40+ Adventure Novels & Lost World Mysteries in One Premium Edition. Henry Rider Haggard

lady, a sister of his father in England, he had resigned his position in the service; and after his short visit "home," as colonists always call the mother country, even when they have never seen it, intended to start on a big game-shooting expedition in the country between Secocoeni's country and Delagoa Bay.

      All this Ernest learned before the boat reached the harbour at St. Peter's Port, and they separated. He was, however, pleased when, having seen his luggage put into his room, he went into the little courtyard of the hotel and found Mr. Alston standing there with his son, and looking rather puzzled.

      "Hullo!" said Ernest, "I am glad that you have come to this hotel. Do you want anything?"

      "Well, yes, I do. The fact of the matter is, I don't understand a word of French, and I want to find my way to a place that my boy and I have come over here to see. If they talked Zulu or Sisutu, you see, I should be equal to the occasion; but to me French is a barbarous tongue, and the people about here all seem to talk nothing else. Here is the address."

      "I can talk French," said Ernest, "and, if you like, I will go with you. The /table d'hôte/ is not till seven, and it is not six yet."

      "It is very kind of you."

      "Not at all. I have no doubt that you would show me the way about Zululand, if ever I wandered there."

      "Ay, that I would, with pleasure;" and they started.

      It was with considerable difficulty that Ernest discovered the place Mr. Alston was in search of. Finally, however, he found it. It was a quaint out-of-the-way little street, very narrow and crooked, an odd mixture of old private houses and shops, most of which seemed to deal in soap and candles. At last they came to No. 36, a grey old house standing in its own grounds. Mr. Alston scanned it eagerly.

      "That is the place," he said; "she often told me of the coat-of-arms over the doorway--a mullet impaled with three squirrels; there they are. I wonder if it is still a school?"

      It turned out that it was still a school, and in due course they were admitted, and allowed to wander round the ancient walled garden, with every nook of which Mr. Alston seemed to be perfectly acquainted.

      "There is the tree under which she used to sit," he said sadly to his boy, pointing to an old yew-tree, under which there stood a rotting bench.

      "Who?" asked Ernest, much interested.

      "My dead wife, that boy's mother; she was educated here," he said, with a sigh. "There, I have seen it. Let us go."

      CHAPTER XV

       ERNEST GETS INTO TROUBLE

       Table of Content

      When Mr. Alston and Ernest reached the hotel, there was still a quarter of an hour to elapse before the /table d'hôte/, so after washing his hands and putting on a black coat, Ernest went down into the coffee-room. There was only one other person in it, a tall fair Frenchwoman, apparently about thirty years of age. She was standing by the empty fireplace, her arm upon the mantelpiece, and a lace pocket-handkerchief in her hand; and Ernest's first impression of her was that she was handsome and much over-dressed. There was a newspaper upon the mantelpiece, which he desired to get possession of. As he advanced for this purpose, the lady dropped her handkerchief. Stooping down he picked it out of the grate and handed it to her.

      "Mille remerciments, monsieur," she said, with a little curtsey.

      "Du tout, madame?"

      "Ah, monsieur parle français?"

      "Mais oui, madame."

      And then they drifted into a conversation, in the course of which Ernest learned that madame thought St. Peter's Port very dull; that she had been there three days with her friends, and was nearly dead /de tristesse/; that she was going, however, to the public dance at the "Hall" that night. "Of course monsieur would be there;" and many other things, for madame had a considerable command of language.

      In the middle of all this the door opened, and another lady of much the same cut as madame entered, followed by two young men. The first of these had a face of the commonplace English type, rather a good-humoured face; but when he saw the second, Ernest started, it was so like his own, as his would become if he were to spend half a dozen years in drinking, dicing, late hours, and their concomitants. The man to whom this face belonged was evidently a gentleman, but he looked an ill-tempered one, and very puny and out of health; at least so thought Ernest.

      "It is time for dinner, Camille," said the gentleman to madame, at the same time favouring Ernest with a most comprehensive scowl.

      Madame appeared not to understand, and made some remark to Ernest.

      "It is time for dinner, Camille," said the gentleman again, in a savage voice. This time she lifted her head and looked at him.

      "/Din-nare, dinnare!/ quest-que c'est que /din-nare?/"

      "/Table d'hôte/," said the gentleman.

      "O, pardon;" and with a little bow and most fascinating smile to Ernest, she took the gentleman's extended arm and sailed away.

      "Why did you pretend not to understand me?" Ernest heard him ask, and she saw her shrug her shoulders in reply. The other gentleman followed with his companion, and after him came Ernest. When he reached the /salle-à-manger/ he found that the only chair vacant at the table was one next to his friend of the /salon/. Indeed, had he thought of it, it might have struck him that madame had contrived to keep that chair vacant, for on his approach she gathered together the folds of her silk dress, which had almost hidden it, and welcomed him with a little nod.

      Ernest took the chair, and forthwith madame entered into a most lively conversation with him, a course of proceeding that appeared to be extremely distasteful to the gentleman on her right, who pished and pshawed and pushed away his plate in a manner that soon became quite noticeable. But madame talked serenely on, quite careless of his antics, till at last he whispered something to her that caused the blood to mount to her fair cheek.

      "Mais tais-toi, donc," Ernest heard her answer, and next moment--the subsequent history of our hero demands that the truth should be told--it was his turn to colour, for, alas! there was no doubt about it, he distinctly felt madame's little foot pressed upon his own. He took up his wine and drank a little to hide his confusion; but whether he had or had not the moral courage to withdraw from the situation, by placing his toes under the more chilly but safe guardianship of the chair-legs, history saith not; let us hope and presume that he had. But if this was so or not he did not get on very well with his dinner, for the situation was novel and not conducive to appetite. Presently Mr. Alston, who was sitting opposite, addressed him across the table.

      "Are you going to the dance here to-night, Mr. Kershaw?"

      To Ernest's surprise, the gentleman on the other side of madame answered, with an astonished look:

      "Yes, I am going."

      "I beg your pardon," said Mr. Alston, "I was speaking to the gentleman on your left."

      "Oh, indeed! I thought you said Kershaw."

      "Yes, I did; the gentleman's name is Kershaw, I think."

      "Yes," put in Ernest, "my name is Kershaw."

      "That is odd," said the other gentleman, "so is mine. I did not know that there were any other Kershaws."

      "Nor did I," answered Ernest, "except Sir Hugh Kershaw;" and his face darkened as he pronounced the name.

      "I am Sir Hugh Kershaw's son; my name is Hugh Kershaw," was the reply.

      "Indeed! Then we are cousins, I suppose; for I am his nephew, the son of his brother Ernest."

      Hugh Kershaw the elder did not receive this intelligence with even the moderate amount of enthusiasm that might have been expected; he simply lifted his scanty eyebrows, and said, "Oh, I remember, my uncle left a son;" then he turned and made some remark to the gentleman who sat next him that made