________________________________________________
_ Six weeks or so had passed when a four-wheeled cab drew up at the door
of 2 Albert Court, London, E.C.
The progress of this vehicle had excited some remark among the more
youthful and lighter-minded denizens of the City, for on its box,
arrayed in an ill-fitting suit of dittoes and a brown hat some sizes
to small for him, sat a most strange object, whose coal-black
countenance, dwarfed frame, and enormous nose and shoulders attracted
their ribald observance.
"Look at him, Bill," said one youth to an acquaintance; "he's escaped
from Madame Tussaud's, he has. Painted hisself over with Day &
Martin's best, and bought a secondhand Guy Fawkes nose."
Just then his remarks were cut short, for Otter, having been made to
understand by the driver that they had arrived at their destination,
descended from the box in a manner so original, that it is probably
peculiar to the aborigines of Central Africa, and frightened that boy
away.
From the cab emerged Leonard and Juanna, looking very much the better
for their sea journey. Indeed, having recovered her health and
spirits, and being very neatly dressed in a grey frock, with a wide
black hat trimmed with ostrich feathers, Juanna looked what she was, a
very lovely woman. Entering an outer office Leonard asked if Messrs.
Thomson & Turner were to be seen.
"Mr. Turner is within, sir," answered a clerk of venerable appearance.
"Mr. Thomson"--here his glance fell upon Otter and suddenly he froze
up, then added with a jerk--"has been dead a hundred years! Thomson,
sir," he explained, recovering his dignity, but with his eyes still
fixed on Otter, "was the founder of this firm; he died in the time of
George III. That is his picture over the door--the person with a
harelip and a snuffbox."
"Indeed!" said Leonard. "As Mr. Thomson is not available, perhaps you
will tell Mr. Turner that a gentleman would like to speak to him."
"Certainly, sir," said the old clerk, still staring fixedly at Otter,
whose aspect appeared to fascinate him as much as that worthy had been
fascinated by the eyes of the Water-Dweller. "Have you an appointment,
sir?"
"No," answered Leonard. "Tell him that it is in reference to an
advertisement which his firm inserted in the 'Times' some months ago."
The clerk started, wondering if this could be the missing Mr. Outram.
That much-sought-for individual was understood to have resided in
Africa, which is the home of dwarfs and other oddities. Once more he
stared at Otter and vanished through a swing door.
Presently he returned. "Mr. Turner will see you, sir, if you and the
lady will please to step in. Does this--gentleman--wish to accompany
you?"
"No," said Leonard, "he can stop here."
Thereupon the clerk handed Otter a tall stool, on which the dwarf
perched himself disconsolately. Then he opened the swing door and
ushered Leonard and his wife into Mr. Turner's private room.
"Whom have I the pleasure of addressing?" said a bland, stout
gentleman, rising from before a table strewn with papers. "Pray be
seated, madam."
Leonard drew from his pocket a copy of the weekly "Times" and handed
it to him, saying:
"I understand that you inserted this advertisement."
"Certainly we did," answered the lawyer after glancing at it. "Do you
bring me any news of Mr. Leonard Outram?"
"Yes, I do. I am he, and this lady is my wife."
The lawyer bowed politely. "This is most fortunate," he said; "we had
almost given up hope--but, of course, some proofs of identity will be
required."
"I think that they can be furnished to your satisfaction," answered
Leonard briefly. "Meanwhile, for the sake of argument, perhaps you
will assume that I am the person whom I state myself to be, and inform
me to what this advertisement refers."
"Certainly," answered the lawyer, "there can be no harm in that. Sir
Thomas Outram, the late baronet, as you are doubtless aware, had two
sons, Thomas and Leonard. Leonard, the second son, as a young man was
engaged to, or rather had some love entanglement with, a lady--really
I forget her maiden name, but perhaps you can inform me of it----"
"Do you happen to mean Miss Jane Beach?" said Leonard quietly.
At this point Juanna turned in her chair and became extraordinarily,
indeed almost fiercely, interested in the conversation.
"Quite so; Beach was the name. You must excuse my forgetfulness. Well,
Sir Thomas's affairs fell into confusion, and after their father's
death Mr. Leonard Outram, with his elder brother Thomas, emigrated to
South Africa. In that same year Miss Jane--eh--Beach married a client
of ours, Mr. Cohen, whose father had purchased the estate of Outram
from the trustees in bankruptcy."
"Indeed!" said Leonard.
"Shortly afterwards," went on the lawyer, "Mr. Cohen, or rather Sir
Jonas Cohen, succeeded to the estate on the death of his father. Two
years ago he died leaving all his property, real and personal, to his
only child, a daughter named Jane, with reversion to his widow in fee
simple. Within a month of his death the child Jane died also, and nine
months later her mother, Lady Cohen, /nee/ Jane Beach, followed her to
the grave."
"Yes," said Leonard in a dull voice, and hiding his face in his hand;
"go on, sir."
"Lady Cohen made a somewhat peculiar will. Under the terms of that
will she bequeaths the mansion house and estates of Outram, together
with most of her personal property, amounting in all to something over
a hundred thousand pounds, to her old friend Leonard Outram and the
heirs of his body, with reversion to her brother. This will has not
been disputed; therefore, if you are Leonard Outram, I may
congratulate you upon being once more the owner of your ancestral
estate and a considerable fortune in cash."
For a while Leonard was too agitated to speak.
"I will prove to you," he said at last, "that I am this person, that
is, I will prove it /prima facie/; afterwards you can satisfy yourself
of the truth of my statements by the usual methods." And he proceeded
to adduce a variety of evidence as to his identity which need not be
set out here. The lawyer listened in silence, taking a note from time
to time.
"I think," he said when Leonard had finished, "that, subject to those
inquiries of which you yourself have pointed out the necessity in so
grave a matter, I may accept it as proved that you are none other than
Mr. Leonard Outram, or rather," he added, correcting himself, "if, as
I understand, your elder brother Thomas is dead, than Sir Leonard
Outram. Indeed you have so entirely convinced me that this is the
case, that I have no hesitation in placing in your hands a letter
addressed to you by the late Lady Cohen, and deposited with me
together with the executed will; though, when you have read it, I
shall request you to leave that letter with me for the present.
"By the way, it may interest you to learn," Mr. Turner added, as he
went to a safe built into the wall and unlocked its iron door, "that
we have been hunting for you for a year or more. We even sent a man to
South Africa, and he tracked you to a spot in some mountains somewhere
north of Delagoa Bay, where it was reported that you, with your
brother Thomas and two friends, were digging for gold. He reached the
spot on the night of the ninth of May last year."
"The very day that I left it," broke in Leonard.
"And found the site of your camp and three graves. At first our
representative thought that you were all dead, but afterwards he fell
in with a native who appears to have deserted from your service, and
who told him that one of the brothers was dying when he left the camp,
but one was still in good health, though he did not know where he had
gone."
"My brother Thomas died on the first of May--this day year," said
Leonard.
"After that all trace of you was lost, but I still kept on
advertising, for missing people have a wonderful way of turning up to
claim fortunes, and you see the result. Here is the letter, Sir
Leonard."
Leonard took the document and looked at it, while strange feelings
crowded into his mind. This was the first letter that he had ever
received from Jane Beach; also it was the last that he ever could
receive.
"Before I open this, Mr. Turner," he said, "for my own satisfaction I
may as well ask you to compare the handwriting of the address with
another specimen of it that chances to be in my possession"; and
producing the worn prayer-book from his pocket--Jane's parting gift--
he opened it at the fly-leaf, and pointed out the inscription to the
lawyer, placing the envelope beside it.
Mr. Turner took a reading-glass and examined first one writing and
then the other.
"These words appear to have been written by the same hand," he said
presently. "Lady Cohen's writing was peculiar, and it is difficult to
be mistaken on the point, though I am no expert. To free you from
responsibility, with your consent I myself will open this letter," and
he slit the envelope at the top with an ivory paper-knife, and,
drawing out its contents, he handed them to Leonard. They ran thus:
"My dearest Leonard,--For so I, who am no longer a wife, may call
you without shame, seeing that you are in truth the dearest to my
heart, whether you be still living, or dead like my husband and my
child.
"The will which I am to sign to-morrow will prove to you if you are
yet alive, as I believe to be the case, how deep is my anxiety
that that you should re-enter into possession of the ancestral
home of which fortune has deprived you. It is with the greatest
pleasure that I make you this bequest, and I can do so with a
clear conscience, for my late husband has left everything at my
absolute disposal--being himself without near relations--in the
sad event which has occurred, of the death of his daughter, our
only child.
"May you live long enough to enjoy the lands and fortune which I am
enabled thus to return to your family, and may your children and
their descendants sit at Outram for many a generation to come!
"And now I will talk no more of this matter, for I have an
explanation to make and a pardon to ask.
"It may well be, Leonard, that when your eyes fall upon these
lines, you will have forgotten me--most deservedly--and have found
some other woman to love you. No, as I set this down I feel that
it is not true; you will never forget me altogether, Leonard--your
first love--and no other woman will ever be quite the same to you
as I have been; or, at least, so I believe in my foolishness and
vanity.
"You will ask what explanation is possible after the way in which I
have treated you, and the outrage that I have done to my own love.
Such as it is, however, I offer it to you.
"I was driven into this marriage, Leonard, by my late father, who
could be very cruel when he chose. To admit this is, as I know, a
proof of weakness. So be it, I have never concealed from myself
that I am weak. Yet, believe me, I struggled while I could; I
wrote to you even, but they intercepted my letter; and I told all
the truth to Mr. Cohen, but he was self-willed and passionate, and
would take no heed of my pleading. So I married him, Leonard, and
was fairly happy with him, for he was kindness itself to me, but
from that hour I began to die.
"And now more than six years have passed since the night of our
parting in the snow, and the end is at hand, for I am really
dying. It has pleased God to take my little daughter, and this
last shock proved more than I can bear, and so I go to join her
and to wait with her till such time as I shall once more see your
unforgotten face.
"That is all that I have to say, dear Leonard.
"Pardon me, and I am selfish enough to add--do not forget me.
"JANE.
"P.S.--Why is it that an affection like ours, which has never borne
fruit even, should in the end prove stronger than any other
earthly tie? Heaven knows, and Heaven alone, how passionately I
loved and love my dead child; and yet, now that my own hour is at
hand, it is of /you/ that I think the most, you who are neither
child nor husband. I suppose that I shall understand ere long,
but, O Leonard, Leonard, Leonard, if, as I believe, my nature is
immortal, I swear that such love as mine for you, however much it
be dishonoured and betrayed, is still the most immortal part of
it!--J."
Leonard put down the letter on the table, and again he covered his
face with his hand to hide his emotion, for his feelings overcame him
as a sense of the depth and purity of this dead woman's undying love
sank into his heart.
"May I read that letter, Leonard?" asked Juanna in a quiet voice.
"Yes, I suppose so, dear, if you like," he answered, feeling dully
that it was better to make a clean breast of the matter at once, and
thus to prevent future misunderstandings.
Juanna took the letter and perused it twice, by which time she knew it
as well as she did the Lord's Prayer, nor did she ever forget a single
word of it. Then she handed it back to the lawyer, saying nothing.
"I understand," said Mr. Turner, breaking in on a silence which he
felt to be painful, "that you will be able to produce the necessary
proofs of identity within the next few days, and then we can get the
will proved in the usual form. Meanwhile, you must want money, which I
will take the risk of advancing you," and he wrote a cheque for a
hundred pounds and gave it to Leonard.
Half an hour later Leonard and Juanna were alone in a room at their
hotel, but as yet scarcely a word had passed between them since they
left the lawyer's office.
"Don't you see, Leonard," his wife said almost fiercely, "it is most
amusing, you made a mistake. Your brother's dying prophecy was like a
Delphic oracle--it could be taken two ways, and, of course, you
adopted the wrong interpretation. You left Grave Mountain a day too
soon. It was by /Jane Beach's/ help that you were to recover Outram,
not by mine," and she laughed sadly.
"Don't talk like that, dear," said Leonard in a sad voice; "it pains
me."
"How else am I to talk after reading that letter?" she answered, "for
what woman can hold her own against a dead rival? Now also I must be
indebted to her bounty all my days. Oh! if I had not lost the jewels--
if only I had not lost the jewels!"
History does not relate how Leonard dealt with this unexpected and yet
natural situation.
A week had passed and Leonard, with Juanna at his side, found himself
once more in the great hall at Outram, where, on a bygone night, many
years ago, he and his dead brother had sworn their oath. All was the
same, for in this hall nothing had been changed--Jane had seen to
that. There chained to its stand was the Bible, upon which they had
registered their vow; there were the pictures of his ancestors gazing
down calmly upon him, as though they cared little for the story of his
struggles and of his strange triumph over fortune "by the help of a
woman." There was the painted window, with its blazoned coats of arms
and its proud mottoes--"/For Heart, Home, and Honour/," and "Per ardua
ad astra/." He had won the heart and home, and he had kept his honour
and his oath. He had endured the toils and dangers and the crown of
stars was his.
And yet, was Leonard altogether happy as he stood looking on these
familiar things? Perhaps not quite, for yonder in the churchyard there
was a grave, and within the church a monument in white marble, that
was wonderfully like one who had loved him and whom he had loved,
though time and trouble had written a strange difference on her face.
Also, he had failed: he had kept his oath indeed and fought on till
the end was won, but himself he had not won it. What now was his had
once belonged to his successful rival, who doubtless little dreamed of
the payment that would be exacted from him by the decree of fate.
And was Juanna happy? She knew well that Leonard loved her truly; but
oh! it was cruel that she who had shared the struggles should be
deprived of her reward--that it should be left to another, who if not
false had at least been weak, to give to her husband that which she
had striven so hard to win--that which she had won--and lost. And
harder still was it that in this ancient place which would henceforth
be her home, by day and by night she must feel the presence of the
shadow of a woman, a woman sweet and pale, who, as she believed, stood
between her and that which she desired above all things--the complete
and absolute possession of her husband's heart.
Doubtless she overrated the trouble; men and women do not spend their
lives in brooding upon the memories of their first loves--if they did,
this would be a melancholy world. But to Juanna it was real enough,
and remained so for some years. And if a thing is true to the heart,
it avails little that reason should give it the lie.
In short, now in the hour of their full property, Leonard and Juanna
were making acquaintance with the fact that fortune never gives with
both hands, as the French say, but loves to rob with one while she
bestows with the other. To few is it allowed to be completely
miserable, to none to be completely happy. Their good luck had been so
overwhelming in many ways, that it would have partaken of the
unnatural, and might well have excited their fears for the future, had
its completeness been unmarred by these drawbacks which, such as they
were, probably they learned to disremember as the years passed over
them bringing them new trials and added blessings.
Perhaps a peep into the future will tell us the rest of the story of
Leonard and Juanna Outram better and more truly than any further
chronicling of events.
Ten years or so have gone by and Sir Leonard, now a member of
Parliament and the Lord-Lieutenant of his county, comes out of church
on the first Sunday in May accompanied by his wife, the stateliest
matron in the country-side, and some three or four children, boys and
girls together, as healthy as they are handsome. After a glance at a
certain grave that lies near to the chancel door, they walk homewards
across the budding park in the sweet spring afternoon, till, a hundred
yards or more from the door of Outram Hall, they pause at the gates of
a dwelling known as "The Kraal," shaped like a beehive, fashioned of
straw and sticks, and built by the hands of Otter alone.
Basking in the sunshine in front of this hut sits the dwarf himself,
cutting broom-sticks with a knife out of the straightest of a bundle
of ash saplings that lie beside him. He is dressed in a queer mixture
of native and European costume, but otherwise time has wrought no
change in him.
"Greeting, Baas," he says as Leonard comes up. "Is Baas Wallace here
yet?"
"No, he will be down in time for dinner. Mind that you are there to
wait, Otter."
"I shall not be late, Baas, on this day of all days."
"Otter," cries a little maid, "you should not make brown-sticks on
Sunday, it is very wrong."
The dwarf grins by way of answer, then speaks to Leonard in a tongue
that none but he can understand.
"What did I tell you many years ago, Baas?" he says. "Did I not tell
you that by this way or by that you should win the wealth, and that
the great kraal across the water should be yours again, and that the
children of strangers should wander there no more? See, it has come
true," and he points to the happy group of youngsters. "/Wow!/ I,
otter, who am a fool in most things, have proved to be the best of
prophets. Yet I will rest content and prophesy no more, lest I should
lose my name for wisdom."
A few hours later and dinner is over in the larger hall. All the
servants have gone except Otter, who dressed in a white smock stands
behind his master's chair. There is no company present save Mr.
Wallace, who has just returned from another African expedition, and
sits smiling and observant, his eyeglass fixed in his eye as of yore.
Juanna is arrayed in full evening dress, however, and a great star
ruby blazes upon her breast.
"Why have you got the red stone on to-night, mother?" asks her eldest
son Thomas, who with his two sisters has come down to desert.
"Hush, dear," she answers, as Otter advances to that stand on which
the Bible is chained, holding a glass filled with port in his hand.
"Deliverer and Shepherdess," he says, speaking in Sisutu, "on this day
eleven years gone Baas Tom died out yonder; I, who drink wine but once
a year, drink to the memory of Baas Tom, and to our happy meeting with
him in the gold House of the Great-Great"; and swallowing the port
with a single gulp Otter throws the glass behind him, shattering it on
the floor.
"Amen," says Leonard. "Now, love, your toast."
"I drink to the memory of Francisco who died to save me," says Juanna
in a low voice.
"Amen," repeats her husband.
For a moment there is silence, for Leonard gives no toast; then the
boy Thomas lifts his glass and cries,
"And I drink to Olfan, the king of the People of the Mist, and to
Otter, who killed the Snake-god, and whom I love the best of all of
them. Mother, may Otter get the spear and the rope and tell us the
story of how he dragged you and father up the ice-bridge?"
THE END.
The People Of The Mist, a novel by H. Rider Haggard. _
Read previous: CHAPTER XL - OTTER'S FAREWELL
Table of content of People Of The Mist
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book
