II. Sowing the Wind

Silence prevailed in the room, except for the stitch, stitch, stitch, of a woman past the early bloom of womanhood who, at first stitching merely to pass away the time, now thrust the needle viciously into the embroidery, as if bent upon drawing some secret from the heart of the silken cords of life.

Presently she began to cry — hot burning tears which flowed from the passion of a heart which sought for rest and found none.

The curtains were down, and, save a glowing fire which a young student kept poking for no reason at all, the atmosphere of the room, as far as these two souls were concerned, was in strange keeping with the fog outside. They were man and wife, these two, at least before God. Of his own free will he had made love to her in far away Africa, and she had responded. But that was years ago. She, then, a buxom, lively lass, he an intelligent youth of the National University. She, now in England, only a nurse-maid ; he a successf *1 student, equipped and ready to carry all the world before him. Yes, they were man and wife, these two ; yet were they both ill at ease, and the young man would have willingly trusted himself to the tender mercies of the London fog. Yet he could not go. It was the law of compensation. He was fairly caught in his own meshes, and fate called upon him to face the music.

To do Tandor-Kuma justice, for that was the youth’s name, he had always intended to remain steadfast in his promise to Ekuba. But now the circumstances were changed, and he was doing his best to grapple with a most difficult situation. How could he, a professional man, used to all the luxuries of English life and habit, take back with him to start a career in Africa a nurse-maid? And what would he do, if asked to Government house? Thoughts such as these passed through his mind and made him obdurate to the pleading of the woman at his feet.

“ If you cry again, Ekuba, I shall leave you. You know it is too bad when I am doing all my best to amuse you in this horribly depressing weather.”

“ Oh, you needn’t trouble about that, Tandor- Kuma. I know you will leave me in any event. You don’t think I have lived all these years without knowing what you men are. You press weak women into your service, and when you have won their sympathy, for a dream you toss them away like this,” viciously kicking at the rug before the fire.

“ Now, Ekuba, try and be reasonable. You mustn’t think I am going to desert you. Bad as we men are, we have our ideals, and we never rest until we realise them.”

‘ ‘ Good ! That beats all the cant I have ever heard ! What is the next, pray ? And women have no ideals, of course ! Uncultured women do not feel, do not think ! They are just like clay in the hands of you men to mould — to make or mar.”

“ Now you are getting angry. Let us discuss this matter dispassionately.”

Instead of that, Ekuba burst into a paroxysm of grief which Tandor-Kuma found it hard to control. By degrees, she grew calmer, and, sticking a pin or two in her head-gear, she snatched up her wraps and stood ready to depart.

“ Tandor-Kuma,” she said, “ you have your ideals, and I have mine. Let us part like friends. I shall not give you the opportunity of dismissing me like a cur. Good-bye, for the present! It may be we shall meet again.” And before the young student could frame a suitable answer, Ekuba was gone.