The Top of the World by Ethel May Dell (best book club books for discussion TXT) 📕

great longing to breathe the air of the _veldt_ was upon her. She wondered if she could possibly escape unseen.
Finally, she ventured out into the passage, and followed it to an open door that seemed to lead whither she desired to go. She fancied that it was out of sight of the two men on the _stoep_, but as she reached it, she realized her mistake. For there fell a sudden step close to her, and as she paused irresolute, Burke's figure blocked the opening. He stood looking at her, pipe in hand.
"So--you are up!" he said.
His voice was quite friendly, yet she was possessed by a strong feeling that he did not want her there.
She looked back at him in some embarrassment. "I hope you don't mind," she said. "I was only coming out for a breath of air."
"Why should I mind?" said Burke. "Come and sit on the _stoep_! My neighbour, Piet Vreiboom, is there, but he is just going."
He spoke the last words with great distinctness, and it occurred to her that he meant them to be overheard.
She hung back. "Oh, I don't think I will. I can't talk Dutch. Really I would rather----"
"He understands a little English," said Burke. "But don't be surprised at anything he says! He isn't very perfect."
He stood against the wall for her to pass him, and she did so with a feeling that she had no choice. Very reluctantly she moved out on to the wooden _stoep_, and turned towards the visitor. The orange of the sunset was behind her, turning her hair to living gold. It fell full upon the face of the man before her, and she was conscious of a powerful sense of repugnance. Low-browed, wide-nosed, and prominent of jaw, with close-set eyes of monkeyish craft, such was the countenance of Piet Vreiboom. He sat and stared at her, his hat on his head, his pipe in his mouth.
"How do you do, Mrs. Ranger?" he said.
Sylvia checked her advance, but in a moment Burke Ranger's hand closed, upon her elbow, quietly impelling her forward.
"Mr. Vreiboom saw you with me at Ritzen yesterday," he said, and she suddenly remembered the knot of Boer farmers at the hotel-door and the staring eyes that had abashed her.
She glanced up at Burke, but his face was quite emotionless. Only something about him--an indefinable something--held her back from correcting the mistake that Vreiboom had made. She looked at the seated Boer with a dignity wholly unconscious. "How do you do?" she said coolly.
He stretched out a hand to her. His smile was familiar. "I hope you like the farm, Mrs. Ranger," he said.
"She has hardly seen it yet," said Burke.
There was a slight pause before Sylvia gave her hand. This man filled her with distaste. She resented his manner. She resented the look in his eyes.
"I have no doubt I shall like it very much," she said, removing her hand as speedily as possible.
"You like to be--a farmer's wife?" questioned Piet, still freely staring.
She resented this question also, but she had to respond to it. "It is what I came out for," she said.
"You do not look like a farmer's wife," said Piet.
Sylvia stiffened.
"Give him a little rope!" said Burke. "He doesn't know much. Sit down! I'll get him on the move directly."
She sat down not very willingly, and he resumed his talk with Vreiboom in Dutch, lounging against the wall. Sylvia sat quite silent, her eyes upon the glowing sky and the far-away hills. In the foreground was a _kopje_ shaped like a sugar-loaf. She wished herself upon its summit which was bathed in the sunset light.
Once or twice she was moved to glance up at the brown face of the man who leaned between herself and the objectionable visitor. His attitude was one of complete ease, and yet something told her that he desired Piet's departure quite as sincerely as she did.
He must have given a fairly broad hint at last, she decided; for Piet moved somewhat abruptly and knocked out the ashes of his pipe on the floor with a noisy energy that made her start. Then he got up and addressed her in his own language. She did not understand in the least what he said, but she gave him a distant smile realizing that he was taking leave of her. She was somewhat surprised to see Burke take him unceremoniously by the shoulder as he stood before her and march him off the stoep. Piet himself laughed as if he had said something witty, and there was that in the laugh that sent the colour naming to her cheeks.
She quivered with impotent indignation as she sat. She wished with all her heart that Burke would kick him down the steps.
The sunset-light faded, and a soft dusk stole up over the wide spaces. A light breeze cooled her hot face, and after the lapse of a few minutes she began to chide herself for her foolishness. Probably the man had not meant to be offensive. She was certain Burke would never permit her to be insulted in his presence. She heard the sound of hoof-beats retreating away into the distance, and, with it, the memory of her dream came back upon her. She felt forlorn and rather frightened. It was only a dream of course; it was only a dream! But she wished that Burke would come back to her. His substantial presence would banish phantoms.
He did not come for some time, but she heard his step at last. And then a strange agitation took her so that she wanted to spring up and avoid him. She did not do so; she forced herself to appear normal. But every nerve tingled as he approached, and she could not keep the quick blood from her face.
He was carrying a tray which he set down on a rough wooden table near her.
"You must be famished," he said.
She had not thought of food, but certainly the sight of it cheered her failing spirits. She smiled at him.
"Are we going to have another picnic?"
He smiled in answer, and she felt oddly relieved, All sense of strain and embarrassment left her. She sat up and helped him spread the feast.
The fare was very simple, but she found it amply satisfying. She partook of Mary Ann's butter with appreciation.
"I can make butter," she told him presently. "And bake bread?" said Burke.
She nodded, laughing. "Yes, and cook joints and mend clothes, too. Who does your mending? Mary Ann?"
"I do my own," said Burke. "I cook, too, when Mary Ann takes leave of absence. But I have a Kaffir house boy, Joe, for the odd jobs. And there's a girl, too, uglier than Mary Ann, a relation of hers--called Rose, short for Fair Rosamond. Haven't you seen Rose yet?"
Sylvia's laugh brought a smile to his face. It was a very infectious laugh. Though she sobered almost instantly, it left a ripple of mirth behind on the surface of their conversation. He carried the tray away again when the meal was over, firmly refusing her offer to wash up.
"Mary Ann can do it in the morning," he said.
"Where is she now?" asked Sylvia.
He sat down beside her, and took out his pipe. "They are over in their own huts. They don't sleep in the house."
"Does no one sleep in the house?" she asked quickly.
"I do," said Burke.
A sudden silence fell. The dusk had deepened into a starlit darkness, but there was a white glow behind the hills that seemed to wax with every instant that passed. Very soon the whole _veldt_ would be flooded with moonlight.
In a very small voice Sylvia spoke at length.
"Mr. Ranger!"
It was the first time she had addressed him by name. He turned directly towards her. "Call me Burke!" he said.
It was almost a command. She faced him as directly as he faced her. "Burke--if you wish it!" she said. "I want to talk things over with you, to thank you for your very great goodness to me, and--and to make plans for the future."
"One moment!" he said. "You have given up all thought of marrying Guy?"
She hesitated. "I suppose so," she said slowly.
"Don't you know your own mind?" he said.
Still she hesitated. "If--if he should come back----"
"He will come back," said Burke.
She started. "He will?"
"Yes, he will." His voice held grim confidence, and somehow it sounded merciless also to her ears. "He'll turn up again some day. He always does. I'm about the only man in South Africa who wouldn't kick him out within six months. He knows that. That's why he'll come back."
"You are--good to him," said Sylvia, her voice very low.
"No, I'm not; not specially. He knows what I think of him anyhow." Burke spoke slowly. "I've done what I could for him, but he's one of my failures. You've got to grasp the fact that he's a rotter. Have you grasped that yet?"
"I'm beginning to," Sylvia said, under her breath.
"Then you can't--possibly--many him," said Burke.
She lowered her eyes before the keenness of his look. She wished the light in the east were not growing so rapidly.
"The question is, What am I going to do?" she said.
Burke was silent for a moment. Then with a slight gesture that might have denoted embarrassment he said, "You don't want to stay here, I suppose?"
She looked up again quickly. "Here--on this farm, do you mean?"
"Yes." He spoke brusquely, but there was a certain eagerness in his attitude as he leaned towards her.
A throb of gratitude went through her. She put out her hand to him very winningly. "What a pity I'm not a boy!" she said, genuine regret in her voice.
He took her hand and kept it. "Is that going to make any difference?" he said.
She looked at him questioningly. It was difficult to read his face in the gloom. "All the difference, I am afraid," she said. "You are very generous--a real good comrade. If I were a boy, there's nothing I'd love better. But, being a woman, I can't live here alone with you, can I? Not even in South Africa!"
"Why not?" he said.
His hand grasped hers firmly; she grasped his in return. "You heard what your Boer friend called me," she said. "He wouldn't understand anything else."
"I told him to call you that," said Burke.
"You--told him!" She gave a great start. His words amazed her.
"Yes." There was a dogged quality in his answer. "I had to protect you somehow. He had seen us together at Ritzen. I said you were my wife."
Sylvia gasped in speechless astonishment.
He went on ruthlessly. "It was the only thing to do. They're not a particularly moral crowd here, and, as you say, they wouldn't understand anything else--decent. Do you object to the idea? Do you object very strongly?"
There was something masterful in the persistence with which he pressed the question. Sylvia had a feeling as of being held down and compelled to drink some strangely paralyzing