Jess | Page 5

the saddle does not twist
round; the girths may be loose."
Thus adjured, John, with the help of the Zulu, clambered into his saddle,
an example that the lady quickly followed, and they set off once more
through the gathering darkness. Presently he became aware that they
were passing up a drive bordered by tall blue gums, and next minute
the barking of a large dog, which he afterwards knew by the name of
Stomp, and the sudden appearance of lighted windows told him that
they had reached the house. At the door--or rather, opposite to it, for
there was a verandah in front--they halted and got off their horses. As
they dismounted there came a shout of welcome from the house, and
presently in the doorway, showing out clearly against the light,
appeared a striking and, in its way, a most pleasant figure. He--for it
was a man--was very tall, or, rather, he had been very tall. Now he was
much bent with age and rheumatism. His long white hair hung low
upon his neck, and fell back from a prominent brow. The top of the
head was quite bald, like the tonsure of a priest, and shone and
glistened in the lamplight, and round this oasis the thin white locks fell
down. The face was shrivelled like the surface of a well-kept apple, and,
like an apple, rosy red. The features were aquiline and strongly marked;
the eyebrows still black and very bushy, and beneath them shone a pair
of grey eyes, keen and bright as those of a hawk. But for all its
sharpness, there was nothing unpleasant or fierce about the face; on the
contrary, it was pervaded by a remarkable air of good-nature and
pleasant shrewdness. For the rest, the man was dressed in rough tweed
clothes, tall riding-boots, and held a broad-brimmed Boer hunting hat
in his hand. Such, as John Niel first saw him, was the outer person of
old Silas Croft, one of the most remarkable men in the Transvaal.
"Is that you, Captain Niel?" roared out the stentorian voice. "The
natives said you were coming. A welcome to you! I am glad to see
you--very glad. Why, what is the matter with you?" he went on as the
Zulu Mouti ran to help him off his horse.

"Matter, Mr. Croft?" answered John; "why, the matter is that your
favourite ostrich has nearly killed me and your niece here, and that I
have killed your favourite ostrich."
Then followed explanations from Bessie, during which he was helped
off his horse and into the house.
"It serves me right," said the old man. "To think of it now, just to think
of it! Well, Bessie, my love, thank God that you escaped--ay, and you
too, Captain Niel. Here, you boys, take the Scotch cart and a couple of
oxen and go and fetch the brute home. We may as well have the
feathers off him, at any rate, before the aasvogels (vultures) tear him to
bits."
After he had washed himself and tended his injuries with arnica and
water, John managed to limp into the principal sitting-room, where
supper was waiting. It was a very pleasant room, furnished in European
style, and carpeted with mats made of springbuck skins. In the corner
stood a piano, and by it a bookcase, filled with the works of standard
authors, the property, as John rightly guessed, of Bessie's sister Jess.
Supper went off pleasantly enough, and after it was over the two girls
sang and played whilst the men smoked. And here a fresh surprise
awaited him, for after Bessie, who apparently had now almost
recovered from her mauling, had played a piece or two creditably
enough, Jess, who so far had been nearly silent, sat down at the piano.
She did not do this willingly, indeed, for it was not until her patriarchal
uncle had insisted in his ringing, cheery voice that she should let
Captain Niel hear how she could sing that she consented. But at last she
did consent, and then, after letting her fingers stray somewhat aimlessly
along the chords, she suddenly broke out into such song as John Niel
had never heard before. Her voice, beautiful as it was, was not what is
known as a cultivated voice, and it was a German song, therefore he did
not understand it, but there was no need of words to translate its burden.
Passion, despairing yet hoping through despair, echoed in its every line,
and love, unending love, hovered over the glorious notes--nay,
possessed them like a spirit, and made them his. Up! up! rang her wild
sweet voice, thrilling his nerves till they answered to the music as an

Aeolian harp answers to the winds. On went the song with a divine
sweep, like