Benita, An African Romance | Page 5

thought the more."
"Then let us pray that your catastrophe may be averted. I prescribe for
you bismuth and carbonate of soda. Also in this weather it seems
difficult to imagine such a thing. Look now, Miss Clifford," he added,
with a note of enthusiasm in his voice, pointing towards the east,
"look."
Her eyes followed his outstretched hand, and there, above the level
ocean, rose the great orb of the African moon. Lo! of a sudden all that
ocean turned to silver, a wide path of rippling silver stretched from it to
them. It might have been the road of angels. The sweet soft light beat
upon their ship, showing its tapering masts and every detail of the
rigging. It passed on beyond them, and revealed the low, foam-fringed
coast-line rising here and there, dotted with kloofs and their clinging
bush. Even the round huts of Kaffir kraals became faintly visible in that
radiance. Other things became visible also-- for instance, the features of
this pair.

The man was light in his colouring, fair-skinned, with fair hair which
already showed a tendency towards greyness, especially in the
moustache, for he wore no beard. His face was clean cut, not
particularly handsome, since, their fineness notwithstanding, his
features lacked regularity; the cheekbones were too high and the chin
was too small, small faults redeemed to some extent by the steady and
cheerful grey eyes. For the rest, he was broad-shouldered and well-
set-up, sealed with the indescribable stamp of the English gentleman.
Such was the appearance of Robert Seymour.
In that light the girl at his side looked lovely, though, in fact, she had
no real claims to loveliness, except perhaps as regards her figure, which
was agile, rounded, and peculiarly graceful. Her foreign-looking face
was unusual, dark-eyed, a somewhat large and very mobile mouth, fair
and waving hair, a broad forehead, a sweet and at times wistful face,
thoughtful for the most part, but apt to be irradiated by sudden smiles.
Not a beautiful woman at all, but exceedingly attractive, one possessing
magnetism.
She gazed, first at the moon and the silver road beneath it, then, turning,
at the land beyond.
"We are very near to Africa, at last," she said.
"Too near, I think," he answered. "If I were the captain I should stand
out a point or two. It is a strange country, full of surprises. Miss
Clifford, will you think me rude if I ask you why you are going there?
You have never told me--quite."
"No, because the story is rather a sad one; but you shall hear it if you
wish. Do you?"
He nodded, and drew up two deck chairs, in which they settled
themselves in a corner made by one of the inboard boats, their faces
still towards the sea.
"You know I was born in Africa," she said, "and lived there till I was
thirteen years old--why, I find I can still speak Zulu; I did so this
afternoon. My father was one of the early settlers in Natal. His father
was a clergyman, a younger son of the Lincolnshire Cliffords. They are
great people there still, though I don't suppose that they are aware of
my existence."
"I know them," answered Robert Seymour. "Indeed, I was shooting at
their place last November--when the smash came," and he sighed; "but

go on."
"Well, my father quarrelled with his father, I don't know what about,
and emigrated. In Natal he married my mother, a Miss Ferreira, whose
name--like mine and her mother's--was Benita. She was one of two
sisters, and her father, Andreas Ferreira, who married an English lady,
was half Dutch and half Portuguese. I remember him well, a fine old
man with dark eyes and an iron-grey beard. He was wealthy as things
went in those days--that is to say, he had lots of land in Natal and the
Transvaal, and great herds of stock. So you see I am half English, some
Dutch, and more than a quarter Portuguese--quite a mixture of races.
My father and mother did not get on well together. Mr. Seymour, I may
as well tell you all the truth: he drank, and although he was
passionately fond of her, she was jealous of him. Also he gambled
away most of her patrimony, and after old Andreas Ferreira's death they
grew poor. One night there was a dreadful scene between them, and in
his madness he struck her.
"Well, she was a very proud woman, determined, too, and she turned
on him and said--for I heard her--'I will never forgive you; we have
done with each other.' Next morning, when my father was sober, he
begged her pardon, but she made no answer, although he was starting
somewhere on a fortnight's trek. When he had gone my