The People Of The Mist: Chapter 16

Chapter 16

MISUNDERSTANDINGS

For some days after the acrimonious conversation that has been reported,
the relations between Leonard and Juanna were not a little strained,
although the necessities of travel brought them into continual contact.
Both felt that they had cause of complaint against the other, and
both were at heart somewhat ashamed of the part which they had played.
Leonard regretted ever having made the agreement with Soa, and Juanna,
now that she had cooled down a little, regretted having spoken as she
did upon the subject. Her pride was offended; but, after all, how could
he know? Besides, he was an adventurer, and it was natural that he
should make terms. Doubtless also his anxiety to win fortune had to do
with the lady whose name was written in the prayer-book.

Perhaps this lady was only a maiden aunt, but a great desire seized
Juanna to know about her; and when such a wish enters the heart of woman
it is probable that she will find a means to satisfy it. Having no one
else to ask, Juanna sounded Otter, with whom she was on friendly terms,
only to find that the subject of Jane Beach did not interest the dwarf.
He hazarded a remark, however, that doubtless she was one of the Baas's
wives when he lived in his big kraal over the water.

This disgusted Juanna somewhat, but the allusion to a "big kraal"
excited the curiosity, of which she had a certain share, and very
adroitly she questioned the dwarf concerning it. He rose to the fly
without hesitation, and told her that his master had been one of the
greatest men in the world, and one of the richest, but that he lost
his possessions through the wicked arts of foemen, and was come to this
country to seek new ones.

Indeed Otter enlarged upon the theme, and, anxious to extol his beloved
chief's worth in the eyes of the Shepherdess, it would not be too much
to say that he drew upon his own imagination. Leonard, he declared, had
owned country as wide as a horse could gallop across in a day; moreover,
he had two hundred tribesmen, heads of families, who fed upon oxen
killed for them--twenty oxen a week; and ten principal wives had called
him husband. Juanna asked for the titles of the wives, whereon the
undefeated Otter gave them all Kaffir names, not neglecting to describe
their lineage, personal charms, and the number and sex of their
children. The tale took about two hours to tell, and after hearing it
Juanna conceived a great respect for Otter, but she saw clearly that
if she wished for reliable information she must obtain it from Leonard
himself.

It was not till the last day of their journey that Juanna found the
opportunity she sought. The voyage had been most prosperous, and they
expected to reach the ruined Settlement on the morrow, though whether or
not they would find Mr. Rodd there was a matter of anxious conjecture,
especially to his daughter. Day after day they rowed and sailed up the
great river, camping at night upon its banks, which would have been
pleasant had it not been for the mosquitoes. But all this while Leonard
and Juanna saw little of each other, though they met often enough. On
this particular occasion, however, it chanced that they were journeying
in the same boat, alone, except for the rowers.

Possibly Juanna had contrived that it should be so, for as a general
rule, in pursuit of his policy of avoiding a disagreeable young person,
Leonard travelled with Otter in the first boat, while Juanna was
accompanied by Francisco and Soa in the second. To the priest, indeed,
she made herself very agreeable, perhaps to show Leonard how charming
she could be when she chose. She conversed with him by the hour together
as though he were a woman friend, and his melancholy eyes would lighten
with pleasure at her talk. Indeed Francisco had something of the
feminine in his nature; his very gentleness was womanly, and his slight
stature, delicate hands and features heightened this impression. In face
he was not unlike Juanna herself, and as time went on the resemblance
seemed to grow. Had he been arrayed in a woman's loose attire, it would
have been easy to mistake one for the other in the dusk, although she
was the taller of the two.

The accident of his profession caused Juanna to admit Francisco to an
intimacy which she would have withheld from any other man. She forgot,
or did not understand, that she was playing a dangerous game--that after
all he was a man, and that the heart of a man beat beneath his cassock.
Nobody could be more charming in her manner or more subtle in her mind
than Juanna, yet day by day she did not hesitate to display all her
strength before the unfortunate young priest, which, in addition to
her beauty, made her somewhat irresistible, at any rate on the Zambesi.
Friendship and ignorance of the world were doubtless at the bottom of
this reprehensible conduct, but it is also possible that unconscious
pique had something to do with it. She was determined to show Leonard
that she was not always a disagreeable person whom it was well to avoid,
or at least that others did not think so. That all these airs and graces
might have a tragic effect upon Francisco never occurred to her till too
late.

Well, for once the order of things was changed; Leonard and Juanna sat
side by side in the first boat. The evening was lovely, they glided
slowly by the reed-fringed bank, watching the long lights play upon the
surface of the lonely river, listening to the whistling wings of the
countless wildfowl overhead, and counting the herds of various game that
roamed upon the plains beyond.

For a while neither of them spoke much. Occasionally Juanna would
call her companion's attention to some water-flower or to a great fish
darting from the oars, and he would answer by a word or nod. His heart
was wroth with the girl, as Otter would have said; he wondered why
she had come with him--because she was tired of the priest perhaps. He
wished her away, and yet he would have been sorry enough had she gone.

For her part Juanna desired to make him speak, and did not know how to
break through his moody silence. Suddenly she leaned back in the boat
and began to sing in a rich contralto voice that moved him. He had never
heard her sing before, had never heard any good singing for many years
indeed, and he was fond of singing. The song she sang was a Portuguese
love-song, very tender and passionate, addressed by a bereaved lover to
his dead mistress, and she put much expression into it. Presently she
ceased, and he noticed that her beautiful eyes were full of tears. So
she could feel!

"That is too sad," she said with a little laugh, and then burst into
a Kaffir boat-song, of which the Settlement natives, joyous in the
prospect of once more seeing their home, took up the chorus gleefully.
Presently she wearied of the boat-chant. "I am tiring you," she said; "I
dare say that you do not care for singing."

"On the contrary, Miss Rodd, I am very fond of it. Your voice is good,
if you will allow me to say so, and it has been trained. I do not
quite understand how you can have had the opportunity to learn so many
things--music, for instance."

"I suppose, Mr. Outram, you think that I should be a sort of savage by
rights; but as a matter of fact, although we have lived on the Zambesi,
I have had some chances. There is always a certain amount of trade on
the river, by means of which we often obtain books and other things, and
are brought into occasional contact with European merchants, travellers,
and missionaries. Then my father is a gently born and well-educated man,
though circumstances have caused him to spend his life in these wild
places. He was a scholar in his day and he has taught me a good deal,
and I have picked up more by reading. Also, for nearly three years I was
at a good school in Durban and did my best to improve myself there. I
did not wish to grow up wild because I lived among wild people."

"Indeed, that explains the miracle. And do you like living among
savages?"

"I have liked it well enough hitherto, but this last adventure has
sickened me. Oh! it was dreadful. Had I not been very strong I could
never have endured it; a nervous woman would have been driven mad.
Yes, I have liked it well enough; I have always looked upon it as a
preparation for life. I think that the society of nature is the best
education for the society of man, since until you understand and are
in sympathy with the one, you cannot really understand the other. Now I
should like to go to Europe and see the world and its civilisations, for
I know from what stuff they were evolved. But perhaps I never shall; at
any rate, I have to find my dear father first," and she sighed.

Leonard made no answer; he was thinking.

"And you, Mr. Outram, do _you_ care for this life?"

"I!" he exclaimed bitterly. "Like yourself, Miss Rodd, I am the victim
of circumstances and must make the best of them. As I told you I am
a penniless adventurer seeking my fortune in the rough places of the
earth. Of course I might earn a livelihood in England, but that is of no
use to me; I must win wealth, and a great deal of it."

"What is the good?" she said. "Is there any object in wearing out one's
life by trying to grow rich?"

"That depends. I have an object, one which I have sworn to fulfil."

She looked at him inquiringly.

"Miss Rodd, I will tell you. My brother, who died of fever some weeks
ago, and I were the last male survivors of a very ancient house. We were
born to great prospects, or at least he was; but owing to the conduct of
our father, everything was lost to us, and the old house, which had been
ours for centuries, went to the hammer. That was some seven years ago,
when I was a man of three-and-twenty. We swore that we would try to
retrieve those fortunes--not for ourselves so much, but for the sake
of the family--and came to Africa to do it. My brother is dead, but I
inherit the oath and continue the quest, however hopeless it may be. And
now, perhaps, you will understand why I signed a certain document."

"Yes," she said, "I understand now. It is a strange history. But tell
me, have you no relations left?"

"One, I believe, if she still lives--a maiden aunt, my mother's sister."

"Is she Jane Beach?" she asked quickly. "Forgive me, but I saw that name
in the prayer-book."

"No," he said, "she is not Jane Beach."

Juanna hesitated; then curiosity and perhaps other feelings overcame
her, and she asked straight out--

"Who is Jane Beach?"

Leonard looked at Juanna and remembered all that he had suffered at her
hands. It was impertinent of her to ask such a question, but since she
chose to do so she should have an answer. Doubtless she supposed that
he was in love with herself, doubtless her conduct was premeditated and
aimed at the repression of his hopes. He would show her that there
were other women in the world, and that one of them at any rate had not
thought so poorly of him. It was foolish conduct on his part, but then
people suffering under unmerited snubs, neglect, and mockery at the
hands of a lady they admire are apt to lose their judgment and do
foolish things. So he answered:

"Jane Beach is the lady to whom I was engaged."

"I guessed it," she replied with a smile and a shiver. "I guessed it
when I saw that you always carried the prayer-book about with you."

"You forget, Miss Rodd, that the prayer-book contains an agreement which
might become valuable."

Juanna took no heed of his sarcasm, she was too intent on other
thoughts.

"And are you engaged to her now?"

"No, I suppose not. Her father broke off the match when we lost our
fortunes."

"She must have been very sorry?"

"Yes, she was very sorry."

"How interesting! You must not think me curious, Mr. Outram, but I have
never come across a love affair--that is a _white_ love affair--out of a
novel. Of course she often writes to you?"

"I have never heard from her since I left England."

"Indeed! Surely she might have written or sent a message?"

"I suppose that her father forbade it," Leonard answered; but in his
heart he also thought that Jane might have written or sent a message,
and could well guess why none had come.

"Ah! her father. Tell me, was she very beautiful?"

"She was the loveliest woman that I ever saw--except one who is sitting
at my side," he added to himself.

"And do you love her very much?"

"Yes, I loved her very much."

If Juanna heard the change of tense she took no note of it; it was
such a little thing, only one letter. And yet what a vast gulf there is
between _love_ and _loved_! It is measureless. Still, most people have
crossed it in their lives, some of them more than once. He told her the
exact truth, but after a woman's fashion she added to the truth. He said
that he had loved Jane Beach, and she did not doubt that he still loved
her more than ever. How was she to know that the image of this faraway
and hateful Jane was fading from his mind, to be replaced by that of a
certain present Juanna? She took it all for granted, and filled in the
details with a liberal hand and in high colours.

Juanna took it all for granted. Again she shivered, and her lips turned
grey with pain. She understood now that she had loved him ever since
the night when they first met in the slave camp. It was her love, as
yet unrecognised, which, transforming her, had caused her to behave so
badly. It had been dreadful to her to think that she should be thrust
upon this man in a mock marriage; it was worse to know that he had
entered on her rescue not for her own sake, but in the hope of winning
wealth. In the moment of her loss Juanna learned for the first time what
she had gained. She had played and lost, and she could never throw those
dice again; it was begun and finished.

So Juanna thought and felt. A little more experience of the world might
have taught her differently. But she had no experience, and in such
novels as she had read the hero seldom varied in the pursuit of his
first love, or turned to look upon _another_. Ah! if all heroes and
heroines acted up to this golden rule, what an uncommonly dull world it
would be!

Juanna gathered her energies, and spoke in a low steady voice. "Mr.
Outram," she said, "I am so much obliged to you for telling me all this.
It interests me a great deal, and I earnestly hope that Soa's tale of
treasure will turn out to be true, and that you may win it by my help.
It will be some slight return for all that you have done for me. Yes, I
hope that you will win it, and buy back your home, and after your years
of toil and danger live there in honour, and happiness, and--love, as
you deserve to do. And now I ask you to forgive me my behaviour, my
rudeness, and my bitter speeches. It has been shameful, I know; perhaps
you will make some excuse for me when you remember all that I have
gone through. My nerves were shaken, I was not myself--I acted like a
half-wild minx. There, that is all."

As she spoke Juanna began to draw the signet-ring from her left hand.
But she never completed the act. It was his gift to her, the only
outward link between her and the man whom she had lost--why should she
part with it? It reminded her of so much. She knew now that this
mock marriage was in a sense a true one; that is, so far as she was
concerned, for from that hour she had indeed given her spirit into his
keeping--not herself, but her better half and her love; and those solemn
words over her in that dreadful place and time had consecrated the
gift. It was nothing, it meant nothing; yet on her it should be binding,
though not on him. Yes, all her life she would remain as true to him in
mind and act as though she had indeed become his wife on that night of
fear. To do so would be her only happiness, she thought, though it is
strange that in her sorrow she should turn for comfort to this very
event, the mere mention of which had moved her to scorn and bitterness.
But so it was, and so let it be.

Leonard saw the look upon her face; he had never seen anything quite
like it before. With astonishment he heard her gentle words, and
something of the meaning of the look and words came home to him; at any
rate he understood that she was suffering. She was changed in his sight,
he no longer felt bitter towards her. He loved her; might it not be that
she also loved him, and that here was the key to her strange conduct?
Once and for all he would settle the matter; he would tell her that Jane
Beach had ceased to be more than a tender memory to him, and that she
had become all.

"Juanna," he said, addressing her by her Christian name for the first
time.

But there, as it was fated, the sentence began and ended, for at that
moment a canoe shot alongside of them, and Francisco's voice was heard
hailing them through the fog.

"Peter says that you have passed the camping place, senora. He did not
stop you because he thought that you knew it well."

"It was the mist, Father," Juanna answered with a little laugh. "We have
lost ourselves in a mist."

A few minutes and they were on the bank, and Leonard's declaration
remained unspoken. Nor did he make any attempt to renew it. It seemed to
him that Juanna had built a wall between them which he could not climb.
From that evening forward her whole attitude towards him changed. She no
longer angered him by bitter words; indeed, she was gentleness itself,
and nothing could be kindlier or more friendly and open than her manner,
but there it began and ended. Once or twice, indeed, he attempted some
small advance, with the result that instantly she seemed to freeze--to
become cold and hard as marble. He could not understand her, he feared
her somewhat, and his pride took alarm. At the least he could keep his
feelings to himself, he need not expose them to be trampled upon by this
incomprehensible girl.

So, although they were destined to live side by side for months, rarely
out of each other's sight or thoughts, he went his way and she went
hers. But the past and secret trouble left its mark on both. Leonard
became sterner, more silent, watchful, and suspicious. Juanna grew
suddenly from a girl into a woman of presence and great natural dignity.
She did not often laugh during those months as had been her wont, she
only smiled, sadly enough at times. Her thoughts would not let her
laugh, for they were of what her life might have been had no such person
as Jane Beach existed, and of what it must be because of Jane Beach.
Indeed this unknown Jane took a great hold of her mind--she haunted her.
Juanna pictured her in a dozen different shapes of beauty, endowed with
many varying charms, and hated each phantasm worse than the last.

Still, for a while she would set it up as a rival, and try to outmatch
its particular fancied grace or loveliness--a strange form of jealousy
which at length led Otter to remark that the Shepherdess was not one
woman but twenty women, and, therefore, bewitched and to be avoided. But
these fits only took her from time to time. For the most part she moved
among them a grave and somewhat stately young lady, careful of
many things, fresh and lovely to look upon, a mystery to her white
companions, and to the natives little short of a goddess.

But wherever Juanna moved two shadows went with her--her secret passion
and the variable image of that far-off English lady who had robbed her
of its fruit.

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