The present—yes—but what of the future? The girl was innocent and modest. A spice of coquetry in her would have completed his subjugation; but she was absolutely direct and natural. The forces of love held all the approaches to his heart; the outworks had fallen, one by one, but the citadel was still held by a few obstinate doubts.
As a lion-hunt the expedition had so far not been a success. Every night the low rumbling, occasionally changing to a snarl, of the great beasts of prey could be heard in various directions. Fourie and the Baiala, who were now in good condition and equal to any amount of work, went out indefatigably on the spoor day by day. Many lions were thus followed to their lairs in dense patches of reeds and grass, but they always managed to escape unseen. The vegetation was too green to kindle. The full-fed lion is usually a coward; it is when hungry that his courage rises and he becomes terrible.
They were but three days’ easy walk from the wagon when it was decided to return. On the morning they started the first lion fell. Just before dawn they heard the unmistakable sound of a kill, so when day broke they stole to the spot where it took place, which was about a mile away. They found four lions eating the carcase of a quagga. Three fled at once; the other, a magnificent brute with a great coal-black mane, would not surrender his meat, so he dropped on his belly and faced the intruders.
The underbrush was scanty; nevertheless the lion, for all his size, could scarcely be seen. Just the top of his head and the ridge of his back were visible. Fourie stepped forward to within forty paces and took careful aim. The great tail began to wave from side to side, striking the ground with the force of a flail. With the shot the hindquarters of the lion heaved mightily into the air, and fell forward towards the hunter. After a few convulsive struggles the limbs loosened; then the great helpless creature rolled over on its side and lay still. The bullet had grazed the top of the head and buried itself in the spine, between the shoulders.
That night they camped just below the enormous gates through which the Olifant breaks to reach the low country. The mighty, sheer, table-formed masses, arising from dense forest, bulked huge against the stars. The cataract-speech of the river filled the sounding gorge with softened thunder. To the boy it seemed as though Immensity stretched forth a finger to touch his brain and counteract the spell of sleep. He tried vainly to rest. The rich, slow, beauty-burthened hours went by. Canopus wheeled high over the Cross. A sense of the imminence of something strange thrilled him; his soul seemed to stand tiptoe upon the summit of expectation and stretch forth its hands.
The fire had dwindled; he built it anew, and the crackling flames shot up high through the windless dark. The boy glanced to where the girl lay, near her father. Her eyes were open. The boy beckoned to her. She sat up and hesitated for an instant; then she arose and came to his side.
He took her hand and led her away into the gloom. He kissed her on the lips and the kiss was returned. The voices of the gorge swelled to a warning dissonance as a breeze from the west gathered their thunders into a sheaf and hurled it to the plains below, but the lovers heard it not. The roar of a killing lion and the scream of its stricken prey startled the forest creatures for miles around, but the sound of the tragedy passed over these two, unheeding. The mystery and the wonder of the desert, the lust of the spoiler, the terror and anguish of the victim—each blindly following the awful law of its being—was around them, but Love lent wings of flame that bore them to the stars, and stayed with his wonder-working hand the running of the sands of Time.
Dawn stole, virginal, from the sea and sought their transfigured faces. The splendour of morning, which had its habitation for a space on the mountain crags, found its counterpart in their eyes. The cataracts shouted with their joy; the falcons chanted it as they soared into the sunshine.
They had no thought for the future; the present was all-sufficient. The wilderness was theirs, and the fulness thereof. Here was a fair kingdom in which they reigned as victorious king and gracious queen, without the tiresome superfluity of subjects.