“She took it all for granted, most likely. They always stay with me when they go out to Vohitra, and I send up and open the place for them beforehand.”
“You know the Gilderoys?”
“Oh yes. She’s a clever woman. He’s rather too caustic for my taste. It’s like an overdose of quinine to talk to him for long!”
“Do you often have visitors?”
“Only during the summer as a rule. But it’s always summer, more or less, isn’t it? The temperature does not alter much. My most frequent guest is Mr. Gregory. He is round about once a fortnight, and since he has been Administrator the accommodation has had to be looked to, owing to his fashion of visiting every part of his little domain at a minute’s notice. Not that he would mind if one gave him a Karross and the bare ground; but his unexpected appearances have had a salutary effect on the police stations, at which one generally has to stay in a native village.”
Leoline was silent, while a sudden fear gripped her heart. Even here she was not safe from him, it seemed. She had come away from Port Victoria with some idea of leaving it all behind her—the horror and the pain; she had forgotten his constant visits to Port Albert as well as China Town, and the native settlements on the Tableland. She felt the confinement of the island again, which, for a time, she had lost in the distraction of seeing its further extent. It was no less a trap because the rats ran round it in their desire to escape.
After a time they left Port Albert behind them, and were out in the Tsara Valley—the great centre of the sugar-growing industry in Key Island. They were leaving the river, and crossing the wide fields to their right, the ponies going single file to keep the narrow paths which were all the greedy Planters allowed through their rich plantations, save the lines of rail for the trucks. As the valley opened before them, Leoline felt blinded by the cane. It spread on all sides, a sheet of liquid sunshine, from the bed of the Volofatsy River, which cut it in two, up even to the hillsides, clear gold-green, waving with every breath of wind that crossed it, a sight to see once and remember always. The valley was clothed with it, and the dark sides of the mountains, that shot up out of its reach, seemed only to throw it into greater prominence.
“It’s a fine crop,” Ambroise said, drawing rein and looking round him. “And nearly ripe. You’ll see the sugar industry in its glory, Mrs. Lewin. They will begin cutting next week.”
“Where is the factory?”
“Behind us, but the other side of the river. I must say good-bye to you here. There’s your road, that track up the mountain side. Good-bye! Please send out to me if you want anything.”