The Sign of the Spider

"Take my advice and watch it," the latter decisively replied. Then remembering that the ostensible object of the undertaking was sport and native trade, he went on, "You see, Holmes, it's going to be a hard business. Not just three or four months up in the bush-veldt and so forth, but – well, Heaven only knows where the thing will end, let alone how."

"I don't care about that. Why, it's just the very thing that'll suit me down to the ground. I say, Stanninghame, I know you don't mind, but Hazon? I've always stood up for Hazon, and we seem to get on all right? Do put it to Hazon. I could pay my shot, of course."

There was a despondency of manner and tone that was extremely foreign to the mercurial Holmes, and this, together with certain signs he had read of late, caused Laurence to look up with a queer half smile.

"Why are you so anxious to clear from here, Holmes? Rather sudden, isn't it?"

"Oh, I'm dead off waiting for a 'boom' that never comes. It's dashed sickening, don't you know."

"It is. And what else is dashed sickening? That isn't all."

The other stared for a moment, then, as though he were bringing it out with an effort, he burst forth:

"Oh, well, hang it all, Stanninghame, I don't see why I shouldn't tell you. The fact is I've – I've got the chuck."

Laurence laughed inwardly. He understood.

"Why, I thought you were bringing it on all right," he said.

"So did I; but when I put it to her, she was dead off," said Holmes, disconsolately savage.

"Sure?"

"Cert."

"Well, give her another show. Some women – girls especially – like that sort of application twice over. They think it enhances their value in some inexplicable way," said Laurence, with a touch of characteristic satire. "I don't, but that's a matter of opinion. And, I don't want to hurt your feelings, Holmes, but is this one worth it?"

"I don't know," answered the other savagely, driving his heel into the ground. "It's that beast Barstow. What the deuce she can see in him, bangs me."

"Yes, unless it is that you hold a quantity of unsaleable scrip and he doesn't," rejoined Laurence, who had been secretly amused in watching the progress of pretty Mabel Falkner's latest preference. "But in any case I think you'd better not touch it, or you'll find yourself on the one horn or other of this dilemma; if she is coming the 'playing off' trick, why, that is despicable, and in fact not good enough; if she means business, why, you can't go begging to her for what she has given to the other Johnny without any begging at all. See?"

"Oh, yes, I see," was the rueful rejoinder. "By the Lord, Stanninghame, I used to think you a deuced snarling, cynical beggar at first, but now, 'pon my soul, I believe you're right."

"Do you? Well, then, you don't want to go away up-country and get bowled out with fever or struck by a nigger, and all that sort of thing, because one girl don't care a cent for you."

"Perhaps not. Still, I hate this place now. I'm sick of it. By the way, Stanninghame, you're the sort a fellow can tell anything to; you don't start a lot of cheap blatant chaff as some chappies do when you want them to talk sound sense."

There was a great deal underlying the remark, also the tone. Though lacking the elements which go to make up the "popular" man, Laurence possessed the faculty of winning the devoted attachment of individuals, and that to an extent of which he himself little dreamed. Not the least important item which went to make up that attribute lay in the fact that he was a most indulgent listener, whom nothing astonished, and who could look at all sides of any given question with the tact and toleration of a man who thinks. This faculty he seldom exercised, and then almost unconsciously.

To the other's remark he made no immediate reply. Taking into consideration age and temperament, he had no belief that Holmes' rejection and disappointment had left any deep wound. Still, it had come at an unfortunate time – a time when the sufferer, in common with most of them, had been hard hit in a more material way. He had a genuine liking for the sunny-natured, open-hearted youth; a liking begotten, it might be, of the ingenuously unconscious manner in which the latter looked up to him, in fact, made a sort of elder brother of him. Holmes was no stronger-headed than most youngsters of his temperament and circumstances, and Laurence did not want to see him – soured and dejected by disappointment all round – throw himself in with the reckless, indiscriminate bar-frequenter, of whom there were not lacking woeful examples in those days, though, poor fellows, much from the same motive, to drown care; and into this current would Holmes in all probability be swept if left by himself in Johannesburg. Was there no method of taking him with them for a month or two's shoot in the bush-veldt, and sending him back by some returning expedition before the serious part of the undertaking was entered upon? He decided to sound Hazon upon the matter, yet of this resolve he said nothing now to Holmes. The latter broke the silence.

"By Jove, Stanninghame, I envy you!" he said. "You are such a hard-headed chap. Why, I don't believe you care a little d – for any mortal thing in the world. Yes, I envy you."

"You needn't, if it means hankering after the process by which that blissful state is attained. But you are wrong. I care most infernally about one thing."

"And what's that? What is it, old chap? You needn't be afraid I'll let on!" said Holmes eagerly, anticipating it might be something similar in the way of a confidence to that which his own exuberant heart had not been able to refrain from making.

"Why, that I was stewed idiot enough to go on investing in this infernal scrip instead of clearing out just when I had made the modest profit of four hundred per cent."

"Oh!" said the other, in disappointed surprise, adding, "But you don't show it. You take it smiling, Stanninghame. You don't turn a hair."

"H'm!"

With the ejaculation, Laurence was thinking of a certain room, shaded from the glare of the sunlight without, and of a very grim moment indeed. He was looking, too, at the hearty, bright-mannered youngster who had already begun to forget his recent disappointment in the prospect of adventure and novelty. He himself had been nearly as light-hearted, just as ready to mirth and laughter at that age. Yet now? Would it be the same with this one? Who could say?

The suggestion that Holmes should accompany the expedition was not received with enthusiasm by Hazon, neither did it meet with immediate and decisive repudiation. Characteristically, Hazon proceeded to argue out the matter pro and con.

"He doesn't know the real nature of our business, Stanninghame? no, of course not. Thinks it's only a shooting trip? – good. Well, the question is, are we dead certain of finding opportunities for sending him back; for we can't turn him loose on the veldt and say good-bye?"

"There are several places where we might drop him," said Laurence, consulting a map and mentioning a few.

"Quite so. Well, here's another consideration. He's a youngster, and probably has scores of relations more or less interested in him. We don't want to draw down inquiries and investigations into our movements and affairs."

"That won't count seriously, Hazon."

"Think not? Um! Well then, what if we were to take him along – run him into the whole shoot with us?"

"Phew! That's a horse whose colour I've never scrutinized. And the point?"

"Might help us in more ways than one; in case of difficulties afterwards, I mean. The idea seems to knock you out some, Stanninghame?"

There was something in it. Laurence, reckless, unscrupulous as he was, could not but hesitate. In striving to save his young friend from one form of ruin, was it written that he should plunge him into another more irretrievable, more sweeping, more lifelong?

"I am thinking he might give us trouble," he replied deliberately. "What if he sickened of the whole business, and kicked just when we wanted to pull together the most? No, no, Hazon. If we take him at all, we must send him back as I say. It's all very well for us two, but it doesn't seem quite the thing to run a fresh-hearted youngster, with all his life before him, and bursting with hopes and ideals, into a grim business of this kind. But taking him, or leaving him, rests with you entirely."

"Leave it that way, then. I'll think it over and see if it pans out any," said Hazon, leisurely lighting a fresh pipe. "But, Stanninghame, what's this?" he added, with a sudden, keen glance out of his piercing eyes. "You are letting yourself go with regard to this matter – showing feeling. That won't do, you know. You've got to have no sample of that sort of goods about you, no more than can be put into a block of granite. Aren't you in training yet?"

"Well, I think so; or, at any rate, shall be long before it is wanted seriously."

No more was said on the subject then.

As the preparations progressed, and the time for the start drew near, it seemed to Laurence Stanninghame that more and more was the old life a mere dream, a dream of the past. Sometimes in his sleep he would be back in it, would see the dinginess of the ramshackle semi-detached, would hear the vulgar sounds of the vulgar suburban street; and he would turn uneasily in his dreams, with a depressing consciousness of dust and discord, and a blank wall as of the hopelessness of life drawn across his path. Feeling? Pooh! Who would miss him out of the traditional "charm" of the family circle? A new toy, costing an extra shilling or so, would quite knock out all and any recollection of himself. There were times when in his dreams he had even returned to the domestic ark, and in the result a day of welcome and comparative peace, then discord and jangling strife as before, and the ever weighing-down, depressing, crushing consciousness of squalid penury for the rest of his natural life. From such visions he had awakened, awakened with a start of exultant gratulation, to find the glow of the African sun streaming into the room; every nerve tingling with a consciousness of strength and braced-up vigour; his mind rejoicing to look forward into the boundless possibilities held out by the adventure in which he was involved; that other ghastly horror, which had haunted him for so long, now put far away. Risk, excitement, peril, daring, to be rewarded by wealth, after long years of unnatural stagnation. The prospect opened out a vista as of boundless delight.

Yet was this dashed – dashed by an impending parting. The certainty of this would ever intrude and quench his exultation. Sweet Lilith! how she had subtilely intertwined herself within his life! Well, he was strong; he could surely keep himself in hand. It should be a part of his training. Still, though the certainty of impending separation would quench his exultation, on awakening to the light of each new day, which brought that parting nearer, yet there was another certainty, that at least a portion of every such day should be spent with her.

But even he, with all his strength, with all his foresight, little realized what the actual moment of that parting should mean.

CHAPTER XI.

"AT THE TWELFTH HOUR."

He was there to say good-bye.

As he sat waiting, the soft subdued hush of the shaded room, in its cool fragrance, struck upon his senses as with an influence of depression, of sadness, of loss. He had come to bid farewell. Farewell! Now the moment had arrived he, somehow, felt it.

Would she never come in? His nerves seemed all on edge, and ever upon the glowing midday heat, the jarring thump of the Crown Reef battery beat its monotonous time. Then the door opened softly, and Lilith entered.

Never had she seemed to look more sweet, more inviting. The rich, dark beauty, always more enthralling, more captivating when warmed by the constant kiss of its native southern sun; the starry eyes, wide with earnestness; the sad, sweet expression of the wistful lips; the glorious splendour of the perfect form, in its cool, creamy white draperies. Laurence Stanninghame, gazing upon her, realized with a dull, dead ache at the heart, that all his self-boasted strength was but the veriest weakness. And now he had come to say farewell.

"I can hardly realize that we shall not see each other again," Lilith said, after a transparently feeble attempt or two on the part of both of them to talk on indifferent subjects. "When do you expect to return? How long will you be away?"

"'It may be for years, and it may be for ever,'" quoted Laurence, a bitter ring in his tone. "Probably the latter."

"You must not say that. Remember what I told you, more than once before. I am always hopeful, I never despair, even when things look blackest – either for myself or other people. Though, I dare say, you are laughing to yourself now at the idea of things being anything but bright to me. Well, then, I predict you will come back with what you want. You will return rich, and all will look up then for you."

She spoke lightly, smilingly. He, listening, gazing at her, felt bitter. He had been mistaken. Well, he had found out his mistake, only just in time – only just. But even he, with all his observant perceptiveness, had failed to penetrate Lilith's magnificent self-command.

"Let us hope your prediction will prove a true one," he said, falling in with her supposed mood. "The one thing to make life worth living is wealth. I will stick at nothing to obtain it – nothing! Without it, life is a hell; with it – well, life is at one's feet. There is nothing one cannot do with it – nothing."

His eyes glowed with a sombre light. There was a world of repressed passion in his tone, the resentful snarl, as he thought of the past squalor and bitterness of life, mingling with the savage determination and unscrupulous recklessness of the born adventurer.

"There is one thing you cannot obtain for it," she said. "That is – love."

"But it can bring you all that will cause you to feel no longing for that deceptive illusion. You can forget that such a thing exists – can forget it in the renewed exuberance of vitality which is sheer enjoyment of living. Well, wish me luck. 'Good-bye' is a dreadful word, but it has to be said."

He had risen and stood blindly, half-bewilderedly. The shaded room, the sensuous fragrance of her presence, every graceful movement, the fascination of the wide, earnest eyes, all was more than beginning to intoxicate him, to shatter his chain-armour of bitterness and self-control. He, the strong, the invulnerable, the man in whom all heart and feeling was dead – what sorcery was this? He was bewitched, entranced, enthralled. His strength was as water. Yet not.

They stood facing each other, glance fused into glance. At that moment heart seemed opened to heart – to be gazing therein.

"Good-bye," he said. "Don't quite forget me, Lilith dear. Think a little now and then of the times we have had together." Then their lips met in a long kiss. And she said – nothing. Perhaps she could not. The flood-gate of an awful torrent of pent-up, bravely controlled grief may be opened in the utterance of that word "good-bye."

Laurence Stanninghame seemed to walk blindly, staggering in the strong sunlight. Was it the midday heat, or the strong glare? The ever-monotonous beat of the Crown Reef stamps seemed to hammer within his brain, which seethed and swirled with the recollection of that last long kiss. He would not look back. Impervious to the furnace-like heat, he stepped out over the veldt at a pace which, by the time he reached the corner of the Wemmer property, caused him to look up wonderingly, that he should already be entering the town.

"Oh, there you are, Stanninghame," sung out a voice, whose owner nearly cannoned into him. Laurence looked up.

"Here I am, as you say, Holmes," he answered, quite coolly and unconcernedly. "But where are you bound for, and what's the excitement, anyway?"

"Why, I thought I'd see if I could meet you. Hazon said you had gone down to Booyseus this morning. What do you think? I've got round him, and I'm going with you."

Laurence stared, then looked grave.

"Going with us, eh? I say, youngster, have you made your will?"

"Haven't got anything to leave. But, Stanninghame, I'm awfully obliged to you, old fellow. It's all through you I've got round the old man."

"Have you any sort of idea what our program is?"

"None. And I don't care."

Laurence whistled.

"See here, Holmes," he said, "this thing has got to be looked into. In fact, it can't go on."

"Yes it can, and it shall. Don't be a beast, now, Stanninghame. I'd go anywhere with you two fellows, and I'm dead off this waiting for a boom that never comes. I shall be as stony broke as the rest of them if I hold on any longer. So I'm going to realize at a loss, and go with you. Come along, now, to Phillips' bar and we'll split a bottle of cham. to the undertaking."

"You don't need to buzz to that extent, Holmes. I hate 'gooseberry.' 'John Walker' is good enough for me."

They reached Phillips', and found that historic bar far from empty; and young Holmes, who was full of exhilaration over the prospects of this trip, was insisting that many should drink success thereto. Laurence, silent amid the racket of voices, was curiously watching him. This joyous-hearted youngster, would he ever come to look back upon life as a thing that had far better have never been lived? And he smiled queerly to himself as he thought what would be the effect upon Holmes of the experiences he would bring back with him from that trip to which he was looking forward so joyously, so hopefully – if he returned from it at all, that was – if, indeed, any of them did. But throughout the racket – the strife of tongues, the boisterous guffaw over some cheap "wheeze" – the recollection of the shaded room, of that last good-bye in the cloudless noontide pressed like a living weight upon his heart. Never would it be obliterated – never.

Throughout the afternoon Laurence busied himself greatly over the final preparations. He did not even feel tempted to ride over to Booyseus, on some pretext. Lilith would not be alone. There was always a host of people there of an afternoon – callers, lawn-tennis players, and so forth. The ineffably sweet sadness of that last parting must be the recollection he was to carry forth with him.

It was evening. The wagons had been started just before sundown, and now their owners were riding out of the town to overtake them. Young Holmes, suffering under an exuberance of exhilaration begotten of multifold good-byes effected to a spirituous accompaniment, was not so firm in his saddle as he might have been; but on the hardened heads of the other two the effect of such farewells had been nil. They were just getting clear of the town when they became aware of a panting, puffing native striving to overtake them.

"Why, it's John," said Hazon, recognizing one of the coloured waiters at their hotel.

The boy ran straight up to Laurence, and held out an envelope.

"For you, baas," he said. "The baas forgot to give it you. Dank you, baas!" catching, with a grin, something that was flung to him.

It was a delicate-looking envelope, and sealed. What new surprise was this? as he took in the puzzling yet characteristic handwriting of the address.

"I must see you once more," he read. "I cannot let you go like this, Laurence, darling. Come to me for one more good-bye. I shall be alone this evening. Come to me, love of my heart.[**spaces] L."

"Pho! Of course it was not! It was too ridiculous. It was not as if all heaven had opened before his eyes. Of course not!" he told himself.

But it was.

"By the way, Hazon," he said indifferently, "I find there is still a matter I have to attend to. So you must go on without me. I expect I'll overtake you to-morrow not long after sunrise – or not much later. So-long!"

The dark, impassive face of the up-country man underwent no change. He had understood the whole change of plan, but it was no concern of his. So he merely said "Ja, so-long," and continued his way.

Laurence did not go back to the hotel. The last thing he desired was that his return should be noticed and commented upon. He sought out Rainsford, who, having stable-room, willingly consented to put up his steed, and, being a discreet fellow, was not likely to indulge in undue tongue-wagging. Then he took his way down to Booyseus.

As he stepped forth through the gloom – for by this time it was quite dark – the words of that missive seemed burned into his brain in characters of fire and of gold. What words they were, too! He had read her glance aright, then? It was only that intrepidity of self-command which he had failed to allow for. And he? Why had he been so strong that morning? Seldom indeed did a second opportunity occur. But now? When he should return up the hill he was now descending, such a memory would be his to carry forth with him into the solitude and peril and privation of his enterprise! Yet to what end? Even if he were successful in amassing wealth untold, yet they two must be as far apart as ever. Well, that need not follow, he told himself. With wealth one can do anything – anything; without it nothing, was at this time the primary article of Laurence Stanninghame's creed; and at the thought his step grew more elastic, and all unconsciously his head threw itself back in a gesture of anticipatory triumph.

The house was quiet as he approached. At the sound of his step on the stoep– almost before he had time to knock – the door was opened – was opened by Lilith herself – then closed behind him.

She said no word; she only looked up at him. The subdued light of the half-darkened hall softened as with an almost unearthly beauty the upturned face, and forth from it her eyes shone, glowed with the lustre of a radiant tenderness, too vast, too overwhelming for her lips to utter.

And he? He, too, said no word. Those lips of hers, sweet, inviting, were pressed to his; that peerless form was wrapped in his embrace, sinking therein with a soft sigh of contentment. What room was there for mere words? as again and again he kissed the lips – eyes – hair – then the lips again. This was only the beginning of a farewell visit, – a sad, whirling, heart-break of farewell, – yet as the blood surged boiling through Laurence Stanninghame's veins, and heart, pressed against heart, seemed swelled to bursting point, he thought that life, even such as it had been, was worth living if it could contain such a moment as this. Equally, too, did he realize that, in life or in death, the triumph-joy of this moment should illumine his memory, dark though it might be, for ever and ever.

"What did you think of me when you got my note, dear one?" she whispered at last. "And I have been in perfect agony ever since, for fear it should be too late. But I could not let you go as I did this morning. I felt such an irresistible craving to see you again, Laurence, my darling, to hear your voice. I felt we could not part as we did – each trying to deceive the other, each knowing, the while, that it was impossible. I wanted more than that for a memory throughout the blank time that is coming."

"Yes, we were both too strong, my Lilith. And why should we have been? What scruple ever stood anybody to the good in this hell-fraud of a state called 'Life'? Not one – not one! Yes, we were too strong, and your self-command deceived even me."

"My self-command? Ah, Laurence, my darling, how little you knew! All the time I was battling hard with myself, forcing down an irresistible longing to do this – and this – and this!" And drawing down his head, she kissed him, again and again, long, tender kisses, as though her whole soul sought entrance into his.

"But I shall tire you, my dearest, if I keep you standing here like this," she went on. "Come inside now, and our last talk – our last for a long time – shall, at any rate, be a cosey one."

She drew him within the half open door of an adjoining room. The window curtains were drawn, and a shaded lamp gave forth the same subdued and chastened light as that which burned in the hall. There were flowers in vases and sprays, arranged in every tasteful and delicate manner, and distilling a fragrance subtile and pervading. The sumptuous prettiness of the furniture and ornaments – picture frames encasing mystic and thought-evoking subjects, books disposed here and there, delicate embroidery, the work of her fingers – in short, the hundred and one dainty knick-knacks pleasing to the eye – seemed to reflect the bright, beautiful personality of Lilith; for, indeed, the arrangement and disposal of them was almost entirely her own.