Chapter Twenty Six.
The Packet Marked “B.”
With her usual frank naturalness and absence of conventionality, Nidia went to meet him in the doorway. Then, as he took her extended hands, it seemed as though he were going to hold them for ever. Yet no word had passed between them.
How well he looked! she was thinking. The light, not unpicturesque attire there prevailing, and so becoming to a good-looking, well-made man, suited him, she decided. She had first seen him in the ordinary garments of urban civilisation. She had seen him last a tattered fugitive, haggard and unshaven. Now the up-country costume—silk shirt and leather belt, and riding-trousers with gaiters—endowed his lithe well set-up form with an air of freedom and ease, and looking into the clear-cut face and full grey eyes, framed by the wide, straight brim of the up-country hat, she thought she had never seen him looking so well. “How glad I am to see you again!” she said, “Ten thousand welcomes. Do you know, I have been feeling ever since as if I were responsible for—for whatever had befallen you.”
“Yes? Imagine, then, what I must have felt at the thought of you, alone in the mountains, not knowing what to do or where to turn. I wonder it didn’t drive me stark staring mad. Imagine it, Nidia. Just try to imagine it! Words won’t convey it.”
“I did have a dreadful time. But I knew nothing would have kept you from returning to me, had you been able. And then your boy, Pukele, arrived, and took such care of me. I sent him out to find you, and he said you had been among the Matabele, but had been able to leave them again—”
“Who? My boy? Pukele?” repeated John Ames, wonderingly.
“Yes. He brought me out of the mountains. One day he went out to hunt. I heard him, as I thought, fire a couple of shots, and came up to find myself among friends again.”