"A drinkin' Boer; that's it, if you want to do any classifying," retorted the young man, with exceeding bitterness; and with no parting salutation, he flung off, turned the corner leading to the High Farm, and marched away, leaving Mayne to pursue the road to the Mission alone.
The news he had heard was working like some stimulating drug in the young farmer's brain. The fatal word "England" lit up the future in one long, awful glare, as of an endless avenue along which he seemed to see himself moving—alone. Surely there was something that a strong man could do to chain a girl's affections! What charm can lead a spirit captive? Bert knew well enough, though he never said so to himself in set terms, not being by way of analysing his emotions—he knew that it was Millie's self, her love, her soul, her inmost being, that he longed for. If he could make her long for him as he longed for her! He thought of the cold, white face and little delicate, sneering mouth till he was half mad.
The only plan of campaign which suggested itself was the simple one of being always on hand. He felt pretty sure, in his own mind, that the girl's stepmother would try to get even with her somehow. Her prey was to be snatched out of her hands; it would be odd if she made no attempt to revenge herself. The girl knew no fear; she had successfully cowed and defied the bullying woman for years. But Bert, with Boer intuitions in his blood, felt that she was less secure than she thought herself. It was truly British to despise an adversary; but it was a British mistake, sometimes. The kind of hate that Tante Wilma felt was hate that would improve with keeping.
Accordingly, Bert passed the next day or two in mounting guard in the immediate neighbourhood. There were various outbuildings which made it easy to hang about unseen, and he went to his post before Otis and the others were about.
On the first day, life at the farm went on much as usual. As Millie had foreseen, Tante Wilma was not visible. Various Boer ladies of her acquaintance came to condole, and discuss the purchase of widow's mourning. Mayne came and saw Millie, and gave her the money to supply her own black dress, which she sat up all night to make. There was no need for Bert to wait about when once he had seen the light of the candle in the little square patch of glass in the corrugated iron roof that lighted Millie's garret. In that fastness she was safe—safe among the coffins.[[1]]
[[1]] In remote Boer districts, a coffin or two is frequently kept in the loft, ready for emergencies. Apples and fruit for winter use are sometimes stored in these weird receptacles.
Amurrica came not near the farm all that day. Perhaps it had leaked out that the Vrouw was not in a fit state for the conduct of negotiations.
The next day the vigilant lover patiently returned to his post, and waited until dark. Millie was all right, so far, for a Boer woman had been all day long plying her needle at the farm, and the pallid, unwholesome little man who fulfilled the profitable duties of undertaker to the community had been shuffling in and out all day. Moreover, the girl herself had appeared in the yard, and been occupied there for more than an hour in hanging out wet linen, unconscious that she was watched from behind the thick hedge of prickly pear which enclosed the orchard, with its haze of peach blossom. Bert made no sign of his presence. He had determined now upon his role, and adhered to it with characteristic persistency. His plan was to bide his time, and come on the scene when Millie needed a champion. Her extremity was to be his opportunity.
About nine o'clock, Amurrica stepped briskly up to the stoep, and was admitted by Millie herself. The sentinel, much excited, stood by, every muscle tense, in view of emergencies. At the end of about three minutes, the square of candle-light appeared in the roof, gladdening the lover's heart. Millie had retired to her stronghold, out of reach of importunity. He determined to stand his ground, however, until the departure of Otis. The sound of raised voices was soon heard. No doubt Amurrica was demanding the return of his "ten quid," and demanding it of course in vain. It must have come in very handy for the purchase of the funeral garb and bake-meats. He did not stay very long. The invisible Bert studied his countenance as he emerged, but as was usual with him, there was not much to be learnt from it. It was non-committal. Bert, as he strolled home, fell to imagining what his next move was likely to be.
During the whole of the third day, four women were ceaselessly at work upon the solid feast which was to conclude the obsequies of Arnold Lutwyche, in a manner befitting the importance and position of his widow. The kitchen was a scene of bustle, excitement, constant coming and going. Bert wondered how Millie stood it. Tante Wilma, the centre of attraction, kept meritoriously sober during all this exciting period, and Bert knew that the girl was safe, at least from physical violence, while all these people were about.