If the letter had been posted in London as she
intended, and not at Basingstoke, I might have sought in vain for her
from then till Doomsday.
Ten days later, I was afloat on the Channel, bound for South Africa.
I always admired Hilda's astonishing insight into character and motive;
but I never admired it quite so profoundly as on the glorious day when
we arrived at Cape Town. I was standing on deck, looking out for the
first time in my life on that tremendous view--the steep and massive
bulk of Table Mountain,--a mere lump of rock, dropped loose from the
sky, with the long white town spread gleaming at its base, and the
silver-tree plantations that cling to its lower slopes and merge by
degrees into gardens and vineyards--when a messenger from the shore came
up to me tentatively.
"Dr. Cumberledge?" he said, in an inquiring tone.
I nodded. "That is my name."
"I have a letter for you, sir."
I took it, in great surprise. Who on earth in Cape Town could have
known I was coming? I had not a friend to my knowledge in the colony.
I glanced at the envelope. My wonder deepened. That prescient brain! It
was Hilda's handwriting.
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