“The right of outspan, usual bone of contention in Dutch neighbourhoods. And just then the Boers were rather sore about the Gold Fields, and made themselves very nasty to any one coming from or going to that sham El Dorado.”
“Sham! Yes, it is a sham; George did no good by going,” said Mrs Payne, rising. “Now, children, bed-time,” and with the reluctant juveniles she left the room; and again those two were alone together.
Claverton, who had hoped for such a moment, now that it had come, felt utterly tongue-tied. He felt that he had no right to rake up the past. She herself had buried it, and now that they were unexpectedly thrown together again, he felt that it would be unfair to her, not to say obtrusive, to revert to the forbidden subject. And yet what was he to say to her? Every topic they had in common was inextricably interwoven with that terribly painful past, which was as fresh and unhealed in his heart as on the morning when she had bidden him leave her.
“Do you know, I had not the remotest idea I should find you here to-day?” he began, rather lamely.
“Hadn’t you? I suppose not,” she answered, speaking quickly, and her fingers busy at some needlework, trembled ever so slightly.
“How long have you known the Paynes?”
“Nearly three years. Just before Mrs Brathwaite’s death.”
“What! Is Mrs Brathwaite dead?” he asked, in astonishment.
“Didn’t you know?” she replied. And then she gave him the history of the sad events which had followed so soon upon his leaving Seringa Vale, and he listened in amazement, for he had only just returned straight from the interior, and thus, as it were, into the world again.
“I am very grieved to hear this,” he said, when she had finished. “They were the truest, kindest friends that ever man had. I little thought I should never see them again. And I suppose Jim reigns in the old place, now?”