Next morning at dawn she was awakened by an unusual bustle. She supposed that their visitor had decided to decamp and that Archie was hospitably supplying him with the many necessaries he lacked, before speeding him on his way. She did not feel her presence was necessary at that ceremony, nor did she as yet want to meet Archie. She was sorry for last night's outburst because it must have hurt him. The look in his eyes had nearly checked her words. But if he cared for her, as his eyes seemed to say, as he once had cared for her, why did his words, his actions never show it now? He never asked her advice, sought her help. She had become part of his daily life, part of the farm, like Simoni, the ploughman. Well, one must expect six years of marriage to kill love, though it seemed a little hard that youth too should be wasted. But it wasn't fair to say things that hurt Archie. She must make it up to him for last night. But not now: she lacked courage to pretend at this time in the morning. And if Archie said the wrong thing she would give herself away, and hurt him afresh. So when he knocked at her door, she lay very still, and shammed sleep. He knocked twice, and hung about for some minutes, apparently undecided whether to make another onslaught. Then his steps receded, and the bustle died away.
When at length she came out to breakfast, wearing a flame coloured jumper that was a favourite of Archie's, she found neither of the men. Changalilo, standing at attention behind her chair, presented the following literary effort:—
'Dearest, have started for Elizabethville on cattle business. Will write from there. Jones is here.—ARCHIE.'"
CHAPTER V
Naturally, Norah was furious. Any one would be furious who was denied the doing of a gracious deed already rehearsed in mind.
She had come to breakfast with a generous act of submission, and an affectionate reconciliation prepared. The sort of thing that closes the story on the screen, but, alas! ends little in real life. And now Archie had gone without a word on 'cattle business,' to buy, that meant, the pure bred bull that had made the mischief—neglecting as if it had never been made, her protest. He hadn't even noticed that she was miserable; or if he had noticed, he hadn't cared. Last night's scene was now transfigured into a declaration of wrongs, a declaration brutally ignored. But wait till Archie came back with his bull, she'd make him take her into account; she wouldn't stay a day longer on the farm; if need be, alone she'd go back to a decent life in a decent country.
In this mood she finished her breakfast and walked out into the chequered sunlight of the forest behind the rondavels. Changalilo, obeying Archie's standing order, slipped after her with her rifle on his shoulder. They passed the sawpit and galvanised into momentary activity the sawyers, who were celebrating Archie's absence with a morning of idleness over a fire of sticks.
She climbed a rocky hill, whose eminence gave her a view above the all-surrounding trees, which, from the level, limited sight to a matter of yards. Looking over the carpet of tree tops, whose leaves at that season had taken the transparent colour of azalea flowers, she watched the shadows of the clouds marbling the distant hillside, reflecting that her life was as useless as yonder succession of light and shade. Presently Changalilo, in whose eyes a hill top was useful to locate game or landmarks, and who cared little for scenery or meditation, announced the approach of a 'ulendo wa musungu' (a travelling white man and his carriers).
Norah's slower eyes searched the forest in vain. But soon on a path that wound between the trees appeared a native with a hip-bath on his head. More natives, carrying on head or shoulder bundles of tents and bedding, boxes of food and kitchen utensils, straggled into sight at irregular intervals. As they approached, appearing and disappearing among the trees, Norah wondered who the traveller could be. It was rare to have two visitors in so short a space, but as there was no other white settlement for several days' journey, the traveller would certainly make a halt at the farm.