Swallow: A Tale of the Great TrekHaggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
History
Swallow: A Tale of the Great Trek
Haggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
Historical fiction; South Africa -- History -- Great Trek, 1836-1840 -- Fiction; Transvaal (South Africa) -- Fiction
Putting down my papers I ran from the room and at a single glance saw
that “the half-clad fellow” was none other than Ralph himself. In my
delight I lost my head, and forgetting everything except that my
betrothed was there before me, I sprang from the _stoep_ and, flying up
the little slope, I fell into his open arms. For a few seconds there
was silence, then from behind me rose a dreadful shriek followed by
cries for help. Freeing myself from Ralph’s embrace, I looked round to
see my great-grandmother hobbling towards us with uplifted stick. Ralph
put his eye-glass in his eye and looked at her.
“Who is this old lady, Suzanne?” he asked.
Before I could answer there came from her lips such a torrent of
indignation as I had never heard before.
“What is she saying?” asked Ralph again, who could not understand one
word of Dutch. “She seems put out.”
“It is my great-grandmother, the Vrouw Botmar,” I faltered, “and she
does not understand—I have never told her.”
“Ah! I see. Well, perhaps it would be as well to explain,” he answered,
which I accordingly began to do as best I could, feeling more foolish
than ever I did before. As I stammered out my excuses I saw her face
change, and guessed that she was no longer listening to me.
“Who does the man remind me of?” she said, speaking aloud, but to
herself. “Allemachter! his face is the face of that English lord who
visited us with the lawyer more than fifty years ago. Yes, his face is
the face of Ralph’s cousin. Girl,” she added, turning on me fiercely,
“tell me that man’s name.”
“His name is Lord Glenthirsk.”
“Lord Glenthirsk! The same face and the same name and _you_ in his
arms. Is God then making a sequel to the story which I finished this
day? Come,” and she hobbled back to the _stoep_. “Be seated,” she said
when we had reached it. “Now, speak; no, Suzanne, give me that kaross.”
I handed her the rug, wondering what she meant to do with it, and
disturbed as I was, nearly burst into hysterics when I saw her solemnly
place it upon Ralph’s knees saying, “The man has lost his garments and
will catch a chill.”
“Would you kindly explain,” said Ralph blandly, “what the old lady is
at now? Really I do not feel cold.”
“Your kilt surprises her,” I stammered; whereat he began to laugh.
“Silence,” she exclaimed in so vigorous a voice that he stopped at
once. “Now tell your story; no, I forgot, the man is not educated, do
you interpret for him, Suzanne.”
“First I have something to say for myself, grandmother,” I answered,
and in a few words I told that Ralph and I were affianced, though I had
said nothing of it, because I wished to give him opportunity to change
his mind if he should desire to do so.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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