One morning he was walking down the street with Rainsford and Wheeler, – the latter, who was an up-country hunter, busy, in pursuance of the prevailing spirit, in trying to trade him sundry pairs of big game, horns, and other trophies, – when he heard his name called in a very well remembered voice. Turning, he beheld Holmes.
"Stanninghame, old chap, I am glad to run against you again!" cried the latter, advancing upon him with outstretched hand.
"I begin to believe you are," answered Laurence genially, with a comical glance at the other's beaming countenance. "Why, you actually have a look that way. When did you get here?"
"By last night's coach. And, I say," – trying to look wondrously mysterious and knowing, – "who do you think travelled up by it too?"
"I can't even venture the feeblest guess."
"Can't you?" chuckled Holmes. "What about Miss Ormskirk, eh? How's that?"
"So? Now I remember, she did say something about a possibility of coming up here before long," replied Laurence equably, while conscious that the announcement had convulsed his inner being with a strange, sweet thrill. For it came so aptly upon his meditations of late. The one unsatisfied longing – her presence. And now even that was to be fulfilled.
"You don't seem to take it over enthusiastically, Stanninghame," went on Holmes. "And you and she were rather thick towards the end of the voyage," he added mischievously.
"Did you ever know me enthuse about anything, Holmes? But it's about lunch time; let's go and get some, and you can tell me what you have been doing since we landed from the old Persian, and what the deuce has brought you up here."
This was all very friendly and plausible; but before they had been seated many minutes at lunch in a conveniently adjacent restaurant Holmes was discoursing singularly little upon his doings spread over the weeks which had elapsed since he had landed, but most volubly upon his recent coach journey congested within a space of three days – to which topic he was tactfully moved by his audience of one and also by his own inclination, as will hereinafter appear.
"Was Miss Ormskirk travelling alone, did you say, Holmes?" queried Laurence, in initiation of his deft scheme for "drawing" the other.
"Not much. There was a big parchment-faced Johnny with her. He scowled at me like sin when we were introduced – was inclined to be beastly rude in fact, until he saw that I – er – that I – talked most to the other; then he got quite affable."
"To the other? What other? Out with it, Holmes," said Laurence, with a half smile at his friend's thinly veiled embarrassment.
"Oh, there was another girl in the crowd – Miss Falkner – deuced pretty girl, too. The sulky chappie was her brother."
"Whose brother? Miss Ormskirk's?" said Laurence innocently.
"No; the blue-eyed one's. At least they both called him George."
"Yes. I remember they came on board the Persian. You had landed already, I think. From your description I recognize them. So they are up here? Where are they staying?"
"At that outlying place where the coach first begins to get among houses. I can't remember the name. There's a biggish pub, you know, and a lot of houses."
"Booyseus?"
"That was it; Booyseus. They asked me to go and see them. You'd better come along too, Stanninghame. I say, d'you think it'd be too soon if we went to-morrow, eh? Sort of excuse to ask if they'd recovered from the journey – eh?"
"Was George so very exhausted then?"
"Oh, hang your chaff, Stanninghame! What do you think? You're an older chap than I am, and know more about these things. Would it be too soon if we went to-morrow?"
"Be comforted, Holmes. As far as it rests with me, you shall behold your forget-me-not-eyed charmer to-morrow if she's at home."
The conversation worked round to the inevitable topic, King Scrip. Holmes was fired with eagerness when in his unenthusiastic way the other began to tell of such successes as he had already scored. For he, too, had come up there to take advantage of the boom. He was eager to rush out there and then to buy shares. Nothing would satisfy him but that Laurence must take him round and introduce him to Rainsford on the spot.
But on the way to that worthy's office something happened. Turning into Commissioner Street, they ran right into a party of four. Result – exclamations of astonishment, of recognition, greetings from both sides.
Three of the quartette we have already made the acquaintance of. The fourth, Mrs. Falkner, a good-looking middle-aged lady, was the aunt of the other three, and with her they were staying.
"I've heard of you, Mr. Stanninghame," said this one, when introductions had been effected. "I hope you have made a success of Johannesburg so far. Everybody turns up here. I can hardly come up to the camp – we used to call it that in the old days. I was among the first up here, you know, and it's difficult to get into the way of calling it the town – I can hardly come up here, I was saying, without meeting some one or other I had known elsewhere."
"Yes, it's an astonishing place, Mrs. Falkner," answered Laurence. "Only bare veldt but a very few years ago, now a population of forty thousand – mostly brokers."
She laughed, and Lilith cut in:
"I thought you were going to adopt the Carlylean definition of the people of England, Mr. Stanninghame."
"Oh, that'll come in time. I only trust I may not hold on too long to come under its lash."
"Let us hope none of us will," said Mrs. Falkner. "Oh, dear, we are all dreadfully reckless, I fear. We are nothing but gamblers up here. Have you caught the contagion too, Mr. Stanninghame?"
"I'm afraid so," he answered, thinking how, even among the softer sex here, King Scrip bore the principal sway.
He was thinking of something else at the same time. Lilith was looking even more sweet, more bewitchingly attractive than when last he had seen her. There was a warm seductive glow of health in her dark brilliant beauty, a winsomeness in her simple, tasteful attire – the cool easy-fitting blouse and skirt in a soft harmony of cream colour and light gray, and the plain, wide-brimmed straw hat of the "sailor" kind – which made, to his eyes, an irresistibly entrancing picture.
She, no less than himself, was comparing notes – as two people will who have been apart for a space, and have thought much of each other in the interim. He, too, was improved in appearance. The fine climate, the open-air life had lent a deeper bronze to his face and a clearness to his eyes – even as an emancipation from sordid cares, together with a present modicum of success and a prospect of further in the future, had imparted a certain stamp of serenity to his expression which was not there before. "Air, freedom, life's healthier side are good – success is good – all good things are good – behold their result," was Lilith's inner verdict as the summing up of this inspection.
Now George Falkner's efforts at cordiality were about as effective as the demeanour of a crusty mastiff encountering another of his kind well within sweep of his owner's lash. His jealous soul had noted the glance exchanged between his cousin and Laurence Stanninghame – the responsive glance which for a brief second would not be disguised; the great and deep-reaching gladness, which shone in both pairs of eyes as a result of this meeting. He stood gloomy and grim, while the two were talking together, and then rather brusquely – and to the disgust of Holmes, who was discoursing eagerly with pretty Mabel Falkner – he reminded his aunt that they were due to call at So-and-So's, and were far behind their time.
"Ah, yes, I was forgetting. Well, good-bye, Mr. Stanninghame. I hope you will come and see us. It is nothing of a walk out to Booyseus, and besides, there are several omnibuses in the course of the day. Mind you come too, Mr. Holmes. Good-bye."
And the four resumed their way, and so did our two.
"Jolly, genial old party that Mrs. Falkner," pronounced Holmes, half turning, slyly, to sneak a last glance after the blue-eyed and receding Mabel.
"Spare my susceptibilities, Holmes, even in your