roadway to the rich interior of Africa, nominated Fuller Ballantyne Her Majesty's Consul, and financed an elaborate expedition to open this artery of trade and civilization to the interior.
Fuller had returned to England to write his book, but during this period of reunion with his family, they saw almost as little of the great man as when he was in the depths of Africa. When he was not locked in Uncle William's study writing the epic of his travels, he was in London hounding the Foreign Office or the directors of the L. M. S. And when he had gained from these sources all that he needed for his return to Africa, then he was travelling about England lecturing in Oxford or preaching the sermon from the pulpit of Canterbury cathedral.
Then abruptly he was gone again, taking their mother with him. Robyn would always remember the feel of his spiky whiskers as he stooped to kiss his daughter farewell for the second time. In her mind her father and God were somehow the same person, all-powerful, allrighteous, and her duty to them was blind, accepting adoration.
Years later, when the missionary sites chosen by Fuller Ballantyne had proved to be death-traps, when the surviving missionaries had stumbled back to civilization, their fellows and spouses dead of fever and famine, killed by wild animals and by the wilder men whom they had gone out to save, then Fuller Ballantyne's star had begun to fade.
The Foreign Office expedition to the Zambezi river, led by Ballantyne, had faltered and failed upon the terrible rapids and deep falls of the Kaborra-Bossa gorge through which the Zambezi crashed and roared, dropping a thousand feet in twenty miles. Men wondered how Ballantyne, who had claimed to have followed the Zambezi down from its source to the sea, could have not known of such a formidable obstacle to his dreams. They began to question his other claims, while the British Foreign Office, parsimonious as ever, was considerably miffed by the waste of funds on the abortive expedition and withdrew the title of Consul.
The London Missionary Society wrote another of their lengthy letters to Fuller Ballantyne, requesting him in future to confine his activities to the conversion of the heathen and the propagation of God's word.
Fuller Ballantyne had replied by posting them his resignation, thereby saving the society 150 per annum. At the same time he had penned a letter of encouragement to his two children urging them to show fortitude and faith, and sent the manuscript, in which he vindicated his conduct of the expedition, to his publisher. Then he had taken the few guineas that remained from the huge royalties that his other books had earned and had disappeared once more into the interior of Africa. That was eight years previously and no one had heard from him since.
Now here was this man's daughter, already nearly. as notorious as the father, demanding admission to the Society as a working missionary.
Once again, Uncle William had come to Robyn's aid, dear mild bumbling Uncle William with his thick pebble spectacles and wild grey bush of untarnable hair. With her he had gone before the board of directors and reminded them that Robyn's grandfather, Robert Moffat, was one of the most successful of all African missionaries, with tens of thousands of conversions to his credit.
indeed the old man was still working at Kuruman and had only recently published his dictionary of the Sechuana language.
Robyn herself was dedicated and devout, with medical training and a good knowledge of African languages taught her by her now deceased mother, daughter of the same Robert Moffat, and by virtue of the reverence with which the said Robert Moffat was regarded by even the most warlike African king, Mzilikazi of the Ndebele, or as some people called them, the Matabele, the granddaughter would find immediate acceptance amongst the tribes.
The directors had listened stonily.
Then Uncle William had gone on to suggest that Oliver Wicks, the editor of the Standard who had championed the girl against the attempt by the governors of St. Matthew's Hospital to deprive her of her medical qualification, would be interested in their reasons for refusing her application to the Society.
The directors sat up and listened with great attention, conferred quietly and accepted Robyn's application. They had then seconded her to another missionary movement who in turn sent her to the industrial slums of northern England.
It was her brother Zouga who had found the way back to Africa for both of them.
He had returned from India on leave, a man of considerable achievement, already a major in the Indian army, promotion that he had won in the field, with the reputation of being a soldier and military administrator of great promise for one so young.
Despite this, Zouga was every bit as dissatisfied with his lot as was Robyn. Like their father, they were both lone wolves, responding badly to authority and regimentation. In spite of the promising start to his military career, Zouga recognized the fact that he had already made powerful enemies in India, and he had begun to doubt that his future lay on that continent. Like Robyn, he was still a searcher, and they had greeted each other after the parting of years with a warmth that they had seldom displayed during their childhood.
Zouga took her to dinner at the Golden Boar. It was such a change from Robyn's daily surroundings that she accepted a second glass of claret and became gay and sparkling. By God, Sissy, you really are a pretty thing, you know, he had told her at last. He had taken to swearing now, and though it had shocked her at first, she had grown accustomed to it quickly enough. She had heard a lot worse in the slums where she worked. 'You are too good to spend your life amongst those ghastly crones.'
It changed the mood between them instantly, and she was able at last to lean close to her brother and pour out all her frustrations. He listened sympathetically, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand so that she went on quietly but with utter determination.
Zouga, I have to get back to Africa. I'll die if I don't.
I just know it. I will shrivel up and die. 'Good Lord, Sissy, why Africa? 'Because I was born there, because my destiny is there and because Papa is there, somewhere. 'I was born there also. ' Zouga smiled, and when he did so it softened the harsh line of his mouth. 'But I don't know about my destiny. I wouldn't mind going back for the hunting, of course, but as for Father, don't you often think that Papa's main concern was always Fuller Ballantyne? I cannot imagine that you still harbour any great fatherly love for him. 'He is different from other men, Zouga, you cannot judge him by the usual yardstick. 'There are many who might agree with that, Zouga murmured drily. 'At the L. M. S. and at the Foreign Office but as a father? 'I love him! she said defiantly. 'After God, I love him best. He killed mother, you know. ' Zouga's mouth hardened into its usual grim line. 'He took her out to the Zambezi in fever season and he killed her as certainly as if he'd put a pistol to her head.'
Robyn conceded after a short, regretful silence, 'He was never a father nor a husband, but as a visionary, a blazer of trails, as a torchbearer.. .'
Zouga laughed and squeezed her hand. Really, Sissy! 'I have read his books, all his letters, every one he ever
