Hastily we got down from the kartel and went towards her. She was beyond the fire, and her figure was well-nigh lost in the gloom of night. We could just see her white _kopje_, and an arm waving frantically. It was a terrible and uncanny scene. There stood the woman, screaming in wild and excited tones at something beyond--what we could not see, and shivered even to imagine. 'Yes,' she cried, 'you come here to frighten me, Dirk Starreberg. I feared you not in life; I fear you not in death. I slew you, and I would slay you again. But I know why you walk thus through the veldt, and come seeking to drive me mad, night after night. To-morrow--now that I can trek--I will come and bury your bones, and you may rest quiet if you can. Trouble me no more, I say--begone!'

"Angus and I could stand it no longer, sick with horror though we were.

"'Come back to your wagon, Vrouw Starreberg,' I called out 'You are dreaming. Go to rest again!'

"Still glaring in front of her, the woman stepped back till she had met our advance. I am bound to say that I looked, and Angus looked, with terrified eyes, but saw nothing of what she saw or thought she saw. We took the poor mad creature's arms. She was trembling and wet--literally bathed in perspiration. What the tension must have been if this sort of thing had been going on sight after night, I shuddered even to think of.

We took her to her wagon and gave her a strong dose of brandy and water, and presently she fell into heavy sleep. Then Angus and I got down our karosses, rekindled a roaring fire, and sat smoking by the blaze for the rest of that sight. Scared as I was, I believe I dozed once or twice, and Angus always swears, to this day, that he once saw the figure of Dirk Starreberg pa.s.s within the firelight fifty yards away. He woke me, but it had gone. The cattle were uneasy and disturbed again, and our Kaffirs, who had heard the vrouw talking, as they said, at a spook, lay huddled together under our wagon. It was uncanny, devilish uncanny, I can tell you, that intangible horror about the camp.

"Well, the rest of my story is short. Vrouw Starreberg was moving before dawn, and insisted that we must trek back to the old camp and bury the skeleton. We--fearing more horrors--said it could not be done, and that we should at once quit the bush and strike directly for the road. She then utterly refused to leave her wagon unless we did as she asked. We seriously thought of taking her by force, but she was a strong, powerful woman, her mind was already unhinged, and we feared the consequences of a struggle. And so, very reluctantly, we agreed to humour her and give her her wish. It was a ghastly business; we only prayed to get it quickly over.

"At earliest streak of daylight we were in-spanned, and all day travelled steadily back towards the scene of Dirk's tragical ending.

That night, strange to say, nothing happened to disturb us; everything pa.s.sed quietly. We trekked again all next day, and halted for the night some three miles short of 'the skeleton outspan,' as we called it. Our reason for this was that we hoped the burial might be quietly accomplished in the bright sunshine of next morning, and the woman got well away, before nightfall, on the homeward journey. Vrouw Starreberg, I noticed, was restless and excited, but she made no objection. Again, I noticed that she still carried her Bible tightly clasped under the left arm. The vrouw lay in our wagon; Angus and I sleeping by the fire again. We were dog-tired, and slept soundly until roused, just as daylight broke, by our wagon-driver, a Griqua named Albrecht. The man was looking very strangely. 'Baas,' he said, 'the vrouw is not there,'

(pointing to the wagon); 'she went in the night. I heard her whispering, and I looked from where I was lying, and there she was, beyond the firelight, following a man--a Dutchman, I think--or a spook, I don't know which, towards the murderer's outspan (_de mordenaar's outspan to_). I was frightened, Baas, and I dared not move. There is her spoor; but the man's spoor I cannot see.'

"We sprang to our feet and went straight to the wagon; the fore-clap was pulled aside; the kartel was empty. Yes, she had gone; and our hearts were sick with a nameless fear. Taking Albrecht with us, we saddled up at once, and spoored the vrouw along the track towards the old outspan.

And there, surely enough, we found her, stone-dead by the side of the skeleton.

"There was no mark upon her, but in her face was the most awful look of horror and of fright that I ever saw upon the countenance of the dead.

I believe she had died of sheer terror, and of nothing else. What had happened in those silent, terrible night hours--by what ghastly agency she had been dragged to the scene of the tragedy; how the end had actually come, G.o.d only knows.

"We were but too anxious to get away from this dreadful place after such events. We buried the body and skeleton together, and trekked out as fast as the oxen could travel, never stopping till we had struck the road and reached Scio Pans.

"That, gentlemen, is my solitary experience of spooks. I never want to have another. I was a scoffer before; I am a believer now. And if you told me that in the bush I speak of there were now standing ready for me, as a free gift, two buck-wagons loaded up with ivory--why, I should decline the offer.

"Never would I be induced to enter that veldt again!"

CHAPTER FOUR.

THE PROFESSOR'S b.u.t.tERFLY.

Quite the most remarkable feature of an April meeting of the Entomological Society in 1880 something was the production, by Professor Parch.e.l.l, F.Z.S., F.L.S., one of the oldest and most enthusiastic members of the Society, of a new and remarkable species of _Achraea_ hitherto quite unknown to science. The Professor was radiant and suffused with happiness. He had long been an ardent collector in England and Europe; but only recently had he turned his footsteps to the far-off lands south of the equator. It had been the dream of his life.

And now, having lately resigned his chair at Cambridge, at the age of sixty, at his first essay in Cape Colony, a region fairly well-known to entomologists, he had gratified his heart's desire, and discovered a species.

The new b.u.t.terfly, which, it appeared, from a paper read by the Professor, had been found in some numbers, but within a very limited area--a mere speck of country--was shown in a carefully constructed case. There were sixteen specimens; and it was settled that the b.u.t.terfly was to be known to science as _Achraea Parch.e.l.li_, thus perpetuating the Professor and his discovery to the ages yet unborn.

The one particularity which marked the insect out from among its fellows was very striking. Upon the upper side of the hind-wings, right in the centre, there appeared a complete triangular s.p.a.ce of silver, evenly bordered by circular black markings. This peculiarity, which was shared by male and female alike, was very beautiful and very marked; and the enthusiastic collectors gathered at the Society's meeting were, as the box of specimens was pa.s.sed from hand to hand, all delighted with the new treasure. As for the Professor himself, never, except perhaps in that supreme moment when he had discovered within his net this new wonder, had he experienced such a glow of rapture and of triumph.

Amongst the Fellows of the Society met this evening sat Horace Maybold, a good-looking young man of six-and-twenty, who, having some private means, and an unquenchable thirst for the collection of b.u.t.terflies, spent most of his time in going to and fro upon the earth in search of rare specie, Horace had travelled in many lands, and had made a good many discoveries well-known to his brethren; and quite recently he had turned his attention to the _Achraeinae_, the very family in which Professor Parch.e.l.l had made his mark. The new b.u.t.terfly interested him a good deal. Naturally he at once burned to possess it in his own collection, and, after the meeting broke up, he approached the Professor and sounded him on the subject. In his paper read to the Society that gentleman had rather vaguely, described the habitat of the new species as "in the Eastern Province of Cape Colony, in a small and compact area within fifty miles of the east bank of the Sunday's River." But it appeared very quickly that the Professor for the present was unwilling to part with any of his specimens--even for an adequate consideration-- or to impart the exact locality in which the species was to be found.

Horace had rather reckoned upon this, but he was none the less a little chagrined at the old gentleman's closeness.

"No, my dear sir," had replied the Professor to his inquiries, "I can't part with any of my specimens, except to the Natural History Museum, to which I intend to present a pair. As for the precise habitat, I intend--ahem!--for the present to reserve that secret to myself. It is a pardonable piece of selfishness--or shall I term it self-preservation?--you, as a collector, must admit I intend to renew my acquaintance with the spot towards the beginning of next winter--that is the summer of the Cape. When I have collected more specimens, I may publish my secret to the world--hardly before."

Horace looked keenly at the face of the clean, pink and white old gentleman before him. There was no compromise in the set of the firm lips, or the blue eyes beaming pleasantly from behind the gold-rimmed spectacles; and so, with a polite sentence or two on his lips, but with some vexation at his heart, Horace Maybold turned away and went down to his club.

During the rest of that summer Horace was pretty much occupied, yet his memory never relaxed its grip of the Professor and his new b.u.t.terfly.

He had upon his writing-table the coloured plate from a scientific magazine, whereon was depicted that rare species; and as he refreshed his memory with it now and again, he determined more than ever to possess himself of specimens of the original. As far as possible he kept a sharp eye on the Professor's movements until the middle of September, when, happening to return to town from a few days' shooting, he ran across the old gentleman in Piccadilly.

"Well, Professor," said Horace, genially, "how goes the world with you?

I suppose you will be leaving England for the Cape again presently?"

"Yes," returned the old gentleman, who seemed in excellent spirits; "I expect to be sailing early in October. I want to have a fortnight or more in Cape Town at the Museum there. After that I propose proceeding to my old hunting-ground of last year."

"Where you discovered the new _Achraea_?" interposed Horace.

"Exactly," rejoined the old gentleman.

"I quite envy you, Professor," went on Horace. "I am in two minds about visiting South Africa myself this winter. The Orange River country hasn't been half ransacked yet, or Kaffraria either, for that matter. I haven't settled my plans; but I may have a turn at one or the other."

Now Kaffraria lies not very far to the east of the Professor's own collecting-ground, that sacred spot which held his great secret yet inviolate. The old gentleman's face changed perceptibly; a stiffer line or two appeared about his mouth; he looked with some suspicion into Horace's eyes, and said, rather shortly: "Ah, well! I am told the Orange River is an excellent and untried region. But, entomologically, South Africa upon the whole _is_ poor. My visits there are mainly for health and change. But I must be getting on; I have much to do.

Good-bye, Mr Maybold--good-bye!"

The Professor pa.s.sed on down St James's Street, and Horace sauntered along Piccadilly with a smile upon his face. The old gentleman had imparted something of his movements. Should he follow them up? Yes; he must have that _Achraea Parch.e.l.li_ somehow. He _would_ follow to the Eastern Province in November. It might be a trifle like poaching; but, after all, the world is not a b.u.t.terfly preserve for the one or two lucky ones. It lies open to every entomologist. And the old man had been so confoundedly close and secret. It would serve him right to discover his sacred treasure and make plain his mystery.

After watching the weekly pa.s.senger list in _South Africa_ for some time; Horace Maybold noted with interest that Professor Parch.e.l.l had sailed for Cape Town by a Donald Currie steamer in the first week of October. That fact ascertained, he at once secured a berth in a deck cabin of the _Norham Castle_ for the first week in November. The chase had begun, and already Horace felt a keen and amusing sense of adventure--adventure in little--springing within him.

After Madeira, when all had found their sea-legs, and the warm weather and smooth ocean appeared, things became very pleasant. Horace was not a man who quickly became intimate or much attached to people; but, almost insensibly, upon this voyage he found himself developing a strong friendship, almost an intimacy, with two ladies: one, Mrs Stacer, a pleasant, comely, middle-aged woman, perhaps nearer fifty than forty; the other, Miss Vanning, young, good-looking, and extremely attractive.

The two ladies, who were connected, if not relations, were travelling to Port Elizabeth to stay with friends in that part of the colony--where, exactly, was never quite made clear. Horace found them refined, well-bred, charming women, having many things in common with him; and the trio in a day or two's time got on swimmingly together.

By the time the line was reached, the vision of Rose Vanning, with her fair, wavy brown hair, good grey eyes, fresh complexion, and open, yet slightly restrained manner, was for ever before the mental ken of Horace May bold. Here, indeed, he told himself, was the typical English girl he had so often set before his mind; fresh, tallish, full of health, alert, vigorous in mind and body, yet a thorough and a perfect woman.

On many a warm tropical evening, as they sat together on deck, while the big ship drove her way through the oil-like ocean, sending shoals of flying-fish scudding to right and left of her, the two chatted together, and day by day their intimacy quickened. It was clear to Horace, and it began, too, to dawn upon Mrs Stacer, that Rose Vanning found a more than ordinary pleasure in his presence. By the time they were within a day of Cape Town, Horace had more than half made up his mind. He had gently opened the trenches with Mrs Stacer, who had met him almost half-way, and had obtained permission to call upon them in London--at a house north of Hyde Park, where they were living. At present they knew so little of him and his people, that he felt it would be unfair to push matters further. But he had mentioned Mrs Stacer's invitation to Rose Vanning.

"I hope, Miss Vanning," he said, "you won't quite have forgotten me when I come to see you--let me see--about next May. It's a very long way off, isn't it? And people and things change so quickly in these times."

He looked a little anxiously at the girl as he spoke; what he saw rea.s.sured him a good deal.

"If you haven't forgotten us, Mr Maybold," she said, a pretty flush rising as she spoke, "I'm quite sure we shall remember and be glad to see you. We've had such good times together, and I hope you'll come and see us soon. We shall be home in April at latest, and we shall have, no doubt, heaps of adventures to compare."

At Cape Town, Horace, after many inquiries, had half settled upon a journey along the Orange River. He had more than one reason for this.

Perhaps Rose Vanning's influence had sharpened his moral sense; who knows? At any rate, he had begun to think it was playing it rather low down upon the Professor, to follow him up and poach his preserves. He could do the Orange River this season, and wait another year for the _Achraea Parch.e.l.li_; by that time the old gentleman would probably have had his fill, and would not mind imparting the secret, if properly approached. And so the Orange River was decided upon, and in three or four days he was to start.

Upon the following evening, however, something happened to alter these plans. Half an hour before dinner, as he was sitting on the pleasant _stoep_ (veranda) of the International Hotel, enjoying a cigarette, a man whose face he seemed to know came up to him and instantly claimed acquaintance. "You remember me, surely, Maybold?" he said. "I was at Marlborough with you--in the same form for three terms."

Of course Horace remembered him; and they sat at dinner together and had a long yarn far into the night.

The upshot of this meeting was that nothing would satisfy John Marley--"Johnny," he was always called--but Horace should go round by sea with him to Port Elizabeth, and stop a few weeks at his farm, some little way up-country from that place. When he was tired of that, he could go on by rail from Cradock, and complete his programme on the Orange River.

"If you want b.u.t.terflies, my boy," said Johnny in his hearty way, "you shall have lots at my place--tons of them after the rains; and we'll have some rattling good shooting as well. You can't be always running about after 'bugs,' you know."

So, next day but one, Horace, little loth, was haled by his friend down to the docks again, and thence round to Port Elizabeth by steamer. From Port Elizabeth they proceeded, partly by rail partly by Cape cart and horses, in a north-easterly direction, until at length, after the best part of a day's journey through some wild and most beautiful scenery, they drove up late in the evening to a long, low, comfortable farmhouse, shaded by a big verandah, where they were met and welcomed by Marley's wife and three st.u.r.dy children. After allowing his friend a day's rest, to unpack his kit and get out his gunnery and collecting-boxes, Johnny plunged him into a vortex of sport and hard work. A fortnight had vanished ere Horace could cry off. He had enjoyed it all immensely; but he really must get on with the b.u.t.terflies, especially if he meant to go north to the Orange River.

Marley pretended to grumble a little at his friend's desertion of buck-shooting for b.u.t.terfly-collecting; but he quickly placed at his disposal a sharp Hottentot boy, Jacobus by name, who knew every nook and corner of that vast countryside, and, barring a little laziness, natural to Hottentot blood, proved a perfect treasure to the entomologist. The weather was perfection. Some fine showers had fallen, vegetation had suddenly started into life, and the flowers were everywhere ablaze. The bush was in its glory.

Amid all this regeneration of nature, b.u.t.terflies and insects were extremely abundant. Horace had a great time of it, and day after day added largely to his collection. One morning, flitting about here and there, he noticed a b.u.t.terfly that seemed new to him. He quickly had a specimen within his net, and, to his intense satisfaction, found it as he had suspected, a new species. It belonged to the genus _Eurema_, which contains but few species, and somewhat resembled _Eurema schaeneia_ (Trimen), a handsome dark-brown and yellow b.u.t.terfly, with tailed hind-wings. But Horace's new capture was widely different, in this respect: the whole of the under surface of the wings was suffused with a strong roseate pink, which mingled here and there with the brown, sometimes darker, sometimes lighter in its hue.

Here was a thrilling discovery--a discovery which, as Horace laughingly said to himself, would make old Parch.e.l.l "sit up" at their Society's meeting next spring. Horace captured eight more specimens--the b.u.t.terfly was not too plentiful--and then made for home in an ecstasy of delight.

A few days after this memorable event he set off with Jacobus for a farmhouse thirty miles away, to the owner of which--an English Afrikander--Marley had given him an introduction. As they pa.s.sed near the kloof where the new b.u.t.terfly had been discovered, which lay about half-way, Horace off-saddled for an hour, and picked up half a dozen more specimens of the new _Eurema_. These he placed with the utmost care in his collecting-box. At noon they saddled up and rode on again.

Towards three o'clock they emerged from the hills upon a shallow, open, gra.s.sy valley, girt about by bush and mountain scenery. This small valley was ablaze with flowers, and b.u.t.terflies were very abundant.