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Kilmorden?
”
“No,” I whispered. “It was—since then.”
“I see,” he said for the third time, but this time there was a purposeful ring in his voice
that made me turn and look at him. His face was grimmer than I had ever seen it.
“What—what do you mean?” I faltered.
He looked at me, inscrutable, dominating.
“Only—that I know now what I have to do.”
His words sent a shiver through me. There was a determination behind them that I did not
understand—and it frightened me.
We neither of us said any more until we got back to the hotel. I went straight up to
Suzanne. She was lying on her bed reading, and did not look in the least as though she had a
headache.
“Here reposes the perfect gooseberry,” she remarked. “
Alias
the tactful chaperone. Why,
Anne dear, what’s the matter?”
For I had burst into a flood of tears.
I told her about the cats—I felt it wasn’t fair to tell her about Colonel Race. But Suzanne
is very sharp. I think she saw that there was something more behind.
“You haven’t caught a chill, have you, Anne? Sounds absurd even to suggest such things
in this heat, but you keep on shivering.”
“It’s nothing,” I said. “Nerves—or someone walking over my grave. I keep feeling
something dreadful’s going to happen.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Suzanne, with decision. “Let’s talk of something interesting. Anne,
about those diamonds—”
“What about them?”
“I’m not sure they’re safe with me. It was all right before, no one could think they’d be
amongst my things. But now that everyone knows we’re such friends, you and I, I’ll be under
suspicion too.”
“Nobody knows they’re in a roll of films, though,” I argued. “It’s a splendid hiding place
and I really don’t think we could better it.”
She agreed doubtfully, but said we would discuss it again when we got to the Falls.
Our train went at nine o’clock. Sir Eustace’s temper was still far from good, and Miss
Pettigrew looked subdued. Colonel Race was completely himself. I felt that I had dreamed
the whole conversation on the way back.
I slept heavily that night on my hard bunk, struggling with ill-defined, menacing dreams. I
awoke with a headache and went out on the observation platform of the car. It was fresh and
lovely, and everywhere, as far as one could see, were the undulating wooded hills. I loved
it—loved it more than any place I had ever seen. I wished then that I could have a little hut
somewhere in the heart of the scrub and live there always—always. . . .
Just before half past two, Colonel Race called me out from the “office” and pointed to a
bouquet-shaped white mist that hovered over one portion of the bush.
“The spray from the Falls,” he said. “We are nearly there.”
I was still wrapped in that strange dream feeling of exaltation that had succeeded my
troubled night. Very strongly implanted in me was the feeling that I had come home . . .
Home! And yet I had never been here before—or had I in dreams?
We walked from the train to the hotel, a big white building closely wired against
mosquitoes. There were no roads, no houses. We went out on the
stoep
and I uttered a gasp.
There, half a mile away, facing us, were the Falls. I’ve never seen anything so grand and
beautiful—I never shall.
“Anne, you’re fey,” said Suzanne, as we sat down to lunch. “I’ve never seen you like this
before.”
She stared at me curiously.
“Am I?” I laughed, but I felt that my laugh was unnatural. “It’s just that I love it all.”
“It’s more than that.”
A little frown crossed her brow—one of apprehension.
Yes, I was happy, but beyond that I had the curious feeling that I was waiting for
something—something that would happen soon. I was excited—restless.
After tea we strolled out, got on the trolley and were pushed by smiling blacks down the
little tracks of rails to the bridge.
It was a marvellous sight, the great chasm and the rushing waters below, and the veil of
mist and spray in front of us that parted every now and then for one brief minute to show the
cataract of water and then closed up again in its impenetrable mystery. That, to my mind, has
always been the fascination of the Falls—their elusive quality. You always think you’re
going to see—and you never do.
We crossed the bridge and walked slowly on by the path that was marked out with white
stone on either side and led round the brink of the gorge. Finally we arrived in a big
clearing where on the left a path led downwards towards the chasm.
“The palm gully,” explained Colonel Race. “Shall we go down? Or shall we leave it
until tomorrow? It will take some time, and it’s a good climb up again.”
“We’ll leave it until tomorrow,” said Sir Eustace with decision. He isn’t at all fond of
strenuous physical exercise, I have noticed.
He led the way back. As we went, we passed a fine native stalking along. Behind him
came a woman who seemed to have the entire household belongings piled upon her head!
The collection included a frying pan.
“I never have my camera when I want it,” groaned Suzanne.
“That’s an opportunity that will occur often enough, Mrs. Blair,” said Colonel Race. “So
don’t lament.”
We arrived back on the bridge.
“Shall we go into the rainbow forest?” he continued. “Or are you afraid of getting wet?”
Suzanne and I accompanied him. Sir Eustace went back to the hotel. I was rather
disappointed in the rainbow forest. There weren’t nearly enough rainbows, and we got
soaked to the skin, but every now and then we got a glimpse of the Falls opposite and
realized how enormously wide they are. Oh, dear, dear Falls, how I love and worship you
and always shall!
We got back to the hotel just in time to change for dinner. Sir Eustace seems to have taken
a positive antipathy to Colonel Race. Suzanne and I rallied him gently, but didn’t get much
satisfaction.
After dinner he retired to his sitting room, dragging Miss Pettigrew with him. Suzanne
and I talked for a while with Colonel Race, and then she declared, with an immense yawn,
that she was going to bed. I didn’t want to be left alone with him, so I got up too and went to
my room.
But I was far too excited to go to sleep. I did not even undress. I lay back in a chair and
gave myself up to dreaming. And all the time I was conscious of something coming nearer
and nearer. . . .
There was a knock at the door, and I started. I got up and went to it. A little black boy
held out a note. It was addressed to me in a handwriting I did not know. I took it and came
back into the room. I stood there holding it. At last I opened it. It was very short!
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