Of Maurice Gordon's past Meredith knew nothing beyond the fact that they were schoolfellows strangely brought together again on the deck of a coasting steamer. Maurice Gordon was not a reserved person, and it was rather from a lack of opportunity than from an excess of caution that he allowed his new-found friend to go up the Ogowe river, knowing so little of himself, Maurice Gordon, of Loango.
There were plenty of willing guides and porters on the beach; for in this part of Africa there is no such thing as continued and methodical labour. The entire population considers the lilies of the field to obvious purpose.
Joseph presently organised a considerable portion of this population into a procession, headed triumphantly by an old white-woolled negro whose son cleaned Maurice Gordon's boots. This man Joseph selected—not without one or two jokes of a somewhat personal nature—as a fitting guide to the Gordons' house. As they neared the little settlement on the outskirts of the black town where the mission and other European residences are situated, the veteran guide sent on couriers to announce the arrival of the great gentleman, who had for body-servant the father of laughter.
On finally reaching the bungalow Meredith was pleasantly surprised. It was pretty and homelike—surrounded by a garden wherein grew a strange profusion of homely English vegetables and tropical flowers.
Joseph happened to be in front, and, as he neared the verandah, he suddenly stopped at the salute; moreover, he began to wonder in which trunk he had packed his master's dress-clothes.
An English lady was coming out of the drawing-room window to meet the travellers—a lady whose presence diffused that sense of refinement and peace into the atmosphere which has done as much towards the expansion of our piecemeal empire as ever did the strong right arm of Thomas Atkins. It is because—sooner or later—these ladies come with us that we have learnt to mingle peace with war—to make friends of whilom enemies.
She nodded in answer to the servant's salutation, and passed on to greet the master.
“My brother has been called away suddenly,” she said. “One of his sub-agents has been getting into trouble with the natives. Of course you are Mr. Meredith?”
“I am,” replied Jack, taking the hand she held out; it was a small white hand—small without being frail or diaphanous. “And you are Miss Gordon, I suppose? I am sorry Gordon is away, but no doubt we shall be able to find somewhere to put up.”
“You need not do that,” she said quietly. “This is Africa, you know. You can quite well stay with us, although Maurice is away until to-morrow.”