Miss Anstrade watched the scene with great interest, being particularly impressed with the confident way in which the two Kaffirs handled the big horned oxen.
There is a certain charm about waggon travelling at night, and Miss Anstrade, seated later on inside upon some soft karosses, felt her spirits returning. The place which was to be her bedroom and boudoir for some weeks was not comfortless by any means. Its length was about fifteen feet, the breadth across the canvas roof nearly six feet and the length from the level of the bedding about four feet six inches. From one of the laths there was suspended a lamp; on one side there were numerous canvas pockets for toilet necessaries, etcetera; and on the other a battery of three guns was lashed to the rafters. At the head of the tent the opening was closed by a heavy canvas flap, buttoned down, and kept in place at the bottom by the driver’s box, and at the end there was another flap, which could be rolled up at will.
Hume and Webster were seated at the back with their feet dangling.
“What do you think was the object of those men,” asked Webster, “in speaking to our boy?”
“That is what puzzles me. They may be merely curious about our venture, especially as our presence here would be inexplicable to Lieutenant Gobo, who last saw us hot-bound for Brazil, or they may suspect that we are in search of gold, as prospecting parties are continually setting out. Any way, I do not anticipate trouble from them.”
“You are mistaken,” said Miss Anstrade slowly; “the men of the South do not forget an insult, and you deeply wounded the vanity of the little man at Madeira. You may be sure he has the will to injure you, and if the opportunity is provided he will do so. Why not make the servants confess?”
“At the proper time,” said Frank, who, since the journey had commenced, unconsciously adopted an air of authority. “At present they have a contempt for us, and may betray themselves out of carelessness, if, of course, there is any understanding between them and our friends. And how do you like this slow mode of travelling?”
“I like it well; there is a restfulness in the slow swing of the waggon, and in the stillness of the night, that soothes one. Will the journey be like this all the way?”
“Ah, no, we are in the beaten track now, in a quiet country. The dangers and the difficulties lie beyond the range of the ordinary traveller when we enter the wilderness. Then the loneliness of the slowly passing days and the brooding silence of the nights, broken only by the sudden clamour of wild beasts, will try your patience and fill you with regrets that you should have ventured away from the crowded cities.”
“Sometimes there is pleasure in melancholy, and the wilderness has no terrors for me, no more than it has for the stricken deer that seek the deepest solitudes.”