Chapter 7

THE EPISODE OF THE STONE THAT LOOKED ABOUT IT

Hilda took me back with her to the embryo farm where she had pitched her
tent for the moment; a rough, wild place. It lay close to the main road
from Salisbury to Chimoio.

Setting aside the inevitable rawness and newness of all things
Rhodesian, however, the situation itself was not wholly unpicturesque. A
ramping rock or tor of granite, which I should judge at a rough guess to
extend to an acre in size, sprang abruptly from the brown grass of the
upland plain. It rose like a huge boulder. Its summit was crowned by the
covered grave of some old Kaffir chief--a rude cairn of big stones
under a thatched awning. At the foot of this jagged and cleft rock the
farmhouse nestled--four square walls of wattle-and-daub, sheltered by
its mass from the sweeping winds of the South African plateau. A stream
brought water from a spring close by: in front of the house--rare sight
in that thirsty land--spread a garden of flowers. It was an oasis in the
desert. But the desert itself stretched grimly all round. I could never
quite decide how far the oasis was caused by the water from the spring,
and how far by Hilda's presence.

"Then you live here?" I cried, gazing round--my voice, I suppose,
betraying my latent sense of the unworthiness of the position.

"For the present," Hilda answered, smiling. "You know, Hubert, I have no
abiding city anywhere, till my Purpose is fulfilled. I came here because
Rhodesia seemed the farthest spot on earth where a white woman just now
could safely penetrate--in order to get away from you and Sebastian."

"That is an unkind conjunction!" I exclaimed, reddening.

"But I mean it," she answered, with a wayward little nod. "I wanted
breathing-space to form fresh plans. I wanted to get clear away for
a time from all who knew me. And this promised best.... But nowadays,
really, one is never safe from intrusion anywhere."

"You are cruel, Hilda!"

"Oh, no. You deserve it. I asked you not to come--and you came in spite
of me. I have treated you very nicely under the circumstances, I think.
I have behaved like an angel. The question is now, what ought I to do
next? You have upset my plans so."

"Upset your plans? How?"

"Dear Hubert,"--she turned to me with an indulgent smile,--"for a clever
man, you are really TOO foolish! Can't you see that you have betrayed my
whereabouts to Sebastian? _I_ crept away secretly, like a thief in the
night, giving no name or place; and, having the world to ransack, he
might have found it hard to track me; for HE had not YOUR clue of the
Basingstoke letter--nor your reason for