Down past the shadowed garden, through the kloof,
She knew the way, she followed to the cry.
No stealthy footpad, sound of howl or hoof
Could scare her in the awful mystery
Of God-begotten knowledge. Dick had called,
Terrestrial things nor checked her, nor appalled.
"This is the shroud," she murmured. Over all
The moon had spread her splendour, cold and white.
"This is the shining drapery, the pall,
This hoary sheet of clean pellucid light."
Grasping a small revolver in her hand
She hurried on, across the broken land.
A mighty Silence wrapped the veld in dreams.
The breath of night hung in the soundless air.
A wilderness unknown, unconquered streams
Lay with the Universe, at one, to dare
In majesty of nature, undisturbed
The flux of centuries, untrod, uncurbed.
The white world grew before her. Silhouettes
Of shadowed kopjes struck against the sky.
The vlei gleamed fitfully. With sharp-edged frets
The coarse grass cut the horizon lustily.
The dancing moonway on the swollen drift
Broke into patterns on the current swift.
Thwarted. Beth stared in piteous dismay.
A frantic river, wild with recent rains,
Largened beyond all daring, barred her way.
Flooding the plains, drunk with illicit gains
It dashed with savage fury, tossing high
Its waters over bank and boundary.
The girl looked anxiously around. Below
The river widened, shallowing its bed,
Seeming to flow on leisurely and slow.
Above, it narrowed to a ravine, fed
By the Fountains. Three bald-headed rocks
Stood solemnly midstream on thick-set hocks.
Straightly she turned towards the upper reach.
The portly rocks as old and grey as time
Offered a bridge. On past the sunken beach
Of unclean ooze, the sea of gathered slime,
Across the hunching boulders, where the course
Of huddled waters broke their angry force.
Climbing from rock to rock, from crest to crest,
She threw her weight upon the further bank
Into a clod of mud, whose squelching breast
Received her greedily. She seized the rank
Wild clumps of herbage with her hands, then strove
Until she reached the trusty ridge above.
Over the drift! The whisperings of her soul
Soothed every hindrance to a thing of naught.
The billowing veld, its tawny ceaseless roll
Was but the highway to the end she sought.
Love was her pilot, and by love controlled
Its radiance led her, like the Star of old.
Far to the east a straggling knot of trees
Hinted a farm was nestling in their rear,
The scent of flowers floated on the breeze,
The cattle in their kraals, in safety near
Drowsed in the heavy slumber hours of night.
But to the west she hurried, in her flight.