LITMIR.BIZ

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room was comfortably furnished; almost everything in it appeared to be home-made. There were no blankets on the bed, their place being taken by karosses made of the skins of the fat-tailed sheep. Unlike the other rooms, this one had no ceiling, the thatch being visible between the rafters. Upon the rafters lay a coffin, evidently, from its size, built to accommodate old Sarei’s prospective mortal remnants.

      I grasped the old man’s outstretched hand. He retained mine for a few seconds, feeling first the palm, then the back and lastly the fingers carefully over. I looked the while into his eyes; these were clear and blue and gave no suggestion of blindness.

      “You work your brain too much and your body too little,” said he, dropping my hand. “Your mind travels without rest on an endless road.”

      I was somewhat startled; it was so unexpected and at the same time so tersely true.

      “It is clear,” I replied, “that you do not need eyes to see. My brain is busy turning out barren thoughts, like a mill grinding sawdust.”

      “When young, one runs after thoughts; but when you grow old the thoughts will come and wait, like servants, until you wish to use them.”

      “My thoughts are less like servants than like dogs hunting me to death,” I replied.

      “A dog will obey if he be trained; if you do not train him he will bite you.”

      “Yes, I can see that. But if you have let them grow big without using the whip—what then?”

      “Watch and pray; call the Lord to your help and He will deliver you. When I was young I rioted in my pride; I called my strength my own and told God I could do without His help. Then He struck me with blindness, and I repented. For a season the thoughts I had bred tore at my soul, but I slew them after bitter combat. Now others of a different kind have taken their place.”

      It was amazing to find such philosophy in one of a class usually supposed to be both ignorant and illiterate. Here was one who had solved the Great Enigma, who was at peace with himself, who apparently thought strongly and with originality, and who, although stricken with a misfortune that might well bring despair, was probably happier than nineteen-twentieths of his fellow-creatures. There was no trace of self-righteousness about the man. The unmistakable seal of peace was upon him.

      “If I could feel as you do,” I replied, “I should not care whether I lived or died; I should know no fear. Can you not teach me how to put the house of my mind in order and to train my dogs?”

      “That none can teach but yourself—your own soul—and then only when God touches you with His finger.”

      Shortly afterwards the family assembled for worship in the old man’s room. He recited one of the Psalms and then offered up a prayer. His language was very simple, but it breathed the most fervent Christianity. The servants of the household were present. Then, after bidding old Sarei “Good-night,” all left the room but his son and the little Hottentot. These remained to assist him to bed.

      It was evidently the practice of the household to retire early, so I went to my room at once. It was large and lofty. The snowy linen upon the great feather-bed looked tempting, and I felt a deep sense of satisfaction in sinking into the downy abyss.

      My window looked out upon the valley; through the wide-open casement I could see the black rampart of mountain crested with twinkling stars. Here, if anywhere, one could realise—

      “The silence that is in the starry sky,

       And sleep that is among the lonely hills.”

      Shortly after daylight a most delicious cup of coffee was brought to my bedside; it was keen enjoyment just to lie and inhale the aroma, but the aroma was nothing to the taste.

      Soon a weak shaft of sunlight touched the wall above my head, so I sprang up and went to the open window. The beauty of the scene was incomparable. To the southward arose the stark, rugged mountain mass which formed the culmination of the range—its topmost crags touched with gold; all else was clothed in a diaphanous purple veil; every hollow was brimming with mystery. Here and there a faint wreath of mist clung like departing sleep to the eyelids of the mountain. As I looked, the sun climbed through a gap, and straightway the lesser summits grew golden.

      Not a breath of the slightest breeze disturbed the sacred stillness. The only sound was the faint murmur from the distant stream foaming over the grey boulders at the bottom of the valley. From the stream the hillside sloped steeply up, dotted thickly with dark green trees. But an undercurrent of very real sadness flowed through all this beauty. I could not forget the blind man in the next room; did he ever recall this scene—which he must often have gazed upon—and repine? Although his peace seemed to be as deep and changeless as the vault of the blue sky, the memory must, surely, often strain his heartstrings.

      I leant upon the window-sill and looked to the right. There I saw Gertrude standing, her dead-gold hair unbound, her pure, calm visage bathed in the sunlight. She appeared to gaze at the sun as unconcernedly as an eagle might have done. She afforded the one touch necessary to complete the harmony of the scene.

      After an early breakfast I took my rifle and, accompanied by the Hottentot guide, went forth in search of game. The mountain was so steep that our ponies could only ascend by scarping, zigzag fashion. It took nearly two hours to reach the central plateau lying between the two highest summits of the range.

      From here the view was superb; billow after billow seemed to surge away in every direction—each crested with a fringe of cliff like the foam of a breaking wave. Every now and then a faint cloud-wreath would form around one or other of the higher crags, then float away to leeward like a tress, until dissolved by the sunshine.

      Having shot a couple of rheboks, I felt disinclined for further slaughter, so laid myself down among the late mountain flowers and basked in the light. The heat was deliciously tempered by a steadily-streaming breeze. Thus were spent several hours.

      It was only when the sun had sunk considerably in to the afternoon that I regretfully began to think of returning to the homestead. The ponies were grazing a short distance away, so after telling my after-rider to replace the saddles, load up the game and make his way homeward by the nearest available course, I took a bee-line on foot for the farmhouse.

      My course led across the head of a gorge, the sides of which were steep, grassy slopes, interspersed with patches of moraine. Here and there immense angular fragments of stone—which had, ages back, slid down from the crowning cliffs—protruded from the earth. Passing one of these, something peculiar in its appearance caught my eye, so I approached more closely. Upon its flat face the following inscription had been roughly cut:—

      “HIER WORDT EEN ZONDENAAR BEKEERD.”

      Having thought much of old Sarei during the day, I involuntarily connected him with the strange inscription—“Here a sinner became converted.” The letters were deeply carved into the stone, and the way the dents were overgrown with lichen showed that the carving had taken place many years ago. Somehow the legend seemed quite congruous; if a special revelation ever came from the Divine to the human, what place could be more appropriate for its happening than this—the undefiled heart of the everlasting hills, where the hand of man had as yet wrought no desecration? Like Moses before the Burning Bush, I felt as though standing upon holy ground.

      I reached the homestead just as dusk was setting in. After supper I again went to pay my respects to old Sarei. He greeted me with cheerfulness—

      “Well, they say no Englishman can shoot, yet I hear you killed two bucks to-day.”

      “Yes,” I replied, “I killed two bucks, and I almost wish I had not done so. It seemed to be a sin to shed blood in such a place and on such a day.”

      Old Sarei turned his mild, inquiring, blind eyes upon me, but made no reply. We sat and smoked in silence for a while.

      “Can you tell me anything about an inscription I saw upon a rock to-day—‘Here a sinner became converted’?”

      “Yes,”

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