FATHER AND DAUGHTER.

Stepha.n.u.s Van Der Walt had entered the door of his prison with the firm conviction that his G.o.d--the just and mighty G.o.d of the Psalms that he knew so well--had laid this burthen upon him for his great transgressions. In the light of his changed heart all the provocation which Gideon had given him seemed to melt away like snowflakes in the sunshine, whilst his own contributions to the long-drawn-out quarrel waxed larger and blacker the more he looked at them.

The exaltation of spirit which buoyed him up when he received his sentence had never flagged. He gloried in his sufferings. His only prayer was that G.o.d might not visit his crimes upon his innocent children,--that Elsie, his little blind child, might have the shield of divine protection extended over her helplessness--that Marta, the wife whom he had neglected, and Sara, his elder daughter who stood on the threshold of womanhood, might find the wind of adversity tempered to their need.

When he heard of Marta's death he bent his head anew in bitter self-reproach. He felt he had left the weak woman whom he had vowed to cherish alone and unprotected,--disgraced and sorrowful. Up till now he had been happy--happier than he had felt for years, for his heart was no longer the home of torturing hate. He felt that this later misfortune was sent to chasten him,--a thing which his imprisonment had failed to do. He took his wife's death as a sign of the wrath of the Almighty, and he winced at the soreness of the stroke.

But when, a year later, the loss of his little blind daughter became known to Stepha.n.u.s, his bones seemed to turn to water and light died out of his life. It was the uncertainty of her fate which made the blow so terrible. Month by month would he write letters asking for news and suggesting places to be searched. Had her body only been found it would have brought some consolation. But no--G.o.d's wrath was still sore against him. It was his perfect trust in G.o.d's justice that saved him from despair. He had no hope that Elsie was alive; G.o.d, he firmly believed, had taken her to himself, and had left her fate uncertain so as to punish her father, who was the greatest of sinners.

His health nearly broke down under the strain. However, his sublime faith triumphed in time--he bent his back to the sore stroke and the soreness grew less.

Stepha.n.u.s was employed with the ordinary convict gang in the stone-quarries upon Robben Island. For the first few years he had worked in chains. Afterwards his good conduct had attracted so much remark that he was freed from his fetters and allowed several privileges which, however, he always tried to pa.s.s on to his fellow-convicts.

Whenever any of the others fell sick, it was Stepha.n.u.s who would tirelessly nurse them, night and day. He had even offered on one occasion to receive corporal punishment to which another prisoner had been sentenced, but this, of course, the authorities would not allow.

Since his prostration consequent upon the news of Elsie's disappearance Stepha.n.u.s had not been asked to do any labour in the quarries.

Moreover, he had not been forced to cut his hair or beard of late years.

These were snow-white and of considerable length, and, combined with his upright figure, strongly marked features, and keen but kindly eyes, gave him that appearance we are accustomed to a.s.sociate with the Hebrew prophets filled with the fire of inspiration.

An early breakfast was hardly over at the du Plessis' home next morning, before Mr Brand appeared, armed with permission for himself and Elsie to visit the convict van der Walt. They drove down to the wharf, where they found a boat awaiting them. The day was clear and bracing and the stout boat flew before the south-east wind across the heaving welter of Table Bay.

Although Elsie had never been on the sea before, she felt neither alarm nor inconvenience. In the course of a couple of hours the keel grated on the shingle and the pa.s.sengers were carried ash.o.r.e through the surf.

Her impatience had given place to a feeling of calm, and she paced up the pathway to the prison without the least appearance of agitation.

Leaving her in charge of the wife of one of the officials, Mr Brand went to prepare Stepha.n.u.s for the great surprise.

Elsie's beauty became almost unearthly when she was led up the stone steps, at the other side of which she knew her father was waiting to receive her. She entered a flagged pa.s.sage and then was led to a doorway on the right. The door opened, and she stepped into the room where her father was waiting. He, with a wild look of astonishment and almost incredulity, clasped her in his arms. The door was gently closed, leaving the two alone together.

Some time elapsed before any words were spoken. Stepha.n.u.s drew Elsie upon his knee and she pa.s.sed her white hands over his worn face in the old enquiring way. The wrinkled lines that had been ploughed deep by sorrow were traced by her fingers, one by one. Then she clasped her arms around his neck and laid her face against his.

Stepha.n.u.s could hardly bring himself to believe, at first, that this beautiful and daintily dressed young woman was the roughly-clad and unkempt little girl he had parted from so long ago. The rest of mind and body she had enjoyed,--the calm and wholesome life she had led during the past few years had blotted out the traces of the hardships she had undergone, and had fostered her physical development. The serenity of her spirit had stamped itself upon her beautiful face and she had imbibed the refinement of her surroundings as though to the manner born.

When, at length, her speech came, and her father learnt, bit by bit, all she had endured for his sake, his tears fell fast. But for her the bitterness of the past only enhanced the happiness of the present. Even when he laid a charge upon her, which almost seemed to take away the true value of all she had suffered for his sake, she did not attempt to repine.

"G.o.d laid this punishment upon me," said Stepha.n.u.s, "and it is His will that I should bear it to the end."

"But when I tell them what I heard they will surely set you free."

"My child,--G.o.d does not smite without knowing where and how the stripes will fall."

"But you did not mean to shoot Uncle Gideon, and he knew it when he spoke at your trial."

"My child,--you have been brave for my sake, and we will soon be happy together once more. I lay this charge upon you:--that you go back to the farm,--to your uncle's house, and wait for me there. Moreover, that you say not a word to anyone of what you know. If G.o.d wants this revealed He will reveal it in His own way."

Elsie no longer questioned her father's decision. It was agreed between them that as soon as arrangements could be made she was to return to Elandsfontein, and there await her father's release.

Elsie and Mr Brand slept at the house of the Superintendent of the Convict Station that night, and returned to the mainland next morning.

There was grief and dismay in the du Plessis' household when it became known that Elsie was about to take her departure. It was as though a child of their own were leaving. They tried every persuasive argument to detain her, but all were of no avail. It was pointed out that if she remained in Cape Town she would be near her father and could return with him after his release. But his will to her was law, and her determination was not to be shaken.

A letter was written to Gideon apprising him of the fact that his niece had been found, and another to Uncle Diederick, asking him to come and fetch Elsie with his tent-wagon and a team of Stepha.n.u.s' oxen. In due course a reply was received, to the effect that Gideon was absent on a hunting trip, and that Uncle Diederick would start for Cape Town in the course of a few days, accompanied by Elsie's cousin Adrian.

Elsie had begged that enquiry should be made as to whether Kanu had returned to the farm, but nothing had been seen or heard of him there.

This was, of course, a very fortunate circ.u.mstance for the Bushman. Had he ever been found and recognised, it is to be feared that a short shrift and a round bullet would have been his portion.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

ADRIAN AND JACOMINA.

Aletta, who had mentally and physically become grey like her surroundings, like a tree growing in a damp and dark corner which has long since given up the attempt to shine and burgeon like its fellows that rejoice in the sunlight--received the news of Elsie's having been found with but a faint shock of surprise and satisfaction. Her perceptions had become dulled by the woe-laden years. Sara had, some two years previously, married a young farmer from an adjoining district.

Uncle Diederick was glad of the opportunity of visiting Cape Town; he had heard of some wonderful new discoveries in the drug line, and he wanted to advance professionally with the times. His farming on joint behalf of himself and Stepha.n.u.s had prospered. He felt that when his (at present) sleeping partner should be released, he, Uncle Diederick, would be able to build himself another "hartebeeste house" of ample proportions and sumptuous style, and devote his energies exclusively to the exercise of that healing art which his whole soul loved.

Adrian had--being of a careful and frugal nature--begun acquiring stock when still very young. This had increased considerably, owing to a long series of excellent seasons and the exercise of careful management.

Thus, he had recently found himself quite rich enough to start farming on his own account. When, however, he mooted this contingency with his father, Gideon at once offered him a full partnership in the farm as a going concern, leaving him the unrestricted management and only stipulating for the supply of teams of oxen and relays of horses for use on the hunting trips upon which he now spent by far the greater proportion of his time. Adrian at once closed with the offer.

Whilst Uncle Diederick was making preparations for his trip the thought struck Adrian that the present might prove a good opportunity for him to visit that city which he had never yet seen. He felt that not alone could he make the journey pay its expenses, but that a handsome profit might be won by taking down a load of produce and bringing back another of supplies. So he overhauled his wagon, packed it with ostrich feathers and hides and then sent over to tell Uncle Diederick of his intention.

Uncle Diederick had arranged to start on the third day following.

Adrian's notification came in the form of a message sent through a Hottentot who was directed to enquire as to the hour of Uncle Diederick's intended departure, so that the wagon might arrive at the spot where the two roads from the respective homesteads met, at the same time. Up to this it had been understood that Jacomina was to remain behind and attend to any patients who might turn up.

"Pa," said that artless damsel, at supper, "it will be very lonely here while you are away."

A quizzical expression crinkled over the withered-apple-like visage of Uncle Diederick. Otherwise he impa.s.sively went on with his meal.

"Yes,--and I have never seen Cape Town. Besides Elsie will be very lonely on the road if there is not another girl to talk to and look after her."

After she had obtained her father's consent Jacomina began at once making preparations for her trip. Her best frock was taken from the box and thoroughly overhauled, her smartest _cappie_ and her newest _veldschoens_ were laid ready for the morrow. A brooch of old workmanship and some other trinkets which had drifted into Uncle Diederick's coffers in the course of trade, and thence been annexed by his daughter as part of her share in the profits, were examined and judiciously selected from.

Next day Adrian was astonished, elated and embarra.s.sed to find Jacomina, resplendent in what pa.s.sed, locally, for finery, sitting throned upon Uncle Diederick's wagon box when the wagons met at the appointed spot.

As a matter of fact Adrian's shyness had grown with his pa.s.sion until each had reached a pitch of tragic intensity. He had often ridden over to Uncle Diederick's homestead with full and valiant intentions of declaring his love, but invariably his courage had failed at the last moment Jacomina had been at her wits' end to bring him to the point of proposing which, she knew perfectly well, he was longing to do. She had tried various ways and means, but all had failed. When she became cold he sank into gloomy despondency and moped away by himself. If she grew tender he seemed to dissolve in nervousness and grew as shy as a young girl. Once, she tried flirtation with another, for the purpose of arousing jealousy, but the effect was alarming. Adrian went without food or sleep for several days and rode about the country like one demented.

The obvious way to arrange matters would have been to get Uncle Diederick to intervene. This, however, in spite of many direct hints from Jacomina he had declined to undertake.

In the days we tell of no marriage could be solemnised in the Cape Colony unless the parties had previously appeared before the matrimonial court in Cape Town. It is an historical although almost incredible fact that in the early days of the present century couples wishing to marry had to come to the metropolis for the purpose from the most distant parts of the Colony.

Now, in the tender but astute soul of Jacomina a bright and happy thought had been born. Like the birth of Athene was the issue of this fully equipped resolve that stood before Jacomina in sudden and dazzling completeness. Adrian was to accompany her and her father to Cape Town,--she would induce him to propose on the way down and then there would be no difficulty in leading him up to the marrying point. He was of full age; she was accompanied by her father. There was no reason why the wedding should not take place at once, and thus save them all the necessity for another trip.

Adrian's shyness did not diminish during the journey. At each outspan Jacomina exercised all her faculties to shine as a cook. He shewed by his appet.i.te that he deeply appreciated the results, but he got no farther than this. With her own deft hands would Jacomina mix Adrian's well-known quant.i.ty of milk and sugar with his coffee, and then pa.s.s him the cup which he would receive so tremblingly that the contents were in danger.

The skin bag of rusks made so crisp and light that they would melt instantaneously and deliciously in coffee or milk--the jar of pickled "_sa.s.satyes_,"--hanks of "_bultong_" and other delicacies would be produced from the wagon-chest at each outspan and, if Adrian's pa.s.sion might be gauged by his appet.i.te, he was, indeed, deeply enamoured.

But Jacomina was at her wits' end,--her lover would not declare himself, do what she might. One day, however, some difficulty arose with the gear of Adrian's wagon, so that off Uncle Diederick started alone, its owner's intention being to wait for his travelling companion at the next outspan place, where water and pasturage were known to be good. Uncle Diederick, as was his wont, fell asleep shortly after a start had been made. Jacomina sat at the opening of the vehicle behind, gazing back along the road in the direction of where she had left her lover.

It was a drowsy day; a faint haze brooded over the land; not a breath stirred the air, faint with the scent of the yellow acacia blooms. The road was deep with heavy sand, through which the oxen slowly and noiselessly ploughed.