"Why not? He is safe enough. He knows the country as well as I. I left him near Kassongo, where he could get as big a train and as many stores as he wanted; though we have done nowadays with long trains, armies of porters, and a mountainous load of provisions."
"What will Lady Emily say? She will be dreadfully unhappy. I could not have believed you and Allan would part company—after Mr. Patrington's death."
"Why not? We were both strangers in the land. He knows how to take care of himself as well as I do."
"But two men—companions and friends—surely they would be safer than one Englishman travelling alone?" said Suzette, deeply distressed at the thought of what Allan's mother would suffer when she knew that her son's comrade had left him.
"Do you think two men are safer from fever, poisoned arrows, the bursting of a gun, the swamping of a canoe? My dearest, Allan is just as safe alone as he was when he was one of three. He had learnt a good deal about the country, and he knew how to manage the natives, and he had stores and ammunition, and the means of getting plenty more. Don't let me see that sweet face clouded. Ah, my love, my love, I shall never forget your welcoming smile—the light upon your face as you ran to the window. I had always believed in your love—always—even when you were cruellest; but to-night I know—I know that I am the chosen one."
He let his head sink on her shoulder, and nestled against her, like a child at rest near his mother's heart. How could she resist a love so fervent, so resolute—a spirit like Satan's—not to be changed by place or time. It is the lover who will not be denied—the selfish, impetuous, unscrupulous lover who has always the better chance; and in a case like this it was a foregone conclusion that he who came back first would be the winner. The first strong appeal to the heart that had been tried by absence and anxiety, the first returning wave of romantic love. It was something more than a lover's return. It was the awakening of love from a long sleep that had seemed dull and grey and hopeless as death.
"I thought you would never come back," sighed Suzette, resigning herself to the tyranny of the conqueror, content at last to be taken by a coup de main. "I was afraid you and Allan would be left in that dreadful country. And I had to make believe to think you as safe as if you were in the next parish. I had to be cheerful and full of hopefulness, for your mother's sake. Your poor mother," starting up suddenly. "Oh, Geoffrey, how cruel that we should be sitting here while she is left in ignorance of your return; and she has suffered an agony of fear since she heard of poor Mr. Patrington's death. It is shameful! You must go to her this instant."
"Must I, my queen and mistress?"
"This instant. It will be a shock to her—even in the joy of your return—to see how thin and haggard you have grown. What suffering you must have gone through!"
"Only one kind of suffering—only one malady, Suzette. I was sick for love of you. Love made me do forced marches; love kept me awake of nights. Impatience was the fever that burnt in my blood—love and longing for you. Yes, yes, I am going," as she put her hand through his arm and led him to the window. "I will be at my mother's feet in half an hour, kneeling to ask for her blessing on my betrothal. There will be double joy for her, Suzette, in my home-coming and my happiness. I left her a restless, unquiet spirit. I go back to her tamed and happy."