Читать книгу The Top of the World - Ethel M. Dell - Страница 23

It was drawing towards evening when Sylvia at length stirred, stretched, and opened her eyes. A momentary bewilderment showed in them, then with a smile she saw and recognized her companion.

She sat up quickly. "I must have been asleep for ages. Why didn't you wake me?"

"I didn't want to," he said.

She looked at him. "What have you been doing? Have you been asleep?"

He raised his shoulders to the first question. To the second he replied merely, "No."

"Why didn't you smoke?" she asked next.

For an instant he looked half-ashamed, then very briefly, "I don't live on tobacco," he said.

"How very silly of you!" said Sylvia. "It wouldn't have disturbed me in the least. I smoke cigarettes myself."

Burke said nothing. After a moment he got to his feet.

"Time to go?" she said.

"Yes. I think we ought to be moving. We have some miles to go yet. You sit still while I get the horses in!"

But Sylvia was on her feet. "No. I'm coming to help. I like to do things. Isn't it hot? Do you think there will be a storm?"

He looked up at the sky. "No, not yet. It'll take some time to break. Are you afraid of storms?"

"Of course not!" said Sylvia.

He smiled at her prompt rejoinder. "Not afraid of anything?" he suggested.

She smiled back. "Not often anyway. And I hope I don't behave like a muff even when I am."

"I shouldn't think that very likely," he observed.

They put in the horses, and started again across the veldt. The burning air that blew over the hot earth was like a blast from a furnace. Over the far hills the clouds hung low and menacing, A mighty storm seemed to be brewing somewhere on the further side of those distant heights.

"It is as if someone had lighted a great fire just out of sight," said Sylvia. "Is it often like this?"

"Very often," said Burke.

"How wonderful!" she said.

They drove on rapidly, and as they went, the brooding cloud-curtain seemed to advance to meet them, spreading ominously across the sky as if it were indeed the smoke from some immense conflagration.

Sylvia became silent, awed by the spectacle.

All about them the veldt took on a leaden hue. The sun still shone; but vaguely, as if through smoked glass. The heat seemed to increase.

Sylvia sat rapt. She did not for some time wake to the fact that Burke was urging the horses, and only when they stretched themselves out to gallop in response to his curt command did she rouse from her contemplation to throw him a startled glance. He was leaning slightly forward, and the look On his face sent a curious thrill through her. It was the look of a man braced to utmost effort. His eyes were fixed steadily straight ahead, marking the road they travelled. His driving was a marvel of skill and confidence. The girl by his side forgot to watch the storm in front of them in her admiration of his ability. It was to her the most amazing exhibition of strength and adroitness combined that she had ever witnessed. The wild enjoyment of that drive was fixed in her memory for all time.

At the end of half-an-hour's rapid travelling a great darkness had begun to envelope them, and obscurity so pall-like that even near objects were seen as it were through a dark veil.

Burke broke his long silence. "Only two miles more!"

She answered him exultantly. "I could go on for ever!"

They seemed to fly on the wings of the wind those last two miles. She fancied that they had turned off the track and were racing over the grass, but the darkness was such that she could discern nothing with any certainty. At last there came a heavy jolting that flung her against Burke's shoulder, and on the top of it a frightful flash and explosion that made her think the earth had rent asunder under their feet.

Half-stunned and wholly blinded, she covered her face, crouching down almost against the foot-board of the cart, while the dreadful echoes rolled away.

Then again came Burke's voice, brief yet amazingly reassuring.

"Get down and run in! It's all right."

She realized that they had come to a standstill, and mechanically she raised herself to obey him.

As she groped for the step, he grasped her arm. "Get on to the stoep! There's going to be rain. I'll be with you in a second."

She thanked him, and found herself on the ground. A man in front of her was calling out unintelligibly, and somewhere under cover a woman's voice was uplifted in shrill tones of dismay. This latter sound made her think of the chattering of an indignant monkey, so shrill was it and so incessant.

A dark pile of building stood before her, and she blundered towards it, not seeing in the least where she was going. The next moment she kicked against some steps, and sprawled headlong.

Someone—Burke—uttered an oath behind her, and she heard him leap to the ground. She made a sharp effort to rise, and cried out with a sudden pain in her right knee that rendered her for an instant powerless. Then she felt his hands upon her, beneath her. He lifted her bodily and bore her upwards.

She was still half-dazed when he set her down in a chair. She held fast to his arm. "Please stay with me just a moment—just a moment!" she besought him incoherently.

He stayed, very steady and quiet beside her. "Are you hurt?" he asked her.

She fought with herself, but could not answer him. A ridiculous desire to dissolve into tears possessed her. She gripped his arm with both hands, saying no word.

"Stick to it!" he said.

"I—I'm an awful idiot!" she managed to articulate.

"No, you're not. You're a brave girl," he said. "I was a fool not to warn you. I forgot you didn't know your way. Did you hurt yourself when you fell?"

"My knee—a little," she said. "It'll be all right directly." She released his arm. "Thank you. I'm better now. Oh, what is that? Rain?"

"Yes, rain," he said.

It began like the rushing of a thousand wings, sweeping irresistibly down from the hills. It swelled into a pandemonium of sound that was unlike anything she had ever heard. It was as if they had suddenly been caught by a seething torrent. Again the lightning flared, dancing a quivering, zigzag measure across the verandah in which she sat, and the thunder burst overhead, numbing the senses.

By that awful leaping glare Sylvia saw her companion. He was stooping over her. He spoke; but she could not hear a word he uttered.

Then again his arms were about her and he lifted her. She yielded herself to him with the confidence of a child, and he carried her into his home while the glancing lightning showed the way.

The noise within the house was less overwhelming. He put her down on a long chair in almost total darkness, but a few moments later the lightning glimmered again and showed her vividly the room in which she lay. It was a man's room, half-office, half-lounge, extremely bare, and devoid of all ornament with the exception of a few native weapons on the walls.

The kindling of a lamp confirmed this first impression, but the presence of the man himself diverted her attention from her surroundings. He turned from lighting the lamp to survey her. She thought he looked somewhat stern.

"What about this knee of yours?" he said. "Is it badly damaged?"

"Oh, not badly," she answered. "I'm sure not badly. What a lot of trouble I am giving you! I am so sorry."

"You needn't be sorry on that account," he said. "I blame myself alone. Do you mind letting me, see it? I am used to giving first-aid."

"Oh, I don't think that is necessary," said Sylvia. "I—can quite easily doctor myself."

"I thought we were to be comrades," he observed bluntly.

She coloured and faintly laughed, "You can see it if you particularly want to."

"I do." said Burke.

She sat up without further protest, and uncovered the injured knee for his inspection. "I really don't think anything of a tumble like that," she said, as he bent to examine it. But the next moment at his touch she flinched and caught her breath.

"That hurts, does it?" he said. "It's swelling up. I'm going to get some hot water to bathe it."

He stood up with the words and turned away. Sylvia leaned back again, feeling rather sick. Certainly the pain was intense.

The rain was still battering on the roof with a sound like the violent jingling together of tin cans, She listened to it with a dull wonder. The violence of it would have made a deeper impression upon her had she been suffering less. But she felt as one immersed in an evil dream which clogged all her senses save that of pain.

When Burke returned she was lying with closed eyes, striving hard to keep herself under control. The clatter of the rain had abated somewhat, and she heard him speak over his shoulder to someone behind him. She looked up and saw an old Kaffir woman carrying a basin.

"This is Mary Ann," said Burke, intercepting her glance of surprise. "A useful old dog except when there is any dope about! Hope you don't mind niggers."

"I shall get used to them," said Sylvia rather faintly.

"There's nothing formidable about this one," he said, "She can't help being hideous. She is quite tame."

Sylvia tried to smile. Certainly Mary Ann was hideous, but her lameness was equally obvious. She evidently stood in considerable awe of her master, obeying his slightest behest with clumsy solicitude and eyes that rolled unceasingly in his direction.

Burke kept her in the room while he bathed the injury. He was very gentle, and Sylvia was soon conscious of relief. When at length he applied a pad soaked in ointment and proceeded to bandage with a dexterity that left nothing to be desired, she told him with a smile that he was as good as a professional.

"One has to learn a little of this sort of thing," he said. "How does it feel now?"

"Much better," she answered. "I shall have forgotten all about it by to-morrow."

"No, you won't," said Burke. "You will rest it for three days at least. You don't want to get water on the joint."

"Three days!" she echoed in dismay, "I can't—possibly—lie up here."

He raised his eyes from his bandaging for a moment, and a curious thrill went through her; it was as if his look pierced her. "The impossible often happens here," he said briefly.

She expressed a sharp tremor that caught her unawares. "What does that mean?" she asked, striving to speak lightly.

He replied with his eyes lowered again to his task. "It means among other things that you can't get back to Ritzen until the floods go down. Ritter Spruit is a foaming torrent by this time."

"Good heavens!" she exclaimed. "But isn't there—isn't there a bridge anywhere?"

"Forty miles away," said Burke Ranger laconically.

"Good—heavens!" she gasped again.

He finished his bandaging and stood up. "Now I am going to carry you to bed," he said, "and Mary Ann shall wait on you. You won't be frightened?"

She smiled in answer. "You've taken my breath away, but I shall get it again directly. I don't think I want to go to bed yet. Mayn't I stay here for a little?"

He looked down at her. "You've got some pluck, haven't you?" he said.

She flushed. "I hope so—a little."

He touched her shoulder unexpectedly, with a hint of awkwardness.

"I'm afraid I can only offer you—rough hospitality. It's the best

I can do. My guests have all been of the male species till now.

But you will put up with it? You won't be scared anyhow?"

She reached up an impulsive hand and put it into his. "No, I shan't be scared at all. You make me feel quite safe. I'm only—more grateful than I can say."

His fingers closed upon hers. "You've nothing to be grateful for. Let me take you to the guestroom and Mary Ann shall bring you supper. You'll be more comfortable there. Your baggage is there already."

She clung to his hand for an instant, caught by an odd feeling of forlornness. "I will do whatever you wish. But—but—you will let me see Guy in the morning?"

He stooped to lift her. For a moment his eyes looked straight into hers. Then: "Wait till the morning comes!" he said quietly.

There was finality in his tone, and she knew that it was no moment for discussion. With a short sigh she yielded to the inevitable, and suffered him to carry her away.