To Matheson, after the first shock of amaze wore off, it did not appear so much a question of a European crisis as of the deepening of that sinister shadow which stretched its forbidding length across this land. Dark though the cloud of war loomed in Europe, this lesser cloud, which lay like a black stain upon the sunlit peacefulness, was even more tragic in the bitter personal nature of its animus. If no human agency could disperse this cloud, brother would be against brother, friend against friend.
Matheson did not believe that anything would avert the disaster. Quite clearly he saw it coming. Every word in Holman’s letter was indelibly fixed in his memory—the letter which Honor had read to him, and which breathed through every line the insidious cunning of the spy who is paid to organise rebellion. It was coming surely, and it would come soon.
The first intimation of active trouble revealed itself in the impudent invasion of the Union by a German force from South-West Africa, an act of war that could have originated only in a confident assurance of a prompt and general rising of the Boers.
Matheson applied to his firm for leave to volunteer, and received immediate permission. He was in a state of considerable indecision. His interest in the country inclined him to stay to defend it. Had it been a matter simply of fighting the Germans there would have been no hesitation in respect of choice; but he felt an increasing reluctance to take the field against Honor’s people. They were wrong, they were wholly mistaken; but at bottom, the motives which actuated the majority of them were pure in conception. If later in the heat of conflict, and with a free rein given to hatred, some among them lowered their ideals and committed base acts, these were in the minority. He knew what they would fight for—Liberty. Man has sought after and fought for his ideal of liberty since the beginning of time.
One result of the war was to precipitate his marriage. Whether he went to Europe, or whether he remained in the Colony and joined the Union forces, now commanded by the Premier since General Beyers’ resignation of troops he knew he could never take over with him in his treacherous alliance with the Germans, the question of Brenda’s future could not remain unsettled.
He took her for a walk and discussed the matter with her.
“I can’t, you see,” he said, “go away and leave you at the café. I want to provide for you. It will be an inadequate provision, but it will be an improvement on the café. I can’t leave you there. I don’t like your being there. I’ve never liked it. It’s rather inconsiderate to hurry you like this... Do you mind?”
“No. I can be ready as soon as you wish. But if you go to Europe I’ll go too. I could put my hand to something to help. At least,” she said, smiling, “I could undertake canteen work. I’m qualified for that. You wouldn’t object to my doing that—for the war?”
“No. I suppose I never imagined you would be satisfied to sit still and look on.”
He felt for her hand and held it, and they walked on together in the dusky starlight, rather silent and preoccupied, thinking of many things.