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Schreiner, Olive, 1855-1920

"The Story of an African Farm, a novel"

' He is so useful to those
people who do. They may be as selfish and as sensual as they please, and,
between God's will and the devil's action, always have some one to throw
their sin on. But we, wretched unbelievers, we bear our own burdens: we
must say, 'I myself did it, I. Not God, not Satan; I myself!' That is the
sting that strikes deep. Waldo," she said gently, with a sudden and
complete change of manner, "I like you so much, I love you." She rested
her cheek softly against his shoulder. "When I am with you I never know
that I am a woman and you are a man; I only know that we are both things
that think. Other men when I am with them, whether I love them or not,
they are mere bodies to me; but you are a spirit; I like you. Look," she
said quickly, sinking back into her corner, "what a pretty pinkness there
is on all the hilltops! The sun will rise in a moment."
Waldo lifted his eyes to look round over the circle of golden hills; and
the horses, as the first sunbeams touched them, shook their heads and
champed their bright bits, till the brass settings in their harness
glittered again.
It was eight o'clock when they neared the farmhouse: a red-brick building,
with kraals to the right and a small orchard to the left. Already there
were signs of unusual life and bustle: one cart, a wagon, and a couple of
saddles against the wall betokened the arrival of a few early guests, whose
numbers would soon be largely increased.


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