"Some might think that when I came here the good God was in the way of being avenged upon you for the keeping of that evil oath," I answered bitterly, glancing, in my turn, at the graves.
"Yes, they might, Allan," he replied without anger, for all his troubles had induced a reasonable frame of mind in him--for a while. "Yet, His ways are past finding out, are they not?"
Now my anger broke out, and, rising, I said:
"Do you mean, Mynheer Marais, that notwithstanding the love between us, which you know is true and deep, and notwithstanding that I alone have been able to drag both of you and the others out of the claws of death, I am never to marry Marie? Do you mean that she is to be given to a braggart who deserted her in her need?"
"And what if I do mean that, Allan?"
"This: although I am still young, as you know well I am a man who can think and act for himself. Also, I am your master here--I have cattle and guns and servants. Well, I will take Marie, and if any should try to stop me, I know how to protect myself and her."
This bold speech did not seem to surprise him in the least or to make him think the worse of me. He looked at me for a while, pulling his long beard in a meditative fashion, then answered:
"I dare say that at your age I should have played the same game, and it is true that you have things in your fist. But, much as she may love you, Marie would not go away with you and leave her father to starve."
"Then you can come with us as my father-in-law, Mynheer Marais. At any rate, it is certain that I will not go away and leave her here to starve."
Now I think that something which he saw in my eye showed him that I was in earnest. At least, he changed his tone and began to argue, almost to plead.
"Be reasonable, Allan," he said. "How can you marry Marie when there is no predicant to marry you? Surely, if you love her so much, you would not pour mud upon her name, even in this wilderness?"
"She might not think it mud," I replied. "Men and women have been married without the help of priests before now, by open declaration and public report, for instance, and their children held to be born in wedlock. I know that, for I have read of the law of marriage."
"It may be, Allan, though I hold no marriage good unless the holy words are said. But why do you not let me come to the end of my story?"
"Because I thought it was ended, Mynheer Marais."
"Not so, Allan. I told you that I had sworn that she should never marry you with my will. But when she is of age, which will be in some six months' time, my will counts no longer, seeing that then she is a free woman who can dispose of herself. Also I shall be clear of my oath, for no harm will come to my soul if that happens which I cannot help. Now are you satisfied?"
"I don't know," I answered doubtfully, for somehow all Marais's casuistry, which I thought contemptible, did not convince me that he was sincere. "I don't know," I repeated. "Much may chance in six months."
"Of course, Allan. For instance, Marie might change her mind and marry someone else."
"Or I might not be there to marry, mynheer. Accidents sometimes happen to men who are not wanted, especially in wild countries or, for the matter of that, to those who are."
"Allemachte! Allan, you do not mean that I--"
"No, mynheer," I interrupted; "but there are other people in the world besides yourself--Hernan Pereira, for example, if he lives. Still, I am not the only one concerned in this matter. There is Marie yonder.
Shall I call her?"
He nodded, preferring probably that I should speak to her in his presence rather than alone.
So I called Marie, who was watching our talk somewhat anxiously while she went about her tasks. She came at once, a very different Marie to the starving girl of a while before, for although she was still thin and drawn, her youth and beauty were returning to her fast under the influences of good food and happiness.
"What is it, Allan?" she asked gently. I told her all, repeating our conversation and the arguments which had been used on either side word for word, as nearly as I could remember them.
"Is that right?" I asked of Marais when I had finished.
"It is right; you have a good memory," he answered.
"Very well. And now what have you to say, Marie?"
"I, dear Allan? Why, this: My life belongs to you, who have twice saved this body of mine from death, as my love and spirit belong to you.
Therefore, I should have thought it no shame if I had been given to you here and now before the people, and afterwards married by a clergyman when we found one. But my father has sworn an oath which weighs upon his mind, and he has shown you that within six months--a short six months--that oath dies of itself, since, by the law, he can no longer control me. So, Allan, as I would not grieve him, or perhaps lead him to say and do what is foolish, I think it would be well that we should wait for those six months, if, on his part, he promises that he will then do nothing to prevent our marriage."
"Ja, ja, I promise that then I will do nothing to prevent your marriage," answered Marais eagerly, like one who has suddenly seen some loophole of escape from an impossible position, adding, as though to himself, "But God may do something to prevent it, for all that."
"We are every one of us in the hand of God," she replied in her sweet voice. "Allan, you hear, my father has promised?"
"Yes, Marie, he has promised--after a fashion," I replied gloomily, for somehow his words struck a chill through me.
"I have promised, Allan, and I will keep my promise to you, as I have kept my oath to God, attempting to work you no harm, and leaving all in His hands. But you, on your part, must promise also that, till she is of age, you will not take Marie as a wife--no, not if you were left alone together in the veld. You must be as people who are affianced to each other, no more."
So, having no choice, I promised, though with a heavy heart. Then, I suppose in order to make this solemn contract public, Marais called the surviving Boers, who were loitering near, and repeated to them the terms of the contract that we had made.
