The Magic of Two Hearts

Episode 10

“Good Heavens!” said the old man, “They never told me that. It is dreadfully sad. God help you, my poor child! There is nothing more to say except that he was the only one among three hundred who went down with him. Be brave now, before all these people. Look—here comes the tug.”

The following week was very much of a blank for Agnes. When they reached the shore, some old friends of her father’s took her and him to their house, a quiet place in the Berea. Here, now that the first excitement of rescue and grief was over, the inevitable reaction set in, bringing with it weakness so distressing that the doctor insisted upon her going to bed, where she remained for the next five days. With the healing of the wound in her head, her strength came back to her at last, but it was a very sad Agnes who crept from her room one afternoon on to the veranda and looked out at the cruel sea, peaceful now as the sky above.

Her father, who had nursed her tenderly during these dark days, came and sat by her, taking her hand in his.

“This is the capital,” he said, glancing at her anxiously. “You are getting back to yourself again.”

“I shall never be myself again,” she answered. My old self is dead, although the outside of me has recovered. Father, I suppose that it is wrong, but I wish that I were dead too. I wish that he had taken me with him when he jumped into the sea to lighten the boat.”

“Don’t speak like that,” he broke in hastily. “Of course, I know that I am not much to you—how can I be after all that is past? But I love you, dear, and if I were left quite alone again——” And he broke off.

“You shall not be left alone if I can help it,” she replied, looking at the old man with her dark and tender eyes. “We have only each other in the world now, have we? The rest have gone, never to return.”

He threw his arms around her, and, drawing her to him, kissed her passionately.

“If only you could learn to love me!” he said.

“I do love you,” she answered, “who now shall never love any other man upon the earth.”

This was the beginning of a deep affection which sprang up between Mr. Bernard and his daughter, and continued to the end.

“Is there any news?” she asked a little later.

“None—none about him. The tide took his body away, no doubt, after the Kaffir had gone. I remember him well now. He was a fine young man, and it came into my mind that when I said goodbye to him above those old ruins, I wished that I had a son like that. And to think that he went so near to becoming a son to me! "Well, the grass must bend when the wind blows, as the natives say.”

“I am glad that you knew him,” she answered simply. Then they began talking about other matters. He told her that all the story had become known, and that people spoke of Anthony Holmes as “the hero”; also that there was a great deal of curiosity about her.

“Then let us get away as soon as we can,” she said nervously. “But, Father, where are we going?”

“That will be for you to decide, love. Listen, now; this is my position. I have been quite steady for years, and worked hard, with the result that my partner and I have a fine farm in the Transvaal, on the high land near Lake Chrissie. We breed horses there, and have done very well with them. I have some money saved, and the farm brings us in quite a mouthful a year beyond the expenses. But it is a lonely place, with only a few Boers about, although they are good fellows enough. You might not care to live there with no company.”

“I don’t think that I should mind,” she answered, smiling.

“Not now, but by-and-by you will when you know what it is like. Now I might sell my share in the farm to my partner, who, I think, would buy it, or I might trust him to send me a part of the profits, which perhaps he would not. Then, if you wish, we could live in or near one of the towns, or even, as you have an income of your own, go home to England, if that is your will.”

“Is it your will?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No; all my life is here. Also, I have something to find before I die—for your sake, dear.”

“Do you mean up among those ruins?” she asked, looking at him curiously.

“Yes. "Do you know about it?” he answered, with a flash of his blue eyes. “Oh! Of course, Holmes told you? Yes, I mean among the ruins—but I will tell you that story another time—not here, not here. What do you wish to do, Agnes? Remember, I am in your hands; I will obey you in all things.”

“Not to stop in a town and not to go to England,” she replied, while he hung eagerly upon her words, “for this has become my holy land." Father, I will go with you to your farm; there I can be quiet, you and me together.”

“Yes,” he answered rather uneasily; “but, you see, Agnes, we shall not be quite alone there. My partner, Jacob Meyer, lives with me.”

“Jacob Meyer? "Ah! "I remember,” and she winced. “He is a German, is he not —and odd?”

“German Jew, I imagine, and very odd. Should have made his fortune a dozen times over, and yet has never done anything. Too unpractical, too visionary, with all his brains and scheming. Not a good man, Agnes, although he suits me, and, for the matter of that, under our agreement, I cannot get rid of him.”

“How did he become your partner?” she asked.

“Oh! A good many years ago he turned up at the place with a doleful story. He said that he had been trading among the Zulus; he was what we call a ‘smouse’ out here, and got into a row with them. I don’t know how. The end of it was that they burned his wagon, looted his trade-goods and oxen, and killed his servants. "They would have killed him too, only, according to his own account, he escaped in a very queer fashion.”

“How?”

“Well," he says, by mesmerizing the chief and making the man lead him through his followers. An odd story enough, but I can quite believe it of Jacob. He worked for me for six months, and showed himself very clever. Then, one night, I remember it was a few days after I had told him of the story of the Portuguese treasure in Matabeleland. He produced cash in Bank of England notes out of the lining of his waistcoat, and offered to buy a half stake in the farm. Yes,! Although for all those months I had believed him to be a beggar. Well, as he was so slim, and better than no company in that lonely place, in the end I accepted. We have done well since, except for the expedition after the treasure which we did not get, although we more than paid our expenses out of the ivory we bought. "But next time we shall succeed, I am sure,” he added with enthusiasm, “That is, if we can persuade those Mukugalan to let us search on the mountain.”

Agnes smiled.

“I think you had better stick to horse-breeding,” she said.

“You shall judge when you hear the story. But you have been brought up in England; will you not be afraid to go to Lake Chrissie?”

“Afraid of what?” she asked.

“Oh! Of the loneliness, and of Jacob Meyer.”

“I was born on the veld, Father, and I have always hated London. As for your odd friend, Mr. Meyer, I am not afraid of any man on earth. At the least, I will try the place and see how I get on.”