THE BEAR

Once more Carew vouchsafed no reply, but Diana knew perfectly well that his lips tightened slightly, which signified that in some way she had hit him.

So pretending to be perfectly unaware of his non-responsive attitude, she ran airily on:

“Such a mad idea to travel hundreds of miles to see a few old remains of a doubtful edifice, built by Bantus! or is the plural Bantams?... I’m sure when you heard we were coming you wondered if you had better prepare a dwelling for us with padded walls. Now, didn’t you?...” and she looked up archly into his face.

“I understood Mr. Pym had come to this neighbourhood about some gold claims,” in cold, even tones.

“Yes, so he has. But we haven’t; at least Meryl hasn’t. She came to see Rhodesia. I don’t quite know what I’ve come for,” naively. “I was just wondering about it sitting on that wall.” And still he refused to be drawn. “You were looking very grave. Were you wondering what you are here for too?”

At that moment they reached a spot where the path divided into two: one fork leading to their tent and the other to the police camp. He stood still. “I believe I was considering the best solution to a native problem that has lately arisen.” He glanced towards their tent. “I see Mr. Stanley is helping to arrange your camp. Please let him know of anything you want. You will find him an excellent guide.” Then, scarcely looking at her, he saluted and walked away.

Diana returned to their tent feeling baffled and interested, half-inclined to be cross and half-inclined to laugh. And almost at the same time from the other direction came Meryl.

“O, it’s wonderful!” Meryl cried softly, with all her face aglow. “I never imagined anything half so fascinating; and I haven’t even seen the temple yet. Mr. Stanley, do stay and dine with us. Our cook-boy is quite good.”

“All except his soup,” put in Diana, “and he is only good at that in the sense of making it out of nothing. Sometimes I think he just boils a bit of the harness, or a corner of the tent-flap, or probably he makes it of rats if he can catch enough.”

Stanley looked at her with all his eyes and accepted the invitation eagerly, saying that he must first go back to the camp to change. Half an hour later he reappeared, looking quite smart in a white duck dress-jacket and a starched collar.

As they sat down to their alfresco meal, taken under the stars, with two lanterns suspended on sticks for lights, Diana suddenly said to him:

“Who is the bear?...”

“The bear?...” doubtfully.

“Yes. The bear who lives down there in the police camp, and rejoices in the name of Carew.”

Stanley, looking much amused, replied, “You must mean the Major; but you haven’t met him, have you?”

“I had the pleasure of being snarled at for about fifteen minutes this afternoon.”

Stanley laughed outright. “But where? He never said that he had seen you.”

“I don’t think he did see me. We merely met. Most of the time he either looked away or looked through me at something beyond. Still, he might have mentioned the meeting. I don’t feel flattered.”

“O, but that is nothing with Carew. He is an awfully silent chap.”

“Silent!... do you call it?... I never felt so ... so ... suppressed ... in my life. I thought he seemed rather inclined to bite me.”

“But where did you meet him, Di?...” asked Meryl, with interest.

“I was sitting on a wall in the temple, and he strode in and sat on another wall and stared at the ground ... and I stared at him ... and then he looked up and saw me ... and afterwards ...” she paused.

“Do you mean to say you sat perfectly still in front of him, and let him sit on, thinking himself alone, and then suddenly discover you?...”

“Yes. Why not?”

“Well, it wasn’t very fair on him.”

“Such nonsense, Meryl! That’s just what he seemed to think. Why shouldn’t I have a little romance if I want to? Such a dull, prosaic, commonplace old world as it is, generally speaking! I was having a lovely one. He was a great hunter who had lost his way, and dragged himself into the temple to die....”

“I thought you said he strode in?...”

“Don’t be silly; he wasn’t in the romance then. And I was a lovely, mysterious veiled lady who lived in the wilderness; but my veil happened to be thrown back, and when the dying hunter raised his eyes....” she stopped short.

“Well?...”

“That’s where the romance stopped, where he brutally spoilt it, because when he raised his eyes and saw me there he just scowled horribly.”

Stanley and Meryl laughed whole-heartedly, but Meryl told her it served her right because she was unfairly taking him at a disadvantage.

“But I did nothing of the kind. No one was at a disadvantage except myself.”

“I’m sure you weren’t,” Meryl remarked. “You never have been yet.”

“That’s where you are mistaken, my dear. When you are sitting in a lovely romance, gazing at a dreadfully handsome, distinguished-looking man who is the hero prince, and will presently discover you and smile divinely with all his soul in his eyes, and when instead an iron-visaged person looks up at you, and scowls and grows as black as thunder, I defy any woman not to find herself at a disadvantage.”

“Well, how did you get out of it?... What did you do?...”

The alluring twinkle shone suddenly in Diana’s eyes, and her lips twitched mischievously, as she replied:

“Well, I smiled divinely instead, and asked him to help me down from my high wall.”

“O, you are quite incorrigible,” laughed Meryl. “If I had been him I would have left you there to get down the same way you went up. But who is he?...” turning to Stanley. “He sounds rather interesting.”

“He’s a splendid fellow,” The Kid asserted, warmly. “We couldn’t stick him at first, Moore and I, but we soon found he only wants knowing. There’s some history attached to his being out here that no one quite knows; but he is a Fountenay-Carew and used to be in the Blues.”

“But how nice!” quoth Diana. “This is much more interesting than the old ruins. Is he rich and haughty, with lovely estates left to dishonest stewards, and all that?...”

“No very poor, I should imagine; nothing but his pay, anyhow. I believe when he was in the Blues an old uncle gave him a big allowance, but something happened, and he threw the money in the old chap’s face, and the old chap chucked him out.”

“And what happened to cause the quarrel?” asked Diana, all ears. “Why, he is more romantic than my prince!”

“That is what I fancy no one knows. Anyhow, in a country like this, no one asks. It isn’t quite the game, you see; and, anyhow, no one is interested now. He has done a tremendous lot for Rhodesia in one way and another, especially for the police force and natives; and we’re quite proud of him in our way for that, independent of his history.”

“How nice!” and Meryl’s eyes grew very soft. “It is a much finer reward than he would probably ever have gained in the Blues. I hope he thinks so?”

“I don’t suppose he cares either way. Certainly, he doesn’t appear to. He just loves the country, and seems only to want to stay here; but he never speaks even of that. Since he came here a few months ago he has done a lot of investigation work among the ruins privately. He is most awfully attached to them.”

Suddenly Diana asked, “I suppose he is pretty sick about two modern young women presuming to journey here to gaze at his treasure?”

Stanley coloured up, and Diana laughed. “O, don’t bother to deny it. I could feel it in my very bones when we met this afternoon.”

They finished their meal, and the boys moved the table away, so that they could sit round the glowing embers of a small fire, not so much for warmth as for the idea, and they lazed low in their chairs, talking idly and enjoying the cool, fragrant night.

And presently, not a propos of anything in particular, Diana said, quite aloud, “I guess The Bear is growling and scowling away nicely to-night down there in his den. I expect the first time we meet I shall forget and call him Bear Carew instead of Major Carew, and then he’ll shrivel me up with a glance.”

A sound beside them in the shadow made all look up suddenly, and the lamplight fell full upon Carew’s face as he stood near Diana’s chair.

Meryl rose hurriedly, blushing to the roots of her hair, while Stanley, secretly much amused, stood up likewise. Only the culprit remained unperturbed to outward seeming, glancing archly round.

“I’m afraid you overheard what I said ... Major Carew.... I’m quite ready to apologise, only ...”

“Please, don’t....” For one instant the coldly even voice had a tiny inflection in it, as of humour, though he stifled it immediately, as he turned to Meryl and said, gravely, with a bow, “Miss Pym, I think?... A letter has come for you from Edwardstown by runner. I brought it on in case you might wish to send a reply, and to enquire if you are quite comfortable here for the night.”

Meryl took it from him, thanking him in her low, sweet voice, and with a rather shy, upward glance. And Diana, in the shadow, saw the soldier suddenly flinch and suddenly grow sterner, standing in an attitude of almost unnatural rigidity.

“There is no heed to reply,” Meryl said, after reading her note. “It is only a message from father to say he may be detained until afternoon. Thank you so much for bringing it. Won’t you sit down? Can I offer you anything? I’m afraid there is not much choice. Father does not like luxuries in the wilderness, and we only carry whisky.”

“No, thank you.” The tones were even again now, and he made no movement towards a chair. “Have you everything you need for the night? I hope Mr. Stanley has made himself very useful?”

“He has been splendid. I am only afraid we have tired him out. Won’t you sit down?” and she shyly motioned to a chair.

“Thank you. I’m afraid I must get back. I have some despatches to write. Would you like a police-boy to keep guard here all night? There is nothing whatever to fear, but if it would add to your comfort?...”

“O no, thank you,” warmly. “We are not in the least nervous. I think there are no lions very near,” with a little laugh.

Diana, lying back in her chair, had scarcely taken her eyes off the tall soldier, though she watched him covertly, and without seeming to; and her quick brain perceived dimly that his aloof attitude was partly a mask which had become a habit, and that, however much he suppressed her, there was nothing whatever repellant about his chilly reserve. And then, suddenly, the little mischievous devil possessed her again, and she longed to try her arts upon him, just to see what happened, and to show him she was not seriously in the least afraid of him.

And no sooner had Meryl remarked that there were no lions near them, than she could not for the life of her help murmuring, “No lions, only bears.”

Again there was an instant’s answering gleam in Carew’s eyes, but he only smiled very slightly, and said, “Perhaps a bear’s growl, like a dog’s bark, is worse than his bite.”

It was as though something altogether too much for him was struggling with an inclination to relax just the least bit on Diana’s behalf and insistently conquering. With scarcely a second look at her he drew himself up tautly and said he must be going. Then he saluted gravely, said good night in a voice that included them all, and strode away through the darkness towards the police camp.

For a moment there was silence round the glowing embers.

“It was kind of him to say good night,” said Diana, sarcastically.

“What a fine-looking man!” commented Meryl.

“He is gruffer than usual to-night. Perhaps something has happened to upset him. I think I must be going also,” and Stanley reluctantly rose to follow his chief.

“Of course he is gruffer,” said Diana. “Two tiresome women have dared to journey to Zimbabwe to look at his ruins.”

In the darkness Carew strode on to where a light shone through the doorway of a hut, but his eyes were looking straight before him into the night, and had the expression of one whose thoughts were very far away. It had cost him an effort to go up there with the note, but he had made it purposely, determined to take in hand quickly that vein of weakness which threatened him at sight of Meryl. He would go up and speak to her and break the spell as quickly as possible, regaining his old fortitude. More particularly as he felt he could not now leave on the morrow, just as Mr. Pym was arriving expecting to find him there. Not that there appeared any reason why, just because he happened to be a millionaire, a police officer should be expected to wait on him, but no doubt the Administration had its own reason for showing special attention to a very rich man, and hoped for some benefit to the country thereby.

So he had taken the bull by the horns and strode up to the lamplit camp, where the travellers sat over the glowing embers; and, of course, he had heard Diana’s remark, and smiled grimly to himself, in no way displeased, for it suited him perfectly to be shunned as a bear. And then, keeping an iron control over himself, he had addressed Meryl, and looked straight into her face without flinching. The upward look, for one second, had shaken him, but the iron control held good, and before he left them he had spoken to her and looked at her with perfect calmness. The visit had been quite as he wished it, and for a few seconds, striding into the dark, he congratulated himself upon having so satisfactorily coped with a situation that had threatened to be a little difficult and had disturbed him so in the afternoon. Of course, she wasn’t really like Joan, except in a very general way. Just her height and figure and graceful movements and colouring; and, of course, the upward glance from confiding, thoughtful, blue-grey eyes that had humour lurking in them, and power and possibilities, and were so curiously framed in dark lashes in spite of light hair. In the midst of his self-congratulation he remembered the upward look again, and all in a moment once more it shook him. His gaze went blindly to the stars, and his mind flew back. Ah! how sweet Joan had been; how strong, how true! How she had stood by him through the beginning of the storm, turning the clouds to sunshine, making everything worth while! And then, the swift tragedy, the climax; the awful, awful days and nights that followed. How he had trodden the lonely Devon moors, blindly, passionately seeking a dead weariness of body that would dull his mind! How he had cursed the two men who drove in the final barb, and vowed never to see their faces again!

And then the little note-book he had found, in which Joan had inscribed some of her thoughts from time to time, and copied a few favourite passages from favourite authors! It had come to him like a voice from the dead Joan’s voice, calling to him to rise above his despair and prove himself still worthy of her. And out there on the moors at sunrise he had vowed that he would. Calmly, coldly, as an austere monk, he had laid down for ever the things that had made his life gay and joyous before, and prepared to turn his back on England and all that it held pertaining to him.

And now there is a distant wilderness and great southern stars, and mysterious, antique ruins, and a man who has grown strong and silent in aloofness, and won a sort of soothing content out of what he has given, seeking no reward.

Not, perhaps, that “renewing” a royal friend had spoken of fifteen years ago, for the contentment was void of hope and fear and joy, but balm upon the passionate, frantic bitterness and despair. But the “renewing” might come even yet, however much he scorned the thought; for forty-two is at the prime of years, and Life has a tender way of her own of healing when she will.

But to-night the memories are bitter, and the reopened wound throbs and burns. Carew strode up to his hut, with only a curt good night to the trooper, and when Stanley arrived back there was no light burning, only darkness and silence.