled through her whole being with a strange, sweet thrill as the sweep of harp strings. The composure of her face, however, was entirely undisturbed. They under stood each other — they were swift to grasp each other's thoughts. They could talk in a veiled and hidden thought - language which was dark to the outside mind. Yet, wherefore this exultation on her part, considering they had never set eyes on each other before?

Meanwhile the outside mind, as represented by Flint and his daughter, was busy with surmise con cerning certain horses grazing afar, and having a strange look — for your true colonial farmer has ever a keen eye to such considerations, which indeed with him are paramount. "Why are you so bent on learning Kafir?" she went on, as though clinging to the theme. " This is a land of boundless possibilities. I don't propose to spend my life packing stone walls. Some day I shall perhaps tempt fortune further up country, in new parts beyond civilisation. But it is of no use going among people if you can't talk to them." " Of course not. So you are going to seek adven ture. I like that." Was it entirely in approval of the adventurous spirit that her eyes beamed so sympathetically upon his — or was it in response to the ardent glance which took in every detail of her appearance ; from the little fluffy rings of dark brown hair escaping from beneath the wide-brimmed hat, to the straight easy poise of her grand figure, so exquisitely outlined by the white soft material of her dress ?

For admiration was as incense to her — more, it was as the very air she breathed. She could not help it. It was her nature ; and with her strong, passion-fraught temperament and striking personality it would have been strange if she had failed to meet with it at every turn. Before Wynne could reply, Flint and his daughter, having solved or dismissed the problem of the strange horses, rejoined them. After chatting a few moments Flint said : " How are you getting on with the wall, Palliser ? " " Oh, all right ! Would you like to stroll round that way and look at it ? " " We may as well. It's all on the way, and, by-the by, I think we must be starting homewards." Down the slope they strolled, soon coming to where the unfinished wall, some himdreds of yards below, came to an abrupt termination.

When completed it would be carried right along the ridge where the hut now stood, till it enclosed an immense paddock of several hundred acres — a job which would take weeks. " Bather ! You just are getting on," said Flint, examining the work critically. " By Jove, Palliser, I don't think I ever saw straighter and firmer packing in my life," he continued, gazing along the line of stonework, first this side then that. " Glad you're satisfied," was the reply. "I should think I was satisfied. Well, good-bye now, we must be going. I say though, Palliser, you must be deuced lonely up there. Why not look in of an evening, sometimes, and have a yarn? We are always glad to see you, but it's seldom enough you give us the chance." " Thanks. You're very good. I shall be happy to look in some evening."

Did the tone belie the words ? Two, at any rate, of the listeners thought they did. What of the third ? Under pretence of examining his own work, Wynne remained, leaning upon the wall, watching the receding trio, and still his hand seemed to feel the imprint of a sympathetic pressure — still the swift, straight, parting glance flashed from Ethel St. Kerrian's eyes, seemed to burn within his brain. Then he would move a few yards from the wall, and returning, displace a stone here, or remove one there — but ever keeping in view that white undulating figure, growing smaller and more distant with every step, till at length the receding trio disappeared from his sight beyond the further rise. For long he stood there, and the shades of evening were darkening in around him, and the jackals, stealing forth from their day burrows, were calling to each other in long-drawn wailing yelps, and the plover, circling overhead, shadowy, like winged ghosts, gave forth their plaintive whistlings.

Then he walked slowly back to his solitary dwelling. " I have done with life, and thought I had parted with the last shred of an illusion," he mused. "Yet I am still a fool — the worst kind of a fool — a weak fool. Only fit to be shot on sight, by God ! " Meanwhile the trio were wending their way home ward. "Well what do you think of my mysterious wall builder, Ethel ? " said Flint. " I don't quite know what to think. Where do you say you found him, Leonard ? " "I heard of him through old Theunis Van Zyl. He engaged him to enclose his new ostrich camp, and then, when he'd got about a week's pay due, the old skinflint tried to inspan him to teach his kids their lessons of an evening. Palliser said he didn't trade that way, and so they parted company. Old Theunis swore he wouldn't pay him for what he had done. 'All right,' says Palliser, and with that he sets to and pulls down all his work again — and the awful litter it made all over the veldt was something to see.

Then he took his traps and walked off." " Well done ! And what did that mean old rascal do?" " Came over to me in a towering rage and wanted him run in. I'm Field-Cornet, you know. But the best of the joke is, Palliser turned up while he was here, and just looked at old Theunis as if he were dirt. Didn't say a word to me about the affair — only asked me under the Dutchman's nose if I wanted any wall-building done— for that was his trade, and he was moving around in search of a contract. Theunis began to rave, I tell you. But the other took no notice of him — waited till he'd blown off steam, then told me the affair in a dozen words just as if he wasn't there. Well, the very look of the chap surprised me. These wall-builders, you know, are too often a tramp ing, drunken sort, whereas this fellow, — I could see at a glance what he was.

I own I looked rather hard at him — thinking he had probably come down in the world through the usual cause — " and the speaker made a rapid movement with his elbow, significant of raising a glass " but no. His eye was as clear, and his ' form ' as hard as my own — not the ' form ' of a fellow who sprees, even at intervals. Well, I did just happen to want a wall built then for the new ostrich camp, so we fixed up a contract on the spot, and it's good enough." " Well, but Who is he ? " said Ethel, who had been listening with vivid interest. " Ask him, and if he tells you, you will have found out more than any of us have been able to ; not that I want to pry into any fellow's affairs, but a decent chap like that — well, one would like to get him to the house now and again, and it's— er — a little bit risky when you know absolutely nothing about a man.

And wall-building in this country is not exactly taken on by Britishers of the better class, short of some reason. It looks just a leetle fishy, I'm afraid." " And does he ever come to the house ? " " Never— of his own accord, that is. Once he came about something or other he was obliged to talk over with me. Then we kept him the evening— thought we had broken the ice. But no. He keeps away still — avoids us like the plague." " Ethel was getting up a flirtation with him already, father," said Minnie Flint, mischievously. "While we were looking at those strange horses You know." " Eh, what ? Don't do that, Ethel. I can't afford to lose my jewel of a wall-builder just yet. Don't you start out on anything to make him cut his throat or otherwise throw up his contract. Eh? " " On your own showing, Leonard, you have the less excuse for talking such nonsense," was the com posed reply.

" Didn't you just tell us that he never came near you? " " That's not to say he never will. Our sex changes its mind as well as yours," retorted Flint, teasingly. Ethel St. Kerrian's character was a strange mixture of the practical and the romantic, and considering her attractions and that she was, as she playfully put it, a homeless wanderer, it may have been just as well that the prudential instincts of the first should act as a salutary counterpoise to the impulses of the second. But she had plenty of character, and now at twenty three — an age when most young women are only be ginning to learn that the world was not constructed solely and exclusively for their benefit — that character was fully formed. But the romantic element, insepar able from the warm, rich, insidious attractiveness of her physical gifts, would assert itself.