THE TOP OF THE WORLD

By

Ethel M. Dell

Author of "The Way of an Eagle, " "The Lamp in the Desert. "

1920

I DEDICATE THIS BOOK

TO THE PRECIOUS MEMORY

OF MY MOTHER

"The years shall not outgo my thinking of thee"

 When you have reached the top of the world And only the stars remain, Where there is never the sound of storm And neither cold nor rain, Will it be by wealth, success, or fame That you mounted to your goal? Nay, I mount only by faith and love And God's goodness to my soul. 

 When you have reached the top of the world And the higher stars grow near, When greater dreams succeed our dreams And the lesser disappear, Will the world at your feet seem good to you, A vision fair to see? Nay, I look upward for one I love Who has promised to wait for me. 

 For to those who reach the top of the world The things of the world seem less Than the rungs of the ladder by which they climbed To their place of happiness, And I think that success and wealth and fame Will be the first to pall, For they reach their goal but by faith and love And God's goodness over all. 

CONTENTS

PART I

CHAPTER

 I. --ADVICE II. --THE NEW MISTRESS III. --THE WHIP-HAND IV. --THE VICTORY V. --THE MIRACLE VI. --THE LAND OF STRANGERS VII. --THE WRONG TURNING VIII. --THE COMRADE IX. --THE ARRIVAL X. --THE DREAM XI. --THE CROSS-ROADS XII. --THE STAKE

PART 11

 I. --COMRADES II. --THE VISITORS III. --THE BARGAIN IV. --THE CAPTURE V. --THE GOOD CAUSE VI. --THE RETURN VII. --THE GUEST VIII. --THE INTERRUPTION IX. --THE ABYSS X. --THE DESIRE TO LIVE XI. --THE REMEDY

PART III

 I. --THE NEW ERA II. --INTO BATTLE III. --THE SEED IV. --MIRAGE V. --EVERYBODY'S FRIEND VI. --THE HERO VII. --THE NET VIII. --THE SUMMONS IX. --FOR THE SAKE OF THE OLD LOVE X. --THE BEARER OF EVIL TIDINGS XI. --THE SHARP CORNER XII. --THE COST

PART IV

 I. --SAND OF THE DESERT II. --THE SKELETON TREE III. --THE PUNISHMENT IV. --THE EVIL THING V. --THE LAND OF BLASTED HOPES VI. --THE PARTING VII. --PIET VREIBOOM VIII. --OUT OF THE DEPTHS IX. --THE MEETING X. --THE TRUTH XI. --THE STORM XII. --THE SACRIFICE XIII. --BY FAITH AND LOVE

The Top of the World

PART I

CHAPTER I

ADVICE

"You ought to get married, Miss Sylvia, " said old Jeffcott, thehead gardener, with a wag of his hoary beard. "You'll need to beyour own mistress now. "

"I should hope I am that anyway, " said, Sylvia with a little laugh. 

She stood in the great vinery--a vivid picture against a backgroundof clustering purple fruit. The sunset glinted on her tawny hair. Her red-brown eyes, set wide apart, held a curious look, halfindignant, half appealing. 

Old Jeffcott surveyed her with loving admiration. There was no onein the world to compare with Miss Sylvia in his opinion. He lovedthe open English courage of her, the high, inborn pride of race. Yet at the end of the survey he shook his head. 

"There's not room for two mistresses in this establishment, MissSylvia, " he said wisely. "Three years to have been on your own, soto speak, is too long. You did ought to get married, Miss Sylvia. You'll find it's the only way. "

His voice took on almost a pleading note. He knew it was possibleto go too far. 

But the girl facing him was still laughing. She evidently felt noresentment. 

"You see, Jeffcott, " she said, "there's only one man in the world Icould marry. And he's not ready for me yet. "

Jeffcott wagged his beard again commiseratingly. "So you've nevergot over it, Miss Sylvia? Your feelings is still the same--afterfive years?"

"Still the same, " said Sylvia. There was a momentary challenge inher bright eyes, but it passed. "It couldn't be any different, "she said softly. "No one else could ever come anywhere near him. "

Jeffcott sighed aloud. "I know he were a nice young gentleman, " heconceded. "But I've seen lots as good before and since. Heweren't nothing so very extraordinary, Miss Sylvia. "

Sylvia's look went beyond him, seeming to rest upon something veryfar away. "He was to me, Jeffcott, " she said. "We just--fittedeach other, he and I. "

"And you was only eighteen, " pleaded Jeffcott, "You wasn'tfull-grown in those days. "

"No?" A quick sigh escaped her; her look came back to him, and shesmiled. "Well, I am now anyway; and that's the one thing thathasn't altered or grown old--the one thing that never could. "

"Ah, dear!" said old Jeffcott. "What a pity now as you couldn'ttake up with young Mr. Eversley or that Mr. Preston over the way, or--or--any of them young gents with a bit of property as might bejudged suitable!"

Sylvia's laugh rang through the vinery, a gay, infectious laugh. 

"Oh, really, Jeffcott! You talk as if I had only got to drop myhandkerchief for the whole countryside to rush to pick it up! I'mnot going to take up with anyone, unless it's Mr. Guy Ranger. Youdon't seem to realize that we've been engaged all this time. "

"Ah!" said old Jeffcott, looking sardonic. "And you not met forfive years! Do you ever wonder to yourself what sort of a man hemay be after five years, Miss Sylvia? It's a long time for a youngman to keep in love at a distance. It's a very long time. "

"It's a long time for both of us, " said Sylvia. "But it hasn'taltered us in that respect. "

"It's been a longer time for him than it has for you, " saidJeffcott shrewdly. "I'll warrant he's lived every minute of it. He's the sort that would. "

Sylvia's wide brows drew together in a little frown. She hadcaught the note of warning in the old man's words, and she did notunderstand it. 

"What do you mean, Jeffcott?" she said, with a touch of sharpness. 

But Jeffcott backed out of the vinery and out of the discussion atthe same moment. "You'll know what I mean one day, Miss Sylvia, "he said darkly, "when you're married. "

"Silly old man!" said Sylvia, taking up the cluster of grapes forwhich she had come and departing in the opposite direction. Jeffcott was a faithful old servant, but he could be veryexasperating when he liked. 

The gardens were bathed in the evening sunlight as she passedthrough them on her way to the house. The old Manor stood out greyand ancient against an opal sky. She looked up at it with lovingeyes. Her home meant very much to Sylvia Ingleton. Until the lastsix months she had always regarded it as her own life-longpossession. For she was an only child, and for the past threeyears she had been its actual mistress, though virtually she hadheld the reins of government longer than that. Her mother had beendelicate for as long as she could remember, and it was on accountof her failing health that Sylvia had left school earlier than hadbeen intended, that she might be with her. Since Mrs. Ingleton'sdeath, three years before, she and her father had lived alonetogether at the old Manor in complete accord. They had always beenclose friends, the only dissension that had ever arisen betweenthem having been laid aside by mutual consent. 

That dissension had been caused by Guy Ranger. Five years before, when Sylvia had been only eighteen, he had flashed like a meteorthrough her sky, and no other star had ever shone for her again. Though seven years older than herself, he was little more than aboy, full of gaiety and life, possessing an extraordinaryfascination, but wholly lacking in prospects, being no more thanthe son of Squire Ingleton's bailiff. 

The Rangers were people of good yeoman extraction, and Guy himselfhad had a public school education, but the fact of their positionwas an obstacle which the squire had found insuperable. Only hislove for his daughter had restrained him from violent measures. But Sylvia had somehow managed to hold him, how no one ever knew, for he was a man of fiery temper. And the end of if it had beenthat Guy had been banished to join a cousin farming in South Africaon the understanding that if he made a success of it he mighteventually return and ask Sylvia to be his wife. There was to beno engagement between them, and if she elected to marry in themeantime so much the better, in the squire's opinion. He had hadlittle doubt that Sylvia would marry when she had had time toforget some of the poignancy of first love. But in this he hadbeen mistaken. Sylvia had steadfastly refused every lover who hadcome her way. 

He had found another billet for old Ranger, and had installed adour Scotchman in his place. But Sylvia still corresponded withyoung Guy, still spoke of him as the man she meant to marry. Itwas true she did not often speak of him, but that might have beenthrough lack of sympathetic listeners. There was, moreover, abouther an innate reserve which held her back where her deepestfeelings were concerned. But her father knew, and she meant him toknow, that neither time nor distance had eradicated the image ofthe man she loved from her heart. The days on which his lettersreached her were always marked with a secret gladness, albeit theletters themselves held sometimes little more than affectionatecommentary upon her own. 

That Guy was making his way and that he would eventually return toher were practical certainties in her young mind. If his letterscontained little to support this belief, she yet never questionedit for a moment. Guy was the sort to get on. She was sure of it. And he was worth waiting for. Oh, she could afford to be patientfor Guy. She did not, moreover, believe that her father would holdout for ever. Also, and secretly this thought buoyed her up inrare moments of depression, in another two years--when she wastwenty-five--she would inherit some money from her mother. It wasnot a very large sum, but it would be enough to render herindependent. It would very greatly increase her liberty of action. She had little doubt that the very fact of it would help toovercome her father's prejudices and very considerably modify hisattitude. 

So, in a fashion, she had during the past three years come toregard her twenty-fifth birthday as a milestone in her life. Shewould be patient till it came, but then--at last--if circumstancespermitted, she would take her fate into her own hands, Shewould--at last--assume the direction of her own life. 

So she had planned, but so it was not to be. Her fate had alreadybegun to shape itself in a fashion that was little to her liking. Travelling with her father in the North earlier in the summer, shehad met with a slight accident which had compelled her to make theacquaintance of a lady staying at the same hotel whom she haddisliked at the outset and always sought to avoid. This lady, Mrs. Emmott, was a widow with no settled home. Profiting bycircumstances she had attached herself to Sylvia and her father, and now she was the latter's wife. 

How it had come about, even now Sylvia scarcely realized. Thewoman's intentions had barely begun to dawn upon her before theyhad become accomplished fact. Her father's attitude throughout hadamazed her, so astoundingly easy had been his capture. He wasinfatuated, possibly for the first time in his life, and noinfluence of hers could remove the spell. 

Sylvia's feelings for Mrs. Emmott passed very rapidly from disliketo active detestation. Her iron strength of will, combined with analmost blatant vulgarity, gave the girl a sense of being borne downby an irresistible weight. Very soon her aversion became such thatit was impossible to conceal it. And Mrs. Emmott laughed in herface. She hated Sylvia too, but she looked forward to subduing theunbending pride that so coldly withstood her, and for the sake ofthat she kept her animosity in check. She knew her turn would come. 

Meantime, she concentrated all her energies upon the father, andwith such marked success that within two months of their meetingthey were married. Sylvia had gone to that wedding in suchbitterness of soul and seething inward revolt as she had neverexperienced before. She did not know how she had come through it, so great had been her disgust. But that was nearly six weeks ago, and she had had time to recover. She had spent part of that periodvery peacefully and happily at the seaside with a young marriedcousin and her babies, and it had rested and refreshed her. Shehad come back with a calm resolve to endure what had to be enduredin a philosophical spirit, to face the inevitable without futilerebellion. 

Girt in an impenetrable armour of reserve, she braced herself tobear her burdens unflinching, so that none might ever guess how itgalled her. And on that golden evening in September she preparedherself with a smiling countenance to meet her enemy in the gate. 

They were returning from a prolonged honeymoon among the Italianlakes, and she had made everything ready for their coming. Thegreat west-facing bedroom, which her father had never occupiedsince her mother's death, had been redecorated and prepared as fora bride. Sylvia had changed it completely, so that it might neveragain look as it had looked in the old days. She had hated doingit, but it had been in a measure a relief to her torn heart. Itwas thus she rendered inviolate that inner sanctuary of memorywhich none might enter. 

As she passed along the terrace in the golden glow, the slightfrown was still upon her brow. It had been such a difficult time. Her one ray of comfort had been the thought of Guy, dear, faithfullover working for her far away. And now old Jeffcott had cast ashade even upon that. But then he did not really know Guy. No oneknew him as she knew him. She quickened her steps a little. Possibly there might be a letter from him that evening. 

There was. She spied it lying on the hall table as she entered. Eagerly she went forward and picked it up. But as she did so therecame the sound of a car in the drive before the open front door, and quickly she thrust it away in the folds of her dress. Thetravellers had returned. 

With a resolutely smiling face she went to meet them. 

CHAPTER II

THE NEW MISTRESS

"Here is our dear Sylvia!" said Mrs. Ingleton. 

She embraced the girl with much _empressement_, and then, beforeSylvia could reach her father, turned and embraced him herself. 

"So very nice to be home, dear!" she said effusively. "We shall bevery happy here. "

Gilbert Ingleton bestowed a somewhat embarrassed salute upon her, one eye on his daughter. She greeted him sedately the next moment, and though her face was smiling, her welcome seemed to be frozen atits source; it held no warmth. 

Mrs. Ingleton, tall, handsome, assertive, cast an appraising eyearound the oak-panelled hall. "Dear me! What severe splendour!"she commented. "I have a great love for cosiness myself. We mustscatter some of those sweet little Italian ornaments about, Gilbert. You won't know the place when I have done with it. I amgoing to take you all in hand and bring you up-to-date. "

Her keen dark eyes rested upon her step-daughter with a smile ofpeculiar meaning. Sylvia met them with the utmost directness. 

"We like simplicity, " she said. 

Mrs. Ingleton pursed her lips, "Oh, but there is simplicity andsimplicity! Give me warmth, homeliness, and plenty of prettythings. This place is archaically cold--quite like a convent. Andyou, my dear, might be the Sister Superior from your air. Now, Gilbert darling, you and I are going to be very firm with thischild. I can plainly see she needs a guiding hand. She has hadmuch too much responsibility for so young a girl. We are going toalter all that. We are going to make her very happy--as well asgood. "

She tapped Sylvia's shoulder with smiling significance, looking ather husband to set his seal to the declaration. 

Mr. Ingleton was obviously feeling very uncomfortable. He glancedat Sylvia almost appealingly. 

"I hope we are all going to be happy, " he said rather gruffly. "Don't see why we shouldn't be, I'm sure. I like a quiet lifemyself. Got some tea for us, Sylvia?"

Sylvia turned, stiffly unresponsive to her step-mother'sblandishments. "This way, " she said, and crossed the hall to thedrawing-room. 

It was a beautiful room aglow just then with the rays of thewestern sun. Mrs. Ingleton looked all around her with smilingcriticism, and nodded to herself as if seeing her way to manyimprovements. She walked to the windows. 

"What a funny, old-fashioned garden! Quite medieval! I foresee avery busy time in store. Who lives on the other side of thisproperty?"

"Preston--George Preston, the M. F. H. , " said her husband, loungingup behind her. "About the richest man about here. Made his moneyon the Turf. "

She gave him a quick look. "Is he young?" she asked. 

He hesitated, "Not very. "

"Married?" questioned Mrs. Ingleton, with the air of a ferretpursuing its quarry down a hole. 

"No, " said the squire, somewhat reluctantly. 

"Ah!" said Mrs. Ingleton, in a tone of satisfaction. 

"Won't you have some tea?" said Sylvia's grave voice behind them. 

Mrs. Ingleton wheeled. "Bless the child!" she exclaimed. "She hasa face as long as a fiddle. Let us have tea by all means. I am ashungry as a hunter. I hope there is something really substantialfor us. "

"It is less than an hour to dinner, " said Sylvia. 

She hardly looked at her father. Somehow she had a feeling that hedid not want to meet her eyes. 

He sat in almost unbroken silence while she poured out the tea, "for the last time, dear, " as her step-mother jocosely remarked, and for his sake alone she exerted herself to make politeconversation with this new mistress of the Manor. 

It was not easy, for Mrs. Ingleton did not want to talk uponindifferent subjects. Her whole attitude was one of unconcealedtriumph. It was obvious that she meant to enjoy her conquest tothe utmost. She was not in the least tired after her journey; shewas one of those people who never tire. And as soon as she hadrefreshed herself with tea she announced her intention of goinground the house. 

Her husband, however, intervened upon this point, assuring her thatthere would be ample time in the morning, and Mrs. Ingleton yieldedit not very gracefully. 

She was placed at the head of the table at dinner, but she couldnot accept the position without comment. 

"Poor little Sylvia! We shall have to make up for this, or I shallnever be forgiven, " with an arch look at the squire whichcompletely missed its mark. 

There were no subtleties about Gilbert Ingleton. He was thoroughlyuncomfortable, and his manner proclaimed the fact aloud. If hewere happy with his enchantress away from home, the home atmospherecompletely dispelled all enchantment. Was it the fault of theslim, erect girl with the red-brown eyes who sat so gravely silenton his right hand?

He could not in justice accuse her, and yet the strong sense of herdisapproval irritated him. What right had she, his daughter, tosit in judgment upon him? Surely he was entitled to act forhimself--choose his own course--make his own hell if he wished! Itwas all quite unanswerable. He knew she would not have attemptedto answer if he had put it to her, but that very fact made him themore sore. He hated to feel himself at variance with Sylvia. 

"Can't you play something?" he said to her in desperation as theyentered the drawing-room after dinner. 

She looked at bun, her wide brows slightly raised. 

"Well?" he questioned impatiently. 

"Ask--Mrs. Ingleton first!" she said in a rapid whisper. 

Mrs. Ingleton caught it, however. She had the keen senses of alynx. "Now, Sylvia, my child, come here!" she commanded playfully. "I can't have you calling me that, you know. If we are going tolive together, we must have absolutely clear understanding betweenus on all points. Don't you agree with me, Gilbert?"

Ingleton growled something unintelligible, and made for the openwindow. 

"Don't go!" said his wife with a touch of peremptoriness. "I wantyou here. Tell this dear child that as I have determined to be amother to her she is to address me as such!"

Ingleton barely paused. "You must settle that between yourselves, "he said gruffly. "And for heaven's sake, don't fight over it!"

He passed heavily forth, and Sylvia, after a very brief hesitation, sat down in a chair facing her step-mother. 

"I am sorry, " she said quietly. "But I can't call you Mother. Anything else you like to suggest, but not that. "

Mrs. Ingleton uttered an unpleasant laugh. "I hope you are goingto try and be sensible, my dear, " she said, "for I assure youhigh-flown sentiment does not appeal to me in the very least. Ashead of your father's house, I must insist upon being treated withdue respect. Let me warn you at the outset, though quite willingto befriend you, I am not a very patient woman. I am not preparedto put up with any slights. "

Her voice lifted gradually as she proceeded till she ended upon anote that was almost shrill. 

Sylvia sat very still. Her hands were clasped tightly about herknee. Her face was pale, and the red-brown eyes glittered alittle, but she betrayed no other signs of emotion, "I quite understand, " she said after a moment. "But that doesn'tsolve the present difficulty, does it? I cannot possibly call youby a name that is sacred to someone else. "

She spoke very quietly, but there was indomitable resolution in hervery calm--a resolution that exasperated Mrs. Ingleton almostbeyond endurance. 

She arose with a sweeping gesture. "Oh, very well then, " she said. "You shall call me Madam!"

Sylvia looked up at her. "I think that is quite a good idea, " shesaid in a tone that somehow stung her hearer, unbearably. "I willdo that. "

"And don't be impertinent!" she said, beginning to pace to and frolike an angry tigress. "I will not put up with it, Sylvia. I warnyou. You have been thoroughly spoilt all your life. I know thesigns quite well. And you have come to think that you can doanything you like. But that is not so any longer. I am mistresshere, and I mean to maintain my position. Any hint of rebellionfrom you or anyone else I shall punish with the utmost severity. So now you understand. "

"I do indeed, " said Sylvia. 

She had not stirred from her chair, but sat watching herstep-mother's agitated pacing with grim attention. It was herfirst acquaintance with the most violent temper she had everencountered in a woman, and it interested her. She was no longerconscious of being angry herself. The whole affair had become asort of bitter comedy. She looked upon it with a species ofimpersonal scorn. 

Mrs. Ingleton was obviously lashing herself to fury. She could notimagine why, not realizing at that stage that she was the victim ofa jealousy so fierce as to amount almost to a mania. She wonderedif her father were watching them from the terrace, and contemplatedgetting up to join him, but hesitated to do so, reflecting that itmight appear like flight. At the same time she did not see why sheshould remain as a target for her step-mother's invective, and shehad just decided upon departure when Bliss, the butler, opened thedoor with his own peculiarly quiet flourish and announced, "CaptainPreston!"

A clean-shaven little man, with a horsey appearance about the legswhich evening-dress wholly failed to conceal, entered, andinstinctively Sylvia rose to receive him. 

Mrs. Ingleton stopped short and stared as they met in the middle ofthe room. 

"Hullo, Sylvia!" said the little man, and stamped forward as if hehad just dismounted after a long ride. He had a loud voice and anassertive manner, and Mrs. Ingleton gazed at him in frozen surprise. 

Sylvia turned towards her. "May I introduce Mr. Preston--theM. F. H. ?" Her tone was cold. If the newcomer's advent had been awelcome diversion it obviously gave her no pleasure. 

Preston, however, plainly did not stand in need of anyencouragement. He strode up to Mrs. Ingleton, confronting her withaggressive self-assurance, "Delighted to meet you, madam. You areSylvia's step-mother, I presume? I hope we shall be more nearlyconnected before long. Anyone belongin' to Sylvia has my highestesteem. She has the straightest seat on a horse of any woman Iknow. Ingleton and I between us taught her all she knows abouthuntin', and she does us credit, by gad!"

He winked at Mrs. Ingleton as he ended, and Sylvia bit her lip. Mrs. Ingleton, however, held out her hand. 

"Pray sit down, Mr. Preston! You are most welcome. Sylvia, mydear, will you find the cigarettes?"

Sylvia took a box from the table and handed it to him. He took itfrom her, openly pinching her fingers as he did so, and offered itto her instead. 

"After you, Cherry-ripe! You're lookin' spiffin' to-night, hey, Mrs. Ingleton? What do you think of your new daughter?"

Mrs. Ingleton was smiling. "I am only wondering what all you youngmen can be about, " she said. "I should have thought one of youwould have captured her long ago. "

Sylvia turned round, disgust in every line, and walked to thewindow. "I will find Dad, " she said. 

Preston looked after her, standing with legs wide apart on thehearth-rug. "It's none of my fault, I assure you, " he said. "I'vebeen tryin' to rope her for the last two years. But she's so damn'shy. Can't get near her, by George. "

"Really?" smiled Mrs. Ingleton. "Perhaps you have not gone quitethe right way to work. I think I shall have to take a hand in thegame and see what I can do. "

Preston bowed with his hand on his heart, "I always like to get thefair sex on my side whenever possible. If you can put the halteron her, you've only to name your price, madam, and it's yours. "

"Dear me!" said Mrs. Ingleton. "You're very generous. "

"I can afford to be, " declared Preston. "She's a decent bit ofgoods--the only one I've ever wanted and couldn't get. If you canget the whip-hand of her and drive her my way--well, it'll bepretty good business for all concerned. You like diamonds, hey, madam?"

"Very much, " laughed Mrs. Ingleton coquettishly. "But you mustn'tmake my husband jealous. Remember that now!"

Preston closed one eye deliberately and poked his tongue into hischeek. "You leave that to me, my good madam. Anythin' of thatsort would be the gift of the bridegroom. See?"

"Oh, quite, " said Mrs. Ingleton. "I shall certainly do my best foryou, Mr. Preston. "

"Good for you!" said Preston jocularly. "It's a deal then. Andyou play every trump you've got!"

"You may depend upon me, " said Mrs. Ingleton. 

CHAPTER III

THE WHIP-HAND

"Why isn't Mr. Preston engaged to Sylvia?" demanded Mrs. Ingletonof her husband as she faced him across the breakfast-table on thefollowing morning. 

"He'd like to be, " said Ingleton with his face bent over themorning paper. 

"Then why isn't he?" demanded Mrs. Ingleton with asperity. "He isa rich country gentleman, and he has a position in the County. What more could you possibly want for her?"

Reluctantly the squire made answer. "Oh, I'm willing enough. He'squite a decent chap so far as I know. I dare say he'd make herquite a good husband if she'd have him. But she won't. So there'san end of that. "

"Ridiculous!" exclaimed Mrs. Ingleton. "And, pray, why won't she?"

"Why? Oh, because there's another fellow, of course. There alwaysis, " growled Ingleton. "Girls never fall in love with the rightman. Haven't you found that out yet?"

"I have found out, " said Mrs. Ingleton tartly, "that Sylvia is amost wilful and perverse girl, and I think you are very unwise toput up with her whims. I should be ashamed to have a girl of thatage still on my hands. "

"I'd like to know how you'd have managed her any differently, "muttered the squire, without looking up. 

Mrs. Ingleton laughed unpleasantly. "You don't know much aboutwomen, do you, my dear? Of course I could have managed herdifferently. She'd have been comfortably married for the past twoyears at least if I had been in command. "

Ingleton looked sourly incredulous. "You don't know Sylvia, " heobserved. "She has a will like cast-iron. You'd never move her. "

Mrs. Ingleton tossed her head. "Never? Well, look here! If youwant the girl to marry that really charming Mr. Preston, I'llundertake that she shall--and that within a year. How is that?"

Ingleton stared a little, then slowly shook his head. "You'llnever do it, my dear Caroline. "

"I will do it if it is your wish, " said Mrs. Ingleton firmly. 

He looked at her with a touch of uneasiness. "I don't want thechild coerced. "

She laughed again. "What an idea! Are children ever coerced inthese days? It's usually the parents who have to put up with thatsort of treatment. Now tell me about the other man. What andwhere is he?"

Ingleton told her with surly reluctance. "Oh, he was a handsomeyoung beggar she met five years ago--the son of my then bailiff, asa matter of fact. The boy had had a fairly decent education; hewas a gentleman, but he wasn't good enough for my Sylvia, had noprospects of any sort. And so I put my foot down. "

Mrs. Ingleton smiled with her thin, hard lips, but no gleam ofhumour reached her eyes. "With the result, I suppose, that she hasbeen carrying on with him ever since. "

Ingleton stirred uneasily in his chair. "Well, she hasn't givenhim up. They correspond, I believe. But he is far enough away atpresent. He is in South Africa. She'll never marry him with myapproval. I'm pretty certain now that the fellow is a rotter. "

"She probably deems herself very heroic for sticking to him inspite of opposition, " observed Mrs. Ingleton. 

"Very likely, " he conceded. "But I think she genuinely cares forhim. That's just the mischief of it. And, unfortunately, inanother couple of years she'll be in a position to please herself. She inherits a little money from her mother then. "

Mrs. Ingleton's smile became more pronounced, revealing her strongwhite teeth behind. "You need not look forward so far as that, mylove, " she said. "Leave Sylvia entirely to me! I will undertake, as I said, to have her married to Mr. Preston well within a year. So you may set your mind at rest on that point. "

"He is certainly fond of her, " said the squire. "And they bothhave sporting tastes. He ought to have a very good chance with herif only the other fellow could be wiped out. "

"Then leave her to me!" said Mrs. Ingleton, rising. "And mind, dear"--she paused behind her husband's chair and placed large whitehands upon his shoulders--"whatever I do, you are not to interfere. Is that a bargain?"

Ingleton moved again uncomfortably. "You won't be unkind to thechild?" he said. 

"My dear Gilbert, don't you realize that the young lady is morethan capable of holding her own against me or anyone else?"protested Mrs. Ingleton. 

"And yet you say you can manage her?" he said. 

"Well, so I can, if you will only trust to my discretion. What sheneeds is a little judicious treatment, and that is what I intend togive her. Come, that is understood, isn't it? It is perfectlyoutrageous that she should have ridden roughshod over you so long. A chit like that! And think how pleasant it will be for everyonewhen she is settled and provided for. Dear me! I shall feel as ifa great weight has been lifted from my shoulders. We shall reallyenjoy ourselves then. "

She smiled down into her husband's dubious face, and after a momentwith a curt sigh he pulled her down and kissed her. "Well, you'rea woman, you ought to know how to manage your own kind, " he said. "Sylvia's mother was an invalid for so long that I expect the childdid grow a bit out of hand. I'll leave her to you then, Caroline. If you can manage to marry her to Preston I believe you'll do herthe biggest service possible. "

"Of course I should like to do that!" said Mrs. Ingleton, kissinghim loudly. "Ah! Here she comes! She mustn't catch uslove-making at this hour. Good morning, my dear child! What rosesto be sure! No need to ask where you have been. "

Sylvia came in, riding-whip in hand. Her face was flushed and hereyes shining. 

"Had a ripping run, Dad. You ought to have been there, " she said. "Good morning!" She paused and kissed him, then turned to herstep-mother. "Good morning, Madam! I hope the keys have been dulyhanded over. I told Mrs. Hadlow to see to it. "

Mrs. Ingleton kissed her effusively. "You poor child! I am afraidit is a very sore point with you to part with your authority to me. The only thing for you to do is to be quick and get a home of yourown. "

Sylvia laughed. "Breakfast is my most pressing need at the presentmoment. Winnie carried me beautifully, Dad. George says she is apositive marvel for her years; dear little soul. "

"George--George!" repeated Mrs. Ingleton with playful surprise. "Ipresume that is the estimable young man who called upon me lastnight. Well, well, if you are so intimate, I suppose I shall haveto be too. He was in a great hurry to pay his respects, was henot?"

Sylvia was staring at her from the other side of the table. "Imeant George the groom, " she said coldly after a moment. "Is thereany news, Dad?"

She turned deliberately to him, but before he could speak in answerMrs. Ingleton intervened. 

"Now, Sylvia, my love, I have something really rather serious tosay to you. Of course, I fully realize that you are very young andinexperienced and not likely to think of these things for yourself. But I must tell you that it is very bad for the servants to havemeals going in the dining-room at all hours. Therefore, my child, I must ask you to make a point of being punctual--always. Breakfast is at eight-thirty. Please bear that in mind for thefuture!"

Again Sylvia's wide eyes were upon her. They looked her straightin the face. "Dad and I are never back by eight-thirty when we gocubbing, are we, Dad?" she said. 

The squire cleared his throat, and did not respond. 

Mrs. Ingleton smiled. "But we are changing all that, " she said. "At my particular request your dear father has promised me to giveup hunting. "

"What?" said Sylvia, and turned upon her father with a red flash inher eyes. "Dad, is that true?"

He looked at her unwillingly. "Oh, don't make a scene!" he saidirritably. "Your mother is nervous, so I have given it up for thepresent, that's all. "

"Please don't call Mrs. Ingleton my mother!" said Sylvia, suddenlydeadly calm. "Am I always to hunt alone, then, for the future?"

"You have got--George, " smiled Mrs. Ingleton. 

Sylvia's eyes fell abruptly from her father's face, but they didnot return to her step-mother. She turned away to the sideboard, and helped herself from a dish that stood there. In absolutesilence she sat down at the table and began to eat. 

Her father sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment or two, thengot up with a non-committal, "Well!" gathered up his letters, andtramped from the room. 

Mrs. Ingleton took up the paper and perused it, humming. Sylviaate her breakfast in dead silence. 

She rose finally to pour herself out some coffee, and at themovement her step-mother looked up. There was a glitter in herhard grey eyes that somewhat belied the smile she sought to assume. "Now, my dear, " she said, in the tone of one lecturing a refractorychild, "you were a very wilful and impertinent girl last night. Itold you I should punish you, and I have kept my word. I do notadvise you to aggravate the offence by sulking. "

"Will you tell me what you mean?" said Sylvia, standing stiff andstraight before her. 

Mrs. Ingleton slightly shrugged her shoulders. "You are behavinglike a child of six, and really, if you go on, you will provoke meinto treating you as such. The attitude you have chosen to adoptis neither sensible nor dignified, let me tell you. You resent mypresence here. Very well; but you cannot prevent it. Would it notbe much wiser of you either to submit to my authority or----"

"Or?" repeated Sylvia icily. 

"Or take the obvious course of providing yourself with a homeelsewhere, " said Mrs. Ingleton. 

Sylvia put up a quick hand to her throat. She was breathing veryquickly. "You wish to force me to marry that horrible Prestonman?" she said. 

"By no means, my dear, " smiled Mrs. Ingleton. "But you might do agood deal worse. I tell you frankly, you will be very muchunderdog as long as you elect to remain in this establishment. Ohyes!" She suddenly rose to her full majestic height, dwarfing thegirl before her with conscious triumph. "I may have some troublewith you, but conquer you I will. Your father will not interferebetween us. You have seen that for yourself. In fact, he has justtold me that he leaves the management of you entirely to me. Hehas given me an absolutely free hand--very wisely. If I choose tolock you in your room for the rest of the day he will notinterfere. And as I am quite capable of doing so, I warn you to bevery careful. "

Sylvia stood as if turned to stone. She was white to the lips, butshe confronted her step-mother wholly without fear. 

"Do you really think I would submit to that?" she said. "I am nota child, I assure you, whatever I may appear to you. You willcertainly never manage me by that sort of means. "

Her clear, emphatic voice fell without agitation. Now that thefirst shock of the encounter was past she had herself quite firmlyin hand. 

But Mrs. Ingleton took her up swiftly, realizing possibly that amoment's delay would mean the yielding of the ground she had soarrogantly claimed. 

"I shall manage you exactly as I choose, " she said, raising hervoice with abrupt violence. "I know very well your position inthis house. You are absolutely dependent, and--unless youmarry--you will remain so, being quite unqualified to earn your ownliving. Therefore the whip-hand is mine, and if I find youinsolent or intractable I shall use it without mercy. How dare youset yourself against me in this way?" She stamped with sudden furyupon the ground. "No, not a word! Leave the room instantly--I willhave no more of it! Do you hear me, Sylvia? Do you hear me?"

She raised a menacing hand, but the fearless eyes never flinched. 

"I think you must be mad, " Sylvia said. 

"Mad!" raved Mrs. Ingleton. "Mad because I refuse to be dictatedto by an impertinent girl? Mad because I insist upon beingmistress in my own house? You--you little viper--how dare youstand there defying me? Do you want to be turned out into thestreet?"

She had worked herself up into unreasoning rage again. Sylvia sawthat further argument would be worse than useless. Very quietly, without another word, she turned, gathered up riding-whip andgloves, and went from the room. She heard Mrs. Ingleton utter afierce, malignant laugh as she went. 

CHAPTER IV

THE VICTOR

The commencement of the fox-hunting season was always celebrated bya dance at the Town Hall--a dance which Sylvia had never failed toattend during the five years that she had been in society and hadbeen a member of the Hunt. 

It was at her first Hunt Ball, on the occasion of her _debut_, thatshe had met young Guy Ranger, and she looked back to that ball withall its tender reminiscences as the beginning of all things. 

How superlatively happy she had been that night! Not for anythingthat life could offer would she have parted with that one preciousromance of her girlhood. She clung to the memory of it as to apriceless possession. And year after year she had gone to the HuntBall with that memory close in her heart. 

It was at the last of these that George Preston had asked her to behis wife. She had made every effort to avoid him, but he hadmercilessly tracked her down; and though she had refused him withgreat emphasis she had never really felt that he had taken herseriously. He was always seeking her out, always making excuses tobe alone with her. It was growing increasingly difficult to evadehim. She had never liked the man, but Fate or his own contrivancewas continually throwing him in her way. If she hunted, heinvariably rode home with her. If she remained away, he invariablycame upon her somehow, and wanted to know wherefore. 

She strongly suspected that her step-mother was in league with him, though she had no direct proof of this. Preston was beingconstantly asked to the house, and whenever they went out to dinethey almost invariably met him. She had begun to have a feelingthat people eyed them covertly, with significant glances, that theywere thrown together by design. Wherever they met, he always fellto her lot as dinner-partner, and he had begun to affect anattitude of proprietorship towards her which was yet too indefinitefor her actively to resent, She felt as if a net were closing around her from which, despiteher utmost effort, she was powerless to escape. Also, for weeksnow she had received no letter from Guy, and that fact disheartenedher more than any other. She had never before had to wait so longfor word from him. Very brief, often unsatisfying, as his lettershad been, at least they had never failed to arrive. And shecounted upon them so. Without them, she felt bereft of hermainstay. Without them, the almost daily, nerve-shattering sceneswhich her step-mother somehow managed to enact, however discreether attitude, became an infliction hardly to be borne. She mighthave left her home for a visit among friends, but something heldher back from this. Something warned her that if she went herplace would be instantly filled up, and she would never return. And very bitterly she realized the fact that for the next two yearsshe was dependent. She had not been trained to earn her ownliving, and she lacked the means to obtain a training. Her father, she knew, would not hear of such a thing, nor would he relinquishthe only means he possessed of controlling her actions. Shebelieved that privately he did not wish to part with her, thoughher presence was a very obvious drawback to his comfort. He nevertook her part, but also he never threw his weight into the balanceagainst her. He merely, with considerable surliness, looked on. 

And so the cruel struggle went on till it seemed to Sylvia that herphysical strength was ultimately beginning to fail. She came todread her step-mother's presence with a feeling akin to nausea, toshrink in every nerve from the constant ordeals so ruthlesslythrust upon her, So far she had never faltered or shown any sign of weakness underthe long-drawn-out persecution, but she was becoming aware that, strive as she might, her endurance had its limits. She was buthuman, and she was intensely sensitive to unkindness. Her nerveswere beginning to give way under the strain. There were even timeswhen she felt a breakdown to be inevitable, and only the thought ofher step-mother's triumph warded it off. Once down, and she knewshe would be a slave, broken beyond redemption to the most pitilesstyranny. And so, though her strength was worn threadbare throughperpetual strain, she clung to it still. If only--oh, if only--Guywould write! If he should be ill--if he should fail her--she feltthat it would be the end of everything. For nothing else mattered. 

She did not greatly wish to go to the Hunt Ball that year. Shefelt utterly out of tune with all gaiety. But she could think ofno decent excuse for remaining away. And she was still buoyingherself up with the thought that Guy's silence could not last muchlonger. She was bound to hear from him soon. 

She went to the Ball, therefore, feeling tired and dispirited, andlooking quite _passee_, as her step-mother several times assuredher. 

She had endured a long harangue upon jealousy that evening, whichvice Mrs. Ingleton declared she was allowing to embitter her wholelife, and she was weary to death of the subject and the penetratingvoice that had discoursed upon it. Once or twice she had beenstung into some biting rejoinder, but for the most part she hadborne the lecture in silence. After all, what did it matter? Whatdid it matter?

They reached the Town Hall and went up the carpeted steps. Preston, in hunting pink, received them. He captured Sylvia's handand pressed it tight against his heart. 

She stared at him with wide unsmiling eyes. "Seen the local rag?"he asked, as he grinned amorously into them. "There's something tointerest you in it. Our local prophet has been at work. "

She did not know what he meant, or feel sufficiently interested toinquire. She pulled her hand free, and passed on. His familiaritybecame more marked and more insufferable every time she encounteredhim. But still she asked herself again, what did it matter?

He laughed and let her go. 

In the cloak-room people looked at her oddly, but beyond ordinarygreetings no one spoke to her. She did not know that it was solelyher utter wretchedness that kept them at a distance. 

She entered the ballroom behind Mrs. Ingleton, and at once Prestondescended upon her again. He had scrawled his name against half adozen dances on her card before she realized what he was doing. She began to protest, but again that deadly feeling of apathyovercame her. She was worn out--worn out. What did it matterwhether she danced with the man or not?

Young Vernon Eversley, a friendly boy whom she had always liked, pursed his lips when he saw her programme. 

"It's true then, is it?" he said. 

"What is true?" She looked at him questioningly, not feelinggreatly interested in his answer. 

He met her look with straight, honest eyes. "I saw theannouncement of your engagement in the paper this morning; butsomehow I didn't believe it. He's a dashed lucky man. "

That startled her out of her lethargy. She began a quickdisclaimer, but they were interrupted. One of the stewards came upand swept young Eversley away. 

The next moment Preston came and took possession of her. He waslaughing still as he whirled her in among the dancers, refusing togive her any breathing-space. 

"I want to see a little colour in those cheeks of yours, Cherry-ripe, " he said. "What's the Ingleton dragon been doin' toyou, my pretty?"

She danced with him with a feeling that the net was drawn closeabout her, and she was powerless to struggle any longer. When hesuffered her to stand at last, her head was whirling so that shehad to cling to him for support. 

He led her to a secluded corner and put her into a chair. Then hebent over her and spoke into her ear. "Look here! I'm not such abad sort. They've coupled our names together in the local rag. Why not let 'em?"

She looked up at him, summoning her strength with a great effort. "So it was your doing!" she said. 

"No, it wasn't!" he declared. "I swear it wasn't! I'm not such afool as that. But see here, Sylvia! Where's the use of holdin'out any longer? You know I want you, and there's no sense in goin'on pinin' for a fellow in South Africa who's probably married adozen blacks already. It isn't like you to cry for the moon. Putup with me instead! You might do worse, and anyone can see you'rehavin' a dog's time at the Manor now. You'll be your own bossanyway if you come to me. "

She heard him with her eyes fixed before her. Her brief energy hadgone. Her life seemed to stretch before her in a long, drearywaste. His arguments were unanswerable. Physical weariness, combined with the despair which till then she had refused toacknowledge, overwhelmed her. She was down. 

He put his hand upon her. "Come, I say! Is it a bargain? I swearI won't bully you. I'm awfully fond of you, Cherry-ripe. "

She raised herself slowly. It was her last effort. "One thingfirst, " she said, and put his hand away from her. "I must--cableto Guy, and get an answer. "

"Oh, rot!" he said. "What for?"

"Because I haven't heard from him lately, and I must know--I mustknow"--she spoke with rising agitation--"the reason why. He mightbe--I don't say it is likely, but he might be--on his way home tome. I can't--I can't give him up without knowing. "

Preston grimaced wryly, but he was shrewd enough to grasp and holdsuch advantage as was his. "Well, failing him, you'll have me, what? That's a promise, is it?"

She looked at him again. "If you want me under those conditions. "

He put his arms about her. "Of course I want you, Cherry-ripe!We'd be awfully happy together, you and I. I'll soon make youforget him, if that's all. You can't be very deeply in love withthe fellow after all this time. I don't suppose he's in the leastthe sort of person you take him for. You're wastin' your time overa myth. Come, it's settled, isn't it? We're engaged. "

He pressed her closer. He bent to kiss her, but she turned herface away. His lips only found her neck, but he made the most ofthat. She had to exert her strength to free herself. 

"No, " she said. "We're not engaged. We can't be engaged--until Ihave heard from Guy. "

He suppressed a short word of impatience. "And suppose you don'thear?" he asked. 

She made a blind movement with her hands. "Then---I give in. "

"You will marry me?" he insisted. 

"If you like, " she answered drearily. "I expect you will very soonget tired of me. "

"There's a remedy for everything, " he answered jauntily. "But weneedn't consider that. I'm just mad to get you, you poor littleicicle. I'll warm you up, never fear. When you've been married tome a week, you won't know yourself. " She shivered and was silent. 

He turned in his tracks, perceiving he was making no headway. "Then we're engaged provisionally anyway, " he insisted. "There'sno need to contradict the general impression--unless we're obliged. We'll behave like lovers--till further notice. "

She got to her feet. Her knees were trembling. The net was closeat last. She seemed to feel it pressing on her throat. "You arenot--to kiss me, " she managed to say. 

He frowned at the condition, but he conceded it. The game was sonearly his that he could afford to be generous. Besides, he wouldexact payment in full later for any little concessions she wrungfrom him now. 

"I'm bein' awfully patient, " he said pathetically. "I hope you'lltake that into account. You really might just as well give infirst as last. "

But Sylvia had given in, and she knew it. Nothing but a miraclecould save her now. The only loophole she had for herself was onewhich she realized already was highly unlikely to serve her. Shehad been practically forced into submission, and she did notattempt to disguise the fact from herself. 

Yet if only Guy had not failed her, she knew that no power on earthwould have sufficed to move her, no clamour of battle could everhave made her quail. That had been the chink in her armour, andthrough that she had been pierced again and again, till she wasvanquished at last. 

She felt too weary now, too utterly overwhelmed by circumstances, to care what happened. Yes, she would cable to Guy as she hadsaid. But her confidence was gone. She was convinced already thatno word would come back in answer out of the void that hadswallowed him, She went through the evening as one in a dream. People offered herlaughing congratulations, and she never knew how she received them. She seemed to be groping her way through an all-enveloping mist ofdespair. 

One episode only stood out clearly from all the rest, and that waswhen all were assembled at supper and out of the gay hubbub shecaught the sound of her own name. Then for a few intolerablemoments she became vividly alive to that which was passing aroundher. She knew that George Preston's arm encircled her, and thateveryone present had risen to drink to their happiness. 

As soon as it was over she crept away like a wounded thing and hidherself. Only a miracle could save her now. 

CHAPTER V

THE MIRACLE

"Well, my dear, " said Mrs. Ingleton, rising to kiss herstep-daughter on the following morning, "I consider you are avery--lucky--girl. "

Sylvia received the kiss and passed on without reply. She was verypale, but the awful inertia of the previous night had left her. She was in full command of herself. She took up some letters froma side table, and sat down with them. 

Her step-mother eyed her for a moment or two in silence. Then:"Well, my dear?" she said. "Have you nothing to say for yourself?"

"Nothing particular, " said Sylvia. 

The letters were chiefly letters of congratulation. She read themwith that composure which Mrs. Ingleton most detested, and put themaside. 

"Am I to have no share in the general rejoicing?" she asked atlength, in a voice that trembled with indignation. 

Sylvia recognized the tremor. It had been the prelude to many astorm. She got up and turned to the window. "You can read themall if you like, " she said. "I see Dad on the terrace. I am justgoing to speak to him. "

She passed out swiftly with the words before her step-mother'sgathering wrath could descend upon her. One of Mrs. Ingleton'smain grievances was that it was so difficult to corner Sylvia whenshe wanted to give free vent to her violence. 

She watched the girl's slim figure pass out into the pale Novembersunshine, and her frown turned to a very bitter smile. 

"Ah, my girl, you wait a bit!" she murmured. "You've met yourmatch, or I'm much mistaken. "

The squire was smoking his morning pipe in a sheltered corner. Helooked round with his usual half-surly expression as his daughterjoined him. 

She came to him very quietly and put her hand on his arm. 

"Well?" he said gruffly. 

She stood for a moment or two in silence, then:

"Dad, " she said very quietly, "I am going to cable to Guy. Ihaven't heard from him lately. I must know the reason whybefore--before----" A quiver of agitation sounded in her voice andshe stopped. 

"If you've made up your mind to marry Preston, I don't see why youwant to do that, " said the squire curtly. 

"I am going to do it, " she answered steadily. "I only wish I haddone it sooner. "

Ingleton burrowed into his paper. "All right, " he growled. 

Sylvia stood for a few seconds longer, but he did not look up ather, and at length, with a sharp sigh, she turned and left him. 

She did not return to her step-mother, however. She went to herroom to write her message. 

A little later she passed down the garden on her way to thevillage. A great restlessness was upon her, and she thought thewalk to the post-office would do her good. 

She came upon Jeffcott in one of the shrubberies, and he stoppedher with the freedom of an old servant. 

"Beggin' your pardon, missie, but you'll let me wish you joy?" hesaid. "I heard the good news this morning. "

She stood still. His friendly look went straight to her heart, stirring in her an urgent need for sympathy. 

"Oh, Jeffcott, " she said, "I'd never have given in if Mr. Rangerhadn't stopped writing. "

"Lor!" said Jeffcott. "Did he now?" He frowned for an instant. "But---didn't you have a letter from him last week?" he questioned. "Friday morning it were. I see Evans, the postman, and he said asthere were a South African letter for you. Weren't that from Mr. Ranger, missie?"

"What?" said Sylvia sharply. 

"Last Friday it were, " the old man repeated firmly. "Why, I seethe letter in his hand top of the pile when he stopped in the driveto speak to me. We both of us passed a remark on it. "

Sylvia was staring at him. "Jeffcott, are you sure?" she said. 

"Sure as I stand here, Miss Sylvia, " he returned. "I couldn't havemade no mistake. Didn't you have it then, missie? I'll swear toheaven it were there. "

"No, " Sylvia said. "I didn't have it. " She paused a moment; thenvery slowly, "The last letter I had from Guy Ranger, " she said, "was more than six weeks ago--the day that the squire brought Madamto the Manor. "

"Lor!" ejaculated old Jeffcott again. "But wherever could theyhave got to, Miss Sylvia? Don't Bliss have the sortin' of theletters?"

"I--don't--know. " Sylvia was gazing straight before her with thatin her face which frightened the old man. "Those letters havebeen--kept back. "

She turned from him with the words, and suddenly she was running, running swiftly up the path. 

Like a young animal released from bondage she darted out of hissight, and Jeffcott returned to his hedge-trimming with pursedlips. That last glimpse of Miss Sylvia's face had--to express itin his own language--given him something of a turn. 

It had precisely the same effect upon Sylvia's step-mother a littlelater, when the girl burst in upon her as she sat writing lettersin her boudoir. 

She looked round at her in amazement, but she had no time to askfor an explanation, for Sylvia, white to the lips, with eyes offlame, went straight to the attack. She was in such a whirlwind ofpassion as had never before possessed her. 

She was panting, yet she spoke with absolute distinctness. "I havejust found out, " she said, "how it is that I have had no lettersfrom Guy during the past six weeks. They have been--stolen. "

"Really, Sylvia!" said Mrs. Ingleton. She arose in wrath, but nowrath had any effect upon Sylvia at that moment. She was girt forbattle--the deadliest battle she had ever known. 

"You took them!" she said, pointing an accusing finger full at herstep-mother. "You kept them back! Deny it as much as you like--asmuch as you dare! None but you would have stooped to do such athing. And it has been done. The letters have been delivered--andI have not received them. I have suffered--horribly--because ofit. You meant me to suffer!'

"You are wrong, Sylvia! You are wrong!" Shrilly Mrs. Ingletonbroke in upon her, for there was something awful in the girl'seyes--they had a red-hot look. "Whatever I have done has been foryour good always. Your father will testify to that. Go and askhim if you don't believe me!"

"My father had nothing to do with this!" said Sylvia in tones ofwithering scorn. "Whatever else he lacks, he has a sense ofhonour. But you--you are a wicked woman, unprincipled, cruel, venomous. It may be my father's duty to live with you, but--thankheaven--it is not mine. You have come into my home and cursed it. I will never sleep under the same roof with you again. "

She turned with the words to leave the room, and found her fatherand George Preston just coming out of the library on the other sideof the hall. Fearlessly she swung round and confronted them. Theutter freedom of her at that moment made her superb. The miraclehad happened. She had rent the net that entangled her to shreds. 

Mrs. Ingleton was beginning to clamour in the room behind her. Sheturned swiftly and shut and locked the door. Then she faced thetwo men with magnificent courage. 

"I have to tell you, " she said, addressing them both impersonally, "that my engagement to Guy Ranger is unbroken. I have just foundout that my step-mother has been suppressing his letters to me. That, of course, alters everything. And--also of course--it makesit impossible for me to stay here any longer. I am going tohim--at once. "

Her eyes went rapidly from her father's face to Preston's. It washe who came forward and answered her. The squire seemed struckdumb. 

"Egad!" he said. "I've never seen you look so rippin' in all mylife! That's how you look when you're angry, is it? Now I shallknow what to watch out for when we're married. "

She answered him with a quiver of scorn. "We never shall bemarried, Mr. Preston. You may put that out of your mind for ever. I am going to Guy by the next boat. "

"Not you!" laughed Preston. "You're in a paddy just now, my dear, but when you've thought it over soberly you'll find there are agood many little obstacles in the way of that. You haven't beenbrought up to rough it for one. And Guy Ranger, as I think wesettled last night, has probably married half a dozen blacksalready. It's too great a risk, Cherry-ripe! And--if I knowyou--you won't take it. "

"You don't know me, " said Sylvia. She turned, from him and went toher father. "Have you nothing to say, " she asked, "about this vileand hateful plot? But I suppose you can't. She is your wife. However much you despise her, you have got to endure her. But Ihave not. And so I am going--to-day!"

Her voice rang clear and unfaltering. She looked him straight inthe eyes. He made a sharp movement, almost as if that full regardpierced him. 

He spoke with manifest effort. "You won't go with my consent. "

"No?" said Sylvia. "Yet--you would never respect me again if Istayed. I could never respect myself. " She glanced over hershoulder at the door which Mrs. Ingleton was violently shaking. "You can let her out, " she said contemptuously. "I have had myturn. I leave her--in possession. " She turned to go to thestairs, then abruptly checked herself, stepped up to her father, put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him. The anger had goneout of her eyes. "Good-bye, Dad! Think of me sometimes!" she said. 

And with that she was gone, passing Preston by as though she sawhim not, and ascending the stairs quickly, but wholly withoutagitation. They heard her firm, light tread along the corridorabove. Then with a hunch of the shoulders the squire turned andunlocked the boudoir door. 

Mrs. Ingleton burst forth in a fury. "You cad to keep me boxed uphere with that little serpent pouring all sorts of poison into yourears! Where is she? Where is she? I'll give her such a trouncingas she's never had before!"

But Ingleton stretched an arm in front of her, barring the way. His face was grim and unyielding. "No, you won't!" he said. "You'll leave her alone. She's my daughter--not yours. And you'llnot interfere with her any further. "

There was a finality in his tone. Mrs. Ingleton stopped short, glaring at him. 

"You take her part, do you?" she demanded. 

"On this occasion--yes, I do, " said the squire. 

"And what about me?" said Preston. 

Ingleton looked at him--still barring his wife's progress--with afaint, sardonic smile. "Well, she seems to have given you theboot, anyway. If I were in your place, I should--quit. "

"She'll repent it!" raved Mrs. Ingleton. "Oh, she will repent itbitterly!"

"Very likely, " conceded Ingleton. "But she's kicked over thetraces now, and that fact won't pull her up--anyhow, at present, "

Mrs. Ingleton's look held fierce resentment. "Are you going to lether go?" she said. 

He shrugged his shoulders. "Seeing I can't help myself, I supposeI shall. There's no sense in making a fuss now. It's done, so youleave her alone!"

Mrs. Ingleton turned upon Preston. "You can bring an action forbreach of promise!" she said. "I'll support you. "

He made her an ironical bow. "You are more than kind, " he said. "But--I think I shall get on better for the future without yoursupport. "

And with the words he turned on his heel and went out. 

"Hateful person!" cried Mrs. Ingleton. "Gilbert, he has insultedme! Go after him and kick him! Gilbert! How dare you?"

Ingleton was quietly but firmly impelling her back into theboudoir. "You go and sit down!" he said. "Sit down and be quiet!There's been enough of this. "

It was the first time in her knowledge that he had ever assertedhimself. Mrs. Ingleton stared at him wildly for a second or two, then, seeing that he was in earnest, subsided into a chair with aburst of hysterical weeping, declaring that no one ever treated herso brutally before. 

She expected to be soothed, comforted, propitiated, but no word ofsolace came. Finally she looked round with an indignant dabbing ofher tears. How dare he treat her thus? Was he quite heartless?She began to utter a stream of reproaches, but stopped short andgasped in incredulous disgust. He had actually--he hadactually--gone, and left her to wear her emotion out in solitude. 

So overwhelming was the result of this piece of neglect, combinedwith the failure of all her plans, that Mrs. Ingleton retiredforwith to bed, and remained there for the rest of the day. 

CHAPTER VI

THE LAND OF STRANGERS

It had been a day of intense and brooding heat. Black clouds hungsullenly low in the sky, and a heavy gloom obscured the face of theearth. On each side of the railway the _veldt_ stretched formiles, vivid green, yet strangely desolate to unaccustomed eyes. The moving train seemed the only sign of life in all thatwilderness. 

Sylvia leaned from the carriage window and gazed blankly forth. She had hoped that Guy would meet her at Cape Town, but he had notbeen there. She had come unwelcomed into this land of strangers. But he would be at Ritzen. He had cabled a month before that hewould meet her there if he could not get to Cape Town. 

And now she was nearing Ritzen. Across the mysterious desolationshe discerned its many lights. It was a city in a plain, and thefar hills mounted guard around it, but she saw them only dimly inthe failing light. 

Ritzen was the nearest railway station to the farm on which Guyworked. From here she would have to travel twenty miles acrosscountry. But that would not be yet. Guy and she would be marriedfirst. There would be a little breathing-space at Ritzen beforeshe went into that new life that awaited her beyond the hills. Somehow she felt as if those hills guarded her destiny. She didnot fear the future, but she looked forward to it with a certainawe. 

Paramount within her, was the desire for Guy, the sight of hishandsome, debonair countenance, the ring of his careless laugh. Assoon as she saw Guy she knew she would be at home, even in the landof strangers, as she had never been at the Manor since the adventof her father's second wife. She had no misgivings on that point, or she had never come across the world to him thus, making allreturn impossible. For there could be be no going back for her. She had taken a definite and irrevocable step. There could be noturning back upon this road that she had chosen. 

It might not be an easy road. She was prepared for obstacles. Butwith Guy she was ready to face anything. The adversity throughwhich she had come had made the thought of physical hardship ofvery small account. And deep in her innermost soul she had astrong, belief in her own ultimate welfare. She was sure that shehad done the right thing in thus striking out for herself, and shewas equally sure that, whatever it might entail, she would notregret it in the end. 

The lights were growing nearer. She discerned the brick buildingof the station. Over the wide stretch of land that yet intervenedthere came to her the smell of smoke and human habitation. A warmthrill went through her. In two minutes now--in less--the longfive years' separation would be over, and she would be claspingGuy's hand again. 

She leaned from the window, scanning the few outstanding houses ofthe town as the train ran past. Then they were in the station, anda glare of light received them. 

A crowd of unfamiliar faces swam before her eyes, and then--she sawhim. He stood on the platform awaiting her, distinct from all therest to her eager gaze--a man of medium height, broader than sheremembered, with a keen, bronzed face and eagle eyes that caughtand held her own. 

She sprang form the train almost before it shopped. She held outboth her hands to him. 

"Guy! Guy!"

Her voice came sobbingly. He gripped the hands hard and close. 

"So you've got here!" he said. 

She was staring at him, her face upraised. What was there abouthim that did not somehow tally with the Guy of her memory and herdreams? He was older, of course; he was more mature, bigger inevery way. But she missed something. There was no kindling ofpleasure in his eyes. They looked upon her kindly. Ah, yes; butthe rapture--where was the rapture of greeting?

A sense of coldness went through her. Her hands fell from his. Hehad changed--he had changed indeed! His eyes were too keen. Shethought they held a calculating expression. And the South Africansun had tanned him almost bronze. His chin had a stubbly look. The Guy she had known had been perfectly smooth of skin. 

She looked at him with a rather piteous attempt to laugh. "Iwonder I knew you at all, " she said, "with that hideous embryobeard. I'm sure you haven't shaved to-day. "

He put up a hand and felt his chin. "No, I shaved yesterday, " hesaid, and laughed. "I've been too busy to-day. "

That reassured her. The laugh at least was like Guy, brief thoughit was. "Horrid boy!" she said. "Well, help me collect my things. We'll talk afterwards. "

He helped her. He went into the carriage she had just left andpulled out all her belongings. These he dumped on the platform andtold her to wait while he collected the rest. 

She stood obediently in the turmoil of Britons, Boers, and Kaffirs, that surged around. She felt bewildered, strung up, unlikeherself. It was a land of strangers, indeed, and she felt forlornand rather frightened. Why had Guy looked at her so oddly? Whyhad his welcome been so cold? Could it be--could it be--that hewas not pleased to see her, that--that--possibly he did not wanther? The dreadful chill went through her again like a swordthrusting at her heart, and with it went old Jeffcott's warningwords: "Do you ever ask yourself what sort of man he may be afterfive years? I'll warrant he's lived every minute of it. He's thesort that would. "

She had felt no doubt then, nor ever since, until this moment. Andnow--now it came upon her and overwhelmed her. She glanced abouther, almost as one seeking escape. 

"I've fixed everything up. Come along to the railway hotel! Youmust be pretty tired. " He had returned to her, and he stood lookingat her with those strangely keen eyes, almost as if he had neverseen her before, she thought to herself desolately. 

She looked bade at him with unconscious appeal in her own. "I amtired, " she said, and was aware of a sudden difficulty in speaking. "Is it far?"

"No, " he said; "only a step. "

He gathered up her hand-baggage and led the way, making a path forher through the throng. 

She scarcely noticed where she went, so completely did he fill hermind. He had changed enormously, developed in a fashion that shehad never deemed possible. He walked with a free swing, andcarried himself as one who counted. He had the look of oneaccustomed to command. She seemed to read prosperity in everyline. But was he prosperous? If so, why had he not sent for herlong ago?

They reached the hotel. He led the way without pause straight to asmall private room where a table had been prepared for a meal. 

"Sit down!" he said. "Take off your things! You must be starved. "

He rang the bell and gave an order while she mutely obeyed. Allher confidence was gone. She had begun to tremble. The wondercrossed her mind if perhaps she, too, had altered, grown beyond allhis previous conception of her. Possibly she was as much astranger to him as he to her. Was that why he had looked at herwith that oddly critical expression? Was that why he did not nowtake her in his arms?

Impulsively she took off her hat and turned round to him. 

He was looking at her still, and again that awful sense of doubtmastered and possessed her. A great barrier seemed to have sprungup between them. He was formidable, actually formidable. The Guyof old days, impetuous, hot-tempered even, had never been that. 

She stood before him, controlling her rising agitation with a greateffort. "Why do you look at me like that?" she said. "I feel--youmake me feel--as if--you are a total stranger!"

His face changed a little, but still she could not read his look. "Sit down!" he said. "We must have a talk. "

She put out her hand to him. The aloofness of his speech cut herwith an anguish intolerable. "What has happened?" she said. "Quick! Tell me! Don't you want to--marry me?"

He took her hand. She saw that in some fashion he was moved, though still she could not understand. "I'm trying to tell you, "he said; "but--to be honest--you've hit me in the wind, and I don'tknow how. I think you have forgotten in all these years what Guywas like. "

She gazed at him blankly. Again Jeffcott's words were running inher mind. And something--something hidden behind them--arose uplike a menace and terrified her. 

"I haven't forgotten, " she whispered voicelessly. "I couldn'tforget. But go on! Don't--don't mind telling me!"

She was white to the lips. All the blood in her body seemedconcentrated at her heart. It was beating in heavy, sickeningthrobs like the labouring of some clogged machinery. 

He put his free hand on her shoulder with an abrupt movement thatmade him for the moment oddly familiar. "It's a damned shame, " hesaid, and though his voice was low he spoke with feeling. "Lookhere, child! This is no fault of mine. I never thought you couldmake this mistake, never dreamed of such a possibility. I'm notGuy at all. I am Burke Ranger--his cousin. And let me tell you atonce, we are not much alike now--whatever we have been in the past. Here, don't faint! Sit down!"

He shifted his hand from her shoulder to her elbow, and supportedher to a chair. But she remained upon her feet, her white faceupraised, gazing at him--gazing at him. 

"Not Guy! Not Guy!" She said it over and over as if to convinceherself. Then: "But where is Guy?" She clutched at his armdesperately, for all her world was shaking. "Are you going to tellme he is--dead?"

"No. " Burke Ranger spoke with steady eyes looking straight intohers. "He is not. "

"Then why--then why--" She could get no further. She stopped, gasping. His face swam blurred before her quivering vision, --Guy'sface, yet with an inexplicable something in it that was not Guy. 

"Sit down!" he said again, and put her with quiet insistence intothe chair. "Wait till you have had something to eat! Then we'llhave a talk and decide what had better be done. "

She was shivering from head to foot, but she faced him still. "Ican't eat, " she said through white lips. "I can't do anythingtill--till I know--all there is to know. "

He stood looking down at her. The fingers of his right hand wereworking a little, but his face was perfectly calm, even grim. 

As he did not speak immediately, she went on with piteous effort. "You must forgive me for making that stupid mistake. I seenow--you are not Guy, though there is a strong likeness. You see, I have not seen Guy for five years, and I--I was allowing forcertain changes. "

"He is changed, " said Burke Ranger. 

That nameless terror crept closer about her heart. Her eyes methis imploringly. 

"Really I am quite strong, " she said. "Won't you tell me what iswrong? He--cabled to me to come to him. It was in answer to mycable. "

"Yes, I know, " said Ranger. 

He turned from her abruptly and walked to the window. The darknesshad drawn close. It hung like a black curtain beyond the pane. The only light in the room was a lamp that burned on a side table. It illumined him but dimly, and again it seemed to the girl whowatched him that this could be no other than the Guy of herdreams--the Guy she had loved so faithfully, for whose sake she hadwaited so patiently for so many weary years. Surely it was he whohad made the mistake! Surely even yet he would turn and gather herto his heart, and laugh at her folly for being so easily deluded!

Ah! He had turned. He stood looking at her across thedimly-lighted space. Her very heart stood still to hear his voice. 

He spoke. "The best thing you can do is to go back to the placeyou came from--and marry someone else. "

The words went through her. They seemed to tear and lacerate her. As in a nightmare vision she saw the bitterness that lay behindher, the utter emptiness before. She still stared full at him, butshe saw him not. Her terror had taken awful shape before her, andall her courage was gone. She cowered before it. 

"I can't--I can't!" she said, and even to herself her voice soundedweak and broken, like the cry of a lost child. "I can't go back!"

He came across the room to her, moving quickly, as if somethingurged him. She did not know that she had flung out her hands inwild despair until she felt him gather them together in his own. 

He bent over her, and she saw very clearly in his countenance thatwhich had made her realize that he was not Guy. "Look here!" hesaid. "Have a meal and go to bed! We will talk it out in themorning. You are worn out now. "

His voice held insistence. There was no softness in it. Had hedisplayed kindness in that moment she would have burst into tears. But he put her hands down again with a brief, repressive gesture, and the impulse passed. She yielded him obedience, scarcelyknowing what she did. 

He brought her food and wine, and she ate and drank mechanicallywhile he watched her with his grey, piercing eyes, not speaking atall. 

Finally she summoned strength to look up at him with a quiveringsmile. "You are very kind. I am sorry to have given you so muchtrouble. "

He made an abrupt movement that she fancied denoted impatience. "Can't you eat any more?" he said. 

She shook her head, still bravely smiling. "I can't--really. Ithink--I think perhaps you are right. I had better go to bed, andyou will tell me everything in the morning. "

"Finish the drink anyhow!" he said. 

She hesitated momentarily, but he pushed the glass firmly towardsher and she obeyed. 

She stood up then and faced him. "Will you please tell me onething--to--to set my mind at rest? Guy--Guy isn't ill?"

He looked her straight in the face. "No. "

"You are sure?" she said. 

"Yes. " He spoke with curt decision, yet oddly she wondered for afleeting second if he had told her the truth. 

His look seemed to challenge the doubt, to beat it down. Halfshyly, she held out her hand. 

"Good night, " she said. 

His fingers grasped and released it. He turned with her to thedoor. "I will show you your room" he said. 

CHAPTER VII

THE WRONG TURNING

Sylvia slept that night the heavy, unstirring sleep of utterweariness though when she lay down she scarcely expected to sleepat all. The shock, the bewilderment, the crushing dread, that hadattended her arrival after the long, long journey had completelyexhausted her mentally, and physically. She slept as a childsleeps at the end of a strenuous day. 

When she awoke, the night was gone and all the world was awake andmoving. The clouds had all passed, and a brilliant morning sunshone down upon the wide street below her window. She feltrefreshed though the heat was still great. The burden that hadoverwhelmed her the night before did not seem so intolerable bymorning light. Her courage had come back to her. 

She dressed with a firm determination to carry a brave facewhatever lay before her. Things could not be quite so bad as theyhad seemed the previous night. Guy could not really have changedso fundamentally. Perhaps he only feared that she could not endurepoverty with him. If that were all, she would soon teach himotherwise. All she wanted in life now was his love. 

She had almost convinced herself that this was practically all shehad to contend with, and the ogre of her fears was well in thebackground, when she finally left her room and went with someuncertainty through the unfamiliar passages. 

She found the entrance, but a crowd of curious Boers collectedabout the door daunted her somewhat, and she was turning back fromtheir staring eyes when Burke Ranger suddenly strode through thegroup and joined her. 

She gave him a quick, half-startled glance as they met, and thefirst thing that struck her about him was the obvious fact that hehad shaved. His eyes intercepted hers, and she saw the flicker ofa smile pass across them and knew he had read her thought. 

She flushed as she held out her hand to him. "Good morning, " shesaid with a touch of shyness. "I hope you haven't been wastingyour time waiting for me. "

He took her hand and turned her towards the small room in whichthey had talked together the previous night. "No, I haven't wastedmy time, " he said. "I hope you have had a good rest?"

"Oh, quite, thank you, " she answered. "I slept like the dead. Ifeel--fit for anything. "

"That's right, " he said briefly. "We will have some breakfastbefore we start business. "

"Oh, you have been waiting!" she exclaimed with compunction. "I'mso sorry. I'm not generally so lazy. "

"Don't apologize!" he said. "You've done exactly what I hopedyou'd do. Sit down, won't you? Take the end of the table!"

His manner was friendly though curt. Her embarrassment fell fromher as she complied. They sat, facing one another, and, the lightbeing upon him, she gave him a steady look. He was not nearly somuch like Guy as she had thought the previous night, thoughundoubtedly there was a strong resemblance. On a closer inspectionshe did not think him handsome, but the keen alertness of himattracted her. He looked as if physical endurance were a qualityhe had brought very near to perfection. He had the stamp of thegladiator upon him. He had wrestled against odds. 

After a moment or two he turned his eyes unexpectedly to hers. Itwas a somewhat disconcerting habit of his. 

"A satisfactory result, I hope?" he said. 

She did not look away. "I don't consider myself a good characterreader, " she said. "But you are certainly not so much like Guy asI thought at first sight. "

"Thank you, " he said. "I must confess I prefer to be like myself. "

She laughed a little. "It was absurd of me to make such a mistake. But yours was the only face that looked in the least familiar inall that crowd. I was so glad to see it. "

"You have never been in this country before?" he asked. 

She shook her head. "Never. I feel a dreadful outsider atpresent. But I shall soon learn. '

"Do you ride?" he said. 

Her eyes kindled. "Yes. I was keen on hunting in England. Thatwill be a help, won't it?"

"It would be, " he said, "if you stayed. "

"I have come to stay, " she said with assurance. 

"Wait a bit!" said Burke Ranger. 

His manner rather than his words checked her. She felt again thatcold dread pressing against her heart. She turned from the subjectas one seeking escape. 

She ate a good breakfast almost in spite of herself. Rangerinsisted upon it, and since he was evidently hungry himself itseemed churlish not to keep him company. He told her a littleabout the country, while they ate, but he strenuously avoided allthings personal, and she felt compelled to follow his lead. Heimposed a certain restraint upon her, and even when he rose fromthe table at length with the air of a man about to face theinevitable, she did not feel it to be wholly removed. 

She got up also and watched him fill his pipe with something of herformer embarrassment. She expected him to light it when he hadfinished, but he did not. He put it in his pocket, and somewhatabruptedly turned to her. 

"Now!" he said. 

She met his look with a brave face. She even smiled--a gallant, little smile to which he made no response. "Well, now, " she said, "I want you to tell me the quickest way to get to Guy. "

He faced her squarely. "I've got to tell you something about himfirst, " he said. 

"Yes?" Her heart was beating very quickly, but she had herself wellin hand. "What is it?"

But he stood mutely considering her. It was as if the power ofspeech had suddenly gone from him. 

"What is it?" she said again. "Won't you tell me?"

He made a curious gesture. It was almost a movement of flinching. "You're so young, " he said. 

"Oh, but I'm not--I'm not!" she assured him. "It's only my face. I'm quite old really. I've been through a lot. "

"You've never seen life yet, " he said. 

"I have!" she declared with an odd vehemence. "I've learnt lots ofthings. Why--do you look like that? I'm not a child. "

Her voice quivered a little in spite of her. Why did he look likethat? The compassion in his eyes smote her with a strange pain. Why--why was he sorry for her?

He saw her rising agitation, and spoke, slowly, choosing his words. "The fact is, Guy isn't what you take him for--isn't the right manfor you. Nothing on this earth can make him so now, whatever hemay have been once. He's taken the wrong turning, and there's nogetting back. "

She gazed at him with wide eyes. Her lips felt stiff and cold. "What--what--do you mean, please?" she said. 

She saw his hands clench. "I don't want to tell you what I mean, "he said. "Haven't I said enough?"

She shook her head slowly, with drawn brows. "No--no! I've got tounderstand. Do you mean Guy doesn't want me after all? Didn't hereally mean me to come? He--sent a message. "

"I know. That's the infernal part of it. " Burke Ranger spoke withsuppressed force. "He was blind drunk when he sent it. "

"Oh!" She put up her hands to her face for a moment as if toshield herself from a blow. "He--drinks, does he?"

"He does everything he ought not to do, except steal, " said Rangerbluntly. "I've tried to keep him straight--tried every way. Ican't. It isn't to be done. "

Sylvia's hands fell again. "Perhaps, " she said slowly, "perhaps Icould. "

The man started as if he had been shot. "You!" he said. 

She met his look with her wide eyes. "But why not?" she said. "Welove each other. "

He turned from her, grinding the floor with his heel. "God help meto make myself intelligible!" he said. 

It was the most forcible prayer she had ever heard. It struckthrough to her very soul. She stood motionless, but she feltcrushed and numb. 

Ranger walked to the end of the room and then came straight back toher. 

"Look here!" he said. "This is the most damnable thing I've everhad to do. Let's get it over! He's a rotter and a blackguard. Can you grasp that? He hasn't lived a clean life all these yearshe's been away from you. He went wrong almost at the outset. He'sthe sort that always does go wrong. I've done my best for him. Anyhow, I've kept him going. But I can't make a decent man of him. No one can. He has lucid intervals, but they get shorter andshorter. Just at present--" he paused momentarily, then plungedon--"I told you last night he wasn't ill. That was a lie. He isdown with delirium tremens, and it isn't the first time. "

"Ah!" Sylvia said. He had made her understand at last. She stoodfor a space staring at him, then with a groping movement she foundand grasped the back of a chair. "Why--why did you lie to me?" shesaid. 

"I did it for your sake, " he answered briefly. "You couldn't havefaced it then. "

"I see, " she said, and paused to collect herself. "And doeshe--does he realize that I am here?" she asked painfully. "Doesn'the--want to see me?"

"Just now, " said Ranger grimly, "he is too busy thinking about hisown troubles to worry about anyone else's. He does know you arecoming. He was raving about it two nights ago. Then came yourwire from Cape Town. That was what brought me here to meet you. "

"I see, " she said again. "You--you have been very good. It wouldhave been dreadful if--if I had been stranded here alone. "

"I'd have stopped you at Cape Town if I could, " he said. 

"No, you wouldn't have stopped me, " she answered, with a drearlittle smile. "I should have had to come on and see Guy in anycase. I shall have to see him now. Where is he?"

Ranger stood close to her. He bent slightly, looking into hereyes. "You have understood me?" he questioned. 

She looked straight back at him; it was no moment for shrinkingavoidance. "Yes, " she said, "And you believe me?" he proceeded. 

Her red-brown eyes widened a little. "But of course I believe you. "

"And, still you want to see him?" said Burke Ranger. 

"I must see him, " she answered quietly. "You must realize that. You would do the same in my place. "

"If I did, " said Ranger, dropping his voice, "it would be to tellhim to go to hell!" Then, as involuntarily she drew back: "No, Ishouldn't put it like that to you, I know. But what's the point ofyour seeing him? It will only make things worse for you. "

"I must see him, " she said firmly. "Please tell me where he is!"

He looked at her for a moment or two in silence. "He is in his ownshanty on my farm, " he said then. "Blue Hill Farm it is called. You can't go to him there. It's a twenty-mile ride from here. "

"Can't I get a horse to take me?" she asked. 

"I could take you in my cart, " said Burke slowly. 

"And will you?" Sylvia said. 

"I suppose you will go in any case, " he said. 

"I must go, " she answered steadily. 

"I don't see why, " he said. "It's a degrading business. It won'tdo any good. "

Her face quivered. She controlled it swiftly. "Will you take me?"she said. 

He frowned. "What is going to happen afterwards? Have you thoughtof that?"

She shook her head. "No. I can't see the future at all. I onlyknow that I must see Guy, and I can't go back to England. "

"Why not?" he said. 

She pressed a hand to her throat as if she found speaking adifficulty. "I have no place there. My father has married again. I must earn my living here somehow. "

He moved abruptly. "You!" he said again. She tried to smile. "You seem to think I am very helpless. I assure you I am not. Ihave managed my father's house for five years. I am quite willingto learn anything, and I am very strong. "

"You are very brave, " he said, almost as if he spoke in spite ofhimself. "But--you've got to be sensible too. You won't marryhim?"

She hesitated. "I must see him. I must judge for myself. "

He nodded, still frowning. "Very well, --if you must. But youwon't marry him as a way out of your difficulties? You've got topromise me that. "

"Why?" she said. 

He answered her with that sudden force which before had startledher. "Because I can't stand by and see purity joined tocorruption. Some women will sacrifice anything for sentiment. Youwouldn't do anything so damn' foolish as that. "

"No, " said Sylvia. 

"Then it's a promise?" he said. 

She held out her hand to him with her brave little smile. "Ipromise you I won't do anything damn' foolish for the sakeof--sentiment. Will that do?"

He gripped her hand for a moment. "Yes. I think it will, " he said. 

"And thank you for being so good to me, " she added. 

He dropped her hand, and turned away. "As to that--I pleasemyself, " he said briefly. "Be ready to start in an hour from now!"

CHAPTER VIII

THE COMRADE

That twenty-mile ride in Burke Ranger's high cart, with a pair ofskittish young horses pulling at the reins, was an experience neverto be eradicated from Sylvia's memory. They followed a courseacross the veldt that began as a road and after a mile or twodeteriorated into a mere rough track. Up and down many slopes theytravelled, but the far hills never seemed to draw any nearer. Hereand there they passed kopjes stacked against the blazing blue ofthe sky. They held a weird attraction for her. They were like thestark bones of the earth pushing up through the coarse desertgrasses. Their rugged strength and their isolation made hermarvel. The veldt was swept by a burning wind. The clouds of thenight before had left no rain behind. 

Sylvia would have liked to ask many things of her companion but hisattention was completely absorbed by the animals he drove. Alsotalking was wellnigh impossible during that wild progress, forthough the horses presently sobered down somewhat, the roughness ofthe way was such that most of the time her thoughts wereconcentrated upon maintaining her seat. She clung to her perchwith both hands, and mutely admired Burke Ranger's firm control anddeftness. He seemed to know by instinct when to expect any suddenstrain. 

The heat of the sun was intense, notwithstanding the shelterafforded by the hood of the cart. The air seemed to quiver abovethe burning earth. She felt after a time as if her eyes couldendure the glare no longer. The rapid, bumping progress faded intoa sort of fitful unpleasant dream through which the only actualvivid consciousness that remained to her centred in the man besideher. She never lost sight of his presence. It dominated allbesides, though he drove almost entirely in silence and neverseemed to look her way. 

At the end of what appeared an interminable stretch of time duringwhich all her sensibilities had gradually merged into one vastdiscomfort, Burke spoke at her side. 

"We've got a bit of tough going before us. Hang on tight! We'llhave a rest after it. "

She opened her eyes and saw before her a steep slant betweenmassive stones, leading down to a wide channel of running water. On the further side a similar steep ascent led up again. 

"Ritter Spruit, " said Ranger. "It's not deep enough to bedangerous. Hold on! We shall soon be through. "

He spoke to the horses and they gathered themselves as if for arace. They thundered down the incline and were dashing through thestony watercourse almost before Sylvia, clinging dazed to her seat, realized what was happening. Her sensations were indescribable. The water splashed high around them, and every bone in her bodyseemed to suffer a separate knock or jar. If Ranger had notpreviously impressed her with his level-headedness she would havethought him mad. But her confidence in him remained unshaken, andin a very few seconds it proved to be justified. They were throughthe spruit and halfway up the further side before she drew breath. Then she found that they were slackening pace. 

She turned to Ranger with kindling eyes. "Oh, you are asportsman!" she said. "How I should love to be able to drive likethat!"

He smiled without turning his head. "I'm afraid this last is aman's job. So you are awake now, are you? I was afraid you weregoing to tumble out. "

She laughed. "The heat makes one drowsy. I shall get used to it. "

He was pulling in the horses. "There's some shade round thecorner. We'll rest for an hour or two. "

"I shall like that, " said Sylvia. 

A group of small larch-trees grew among the stones at the top ofthe slope, and by these he stopped. Sylvia looked around her withappreciation as she alighted. 

"I am going to like South Africa, " she said, "I wonder!" said Ranger. 

He began to unbuckle the traces, and she went round to the otherside and did the same. 

"Poor dears, they are hot!" she said. 

"Don't you do that!" said Ranger. 

She was tugging at the buckle. "Why not? I like doing it. I lovehorses, don't you? But I know you do by the way you handle them. Do you do your own horse-breaking? That's a job you might give me. "

"Am I going to find you employment, then?" said Burke. 

She laughed a little, bending her flushed face down. "Don't womendo any work out here?"

"Yes. They work jolly hard, some of 'em. "

"Are you married?" said Sylvia. 

"No. "

She heaved a sigh. 

"Sorry?" he enquired. 

She finished her task and looked up. Her frank eyes met his acrossthe horses' backs. "No. I think I'm rather glad. I don't likefeminine authority at all. "

"That means you like your own way, " observed Burke. 

She nodded. "Yes. But I don't always get it. "

"Are you a good loser?" he said. 

She hesitated. "I hope I'm a sportsman. I try to be. "

He moved to the horses' heads. "Come and hold this animal for mewhile I hobble the other!" he said. 

She obeyed him readily. There was something of boyish alertness inher movements that sent a flicker of approval into the man's eyes. She drew the horse's head to her breast with a crooning sound. 

"He is a bit tricky with strangers, " observed Burke, as he led theother away. 

"Oh, not with me!" said Sylvia, "He knows I love him. "

When he returned to relieve her of her charge she was kissing theforehead between the full soft eyes that looked at her with perfectconfidence. 

"See!" she said. "We are friends already. "

"I shall call you The Enchantress, " said Burke. "Will you see ifyou can find a suitable spot for a picnic now?"

"Yes, but I can't conjure up a meal, " said Sylvia. 

"I can, " he said. "There's a basket under the seat. "

"How ripping!" she said. "I think you are the magician. "

He smiled. "Rather a poor specimen, I am afraid. You go andselect the spot, and I will bring it along!"

Again she obeyed with cheerful alacrity. Her choice wasunhesitating. A large boulder threw an inviting shade, and she satdown among the stones and took off her hat. 

Her red-gold hair gleamed against the dark background. BurkeRanger's eyes dwelt upon it as he moved to join her. She looked upat him. 

"I love this place. It feels so--good. "

He glanced up at the brazen sky. "You wouldn't say so if youwanted rain as badly as I do, " he observed. "We haven't had nearlyenough this season. But I am glad you can enjoy it. "

"I like it more and more, " said Sylvia. She stretched an armtowards the wide veldt all about them. "I am simply aching for agallop over that--a gallop in the very early morning, and to seethe sun rise from that knoll!"

"That's a _kopje_, " said Burke. 

Again half-unconsciously his eyes dwelt upon her vivid face. Sheseemed to draw his look almost in spite of him. He set down thebasket by her side. 

"Am I to unpack?" said Sylvia. 

He dropped his eyes. "No. I will. It isn't much of a feed; onlyenough to keep us from starvation. Tell me some more aboutyourself! Tell me about your people--your home!"

"Have you never heard of me before?" she asked. "Did--Guy--neverspeak of me?"

"I knew there was someone. " Burke spoke rather unwillingly. "Idon't think he ever actually spoke of you to me. We're notexactly--kindred spirits, he and I. "

"You don't like him, " said Sylvia. 

"Nor he me, " said Burke Ranger. 

She looked at him with her candid eyes. "I don't think you arevery tolerant of weakness, are you?" she said gently. 

"I don't know, " he said non-committally. "Won't you tell me aboutyourself?"

The subject of Guy was obviously distasteful to him, yet her wholelife during the past five years had been so closely linked to thethought of that absent lover of hers that it was impossible tospeak of the one without the other. She told him all withoutreservation, feeling in a fashion that it was his right to know. 

He listened gravely, without comment, until she ended, when he madeone brief observation. "And so you chose the deep sea!"

"Could I have done anything else?" she said. "Would you have doneanything else?"

"Probably not, " he said. "But a man is better equipped to fightthe undercurrents!"

"You think I was very rash?" she questioned. 

He smiled. "One doesn't look for caution in a girl. I think yourfather deserved a horsewhipping, for letting you go. "

"He couldn't prevent me, " said Sylvia quickly. 

"Pshaw!" said Burke Ranger. 

"You're very rude, " she protested. 

His smile became a laugh. "I could have prevented you, " he said. 

She flushed. "Indeed you couldn't! I am not a namby-pamby miss. Igo my own way. I----"

She broke off suddenly. Burke's eyes, grey as steel in hissun-tanned face, were upon her. He looked amused at her vehemence. 

"Well?" he said encouragingly. "Finish!"

She laughed in spite of herself. "No, I shan't say any more. Inever argue with the superior male. I just--go my own way, that'sall. "

"From which I gather that you are not particularly partial to thesuperior male, " said Burke. 

"I hate the species, " said Sylvia with simplicity. 

"Except when it kneels at your feet, " he suggested, lookingironical. 

"No, I want to kick it then, " she said. 

"You seem difficult to please, " he observed. 

Sylvia looked out across the _veldt_. "I like a man to be just ajolly comrade, " she said. "If he can't be that, I've no use forhim. "

"I see, " said Burke slowly. "That's to be my _role_, is it?"

She turned to him impulsively with extended hand. "I think you canfill it if you try. "

He took the hand, grasping it strongly. "All right. I'll try, " hesaid. 

"You don't mind?" she said half-wistfully. "You see, it makes sucha difference to feel there's someone like that to turn to introuble--someone who won't let you down. "

"I shan't let you down, " said Burke. 

Her fingers closed hard on his. "You're a brick, " she said. "Nowlet's have some lunch, and then, if you don't mind, I'm going tosleep!"

"Best thing you can do, " said Burke. 

They rested for the greater part of the afternoon in the shadow oftheir boulder. Sylvia lay with her head on a light rug that hespread for her, and he sat with his back to the rock and smokedwith eyes fixed straight before him. 

Sleep came to the girl very quickly for she was tired, and herhealthy young body was swift to find repose. But the man, watchingbeside her, did not even doze. He scarcely varied his positionthroughout his vigil, scarcely glanced at the figure nestled in thelong grass so close to him. But his attitude had the alertness ofthe man on guard, and his brown face was set in grimly resolutelines. It gave no indication whatever of that which was passing inhis mind. 

CHAPTER IX

THE ARRIVAL

It was drawing towards evening when Sylvia at length stirred, stretched, and opened her eyes. A momentary bewilderment showed inthem, then with a smile she saw and recognized her companion. 

She sat up quickly. "I must have been asleep for ages. Why didn'tyou wake me?"

"I didn't want to, " he said. 

She looked at him. "What have you been doing? Have you beenasleep?"

He raised his shoulders to the first question. To the second hereplied merely, "No. "

"Why didn't you smoke?" she asked next. 

For an instant he looked half-ashamed, then very briefly, "I don'tlive on tobacco, " he said. 

"How very silly of you!" said Sylvia. "It wouldn't have disturbedme in the least. I smoke cigarettes myself. "

Burke said nothing. After a moment he got to his feet. 

"Time to go?" she said. 

"Yes. I think we ought to be moving. We have some miles to goyet. You sit still while I get the horses in!"

But Sylvia was on her feet. "No. I'm coming to help. I like todo things. Isn't it hot? Do you think there will be a storm?"

He looked up at the sky. "No, not yet. It'll take some time tobreak. Are you afraid of storms?"

"Of course not!" said Sylvia. 

He smiled at her prompt rejoinder. "Not afraid of anything?" hesuggested. 

She smiled back. "Not often anyway. And I hope I don't behavelike a muff even when I am. "

"I shouldn't think that very likely, " he observed. 

They put in the horses, and started again across the veldt. Theburning air that blew over the hot earth was like a blast from afurnace. Over the far hills the clouds hung low and menacing, Amighty storm seemed to be brewing somewhere on the further side ofthose distant heights. 

"It is as if someone had lighted a great fire just out of sight, "said Sylvia. "Is it often like this?"

"Very often, " said Burke. 

"How wonderful!" she said. 

They drove on rapidly, and as they went, the brooding cloud-curtainseemed to advance to meet them, spreading ominously across the skyas if it were indeed the smoke from some immense conflagration. 

Sylvia became silent, awed by the spectacle. 

All about them the veldt took on a leaden hue. The sun stillshone; but vaguely, as if through smoked glass. The heat seemed toincrease. 

Sylvia sat rapt. She did not for some time wake to the fact thatBurke was urging the horses, and only when they stretchedthemselves out to gallop in response to his curt command did sherouse from her contemplation to throw him a startled glance. Hewas leaning slightly forward, and the look On his face sent acurious thrill through her. It was the look of a man braced toutmost effort. His eyes were fixed steadily straight ahead, marking the road they travelled. His driving was a marvel of skilland confidence. The girl by his side forgot to watch the storm infront of them in her admiration of his ability. It was to her themost amazing exhibition of strength and adroitness combined thatshe had ever witnessed. The wild enjoyment of that drive wasfixed in her memory for all time. 

At the end of half-an-hour's rapid travelling a great darkness hadbegun to envelope them, and obscurity so pall-like that even nearobjects were seen as it were through a dark veil. 

Burke broke his long silence. "Only two miles more!"

She answered him exultantly. "I could go on for ever!"

They seemed to fly on the wings of the wind those last two miles. She fancied that they had turned off the track and were racing overthe grass, but the darkness was such that she could discern nothingwith any certainty. At last there came a heavy jolting that flungher against Burke's shoulder, and on the top of it a frightfulflash and explosion that made her think the earth had rent asunderunder their feet. 

Half-stunned and wholly blinded, she covered her face, crouchingdown almost against the foot-board of the cart, while the dreadfulechoes rolled away. 

Then again came Burke's voice, brief yet amazingly reassuring. "Get down and run in! It's all right. "

She realized that they had come to a standstill, and mechanicallyshe raised herself to obey him. 

As she groped for the step, he grasped her arm. "Get on to the_stoep_! There's going to be rain. I'll be with you in a second. "

She thanked him, and found herself on the ground. A man in frontof her was calling out unintelligibly, and somewhere under cover awoman's voice was uplifted in shrill tones of dismay. This lattersound made her think of the chattering of an indignant monkey, soshrill was it and so incessant. 

A dark pile of building stood before her, and she blundered towardsit, not seeing in the least where she was going. The next momentshe kicked against some steps, and sprawled headlong. 

Someone--Burke--uttered an oath behind her, and she heard him leapto the ground. She made a sharp effort to rise, and cried out witha sudden pain in her right knee that rendered her for an instantpowerless. Then she felt his hands upon her, beneath her. Helifted her bodily and bore her upwards. 

She was still half-dazed when he set her down in a chair. She heldfast to his arm. "Please stay with me just a moment--just amoment!" she besought him incoherently. 

He stayed, very steady and quiet beside her. "Are you hurt?" heasked her. 

She fought with herself, but could not answer him. A ridiculousdesire to dissolve into tears possessed her. She gripped his armwith both hands, saying no word. 

"Stick to it!" he said. 

"I--I'm an awful idiot!" she managed to articulate. 

"No, you're not. You're a brave girl, " he said. "I was a fool notto warn you. I forgot you didn't know your way. Did you hurtyourself when you fell?"

"My knee--a little, " she said. "It'll be all right directly. " Shereleased his arm. "Thank you. I'm better now. Oh, what is that?Rain?"

"Yes, rain, " he said. 

It began like the rushing of a thousand wings, sweepingirresistibly down from the hills. It swelled into a pandemonium ofsound that was unlike anything she had ever heard. It was as ifthey had suddenly been caught by a seething torrent. Again thelightning flared, dancing a quivering, zigzag measure across theverandah in which she sat, and the thunder burst overhead, numbingthe senses. 

By that awful leaping glare Sylvia saw her companion. He wasstooping over her. He spoke; but she could not hear a word heuttered. 

Then again his arms were about her and he lifted her. She yieldedherself to him with the confidence of a child, and he carried herinto his home while the glancing lightning showed the way. 

The noise within the house was less overwhelming. He put her downon a long chair in almost total darkness, but a few moments laterthe lightning glimmered again and showed her vividly the room inwhich she lay. It was a man's room, half-office, half-lounge, extremely bare, and devoid of all ornament with the exception of afew native weapons on the walls. 

The kindling of a lamp confirmed this first impression, but thepresence of the man himself diverted her attention from hersurroundings. He turned from lighting the lamp to survey her. Shethought he looked somewhat stern. 

"What about this knee of yours?" he said. "Is it badly damaged?"

"Oh, not badly, " she answered. "I'm sure not badly. What a lot oftrouble I am giving you! I am so sorry. "

"You needn't be sorry on that account, " he said. "I blame myselfalone. Do you mind letting me, see it? I am used to givingfirst-aid. "

"Oh, I don't think that is necessary, " said Sylvia. "I--can quiteeasily doctor myself. "

"I thought we were to be comrades, " he observed bluntly. 

She coloured and faintly laughed, "You can see it if youparticularly want to. "

"I do. " said Burke. 

She sat up without further protest, and uncovered the injured kneefor his inspection. "I really don't think anything of a tumblelike that, " she said, as he bent to examine it. But the nextmoment at his touch she flinched and caught her breath. 

"That hurts, does it?" he said. "It's swelling up. I'm going toget some hot water to bathe it. "

He stood up with the words and turned away. Sylvia leaned backagain, feeling rather sick. Certainly the pain was intense. 

The rain was still battering on the roof with a sound like theviolent jingling together of tin cans, She listened to it with adull wonder. The violence of it would have made a deeperimpression upon her had she been suffering less. But she felt asone immersed in an evil dream which clogged all her senses savethat of pain. 

When Burke returned she was lying with closed eyes, striving hardto keep herself under control. The clatter of the rain had abatedsomewhat, and she heard him speak over his shoulder to someonebehind him. She looked up and saw an old Kaffir woman carrying abasin. 

"This is Mary Ann, " said Burke, intercepting her glance ofsurprise. "A useful old dog except when there is any dope about!Hope you don't mind niggers. "

"I shall get used to them, " said Sylvia rather faintly. 

"There's nothing formidable about this one, " he said, "She can'thelp being hideous. She is quite tame. "

Sylvia tried to smile. Certainly Mary Ann was hideous, but herlameness was equally obvious. She evidently stood in considerableawe of her master, obeying his slightest behest with clumsysolicitude and eyes that rolled unceasingly in his direction. 

Burke kept her in the room while he bathed the injury. He was verygentle, and Sylvia was soon conscious of relief. When at length heapplied a pad soaked in ointment and proceeded to bandage with adexterity that left nothing to be desired, she told him with asmile that he was as good as a professional. 

"One has to learn a little of this sort of thing, " he said. "Howdoes it feel now?"

"Much better, " she answered. "I shall have forgotten all about itby to-morrow. "

"No, you won't, " said Burke. "You will rest it for three days atleast. You don't want to get water on the joint. "

"Three days!" she echoed in dismay, "I can't--possibly--lie uphere. "

He raised his eyes from his bandaging for a moment, and a curiousthrill went through her; it was as if his look pierced her. "Theimpossible often happens here, " he said briefly. 

She expressed a sharp tremor that caught her unawares. "What doesthat mean?" she asked, striving to speak lightly. 

He replied with his eyes lowered again to his task. "It meansamong other things that you can't get back to Ritzen until thefloods go down. Ritter Spruit is a foaming torrent by this time. "

"Good heavens!" she exclaimed. "But isn't there--isn't there abridge anywhere?"

"Forty miles away, " said Burke Ranger laconically. 

"Good--heavens!" she gasped again. 

He finished his bandaging and stood up. "Now I am going to carryyou to bed, " he said, "and Mary Ann shall wait on you. You won'tbe frightened?"

She smiled in answer. "You've taken my breath away, but I shallget it again directly. I don't think I want to go to bed yet. Mayn't I stay here for a little?"

He looked down at her. "You've got some pluck, haven't you?" hesaid. 

She flushed. "I hope so--a little. "

He touched her shoulder unexpectedly, with a hint of awkwardness. "I'm afraid I can only offer you--rough hospitality. It's the bestI can do. My guests have all been of the male species till now. But you will put up with it? You won't be scared anyhow?"

She reached up an impulsive hand and put it into his. "No, Ishan't be scared at all. You make me feel quite safe. I'monly--more grateful than I can say. "

His fingers closed upon hers. "You've nothing to be grateful for. Let me take you to the guestroom and Mary Ann shall bring yousupper. You'll be more comfortable there. Your baggage is therealready. "

She clung to his hand for an instant, caught by an odd feeling offorlornness. "I will do whatever you wish. But--but--you will letme see Guy in the morning?"

He stooped to lift her. For a moment his eyes looked straight intohers. Then: "Wait till the morning comes!" he said quietly. 

There was finality in his tone, and she knew that it was no momentfor discussion. With a short sigh she yielded to the inevitable, and suffered him to carry her away. 

CHAPTER X

THE DREAM

She had no further communication with Burke that night. The oldKaffir woman helped her, brought her a meal on a tray, and waitedupon her until dismissed. 

Sylvia had no desire to detain her. She longed for solitude. Thethought of Guy tormented her perpetually. She ached andyearned--even while she dreaded--to see him. But Burke had decreedthat she must wait till the morning, and she had found already thatwhat Burke decreed usually came to pass. Besides, she knew thatshe was worn out and wholly unfit for any further strain. 

Very thankfully she sank down at last upon the bed in the bareguest-room. Her weariness was such that she thought that she mustsleep, yet for hours she lay wide awake, listening to the rainstreaming down and pondering--pondering the future. Her romancewas ended. She saw that very clearly. Whatever came of hermeeting with Guy, it would not be--it could not be--theconsummation to which she had looked forward so confidently duringthe past five years. Guy had failed her. She faced the fact withall her courage. The Guy she had loved and trusted did not existany longer, if he ever had existed. Life had changed for her. Thepath she had followed had ended suddenly. She must needs turn backand seek another. But whither to turn she knew not. It seemedthat there was no place left for her anywhere. 

Slowly the long hours dragged away. She thought the night wouldnever pass. Her knee gave her a good deal of pain, and sherelinquished all hope of sleep. Her thoughts began to circle aboutBurke Ranger in a worried, confused fashion. She felt she wouldknow him better when she had seen Guy. At present the likenessbetween them alternately bewildered her or hurt her poignantly. She could not close her mind to the memory of having taken him forGuy. He was the sort of man--only less polished--that she hadbelieved Guy would become. She tried to picture him as he musthave been when younger, but she could see only Guy. And again thebitter longing, the aching disappointment, tore her soul. 

Towards morning she dozed, but physical discomfort and torturinganxiety went with her unceasingly, depriving her of any realrepose. She was vaguely aware of movements in the house longbefore a low knock at the door called her back to fullconsciousness. 

She started up on her elbows. "Come in! I am awake. "

Burke Ranger presented himself. "I was afraid Mary Ann might giveyou a shock if she woke you suddenly, " he said. "Can I come in?"

"Please do!" she said. 

The sight of his tanned face and keen eyes came as a great reliefto her strained and weary senses. She held out a welcoming hand, dismissing convention as superfluous. 

He came to her side and took her hand, but in a moment his fingerswere feeling for her pulse. He looked straight down at her. "You've had a bad night, " he said. 

She admitted it, mustering a smile as she did so. "It rained sohard, I couldn't forget it. Has it left off yet?"

He paid no attention whatever to the question. "What's thetrouble?" he said. "Knee bad?"

"Not very comfortable, " she confessed. "It will be betterpresently, no doubt. "

"I'll dress if again, " said Burke, "when you've had some tea. Youhad better stay in bed to-day. "

"Oh, must I?" she said in dismay. 

"Don't you want to?" said Burke. 

"No. I hate staying in bed. It makes me so miserable. " She spokewith vehemence. Besides--besides----"

"Yes?" he said. 

"I want--to see Guy, " she ended, colouring very deeply. 

"That's out of the question, " said Burke, with quiet decision. "You certainly won't see him to-day. "

"Oh, but I must! I really must!" she pleaded desperately. "Myknee isn't very bad. Have you--have you told him I am here yet?"

"No, " said Burke. 

"Then won't you? Please won't you?" She was urging him almostfeverishly now. "I can't rest till I have seen him--indeed. Ican't see my way clearly. I can't do anything until--until I haveseen him. "

Burke was frowning. He looked almost savage, But she was notafraid of him. She could think only of Guy at that moment and ofher urgent need to see him. It was all that mattered. With nervesstretched and quivering, she waited for his answer. 

It did not come immediately. He was still holding her hand in oneof his and feeling her pulse with the other. 

"Listen!" he said at length. "There is no need for all thiswearing anxiety. You must make up your mind to rest to-day, or youwill be ill. It won't hurt you--or him either--to wait a few hourslonger. "

"I shan't be ill!" she assured him earnestly. "I am never ill. And I want to see him--oh, so much. I must see him. He isn't--heisn't worse?"

"No, " said Burke. 

"Then why mustn't I see him?" she urged. "Why do you look likethat? Are you keeping back something? Has--has something happenedthat you don't want me to know? Ah, that is it! I thought so!Please tell me what it is! It is far better to tell me. "

She drew her hand from his and sat up, steadily facing him. Shewas breathing quickly, but she had subdued her agitation. Her eyesmet his unflinchingly. 

He made an abrupt gesture--as if compelled against his will. "Well--if you must have it! He has gone. "

"Gone!" she repeated. "What--do you mean by that?"

He looked down into her whitening face, and his own grew sterner. "Just what I say. He cleared out yesterday morning early. No oneknows where he is. "

Sylvia's hand unconsciously pressed her heart. It was beating veryviolently. She spoke with a great effort. "Perhaps he has gone toRitzen--to look for me. "

"I think not, " said Burke drily. 

His tone said more than his words. She made a slight involuntarymovement of shrinking. But in a moment she spoke again with apathetic little smile. 

"You are very good to me. But I mustn't waste any more of yourtime. Please don't worry about me any more! I can quite wellbandage my knee myself. "

The grimness passed from his face. "I shall have to see it tosatisfy myself it is going on all right, " he said. "But I needn'tbother you now. I'll send Mary Ann in with some tea. "

"Thank you, " said Sylvia. She was gathering her scattered forcesagain after the blow; she spoke with measured firmness. "Nowplease don't think about me any more! I am not ill--or going to be. You may look at my knee this evening--if you are very anxious. Butnot before. "

"Then you will stay in bed?" said Burke. 

"Very well; if I must, " she conceded. 

He turned to go; then abruptly turned back. "And you won't lie andworry? You've too much pluck for that. "

She smiled again--a quivering, difficult smile. "I am not at allplucky, really. I am only pretending. "

He smiled back at her suddenly. "You're a brick! I've never seenany woman stand up to hard knocks as you do. They generally wantto be carried over the rough places. But you--you stand on yourfeet. "

The genuine approbation of his voice brought the colour back to herface. His smile too, though it reminded her piercingly of Guy, sent a glow of comfort to her chilled and trembling heart. 

"I want to if I can, " she said. "But I've had rather a--knock-outthis time. I shall be all right presently, when I've had time topull myself together. "

He bent abruptly and laid his hand upon hers. 

"Look here!" he said. "Don't worry!"

She lifted clear eyes to his. "No--I won't! There is always a wayout of every difficulty, isn't there?"

"There certainly is out of this one, " he said. 

"I'll show it you presently--if you'll promise not to be offended. "

"Offended!" said Sylvia. "That isn't very likely, is it?"

"I don't know, " said Burke. "I hope not. Good-bye!" Hestraightened himself, stood a moment looking down at her, thenturned finally and left her. 

There was something in the manner of his going that made her wonder. 

The entrance of the old Kaffir woman a few minutes later divertedher thoughts. She found Mary Ann an interesting study, being thefirst of her kind that she had viewed at close quarters. She wasvery stout and ungainly. She moved with elephantine clumsiness, but her desire to please was so evident that Sylvia could notregard her as wholly without charm. Her dog-like amiabilityoutweighed her hideousness. She found it somewhat difficult tounderstand Mary Ann's speech, for it was more like the chatteringof a monkey than human articulation, and being very weary she didnot encourage her to talk. 

There was so much to think about, and for a while her tired brainrevolved around Guy and all that his departure meant to her. Shetried to take a practical view of the situation, to grapple withthe difficulties that confronted her. Was there the smallestchance of his return? And even if he returned, what could it meanto her? Would it help her in any way? It was impossible to evadethe answer to that question. He had failed her finally. She wasstranded in a strange land and only her own efforts could avail hernow. 

She wondered if Burke would urge her to return to her father'shouse. If so, he would not succeed. She would face any hardshipsooner than that. She was not afraid of work. She would make aliving for herself somehow if she worked in the fields with Kaffirwomen. She would be independent or die in the attempt. After all, she reflected forlornly, it would not matter very much to anyone ifshe did die. She stood or fell alone. 

Thought became vague at last and finally obscured in the mists ofsleep. She lay still on the narrow bed and slept long and deeply. 

It must have been after several hours that her dream came to her. It arose out of a sea of oblivion--a vision unsummoned, whollyunexpected. She saw Burke Ranger galloping along the side of a dryand stony ravine where doubtless water flowed in torrents when therain came. He was bending low in the saddle, his dark face setforward scanning the path ahead. With a breathless interest shewatched him, and the thunder of his horse's hoofs drummed in herbrain. Suddenly, turning her eyes further along the course hefollowed, she saw with horror round a bend that which he could notsee. She beheld another horseman galloping down from the oppositedirection. The face of this horseman was turned from her, but shedid not need to see it. She knew, as it is given in dreams to knowbeyond all doubting, that it was Guy. She recognized his easy seatin the saddle, the careless grace of his carriage. He was plungingstraight ahead with never a thought of danger, and though he musthave seen the turn as he approached it, he did not attempt to checkthe animal under him. Rather he seemed to be urging it forward. And ever the thunder of the galloping hoofs filled her brain. 

Tensely she watched, in a suspense that racked her whole body. Guyreached the bend first. There was room for only one upon thatnarrow ledge. He went round the curve with the confidence of onewho fully expected a clear path ahead. And then--on the very edgeof the precipice--he caught sight of the horseman galloping towardshim. He reined back. He threw up one hand as his animal staggeredunder him, and called a warning. But the thudding of the hoofsdrowned all other sound. 

Sylvia's heart stood still as if it could never beat again. Herlook flashed to Burke Ranger. He was galloping still--gallopinghard. One glimpse she had of his face as he drew near, and sheknew that he saw the man ahead of him, for it was set andterrible--the face of a devil. 

The next instant she heard the awful crash of collision. There wasa confusion indescribable, there on the very brink of the ravine. Then one horse and its rider went hurling headlong down that wallof stones. The other horseman struck spurs into his animal andgalloped up the narrow path to the head of the ravine without abackward glance. 

She was left transfixed by horror in a growing darkness that seemedto penetrate to her very soul. Which of the two had galloped free?Which lay shattered there, very far below her in an abyss that hadalready become obscure? She agonized to know, but the darkness hidall things. At last she tore it aside as if it had been a veil. She went down, down into that deep place. She stumbled through avalley of awful desolation till she came to that which shesought;--a fallen horse, a rider with glassy eyes upturned. 

But the hand of Death had wiped out every distinguishing mark. Wasit Guy? Was it Burke? She knew not. She turned from the sightwith dread unspeakable. She went from the accursed spot with theanguish of utter bewilderment in her soul. She was bereft of all. She walked alone in a land of strangers. 

CHAPTER XI

THE CROSS-ROADS

When Sylvia started awake from that terrible dream it was to hearthe tread of horses' feet outside the house and the sound of men'svoices talking to each other. As she listened, these drew nearer, and soon she heard footsteps on the _stoep_ outside. It wasdrawing towards sunset, and she realized that she had slept for along time. 

She felt refreshed in spite of her dream and very thankful toregain possession of her waking senses. Her knee too was decidedlybetter. She found with relief that with care she could use it. 

The smell of tobacco wafted in, and she realized that the two menwere sitting smoking together on the _stoep_. One of them, shefelt sure, was Burke Ranger, though it very soon dawned upon herthat they were conversing in Dutch. She lay for awhile watchingthe orange light of evening gleaming through the creeper thatentwined the comer of the _stoep_ outside her window. Then, growing weary of inaction, she slipped from her bed and began todress. 

Her cabin-trunk had been placed in a corner of the bare room. Shefound her key and opened it. 

Guy's photograph--the photograph she had cherished for fiveyears--lay on the top. She saw it with a sudden, sharp pang, remembering how she had put it in at the last moment and smiled tothink how soon she would behold him in the flesh. The handsome, boyish face looked straight into hers. Ah, how she had loved him. A swift tremor went through her. She closed her eyes upon thesmiling face. And suddenly great tears welled up from her heart. She laid her face down upon the portrait and wept. 

The voices on the _stoep_ recalled her. She remembered that shehad a reputation for courage to maintain. She commanded herselfwith an effort and finished her dressing. She did not dare to lookat the portrait again, but hid it deep in her trunk. 

Mary Ann seemed to have forsaken her, and she was in someuncertainty as to how to proceed when she was at length ready toleave her room. She did not want to intrude upon Burke and hisvisitor, but a great longing to breathe the air of the _veldt_ wasupon her. She wondered if she could possibly escape unseen. 

Finally, she ventured out into the passage, and followed it to anopen door that seemed to lead whither she desired to go. Shefancied that it was out of sight of the two men on the _stoep_, butas she reached it, she realized her mistake. For there fell asudden step close to her, and as she paused irresolute, Burke'sfigure blocked the opening. He stood looking at her, pipe in hand. 

"So--you are up!" he said. 

His voice was quite friendly, yet she was possessed by a strongfeeling that he did not want her there. 

She looked back at him in some embarrassment. "I hope you don'tmind, " she said. "I was only coming out for a breath of air. "

"Why should I mind?" said Burke. "Come and sit on the _stoep_! Myneighbour, Piet Vreiboom, is there, but he is just going. "

He spoke the last words with great distinctness, and it occurred toher that he meant them to be overheard. 

She hung back. "Oh, I don't think I will. I can't talk Dutch. Really I would rather----"

"He understands a little English, " said Burke. "But don't besurprised at anything he says! He isn't very perfect. "

He stood against the wall for her to pass him, and she did so witha feeling that she had no choice. Very reluctantly she moved outon to the wooden _stoep_, and turned towards the visitor. Theorange of the sunset was behind her, turning her hair to livinggold. It fell full upon the face of the man before her, and shewas conscious of a powerful sense of repugnance. Low-browed, wide-nosed, and prominent of jaw, with close-set eyes of monkeyishcraft, such was the countenance of Piet Vreiboom. He sat andstared at her, his hat on his head, his pipe in his mouth. 

"How do you do, Mrs. Ranger?" he said. 

Sylvia checked her advance, but in a moment Burke Ranger's handclosed, upon her elbow, quietly impelling her forward. 

"Mr. Vreiboom saw you with me at Ritzen yesterday, " he said, andshe suddenly remembered the knot of Boer farmers at the hotel-doorand the staring eyes that had abashed her. 

She glanced up at Burke, but his face was quite emotionless. Onlysomething about him--an indefinable something--held her back fromcorrecting the mistake that Vreiboom had made. She looked at theseated Boer with a dignity wholly unconscious. "How do you do?"she said coolly. 

He stretched out a hand to her. His smile was familiar. "I hopeyou like the farm, Mrs. Ranger, " he said. 

"She has hardly seen it yet, " said Burke. 

There was a slight pause before Sylvia gave her hand. This manfilled her with distaste. She resented his manner. She resentedthe look in his eyes. 

"I have no doubt I shall like it very much, " she said, removing herhand as speedily as possible. 

"You like to be--a farmer's wife?" questioned Piet, still freelystaring. 

She resented this question also, but she had to respond to it. "Itis what I came out for, " she said. 

"You do not look like a farmer's wife, " said Piet. 

Sylvia stiffened. 

"Give him a little rope!" said Burke. "He doesn't know much. Sitdown! I'll get him on the move directly. "

She sat down not very willingly, and he resumed his talk withVreiboom in Dutch, lounging against the wall. Sylvia sat quitesilent, her eyes upon the glowing sky and the far-away hills. Inthe foreground was a _kopje_ shaped like a sugar-loaf. She wishedherself upon its summit which was bathed in the sunset light. 

Once or twice she was moved to glance up at the brown face of theman who leaned between herself and the objectionable visitor. Hisattitude was one of complete ease, and yet something told her thathe desired Piet's departure quite as sincerely as she did. 

He must have given a fairly broad hint at last, she decided; forPiet moved somewhat abruptly and knocked out the ashes of his pipeon the floor with a noisy energy that made her start. Then he gotup and addressed her in his own language. She did not understandin the least what he said, but she gave him a distant smilerealizing that he was taking leave of her. She was somewhatsurprised to see Burke take him unceremoniously by the shoulder ashe stood before her and march him off the stoep. Piet himselflaughed as if he had said something witty, and there was that inthe laugh that sent the colour naming to her cheeks. 

She quivered with impotent indignation as she sat. She wished withall her heart that Burke would kick him down the steps. 

The sunset-light faded, and a soft dusk stole up over the widespaces. A light breeze cooled her hot face, and after the lapse ofa few minutes she began to chide herself for her foolishness. Probably the man had not meant to be offensive. She was certainBurke would never permit her to be insulted in his presence. Sheheard the sound of hoof-beats retreating away into the distance, and, with it, the memory of her dream came back upon her. She feltforlorn and rather frightened. It was only a dream of course; itwas only a dream! But she wished that Burke would come back toher. His substantial presence would banish phantoms. 

He did not come for some time, but she heard his step at last. Andthen a strange agitation took her so that she wanted to spring upand avoid him. She did not do so; she forced herself to appearnormal. But every nerve tingled as he approached, and she couldnot keep the quick blood from her face. 

He was carrying a tray which he set down on a rough wooden tablenear her. 

"You must be famished, " he said. 

She had not thought of food, but certainly the sight of it cheeredher failing spirits. She smiled at him. 

"Are we going to have another picnic?"

He smiled in answer, and she felt oddly relieved, All sense ofstrain and embarrassment left her. She sat up and helped himspread the feast. 

The fare was very simple, but she found it amply satisfying. Shepartook of Mary Ann's butter with appreciation. 

"I can make butter, " she told him presently. "And bake bread?"said Burke. 

She nodded, laughing. "Yes, and cook joints and mend clothes, too. Who does your mending? Mary Ann?"

"I do my own, " said Burke. "I cook, too, when Mary Ann takes leaveof absence. But I have a Kaffir house boy, Joe, for the odd jobs. And there's a girl, too, uglier than Mary Ann, a relation ofhers--called Rose, short for Fair Rosamond. Haven't you seen Roseyet?"

Sylvia's laugh brought a smile to his face. It was a veryinfectious laugh. Though she sobered almost instantly, it left aripple of mirth behind on the surface of their conversation. Hecarried the tray away again when the meal was over, firmly refusingher offer to wash up. 

"Mary Ann can do it in the morning, " he said. 

"Where is she now?" asked Sylvia. 

He sat down beside her, and took out his pipe. "They are over intheir own huts. They don't sleep in the house. "

"Does no one sleep in the house?" she asked quickly. 

"I do, " said Burke. 

A sudden silence fell. The dusk had deepened into a starlitdarkness, but there was a white glow behind the hills that seemedto wax with every instant that passed. Very soon the whole _veldt_would be flooded with moonlight. 

In a very small voice Sylvia spoke at length. 

"Mr. Ranger!"

It was the first time she had addressed him by name. He turneddirectly towards her. "Call me Burke!" he said. 

It was almost a command. She faced him as directly as he facedher. "Burke--if you wish it!" she said. "I want to talk thingsover with you, to thank you for your very great goodness to me, and--and to make plans for the future. "

"One moment!" he said. "You have given up all thought of marryingGuy?"

She hesitated. "I suppose so, " she said slowly. 

"Don't you know your own mind?" he said. 

Still she hesitated. "If--if he should come back----"

"He will come back, " said Burke. 

She started. "He will?"

"Yes, he will. " His voice held grim confidence, and somehow itsounded merciless also to her ears. "He'll turn up again some day. He always does. I'm about the only man in South Africa whowouldn't kick him out within six months. He knows that. That'swhy he'll come back. "

"You are--good to him, " said Sylvia, her voice very low. 

"No, I'm not; not specially. He knows what I think of him anyhow. "Burke spoke slowly. "I've done what I could for him, but he's oneof my failures. You've got to grasp the fact that he's a rotter. Have you grasped that yet?"

"I'm beginning to, " Sylvia said, under her breath. 

"Then you can't--possibly--many him, " said Burke. 

She lowered her eyes before the keenness of his look. She wishedthe light in the east were not growing so rapidly. 

"The question is, What am I going to do?" she said. 

Burke was silent for a moment. Then with a slight gesture thatmight have denoted embarrassment he said, "You don't want to stayhere, I suppose?"

She looked up again quickly. "Here--on this farm, do you mean?"

"Yes. " He spoke brusquely, but there was a certain eagerness inhis attitude as he leaned towards her. 

A throb of gratitude went through her. She put out her hand to himvery winningly. "What a pity I'm not a boy!" she said, genuineregret in her voice. 

He took her hand and kept it. "Is that going to make anydifference?" he said. 

She looked at him questioningly. It was difficult to read his facein the gloom. "All the difference, I am afraid, " she said. "Youare very generous--a real good comrade. If I were a boy, there'snothing I'd love better. But, being a woman, I can't live herealone with you, can I? Not even in South Africa!"

"Why not?" he said. 

His hand grasped hers firmly; she grasped his in return. "Youheard what your Boer friend called me, " she said. "He wouldn'tunderstand anything else. "

"I told him to call you that, " said Burke. 

"You--told him!" She gave a great start. His words amazed her. 

"Yes. " There was a dogged quality in his answer. "I had toprotect you somehow. He had seen us together at Ritzen. I saidyou were my wife. "

Sylvia gasped in speechless astonishment. 

He went on ruthlessly. "It was the only thing to do. They're nota particularly moral crowd here, and, as you say, they wouldn'tunderstand anything else--decent. Do you object to the idea? Doyou object very strongly?"

There was something masterful in the persistence with which hepressed the question. Sylvia had a feeling as of being held downand compelled to drink some strangely paralyzing draught. 

She made a slight, half-scared movement and in a moment his handreleased hers. 

"You do object!" he said. 

She clasped her hands tightly together. "Please don't say--orthink--that! It is such a sudden idea, and--it's rather a wildone, isn't it?" Her breath came quickly. "If--if I agreed--andlet the pretence go on--people would be sure to find out sooner orlater. Wouldn't they?"

"I am not suggesting any pretence, " he said. 

"What do you mean then?" Sylvia said, compelling herself to speaksteadily. 

"I am asking you to marry me, " he said, with equal steadiness. 

"Really, do you mean? You are actually in earnest?" Her voice hada sharp quiver in it. She was trembling suddenly. "Please bequite plain with me!" she said. "Remember, I don't know you verywell. I have got to get used to the ways out here. "

"I am quite in earnest, " said Burke. "You know me better than youknew the man you came out here to marry. And you will get used tothings more quickly married to me than any other way. At least youwill have an assured position. That ought to count with you. "

"Of course it would! It does!" she said rather incoherently. "But--you see--I've no one to help me--no one to advise me. I'm ona road I don't know. And I'm so afraid of taking a wrong turning. "

"Afraid!" he said. "You!"

She tried to laugh. "You think me a very bold person, don't you?Or you wouldn't have suggested such a thing. "

"I think you've got plenty of grit, " he said, "but that wasn't whatmade me suggest it. " He paused a moment. "Perhaps it's hardlyworth while going on, " he said then. "I seem to have gone too faralready. Please believe I meant well, that's all!"

"Oh, I know that!" she said. 

And then, moved by a curious impulse, she did an extraordinarything. She leaned forward and laid her clasped hands on his knee. 

"I'm going to be--awfully frank with you, " she said rathertremulously. You--won't mind?''

He sat motionless for a second. Then very quietly he dropped hispipe back into his pocket and grasped her slender wrists. "Go on!"he said. 

Her face was lifted, very earnest and appealing, to his. "Youknow, " she said, "we are not strangers. We haven't been from thevery beginning. We started comrades, didn't we?"

"We should have been married by this time, if I hadn't put thebrake on, " said Burke. 

"Yes, " Sylvia said. "I know. That is what makes me feelso--intimate with you. But it is different for you. I am a totalstranger to you. You have never met me--or anyone like me--before. Have you?"

"And I have never asked anyone to marry me before, " said Burke. 

The wrists he held grew suddenly rigid. "You have asked me outof--out of pity--and the goodness of your heart?" she whispered. 

"Quite wrong, " said Burke. "I want a capable woman to take care ofme--when Mary Ann goes on the bust. "

"Please don't make me laugh!" begged Sylvia rather shakily. "Ihaven't done yet. I'm going to ask you an awful thing next. You'll tell me the truth, won't you?"

"I'll tell you before you ask, " he said. "I can be several kindsof beast, but not the kind you are afraid of. I am not a faddist, but I am moral. I like it best. "

The curt, distinct words were too absolute to admit of any doubt. Sylvia breathed a short, hard sigh. 

"I wonder, " she said, "if it would be very wrong to marry a personyou only like. "

"Marriage is a risk--in any case, " said Burke. "But if you're notblindly in love, you can at least see where you are going. "

"I can't, " she said rather piteously. 

"You're afraid of me, " he said. 

"No, not really--not really. It's almost as big a risk for you asfor me. You haven't bothered about--my morals, have you?" Herfaint laugh had in it a sound of tears. 

The hands that held her wrists closed with a steady pressure. "Ihaven't, " said Burke with simplicity. 

"Thank you, " she said. "You've been very kind to me. Really I amnot afraid of you. "

"Sure?" said Burke. 

"Only I still wish I were a boy, " she said. "You and I could bejust pals then. "

"And why not now?" he said. 

"Is it possible?" she asked. 

"I should say so. Why not?"

She freed her hands suddenly and laid them upon his arms. "If Imarry you, will you treat me just as a pal?"

"I will, " said Burke. 

She was still trembling a little. "You won't interfere withmy--liberty?"

"Not unless you abuse it, " he said. 

She laughed again faintly. "I won't do that. I'll be a model ofdiscretion. You may not think it, but I am--very discreet. "

"I am sure of it, " said Burke. 

"No, you're not. You're not in the least sure of anything where Iam concerned. You've only known me--two days. "

He laughed a little. "It doesn't matter how long it has taken. Iknow you. "

She laughed with him, and sat up, "What must you have thought of mewhen I told you you hadn't shaved?"

He took out his pipe again. "If you'd been a boy, I shouldprobably have boxed your ears, " he said. "By the way, why did youget up when I told you to stay in bed?"

"Because I knew best what was good for me, " said Sylvia. "Have yougot such a thing as a cigarette?"

He got up. "Yes, in my room. Wait while I fetch them!"

"Oh, don't go on purpose!" she said. "I daresay I shouldn't likeyour kind, thanks all the same. "

He went nevertheless, and she leaned back with her face to thehills and waited. The moon was just topping the great summits. She watched it with a curious feeling of weakness. It had not beena particularly agitating interview, but she knew that she had justpassed a cross-roads, in her life. 

She had taken a road utterly unknown to her and though she hadtaken it of her own accord, she did not feel that the choice hadreally been hers. Somehow her faculties were numbed, wereparalyzed. She could not feel the immense importance of what shehad done, or realize that she had finally, of her own action, severed her life from Guy's. He had become such a part of herselfthat she could not all at once divest herself of that waitingfeeling, that confident looking forward to a future with him. Andyet, strangely, her memory of him had receded into distance, becomedim and remote. In Burke's presence she could not recall him atall. The two personalities, dissimilar though she knew them to be, seemed in some curious fashion to have become merged into one. Shecould not understand her own feelings, but she was conscious ofrelief that the die was cast. Whatever lay before her, she wassure of one thing. Burke Ranger would be her safeguard against anyevil that might arise and menace her. His protection was of thesolid quality that would never fail her. She felt firm groundbeneath her feet at last. 

At the sound of his returning step, she turned with the moonlighton her face and smiled up at him with complete confidence. 

CHAPTER XII

THE STALE

Whenever in after days Sylvia looked back upon her marriage, itseemed to be wrapped in a species of hazy dream like the earlymists on that far-off range of hills. 

They did not go again to Ritzen, but to a town of greaterimportance further down the line, a ride of nearly forty milesacross the _veldt_. It was a busy town in the neighbourhood ofsome mines, and its teeming life brought back again to her thatsense of aloneness in a land of strangers that had so oppressed herin the beginning. It drove her to seek Burke's society wheneverpossible. He was the shield between her and desolation, and in hispresence her misgivings always faded into the background. He knewsome of the English people at Brennerstadt, but she dreaded meetingthem, and entreated him not to introduce anyone to her until theywere married. 

"People are all so curious. I can't face it, " she said. "Mine israther a curious story, too. It will only set them talking, and Ido so hate gossip. "

He smiled a little and conceded the point. And so she was still astranger to everyone on the day she laid her hand in Burke's andswore to be faithful to him. The marriage was a civil one. Thatalso robbed it of all sense of reality for her. The ceremony lefther cold. It did not touch so much as the outer tissues of hermost vital sensibilities. She even felt somewhat impatient of theformalities observed, and very decidedly glad when they were over. 

"Now let's go for a ride and forget it all!" she said. "We'll havea picnic on the _veldt_. "

They had their picnic, but the heat was so great as to rob it ofmuch enjoyment. Sylvia was charmed by a distant view of a herd ofspringbok, and her eyes shone momentarily when Burke said that theywould have to do some shooting together. But almost immediatelyshe shook her head. 

"No, they are too pretty to kill. I love the hunt, but I hate thekill. Besides, I shall be too busy. If I am going to be yourpartner, one of us will have to do some work. "

He laughed at that. "When do you want to begin?"

"Very soon, " she said energetically. "Tomorrow if you like. Idon't think much of Brennerstadt, do you? It's such a barren sortof place. " He looked at her. "I believe you'll hate the winter onthe farm. "

"No, I shan't. I shan't hate anything. I'm not so silly as toexpect paradise all the time. "

"Is this paradise?" said Burke. 

She glanced at him quickly. "No, I didn't say that. But I amenjoying it. And, " she flushed slightly, "I am very grateful toyou for making that possible. "

"You've nothing to be grateful to me for, " he said. 

"Only I can't help it, " said Sylvia. 

Burke's eyes were scanning the far stretch of _veldt_ towards thesinking sun, with a piercing intentness. She wondered what he waslooking for. 

There fell a silence between them, and a vague feeling ofuneasiness began to grow up within her. His brown face wasgranite-like in its immobility, but it was exceedingly grim. 

Something stirred within her at last, impelling her to action. Shegot up. 

"Do you see that blasted tree right away over there with horridtwisted arms that look as if they are trying to clutch atsomething?"

His eyes came up to hers on the instant. "What of it?" he said. 

She laughed down at him. "Let's mount! I'll race you to it. "

He leapt to his feet like, a boy. "What's the betting?"

"Anything you like!" she threw back gaily. "Whoever gets therefirst can fix the stakes. "

He laughed aloud, and the sound of his laugh made her catch herbreath with a sharp, involuntary start. She ran to her mountfeeling as if Guy were behind her, and with an odd perversity shewould not look round to disillusion herself. 

During the fevered minutes that followed, the illusion possessedher strongly, so strongly that she almost forgot the vitalimportance of being first. It was the thudding hoofs of hiscompanion that made her animal gallop rather than any urging ofhers. But once started, with the air swirling past her and theexcitement of rapid motion setting her veins on fire, the spirit ofthe race caught her again, and she went like the wind. 

The blasted tree stood on a slope nearly a mile away. The groundwas hard, and the grass seemed to crackle under the gallopinghoofs. The horse she rode carried her with superb ease. He wasthe finest animal she had ever ridden, and from the first shebelieved the race was hers. 

On she went through the orange glow of evening. It was like aswift entrancing dream. And the years fell away from her as ifthey had never been, and she and Guy were racing over the slopes ofher father's park, as they had raced in the old sweet days of youthand early love. She heard him urging his horse behind her, andremembered how splendid he always looked in the saddle. 

The distance dwindled. The stark arms of the naked tree seemed tobe stretching out to receive her. But he was drawing nearer also. She could hear the thunder of his animal's hoofs close behind. Shebent low in the saddle, gasping encouragement to her own. 

There came a shout beside her--a yell of triumph such as Guy hadoften uttered. He passed her and drew ahead. That fired her. Shesaw victory being wrested from her. 

She cried back at him "You--bounder!" and urged her horse to fresheffort. 

The ground sped away beneath her. The heat-haze seemed to spinaround. Her eyes were fixed upon their goal, her whole being wasconcentrated upon reaching it. In the end it was as if the ruinedtree shot towards her. The race was over. A great giddiness cameupon her. She reeled in the saddle. 

And then a hand caught her; or was it one of those outstretchedskeleton arms? For a moment she hung powerless; then she was drawnclose--close--to a man's breast, and felt the leap and throb of aman's heart against her own. 

Breathless and palpitating, she lifted her face. His eyes lookeddeeply into hers, eyes that glowed like molten steel, and in aninstant her illusion was swept away. It seemed to her that for thefirst time she looked upon Burke Ranger as he was, and her wholebeing recoiled in sudden wild dismay from what she saw. 

"Ah! Let me go!" she said. 

He held her still, but his hold slackened. "I won the race, " hesaid. 

"Yes, but--but it was only a game, " she gasped back incoherently. "You--you can't--you won't----"

"Kiss you?" he said. "Not if you forbid it. " That calmed her verystrangely. His tone was so quiet; it revived her courage. Sheuttered a faint laugh. "Is that the stake? I can't refuse topay--a debt of honour. "

"Thank you, " he said, and she saw a curious smile gleam for amoment on his face. "That means you are prepared to take me like anasty pill, doesn't it? I like your pluck. It's the best thingabout you. But I won't put it to the test this time. "

He made as if he would release her, but with an odd impulse shechecked him. Somehow it was unbearable to be humoured like that. She looked him straight in the eyes. 

"We are pals, aren't we?" she said. 

The smile still lingered on Burke's face; it had an enigmaticalquality that disquieted her, she could not have said wherefore. "It's rather an ambiguous term, isn't it?" he said. 

"No, it isn't, " she assured him, promptly and Very earnestly. "Itmeans that we are friends, but we are not in love and we are notgoing to pretend we are. At least, " she flushed suddenly under hislook, "that is what it means to me. "

"I see, " said Burke. "And what would happen if we fell in lovewith each other?"

Her eyes sank in spite of her. "I don't think we need considerthat, " she said. 

"Why not?" said Burke. 

"I could never be in love with anyone again, " she said, her voicevery low. 

"Quite sure?" said Burke. 

Something in his tone made her look up sharply. His eyes wereintently and critically upon her, but the glow had gone out ofthem. They told her nothing. 

"Do you think we need discuss this subject?" she asked him uneasily. 

"Not if you prefer to shirk it, " he said. She flushed a little. "But I don't shirk. I'm not that sort. "

"No, " he said. "I don't think you are. You may be frightened, butyou won't run away. "

"But I'm not frightened, " she asserted boldly, looking him squarelyin the face. "We are friends, you and I. And--we are going totrust each other. Being married isn't going to make any differenceto us. It was just a matter of convenience and--we are going toforget it. "

She paused. Burke's face had not altered. He was looking back ather with perfectly steady eyes. 

"Very simple in theory, " he said. "Won't you finish?"

"That's all, " she said lightly. "Except--if you really want tokiss me now and then--you can do so. Only don't be silly about it!"

Burke's quick movement of surprise told her that this wasunexpected. The two horses had recovered their wind and begun tonibble at one another. He checked them with a growling rebuke. Then very quietly he placed Sylvia's bridle in her hand, and puther from him. 

"Thank you, " he said again. "But you mustn't be too generous atthe outset. I might begin to expect too much. And that wouldbe--silly of me, wouldn't it?"

There was no bitterness in voice or action, but there wasunmistakable irony. A curious sense of coldness came upon her, asif out of the heart a distant storm-cloud an icy breath had reachedher. 

She looked at him rather piteously. "You are not angry?" she said. 

He leaned back in the saddle to knock a blood-sucking fly off hishorse's flank. Then he straightened himself and laughed. 

"No, not in the least, " he said. 

She knew that he spoke the truth, yet her heart misgave her. Therewas something baffling, something almost sinister to her, in thevery carelessness of his attitude. She turned her horse's head andwalked soberly away. 

He did not immediately follow her, and after a few moments sheglanced back for him. He had dismounted and was scratchingsomething on the trunk of the blasted tree with a knife. Thewithered arms stretched out above his head. They looked weirdlyhuman in the sunset glow. She wished he would not linger in thateerie place. 

She waited for him, and he came at length, riding with his head upand a strange gleam of triumph in his eyes. 

"What were you doing?" she asked him, as he joined her. 

He met her look with a directness oddly disconcerting. "I wascommemorating the occasion, he said. 

"What do you mean?" she said. 

"Never mind now!" said Burke, and took out his pipe. 

The light still lingered in his eyes, firing her to somethingdeeper than curiosity. She turned her horse abruptly. 

"I am going back to see for myself. "

But in the same moment his hand came out, grasping her bridle. "Ishouldn't do that, " he said. "It isn't worth it. Wait till wecome again!"

"The tree may be gone by then, " she objected. 

"In that case you won't have missed much, " he rejoined. "Don't gonow!"

He had his way though she yielded against her will. They turnedtheir animals towards Brennerstadt, and rode back together over, the sun-scorched _veldt_. 

PART II

CHAPTER I

COMRADES

Some degree of normality seemed to come back into Sylvia's lifewith her return to Blue Hill Farm. She found plenty to do there, and she rapidly became accustomed to her surroundings. 

It would have been a monotonous and even dreary existence but forthe fact that she rode with Burke almost every evening, andsometimes in the early morning also, and thus saw a good deal ofthe working of the farm. Her keen interest in horses made a strongbond of sympathy between them. She loved them all. The mares andtheir foals were a perpetual joy to her, and she begged hard to beallowed to try her powers at breaking in some of the young animals. Burke, however, would not hear of this. He was very kind to her, unfailingly considerate in his treatment of her, but by some meanshe made her aware that his orders were to be respected. The Kaffirservants were swift to do his bidding, though she did not find themso eager to fulfil their duties when he was not at hand. 

She laughingly commented upon this one day to Burke, and he amazedher by pointing to the riding-whip she chanced to be holding at thetime. 

"You'll find that's the only medicine for that kind of thing, " hesaid. "Give 'em a taste of that and they'll respect you!"

She decided he must be joking, but only a few days later he quiteundeceived her on that point by dragging Joe, the house boy, intothe yard and chastising him with a _sjambok_ for some neglectedduty. 

Joe howled lustily, and Sylvia yearned to fly to the rescue, butthere was something so judicial about Burke's administration ofpunishment that she did not venture to intervene. 

When he came in a little later, she was sitting in theirliving-room nervously stitching at the sleeve of a shirt that hehad managed to tear on some barbed wire. He had his pipe in hishand, and there was an air of grim satisfaction about him thatseemed to denote a consciousness of something well done. 

Sylvia set her mouth hard and stitched rapidly, trying to forgetJoe's piercing yells of a few minutes before. Burke went to thewindow and stood there, pensively filling his pipe. 

Suddenly, as if something in her silence struck him, he turned andlooked at her. She felt his eyes upon her though she did not raiseher own. 

After a moment or two he came to her. "What are you doing there?"he said. 

It was the first piece of work she had done for him. She glancedup. "Mending your shirt, " she told him briefly. 

He laid his hand abruptly upon it. "What are you doing that for?I don't want you to mend my things. "

"Oh, don't be silly, Burke!" she said. "You can't go in tatters. Please don't hinder me! I want to get it done. "

She spoke with a touch of sharpness, not feeling very kindlydisposed towards him at the moment. She was still somewhatagitated, and she wished with all her heart that he would go andleave her alone. 

She almost said as much in the next, breath as he did not removehis hand. "Why don't you go and shoot something? There's plentyof time before supper. "

"What's the matter?" said Burke. 

"Nothing, " she returned, trying to remove her work from his grasp. 

"Nothing!" he echoed. "Then why am I told not to be silly, not tohinder you, and to go and shoot something?"

Sylvia sat up in her chair, and faced him. "If you must have it--Ithink you've been--rather brutal, " she said, lifting her clear eyesto his. "No doubt you had plenty of excuse, but that doesn'treally justify you. At least--I don't think so. "

He met her look in his usual direct fashion. Those eagle eyes ofhis sent a little tremor through her. There was a caged fiercenessabout them that strangely stirred her. 

He spoke after the briefest pause with absolute gentleness. "Allright, little pal! It's decent of you to put it like that. You'requite wrong, but that's a detail. You'll change your views whenyou've been in the country a little longer. Now forget it, andcome for a ride!"

It was disarmingly kind, and Sylvia softened in spite of herself. She put her hand on his arm. "Burke, you won't do it again?" shesaid. 

He smiled a little. "It won't be necessary for some time to come. If you did the same to Fair Rosamond now and then you wouldmarvellously improve her. Idle little cuss!"

"I never shall, " said Sylvia with emphasis. 

He heaved a sigh. "Then I shall have to kick her out I suppose. Ican see she is wearing your temper to a fine edge. "

She bit her lip for a second, and then laughed. "Oh, go away, do?You're very horrid. Rose may be trying sometimes, but I can put upwith her. "

"You can't manage her, " said Burke. 

"Anyway, you are not to interfere, " she returned with spirit. "That's my department. "

He abandoned the discussion. "Well, I leave it to you, partner. You're not to sit here mending shirts anyhow. I draw the line atthat. "

Sylvia's delicate chin became suddenly firm. "I never leave athing unfinished, " she said. "You will have to ride alone thisevening. "

"I refuse, " said Burke. 

She opened her eyes wide. "Really"--she began. 

"Yes, really, " he said. "Put the thing away! It's a sheer fad tomend it at all. I don't care what I wear, and I'm sure you don't. "

"But I do, " she protested. "You must be respectable. "

"But I am respectable--whatever I wear, " argued Burke. "It's mymain characteristic. "

His brown hand began to draw the garment in dispute away from her, but Sylvia held it tight. 

Burke, don't--please--be tiresome! Every woman mends herhusband's clothes if there is no one else to do it. I want to doit. There!"

"You don't like doing it!" he challenged. 

"It's my duty, " she maintained. 

He gave her an odd look. "And do you always do--your duty?"

"I try to, " she said. 

"Always?" he insisted. 

Something in his eyes gave her pause. She wanted to turn her ownaside, but could not. "To--to the best of my ability, " shestammered. 

He looked ironical for an instant, and then abruptly he laughed andreleased her work. "Bless your funny little heart!" he said. "Pegaway, if you want to! It looks rather as if you're starting at thewrong end, but, being a woman, no doubt you will get thereeventually. "

That pierced her. It was Guy--Guy in the flesh--tenderly tauntingher with some feminine weakness. So swift and so sharp was thepain that she could not hide it. She bent her face over her workwith a quick intake of the breath. 

"Why--Sylvia!" he said, bending over her. 

She drew away from him. "Don't--please! I--I am foolish. Don't--take any notice!"

He stood up again, but his hand found her shoulder and rubbed itcomfortingly. "What is it, partner? Tell a fellow!" he urged, histone an odd mixture of familiarity and constraint. 

She fought with herself, and at last told him. "You--you--you wereso like--Guy--just then. "

"Oh, damn Guy!" he said lightly. "I am much more like myself atall times. Cheer up, partner! Don't cry for the moon!"

She commanded herself and looked up at him with a quivering smile. "It is rather idiotic, isn't it? And ungrateful too. You are verygood not to lose patience. "

"Oh, I am very patient, " said Burke with a certain grimness. "Butlook here! Must you mend that shirt? I've got another somewhere. "

Her smile turned to a laugh. She sprang up with a lithe, impulsivemovement, "Come along then! Let's go! I don't know why you wantto be bothered with me, I'm sure. But I'll come. "

She took him by the arm and went with him from the room. 

They rode out across Burke's land. The day had been one of burningheat. Sylvia turned instinctively towards the _kopje_ that alwaysattracted her. It had an air of aloofness that drew her fancy. "Imust climb that very early some morning, " she said, "in time forthe sunrise. "

"It will mean literal climbing, " said Burke. "It's too steep for ahorse. "

"Oh, I don't mind that, " she said. "I have a steady head. But Iwant to get round it tonight. I've never been round it yet. Whatis there on the other side?"

"_Veldt_, " he said. 

She made a face. And then _veldt_--and then _veldt_. Plenty ofnice, sandy karoo where all the sand-storms come from! But thereare always the hills beyond. I am going to explore them some day. "

"May I come too?" he said. 

She smiled at him. "Of course, partner. We will have a castleright at the top of the world, shall we? There will be mountaingorges and great torrents, and ferns and rhododendrons everywhere. And a little further still, a great lake like an inland sea withsandy shores and very calm water with the blue sky or the starsalways in it. "

"And what will the castle be like?" he said. 

Sylvia's eyes were on the far hills as they rode. "The castle?"she said. "Oh, the castle will be of grey granite--the sparklingsort, very cool inside, with fountains playing everywhere; spaciousrooms of course, and very lofty--always lots of air and no dust. "

"Shall I be allowed to smoke a pipe in them?" asked Burke. 

"You will do exactly what you like all day long, " she told himgenerously. 

"So long as I don't get in your way, " he suggested. 

She laughed a little. "Oh, we shall be too happy for that. Besides, you can have a farm or two to look after. There won't beany dry watercourses there like that, " pointing with her whip. "That is what you call a '_spruit_, ' isn't it?"

"You are getting quite learned, " he said. "Yes, that is a _spruit_and that is a _kopje_. "

"And that?" She pointed farther on suddenly. "What is that justabove the watercourse? Is it a Kaffir hut?"

"No, " said Burke. 

He spoke somewhat shortly. The object she indicated wasundoubtedly a hut; to Sylvia's unaccustomed eyes it might have beena cattle-shed. It was close to the dry watercourse, a littlelonely hovel standing among stones and a straggling growth ofcoarse grass. 

Something impelled Sylvia to check her horse. She glanced at hercompanion as if half-afraid. "What is it?" she said. "It--lookslike a hermit's cell. Who lives there?"

"No one at the present moment, " said Burke. 

His eyes were fixed straight ahead. He spoke curtly, as if againsthis will. 

"But who generally--" began Sylvia, and then she stopped and turnedsuddenly white to the lips. 

"I--see, " she said, in an odd, breathless whisper. 

Burke spoke without looking at her. "It's just a cabin. He builtit himself the second year he was out here. He had been living atthe farm, but he wanted to get away from me, wanted to go his ownway without interference. Perhaps I went too far in that line. After all, it was no business of mine. But I can't stand tamely byand see a white man deliberately degrading himself to the Kaffirlevel. It was as well he went. I should have skinned him sooneror later if he hadn't. He realized that. So did I. So we agreedto part. "

So briefly and baldly Burke stated the case, and every sentence heuttered was a separate thrust in the heart of the white-faced girlwho sat her horse beside him, quite motionless, with burning eyesfixed upon the miserable little hovel that had enshrined the idolshe had worshipped for so long. 

She lifted her bridle at last without speaking a word and walkedher animal forward through the sparse grass and the stones. Burkemoved beside her, still gazing straight ahead, as if he were alone. 

They went down to the cabin, and Sylvia dismounted. The onlywindow space was filled with wire-netting instead of glass, andover this on the inside a piece of cloth had been firmly fastenedso that no prying eyes could look in. The door was locked andpadlocked. It was evident that the owner had taken everyprecaution against intrusion. 

And yet--though he lived in this wretched place at which even aKaffir might have looked askance--he had sent her that messagetelling her to come to him. This fact more than any other that shehad yet encountered brought home to her the bitter, bitter truth ofhis failure. Out of the heart of the wilderness, out of desolationunspeakable, he had sent that message. And she had answered it--tofind him gone. 

The slow hot tears welled up and ran down her face. She was noteven aware of them. Only at last she faced the desolation, in itsentirety, she drank the cup to its dregs. It was here that he hadtaken the downward road. It was here that he had buried hismanhood. When she turned away at length, she felt as if she hadbeen standing by his grave. 

Burke waited for her and helped her to mount again in uttersilence. Only as she lifted the bridle again he laid his hand fora moment on her knee. It was a dumb act of sympathy which shecould not acknowledge lest she should break down utterly. But itsent a glow of comfort to her hurt and aching heart. He had givenher a comrade's sympathy just when she needed it most. 

CHAPTER II

THE VISITORS

It was after that ride to Guy's hut that Sylvia began at last toregard him as connected only with that which was past. It was asif a chapter in her life had closed when she turned away from thatsolitary hut in the wilderness. She said to herself that the manshe had known and loved was dead, and she did not after thatevening suffer her thoughts voluntarily to turn in his direction. Soberly she took up the burden of life. She gathered up the reinsof government, and assumed the ordering of Burke Ranger'shousehold. She did not again refer to Guy in his presence, thoughthere were times when his step, his voice, above all, his whistle, stabbed her to poignant remembrance. 

He also avoided the subject of Guy, treating her with a carelesskindliness that set her wholly at ease with him. She learned moreand more of the working of the farm, and her interest in the youngcreatures grew daily. She loved to accompany him on his rides ofinspection in the early mornings showing herself so apt a pupilthat he presently dubbed her his overseer, and even at lastentrusted her occasionally with such errands as only a confidentialoverseer could execute. 

It was when returning from one of these somewhat late one blazingmorning that she first encountered their nearest British neighboursfrom a farm nearly twelve miles distant. It was a considerableshock to her to find them in possession of the _stoep_ when sherode up, but the sight of the red-faced Englishman who strode outto meet her reassured her in a moment. 

"How do you do, Mrs. Ranger? We've just come over to pay ourrespects, " he announced in a big, hearty voice. "You'll hardlybelieve it, but we've only recently heard of Burke's marriage. It's been a nine days' wonder with us, but now I've seen you Icease to marvel at anything but Burke's amazing luck. "

There was something so engagingly naive in this compliment thatSylvia found it impossible to be formal. She smiled and slipped tothe ground. 

"You are Mr. Merston, " she said. "How kind of you to come over! Iam afraid I am alone at present, but Burke is sure to be in soon. I hope you have had some refreshment. "

She gave her horse to a Kaffir boy, and went with her new friend upthe steps of the _stoep_. 

"My wife!" said Merston in his jolly voice. 

Sylvia went forward with an eagerness that wilted in spite of herbefore she reached its object. Mrs. Merston did not rise to meether. She sat prim and upright and waited for her greeting, andSylvia knew in a moment before their hands touched each other thathere was no kindred spirit. 

"How do you do?" said Mrs. Merston formally. 

She was a little woman, possibly ten years Sylvia's senior, with aface that had once been pink and white and now was the colour ofpale brick all over. Her eyes were pale and seemed to carry aperpetual grievance. Her nose was straight and very thin, ratherpinched at the nostrils. Her lips were thin and took a bitterdownward curve. Her hair was quite colourless, almost like ashes;it had evidently once been light gold. 

The hand she extended to Sylvia was so thin that she thought shecould feel the bones rubbing together. Her skin was hot and verydry. 

"I hope you like this horrible country, " she said. 

"Oh, come, Matilda!" her husband protested. 

"That's not a very cheery greeting for a newcomer!"

She closed her thin lips without reply, and the downward curvebecame very unpleasantly apparent. 

"I haven't found out all its horrors yet, " said Sylvia lightly. "It's a very thirsty place, I think, anyway just now. Have you hadanything?"

"We've only just got here, " said Merston. 

"Oh, I must see to it!" said Sylvia, and hastened within. 

"Looks a jolly sort of girl, " observed Merston to his wife. "Wonder how--and when--Burke managed to catch her. He hasn't beenhome for ten years and she can't be five-and-twenty. "

"She probably did the catching, " remarked his wife tersely. "Butshe will soon wish she hadn't. "

Sylvia returned two minutes later bearing a tray of which Merstonhastened to relieve her. 

"We're wondering--my wife and I--how Burke had the good fortune toget married to you, " he said. "You're new to this country, aren'tyou? And he hasn't been out of it as long as I have known him. "

Sylvia looked up at him in momentary confusion. Then she laughed. 

"We picked each other up at Ritzen, " she said. 

"Ritzen!" he echoed in amazement, "What on earth took you there?"Then hastily, "I say, I beg your pardon. You must forgive myimpertinence. But you look so awfully like a duchess in your ownright, I couldn't help being surprised. "

"Well, have a drink!" said Sylvia lightly. "I'm not a duchess inmy own right or anything else, except Burke's wife. We're runningthis farm together on the partner system. I'm junior partner ofcourse. Burke tells me what to do, and I do it. "

"You'll soon lose your complexion if you go out riding in this heatand dust, " said Mrs. Merston. 

"Oh, I hope not, " Sylvia laughed again. "If I do, I daresay Ishan't miss it much. It's rather fun to feel that sort of thingdoesn't matter. Ah, here is Burke coming now!" She glanced up atthe thudding of his horse's hoofs. 

Merston went out again into the blinding sunlight to greet hishost, and Sylvia turned to the thin, pinched woman beside her. 

"I expect you would like to come inside and take off your hat andwash. It is hot, isn't it? Shall we go in and get respectable?"

She spoke with that winning friendliness of hers that few couldresist. Mrs. Merston's lined face softened almost in spite ofitself. She got up. But she could not refrain from flinginganother acid remark as she did so. 

"I really think if Englishmen must live in South Africa, they oughtto be content with Boer wives. "

"Oh, should you like your husband to have married a Boer wife?"said Sylvia. 

Mrs. Merston smiled grimly. "You are evidently still in the fool'sparadise stage. Make the most of it! It won't last long. The menout here have other things to think about. "

"I should hope so, " said Sylvia energetically. "And the women, too, I should think. I should imagine that there is very littletime for philandering out here. "

Mrs. Merston uttered a bitter laugh as she followed her in. "Thereis very little time for anything, Mrs. Ranger. It is drudgery frommorning till night. "

"Oh, I haven't found that yet, " said Sylvia. 

She had led her visitor into the guest-room which she had occupiedsince her advent. It was not quite such a bare apartment as it hadbeen on that first night. All her personal belongings werescattered about, and the severely masculine atmosphere had beencompletely driven forth. 

"I'm afraid it isn't very tidy in here, " she said. "I generallysee to things later. I don't care to turn the Kaffir girl looseamong my things. "

Mrs. Merston looked around her. "And where does your husbandsleep?" she said. 

"Across the passage. His room is about the same size as this. They are not very big, are they?"

"You are very lucky to have such a home, " said Mrs. Merston. "Oursis nothing but a corrugated iron shed divided into two parts. "

"Really?" Sylvia opened her eyes. "That doesn't sound very nicecertainly. Haven't you got a verandah even--I beg its pardon, a_stoep_?"

"We have nothing at all that makes for comfort, " declared Mrs. Merston, with bitter emphasis. "We live like pigs in a sty!"

"Good heavens!" said Sylvia. "I shouldn't like that. "

"No, you wouldn't. It takes a little getting used to. But you'llgo through the mill presently. All we farmers' wives do. You andBurke Ranger won't go on in this Garden of Eden style very long. "

Sylvia laughed with a touch of uncertainty. "I suppose it's amistake to expect too much of life anywhere, " she said. "But it'sdifficult to be miserable when one is really busy, isn't it?Anyhow one can't be bored. "

"Are you really happy here?" Mrs. Merston asked point-blank, in thetone of one presenting a challenge. 

Sylvia paused for a moment, only a moment, and then she answered, "Yes. "

"And you've been married how long? Six weeks?"

"About that, " said Sylvia. 

Mrs. Merston looked at her, and an almost cruel look came into herpale eyes. "Ah! You wait a little!" she said. "You're young now. You've got all your vitality still in your veins. Wait till thispitiless country begins to get hold of you! Wait till you begin tobear children, and all your strength is drained out of you, and youstill have to keep on at the same grinding drudgery till you'reready to drop, and your husband comes in and laughs at you andtells you to buck up, when you haven't an ounce of energy left inyou! See how you like the prison-house then! All your youngfreshness gone and nothing left--nothing left!"

She spoke with such force that Sylvia felt actually shocked. Yetstill with that instinctive tact of hers, she sought to smooth thetroubled waters. "Oh, have you children?" she said. "How many?Do tell me about them!"

"I have had six, " said Mrs. Merston dully. "They are all dead. "

She clenched her hands at Sylvia's quick exclamation of pity, butshe gave no other sign of emotion. 

"They all die in infancy, " she said. "It's partly the climate, partly that I am overworked--worn out. He--" with infinitebitterness--"can't see it. Men don't--or won't. You'll find thatpresently. It's all in front of you. I don't envy you in theleast, Mrs. Ranger. I daresay you think there is no one in theworld like your husband. Young brides always do. But you'll findout presently. Men are all selfish where their own pleasures areconcerned. And Burke Ranger is no exception to the rule. He has avillainous temper, too. Everyone knows that. "

"Oh, don't tell me that!" said Sylvia gently. "He and I arepartners, you know. Let me put a little _eau-de-cologne_ in thatwater! It's so refreshing. "

Mrs. Merston scarcely noticed the small service. She was toointent upon her work of destruction. "You don't know him--yet, "she said. "But anyone you meet can tell you the same. Why, he hada young cousin here--such a nice boy--and he sent him straight tothe bad with his harsh treatment, --_sjamboked_ him and turned himout of the house for some slight offence. Yes, no wonder you lookscandalized; but I assure you it's true. Guy Ranger was none toosteady, I know. But that was absolutely the finishing touch. Hewas never the same again. "

She paused. Sylvia was very white, but her eyes were quiteresolute, unfailingly steadfast. 

"Please don't tell me any more!" she said. "Whatever Burke didwas--was from a good motive. I know that. I know him. And--Idon't want to have any unkind feelings towards him. "

"You prefer to remain blind?" said Mrs. Merston with her bittersmile, "Yes--yes, " Sylvia said. 

"Then you are building your house on the sand, " said Mrs. Merston, and turned from her with a shrug. "And great will be the fallthereof. "

CHAPTER III

THE BARGAIN

THE visitors did not leave until the sun was well down in the west. To Sylvia it had been an inexplicably tiring day, and when theydeparted at length she breathed a wholly unconscious sigh of relief. 

"Come for a ride!" said Burke. 

She shook her head. "No, thank you. I think I will have a rest. "

"All right. I'll smoke a pipe on the _stoep_, " he said. 

He had been riding round his land with Merston during the greaterpart of the afternoon, and it did not surprise her that he seemedto think that he also had earned a quiet evening. But curiouslyhis decision provoked in her an urgent desire to ride alone. Apressing need for solitude was upon her. She yearned to get rightaway by herself. 

She went to her room, however, and lay down for a while, trying totake the rest she needed; but when presently she heard the voice ofHans Schafen, his Dutch foreman, talking on the verandah, she arosewith a feeling of thankfulness, donned her sun-hat, and slipped outof the bungalow. It was hot for walking, but it was a relief toget away from the house. She knew it was quite possible that Burkewould see her go, but she believed he would be too engrossed withbusiness for some time to follow her. It was quite possible hewould not wish to do so, but she had a feeling that this was notprobable. He generally sought her out in his leisure hours. 

Almost instinctively she turned her steps in the direction of thekopje which she had so often desired to climb. It rose steep fromthe _veldt_ like some lonely tower in the wilderness. Curious-shaped rocks cropped out unexpectedly on its scarred sidesand a few prickly pear bushes stood up here and there like weirdguardians of the rugged stronghold. Sylvia had an odd feeling thatthey watched her with unfriendly attention as she approached. Though solitude girt her round, she did not feel herself to bereally alone. 

It took her some time to reach it, for the ground was rough andsandy under her feet, and it was farther away than it looked. Sherealized as she drew nearer that to climb to the round summit wouldbe no easy task, but that fact did not daunt her. She felt theneed for strenuous exercise just then. 

The shadows were lengthening, and the full glare of the sun nolonger smote upon her. She began to climb with some energy. Butshe soon found that she had undertaken a greater task than she hadanticipated. The way was steep, and here and there the bouldersseemed to block further progress completely. She pressed on withdiminishing speed, taking a slanting upward course that presentlybrought her into the sun again and in view of the little cabinabove the stony watercourse that had sheltered Guy for so long. 

The sight of it seemed to take all the strength out of her. Shesat down on a rock to rest. All day long she had been forcing thepicture that Mrs. Merston had painted for her into the backgroundof her thoughts. All day long it had been pressing forward inspite of her. It seemed to be burning her brain, and now she couldnot ignore it any longer. Sitting there exhausted in mind andbody, she had to face it in all its crudeness. She had to meet andsomehow to conquer the sickening sensation of revolt that had comeupon her. 

She sat there for a long time, till the sun sank low in the sky anda wondrous purple glow spread across the _veldt_. She knew that itwas growing late, that Burke would be expecting her for the eveningmeal, but she could not summon the strength she needed to end hersolitary vigil on the _kopje_. She had a feeling as of waiting forsomething. Though she was too tired to pray, yet it seemed to herthat a message was on its way. She watched the glory in the westwith an aching intensity that possessed her to the exclusion ofaught beside. Somehow, even in the midst of her weariness anddepression, she felt sure that help would come. 

The glory began to wane, and a freshness blew across the _veldt_. Somewhere on the very top of the _kopje_ a bird uttered atwittering note. She turned her face, listening for the answer, and found Burke seated on another boulder not six yards away. 

So unexpected was the sight that she caught her breath inastonishment and a sharp instinctive sense of dismay. He was notlooking at her, but gazing forth to the distant hills like an eaglefrom its eyrie. His eyes had the look of seeing many things thatwere wholly beyond her vision. 

She sat in silence, a curious feeling of embarrassment upon her, asif she looked upon something which she was not meant to see and yetcould not turn from. His brown face was so intent, almost terriblykeen. The lines about the mouth were drawn with ruthlessdistinctness. It was the face of a hunter, and the iron resolutionof it sent an odd quiver that was almost of foreboding through herheart. 

And then suddenly he turned his head slightly, as if he felt herlook upon him, and like a knife-thrust his eyes came down to hers. She felt the hot colour rush over her face as if she had beencaught in some act of trespass. Her confusion consumed her, shecould not have said wherefore. She looked swiftly away. 

Quietly he left his rock and came to her. 

She shrank at his coming. The pulse in her throat was throbbing asif it would choke her. She wanted to spring up and flee down thehill. But he was too near. She sat very still, her fingersgripping each other about her knees, saying no word. 

He reached her and stood looking down at her. "I followed you, " hesaid, "because I knew you would never get to the top alone. "

She lifted her face, striving against her strange agitation. "Iwasn't thinking of going any further, " she said, struggling tospeak indifferently. "It--is steeper than I thought. "

"It aways is, " said Burke. 

He sat down beside her, close to her. She made a small, instinctive movement away from him, but he did not seem to notice. He took off his hat and laid it down. 

"I'm sorry Mrs. Merston had to be inflicted on you for so long, " hesaid. "I'm afraid she is not exactly cheery company. "

"I didn't mind, " said Sylvia. 

He gave her a faintly whimsical look. "Not utterly fed up withAfrica and all her beastly ways?" he questioned. 

She shook her head. "I don't think I am so easily swayed as allthat. "

"You would rather stay here with me than go back home to England?"he said. 

Her eyes went down to the lonely hut on the sand. "Why do you askme that?" she said, in a low voice. 

"Because I want to know, " said Burke. 

Sylvia was silent. 

He went on after a moment. "I've a sort of notion that Mrs. Merston is not a person to spread contentment around her under anycircumstances. If she lived in a palace at the top of the worldshe wouldn't be any happier. "

Sylvia smiled faintly at the allusion. "I don't think she has verymuch to make her happy, " she said. It's a little hard to judge herunder present conditions. "

"She's got one of the best for a husband anyway, " he maintained. 

"Do you think that's everything?" said Sylvia. 

"No, I don't, " said Burke unexpectedly. "I think he spoils her, which is bad for any woman. It turns her head in the beginning andsours her afterwards. "

Sylvia turned at that and regarded him, a faint light of mockery inher eyes. "What a lot you know about women!" she remarked. 

He laughed in a way she did not understand. "If I had a wife, " hesaid, "I'd make her happy, but not on those lines. "

"I thought you had one, " said Sylvia. 

He met her eyes with a sudden mastery which made her flinch inspite of herself. "No, " he said, "I've only a make-believe atpresent. Not very satisfying of course; but better than nothing. There is always the hope that she may some day turn into the realthing to comfort me. "

His words went into silence. Sylvia's head was bent. 

After a moment he leaned a little towards her, and spoke almost ina whisper. "I feel as if I have caught a very rare, shy bird, " hesaid. "I'm trying to teach it to trust me, but it takes a mightylot of time and patience. Do you think I shall ever succeed, Sylvia? Do you think it will ever come and nestle against myheart?"

Again his words went into silence. The girl's eyes were fixed uponthe stretch of sandy _veldt_ below her and that which it held. 

Silently the man watched her, his keen eyes very steady, verydetermined. 

She lifted her own at last, and met them with brave directness. "You know, partner, " she said, "it isn't very fair of you to ask mesuch a thing as that. You can't have--everything. "

"All right, " said Burke, and felt in his pocket for his pipe. "Consider it unsaid!"

His abrupt acceptance of her remonstrance was curiouslydisconcerting. The mastery of his look had led her to expectsomething different. She watched him dumbly as he filled his pipewith quiet precision. 

Finally, as he looked at her again, she spoke. "I don't want toseem over-critical--ungrateful, but--" her breath camequickly--"though you have been so awfully good to me, I can't helpfeeling--that you might have done more for Guy, if--if you had beenkinder when he went wrong. And--" her eyes filled with suddentears--"that thought spoils--just everything. "

"I see, " said Burke, and though his lips were grim his voice waswholly free from harshness. "Mrs. Merston told you all about it, did she?"

Sylvia's colour rose again. She turned slightly from him. "Shedidn't say much, " she said. 

There was a pause. Then unexpectedly Burke's hand closed over hertwo clasped ones. "So I've got to be punished, have I?" he said. 

She shook her head, shrinking a little though she suffered histouch. "No. Only--I can't forget it, --that's all. "

"Or forgive?" said Burke. 

She swallowed her tears with an effort. "No, not that. I'm notvindictive. But--oh, Burke--" she turned to him impulsively, --"Iwish--I wish--we could find Guy!"

He stiffened almost as if at a blow. "Why?" he demanded sternly. 

For a moment his look awed her, but only for a moment; the longingin her heart was so great as to overwhelm all misgiving. Shegrasped his arm tightly between her hands. 

"If we could only find him--and save him--save him somehow from thehorrible pit he seems to have fallen into! We could do it betweenus--I feel sure we could do it---if only--if only--we could findhim!"

Breathlessly her words rushed out. It seemed as if she hadstumbled almost inadvertently upon the solution of the problem thathad so tormented her. She marvelled now that she had ever beenable to endure inaction with regard to Guy. She was amazed atherself for having been so easily content. It was almost as if inthat moment she heard Guy's voice very far away, calling to her forhelp. 

And then, swift as a lightning-flash, striking dismay to her soul, came the consciousness of Burke gazing straight at her with that inhis eyes which she could not--dare not--meet. 

She gripped his arm a little tighter. She was quivering from headto foot. "We could do it between us, " she breathed again. "Wouldn't it be worth it? Oh, wouldn't it be worth it?"

But Burke spoke no word. He sat rigid, looking at her. 

A feeling of coldness ran through her--such a feeling as she hadexperienced on her wedding-day under the skeleton-tree, the chillthat comes from the heart of a storm. Slowly she relaxed her holdupon him. Her tears were gone, but she felt choked, unlikeherself, curiously impotent. 

"Shall we go back?" she said. 

She made as if she would rise, but he stayed her with a gesture, and her weakness held her passive. 

"So you have forgiven him!" he said. 

His tone was curt. He almost flung the words. 

She braced herself, instinctively aware of coming strain. But sheanswered him gently. "You can't be angry with a person when youare desperately sorry for him. "

"I see. And you hold me in a great measure responsible for hisfall? I am to make good, am I?"

He did not raise his voice, but there was something in it that madeher quail. She looked up at him in swift distress. 

"No, no! Of course not--of course not! Partner, please don't glareat me like that! What have I done?"

He dropped his eyes abruptly from her startled face, and therefollowed a silence so intense that she thought he did not evenbreathe. 

Then, in a very low voice: "You've raised Cain, " he said. 

She shivered. There was something terrible in the atmosphere. Dumbly she waited, feeling that protest would but make mattersworse. 

He turned himself from her at length, and sat with his chin on hishands, staring out to the fading sunset. 

When he spoke finally, the hard note had gone out of his voice. "Do you think it's going to make life any easier to bring thatyoung scoundrel back?"

"I wasn't thinking of that, " she said, "It was only--" shehesitated. 

"Only?" said Burke, without turning. 

With difficulty she answered him. "Only that probably you and Iare the only people in the world who could do anything to help him. And so--somehow it seems our job. "

Burke digested this in silence. Then: "And what are you going todo with him when you've got him?" he enquired. 

Again she hesitated, but only momentarily. "I shall want you tohelp me, partner, " she said appealingly. 

He made a slight movement that passed unexplained. "You may findme--rather in the way--before you've done, " he said. 

"Then you won't help me?" she said, swift disappointment in hervoice. 

He turned round to her. His face was grim, but it held no anger. "You've asked a pretty hard thing of me, " he said. "But--yes, I'llhelp you. "

"You will?" She held out her hand to him. "Oh, partner, thankyou--awfully!"

He gripped her hand hard. "On one condition, " he said. 

"Oh, what?" She started a little and her face whitened. 

He squeezed her fingers with merciless force. "Just that you willplay a straight game with me, " he said briefly. 

The colour came back to her face with a rush. "That!" she said. "But of course--of course! I always play a straight game. "

"Then it's a bargain?" he said. 

Her clear eyes met his. "Yes, a bargain. But how shall we everfind him?"

He was silent for a moment, and she felt as if those steel-greyeyes of his were probing for her soul. "That, " he said slowly, "will not be a very difficult business. "

"You know where he is?" she questioned eagerly. 

"Yes. Merston told me to-day. "

"Oh, Burke!" The eager kindling of her look made her radiant. "Where is he? What is he doing?"

He still looked at her keenly, but all emotion had gone from hisface. "He is tending a bar in a miners' saloon at Brennerstadt. "

"Ah!"' She stood up quickly to hide the sudden pain his words hadgiven. "But we can soon get him out. You--you will get him out, partner?"

He got to his feet also. The sun had passed, and only a violetglow remained. He seemed to be watching it as he answered her. 

"I will do my best. "

"You are good, " she said very earnestly. "I wonder if you have theleast idea how grateful I feel. "

"I can guess, " he said in a tone of constraint. 

She was standing slightly above him. She placed her hand shyly onhis shoulder. "And you won't hate it so very badly?" she urgedsoftly. "It is in a good cause, isn't it?"

"I hope so, " he said. 

He seemed unaware of her hand upon him. She pressed a little. "Burke!"

"Yes?" He still stood without looking at her. 

She spoke nervously. "I--I shan't forget--ever--that I am married. You--you needn't be afraid of--of anything like that. "

He turned with an odd gesture. "I thought you were going to forgetit--that you had forgotten it--for good. "

His voice had a strained, repressed sound. He spoke almost as ifhe were in pain. 

She tried to smile though her heart was beating fast and hard. "Well, I haven't. And--I never shall now. So that's all right, isn't it? Say it's all right!"

There was more of pleading in her voice than she knew. A greattremor went through Burke. He clenched his hands to subdue it. 

"Yes; all right, little pal, all right, " he said. 

His voice sounded strangled; it pierced her oddly. With a suddenimpetuous gesture she slid her arm about his neck, and for onelightning moment her lips touched his cheek. The next instant shehad sprung free and was leaping downwards from rock to rock like astartled gazelle. 

At the foot of the _kopje_ only did she stop and wait. He wasclose behind her, moving with lithe, elastic strides where she hadbounded. 

She turned round to him boyishly. "We'll climb to the top one ofthese days, partner; but I'm not in training yet. Besides, --we'relate for supper. "

"I can wait, " said Burke. 

She linked her little finger in his, swinging it carelessly. Therewas absolute confidence in her action; only her eyes avoided his. 

"You're jolly decent to me, " she said. "I often wonder why. "

"You'll know one day, " said Burke very quietly. 

CHAPTER IV

THE CAPTURE

A dust-storm had been blowing practically all day, and the miningcrowds of Brennerstadt were thirsty to a man. They congregated atevery bar with the red sand thick upon them, and cursed the countryand the climate with much heartiness and variety. 

Burke Ranger was one of the thirstiest when he reached the townafter his ride through the desert--a ride upon which he had flatlyrefused to allow Sylvia to accompany him. He went straight to thehotel where he had stayed for his marriage, and secured a room. Then he went down to the dining-room, where he was instantlygreeted by an old friend, Kelly, the Irish manager of a diamondmine in the neighbourhood. 

Kelly was the friend of everyone. He knew everyone's affairs andgossiped openly with a childlike frankness that few could resent. Everyone declared he could never keep a secret, yet nearly everyoneconfided in him. His goodness of heart was known to all, and hewas regarded as a general arbitrator among the sometimes restlesspopulation of Brennerstadt. 

His delight at seeing Burke was obvious; he hailed him withacclamations. "I've been meaning to ride over your way for ages, "he declared, his rubicund face shining with geniality as he wrunghis friend's hand hard. "I was up-country when you came along lastwith your bride. Dark horse that you are, Burke! I should as soonhave thought of getting married myself, as of seeing you in doubleharness. "

Burke laughed his careless laugh. "You'll come to it yet. No funin growing old alone in this country. "

"And what's the lady like?" pursued Kelly, keen for news as anIrish terrier after a rat. "As fair as Eve and twice as charming?"

"Something that style, " agreed Burke. "What are you drinking, oldchap? Any ice to be had?"

He conferred with the waiter, but Kelly's curiosity was far frombeing satisfied. He pounced back upon the subject the momentBurke's attention was free. 

"And is she new to this part of the world then? She came out to bemarried, I take it? And what does she think of it at all?"

"You'll have to come over and see for yourself, " said Burke. 

"So I will, old feller. I'll come on the first opportunity. I'dlove to see the woman who can capture you. Done any shootinglately, or is wedded bliss still too sweet to leave?"

"I've had a few other things as well to think about, " said Burkedrily, "And this is your first absence? What will the missis do withoutyou?"

"She'll manage all right. She's very capable. She is helping mewith the farm. The life seems to suit her all right, only I shallhave to see she doesn't work too hard. "

"That you will, my son. This climate's hard on women. Look atpoor Bill Merston's wife! When she came out, she was as pretty andas sweet as a little wild rose. And now--well, it gives you theheartache to look at her. "

"Does it?" said Burke grimly. "She doesn't affect me that way. IfI were in Merston's place, --well, she wouldn't look like that forlong. "

"Wouldn't she though?" Kelly looked at him with interest. "Youalways were a goer, old man. And what would your treatment consistof?"

"Discipline, " said Burke briefly. "No woman is happy if shedespises her husband. If I were in Merston's place, I would see toit that she did not despise me. That's the secret of her trouble. It's poison to a woman to look down on her husband. "

"Egad!" laughed Kelly. "But you've studied the subject? Well, here's to the fair lady of your choice! May she fulfil allexpectations and be a comfort to you all the days of your life!"

"Thanks!" said Burke. "Now let's hear a bit about yourself! How'sthe diamond industry?"

"Oh, there's nothing the matter with it just now. We've turnedover some fine stones in the last few days. Plenty of rubbish, too, of course. You don't want a first-class speculation, Ipresume? If you've got a monkey to spare, I can put you on tosomething rather great. "

"Thanks, I haven't, " said Burke. "I never have monkeys to spare. But what's the gamble?"

"Oh, it's just a lottery of Wilbraham's. He has a notion forraffling his biggest diamond. The draw won't take place for a fewweeks yet; and then only monkeys need apply. It's a valuablestone. I can testify to that. It would be worth a good deal moreif it weren't for a flaw that will have to be taken out in thecutting and will reduce it a lot. But even so, it's worth somethousands, worth risking a monkey for, Burke. Think what asplendid present it would be for your wife!"

Burke laughed and shook his head. "She isn't that sort if I knowher. "

"Bet you you don't know her then, " said Kelly, with a grin. "It'sa good sporting chance anyway. I don't fancy there will be manycandidates, for the stone has an evil name. "

Burke looked slightly scornful. "Well, I'm not putting any monkeysinto Wilbraham's pocket, so that won't trouble me. Have you seenanything of Guy Ranger lately?"

The question was casually uttered, but it sent a sharp gleam ofinterest into Kelly's eyes. "Oh, it's him you've come for, is it?"he said. "Well, let me tell you this for your information! He'shad enough of Blue Hill Farm for the present. "

Burke said nothing, but his grey eyes had a more steely look thanusual as he digested the news. 

Kelly looked at him curiously. "The boy's a wreck, " he said. "Simply gone to pieces; nerves like fiddle-strings. He drinks likehell, but it's my belief he'd die in torment if he didn't. "

Still Burke said nothing, and Kelly's curiosity grew. 

"You know what he's doing; don't you?" he said. "He's doing aKaffir's job for Kaffir's pay. It's about the vilest hole thisside of perdition, my son. And I'm thinking you won't find itspecially easy to dig him out. "

Burke's eyes came suddenly straight to the face of the Irishman. He regarded him for a moment or two with a faintly humorousexpression; then: "That's just where you can lend me a hand, Donovan, " he said. "I'm going to ask you to do that part. "

"The deuce you are!" said Kelly. "You're not going to ask muchthen, my son. Moreover, it's well on the likely side that he'llrefuse to budge. Better leave him alone till he's tired of it. "

"He's dead sick of it already, " said Burke with conviction. "Yougo to him and tell him you've a decent berth waiting for him. He'll come along fast enough then. "

"I doubt it, " said Kelly. "I doubt it very much. He's in just thebitter mood to prefer to wallow. He's right under, Burke, and heisn't making any fight. He'll go on now till he's dead. "

"He won't!" said Burke shortly. "Where exactly is he? Tell methat!"

"He's barkeeping for that brute Hoffstein, and taking out all hiswages in drink. I saw him three days ago. I assure you he's pasthelp. I believe he'd shoot himself if you took any trouble overhim. He's in a pretty desperate mood. "

"Not he!" said Burke. "I'm going to have him out anyway. "

Again Kelly looked at him speculatively. "Well, what's thenotion?" he asked after a moment, frankly curious. "You've neverworried after him before. "

Burke's eyes were grim. "You may be sure of one thing, Donovan, "he said, "I'm not out for pleasure this journey. "

"I've noted that, " observed Kelly. 

"I don't want you to help me if you have anything better to do, "pursued Burke. "I shall get what I've come for in any case. "

"Oh, don't you worry yourself! I'm on, " responded Kelly, with hiswinning, Irish smile. "When do you want to catch your hare?Tonight?"

"Yes; to-night, " said Burke soberly. "I'll come down with you toHoffstein's, and if you can get him out, I'll do the rest. "

"Hurrah!" crowed Kelly softly, lifting his glass. "Here's luck tothe venture!"

But though Burke drank with him, his face did not relax. 

A little later they left the hotel together. A strong wind wasstill blowing, sprinkling the dust of the desert everywhere. Theypushed their way against it, striding with heads down through theswirling darkness of the night. 

Hoffstein's bar was in a low quarter of the town and close to themine-workings. A place of hideous desolation at all times, thewhirling sandstorm made of it almost an inferno. They scarcelyspoke as they went along, grimly enduring the sand-fiend that stungand blinded but could not bar their progress. 

As they came within sight of Hoffstein's tavern, they encounteredgroups of men coming away, but no one was disposed to loiter onthat night of turmoil; no one accosted them as they approached. The place was built of corrugated iron, and they heard the sandwhipping against it as they drew near. Kelly paused within a fewyards of the entrance. The door was open and the lights of the barflared forth into the darkness. 

"You stop here!" bawled Kelly. "I'll go in and investigate. "

There was an iron fence close to them, affording some degree ofshelter from the blast. Burke stood back against it, dumblypatient. The other man went on, and in a few seconds his shortsquare figure passed through the lighted doorway. 

There followed an interval of waiting that seemed interminable--aninterval during which Burke moved not at all, but stood like astatue against the wall, his hat well down over his eyes, his handsclenched at his sides. The voices of men drifted to and frothrough the howling night, but none came very near him. 

It must have been nearly half-an-hour later that there arose asudden fierce uproar in the bar, and the silent watcherstraightened himself up sharply. The turmoil grew to a babel ofvoices, and in a few moments two figures, struggling furiously, appeared at the open door. They blundered out, locked togetherlike fighting beasts, and behind them the door crashed to, leavingthem in darkness. 

Burke moved forward. "Kelly, is that you?"

Kelly's voice, uplifted in lurid anathema, answered him, and in acouple of seconds Kelly himself lurched into him, nearly hurlinghim backwards. "And is it yourself?" cried the Irishman. "Thenhelp me to hold the damned young scoundrel, for he's fighting likethe devils in hell! Here he is! Get hold of him!"

Burke took a silent hard grip upon the figure suddenly thrust athim, and almost immediately the fighting ceased. 

"Let me go!" a hoarse voice said. 

"Hold him tight!" said Kelly. "I'm going to take a rest. Guy, youyoung devil, what do you want to murder me for? I've never doneyou a harm in my life. "

The man in Burke's grasp said nothing whatever. He was breathingheavily, but his resistance was over. He stood absolutely passivein the other man's hold. 

Kelly gave himself an indignant shake and continued his tirade. "Icall all the saints in heaven to witness that as sure as my name isDonovan Kelly so sure is it that I'll be damned to the last mostnether millstone before ever I'll undertake to dig a man out ofHoffstein's marble halls again. You'd better watch him, Burke. His skin is about as full as it'll hold. "

"We'll get back, " said Burke briefly. 

He was holding his captive locked in a scientific grip, but therewas no violence about him. Only, as he turned, the other turnedalso, as if compelled. Kelly followed, cursing himself back toamiability. 

Back through the raging wind they went, as though pursued byfuries. They reached and entered the hotel just as the Kaffirporter was closing for the night. He stared with bulging eyes atBurke and his companion, but Burke walked straight through, lookingneither to right nor left. 

Only at the foot of the stairs, he paused an instant, glancing back. 

"I'll see you in the morning, Donovan, " he said. "Thanks for allyou've done. "

To which Kelly replied, fingering a bump on his forehead with arueful grin, "All's well that ends well, my son, and sure it's apleasure to serve you. I flatter myself, moreover, that youwouldn't have done the trick on your own. Hoffstein will standmore from me than from any other living man. "

The hint of a smile touched Burke's set lips. "Show me the manthat wouldn't!" he said; and turning, marched his unresistingprisoner up the stairs. 

CHAPTER V

THE GOOD CAUSE

"Why can't you leave me alone? What do you want with me?"

Half-sullenly, half-aggressively, Guy Ranger flung the questions, standing with lowering brow before his captor. His head was downand his eyes raised with a peculiar, brutish expression. He hadthe appearance of a wild animal momentarily cowed, but preparingfor furious battle. The smouldering of his look was terrible. 

Burke Ranger met it with steely self-restraint. "I'll tell youpresently, " he said. 

"You'll tell me now!" Fiercely the younger man made rejoinder. His power of resistance was growing, swiftly swallowing all senseof expediency. "If I choose to wallow in the mire, what the devilis it to you? You didn't send that accursed fool Kelly round foryour own pleasure, I'll take my oath. What is it you want me for?Tell me straight!"

His voice rose on the words. His hands were clenched; yet still hewore that half-frightened look as of an animal that will springwhen goaded, not before. His hair hung black and unkempt about hisburning eyes. His face was drawn and deadly pale. 

Burke stood like a rock, confronting him. He blocked the way tothe door. "I'll tell you all you want to know in the morning, " hesaid. "You have a wash now and turn in!"

The wild eyes took a fleeting glance round the room, returninginstantly, as if fascinated, to Burke's face. 

"Why the devil should I? I've got a--sty of my own to go to. "

"Yes, I know, " said Burke. Yet, he stood his ground, grimlyemotionless. 

"Then let me go to it!" Guy Ranger straightened himself, breathingheavily. "Get out!" he said. "Or--by heaven--I'll throw you!"

"You can't, " said Burke. "So don't be a fool! You know--nonebetter--that that sort of thing doesn't answer with me. "

"But what do you want?" The reiterated question had a desperatering as if, despite its urgency, the speaker dreaded the reply. "You've never bothered to dig me out before. What's the notion?I'm nothing to you. You loathe the sight of me. "

Burke made a slight gesture as of repudiation, but he expressed nodenial in words. "As to that, " he said, "you draw your ownconclusions. I can't discuss anything with you now. The point is, you are out of that hell for the present, and I'm going to keep youout. "

"You!" There was a note of bitter humour in the word. Guy Rangerthrew back his head as he uttered it, and by the action thelikeness between them was instantly proclaimed. "That's good!" hescoffed. "You--the man who first showed me the gates of hell--totake upon yourself to pose as deliverer! And for whose benefit, ifone might ask? Your own--or mine?"

His ashen face with the light upon it was still boyish despite thestamp of torment that it bore. Through all the furnace of hisdegradation his youth yet clung to him like an impalpable veil thatno suffering could rend or destroy. 

Burke suddenly abandoned his attitude of gaoler and took him by theshoulder. "Don't be a fool!" he said again, but he said it gently. "I mean what I say. It's a way I've got. This isn't the time forexplanations, but I'm out to help you. Even you will admit thatyou're pretty badly in need of help. "

"Oh, damn that!" Recklessly Guy made answer, chafing visibly underthe restraining hold; yet not actually flinging it off. "I knowwhat I'm doing all right. I shall pull up again presently--beforethe final plunge. I'm not going to attempt it before I'm ready. I've found it doesn't answer. "

"You've got to this time, " Burke said. 

His eyes, grey and indomitable, looked straight into Guy's, andthey held him in spite of himself. Guy quivered and stood still. 

"You've got to, " he reiterated. "Don't tell me you're enjoyingyourself barkeeping at Hoffstein's! I've known you too long toswallow it. It just won't go down. "

"It's preferable to doing the white nigger on your blasted farm!"flashed back Guy. "Starvation's better than that!"

"Thank you, " said Burke. He did not flinch at the straight hit, but his mouth hardened. "I see your point of view of course. Perhaps it's beside the mark to remind you that you might have beena partner if you'd only played a decent game. I wanted a partnerbadly enough. "

An odd spasm crossed Guy's face. "Yes. You didn't let me intothat secret, did you, till I'd been weighed in the balances andfound wanting? You were too damned cautious to commit yourself. And you've congratulated yourself on your marvellous discretionever since, I'll lay a wager. You hide-bound, self-righteous prigsalways do. Nothing would ever make you see that it's just yourbeastly discretion that does the mischief, --your infernal, complacent virtue that breeds the vice you so deplore!" He brokeinto a harsh laugh that ended in a sharp catch of the breath thatbent him suddenly double. 

Burke's hand went swiftly from his shoulder to his elbow. He ledhim to a chair. "Sit down!" he said. "You've got beyond yourself. I'm going to get you a drink, and then you'll go to bed. "

Guy sat crumpled down in the chair like an empty sack. His headwas on his clenched hands. He swayed as if in pain. 

Burke stood looking down at him for a moment or two. Then heturned and went away, leaving the door ajar behind him. 

When he came back, Guy was on his feet again, prowling uneasily upand down, but he had not crossed the threshold. He gave him thatfurtive, hunted look again as he entered. 

"What dope is that? Not the genuine article I'll wager my soul!"

"It is the genuine article, " Burke said. "Drink it, and go to bed!"

But Guy stood before him with his hands at his sides. Thesmouldering fire in his eyes was leaping higher and higher. "What's the game?" he said. "Is it a damned ruse to get me intoyour power?"

Burke set down the glass he carried, and turned full upon him. There was that about him that compelled the younger man to meet hislook. They stood face to face. 

"You are in my power, " he said with stern insistence. "I've bornewith you because I didn't want to use force. But--I can use force. Don't forget that!"

Guy made a sharp movement--the movement of the trapped creature. Beneath Burke's unsparing regard his eyes fell. In a moment heturned aside, and muttering below his breath he took up the glasson the table. For a second or two he stood staring at it, thenlifted it as if to drink, but in an instant changed his purpose andwith a snarling laugh swung back and flung glass and contentsstraight at Burke's grim face. 

What followed was of so swift and so deadly a nature as to possesssomething of the quality of a whirlwind. Almost before the glasslay in shivered fragments on the floor, Guy was on his knees andbeing forced backwards till his head and shoulders touched theboards. And above him, terrible with awful intention, was Burke'sface, gashed open across the chin and dripping blood upon his own. 

The fight went out of Guy then like an extinguished flame. Withgasping incoherence he begged for mercy. 

"You're hurting me infernally! Man, let me up! I've been--I'vebeen--a damn' fool! Didn't know--didn't realize! Burke--forheaven's sake--don't torture me!"

"Be still!" Burke said. "Or I'll murder you!"

His voice was low and furious, his hold without mercy. Yet, aftera few seconds he mastered his own violence, realizing that allresistance in the man under him was broken. In a silence that wasmore appalling than speech he got to his feet, releasing him. 

Guy rolled over sideways and lay with his face on his arms, gaspingpainfully. After a pause, Burke turned from him and went to thewashing-stand. 

The blood continued to now from the wound while he bathed it. Thecut was deep. He managed, however, to staunch it somewhat atlength, and then very steadily he turned back. 

"Get up!" he said. 

Guy made a convulsive movement in response, but he only half-raisedhimself, sinking back immediately with a hard-drawn groan. 

Burke bent over him. "Get up!" he said again. "I'll help you. "

He took him under the arms and hoisted him slowly up. Guyblundered to his feet with shuddering effort. 

"Now--fire me out!" he said. 

But Burke only guided him to the bed. "Sit down!" he said. 

Numbly he obeyed. He seemed incapable of doing otherwise. Butwhen, still with that unwavering steadiness of purpose, Burkestooped and began to unfasten the straps of his gaiters, hesuddenly cried out as if he had been struck unawares in a vitalplace. 

"No--no--no! I'm damned--I'm damned if you shall! Burke--stop, doyou hear? Burke!"

"Be quiet!" Burke said. 

But Guy flung himself forward, preventing him. They looked intoone another's eyes for a tense interval, then, as the blood beganto trickle down his chin again, Burke released himself. 

In the same moment, Guy covered his face and burst into agonizedsobbing most terrible to hear. 

Burke stood up again. Somehow all the hardness had gone out of himthough the resolution remained. He put a hand on Guy's shoulder, and gently shook him. 

"Don't do it, boy! Don't do it! Pull yourself together forheaven's sake! Drink--do anything--but this! You'll want to shootyourself afterwards. "

But Guy was utterly broken, his self-control beyond recovery. Theonly response he made was to feel for and blindly grip the handthat held him. 

So for a space they remained, while the anguish possessed him andslowly passed. Then, with the quiescence of complete exhaustion, he suffered Burke's ministrations in utter silence. 

Half-an hour later he lay in a dead sleep, motionless as a stoneimage, while the man who dragged him from his hell rested upon twochairs and grimly reviewed the problem which he had created forhimself. There was no denying the fact that young Guy had been athorn in his side almost ever since his arrival in the country. The pity of it was that he possessed such qualities as should havelifted him far above the crowd. He had courage, he had resource. Upon occasion he was even brilliant. But ever the fatal handicapexisted that had pulled him down. He lacked moral strength, thepower to resist temptation. As long as he lived, this infirmity ofcharacter would dog his steps, would ruin his every enterprise. And Burke, whose stubborn force made him instinctively impatient ofsuch weakness, lay and contemplated the future with bitterforeboding. 

There had been a time when he had thought to rectify the evil, tosave Guy from himself, to implant in him something of that moralfibre which he so grievously lacked. But he had been forced longsince to recognize his own limitations in this respect. Guy wasfundamentally wanting in that strength which was so essentially apart of his own character, and he had been compelled at last toadmit that no outside influence could supply the want. He had comevery reluctantly to realize that no faith could be reposed in him, and when that conviction had taken final hold upon him, Burke hadrelinquished the struggle in disgust. 

Yet, curiously, behind all his disappointment, even contempt, thereyet lurked in his soul an odd liking for the young man. Guy wasmost strangely likable, however deep he sank. Unstable, unreliable, wholly outside the pale as he was, yet there ever hungabout him a nameless, indescribable fascination which redeemed himfrom utter degradation, a charm which very curiously kept him frombeing classed with the swine. There was a natural gameness abouthim that men found good. Even at his worst, he was never revolting. 

He seemed to Burke a mass of irresponsible inconsistency. He wasfull of splendid possibilities that invariably withered ere theyapproached fruition. He had come to regard him as a born failure, and though for Sylvia's sake he had made this final effort, he hadsmall faith in its success. Only she was so hard to resist, thatfrank-eyed, earnest young partner of his. She was so unutterablydear in all her ways. How could he hear the tremor of her pleadingvoice and refuse her?

The memory of her came over him like a warm soft wave. He feltagain the quick pressure of her arm about his neck, the fleetingsweetness of her kiss. How had he kept himself from catching herto his heart in that moment, and holding her there while he drankhis fill of the cup she had so shyly proffered? How had he eversuffered her to flit from him down the rough _kopje_ and turn atthe bottom with the old intangible shield uplifted between them?

The blood raced in his veins. He clenched his hands in impotentself-contempt. And yet at the back of his man's soul he knew thatby that very forbearance his every natural impulse condemned, hehad strengthened his position, he had laid the foundation-stone ofa fabric that would endure against storm and tempest. The housethat he would build would be an abiding-place--no swiftly raisedtent upon the sand. It would take time to build it, infinite care, possibly untold sacrifice. But when built, it would be absolutelysolid, proof for all time against every wind that blew. For everystone would be laid with care and made fast with the cement that isindestructible. And it would be founded upon a rock. 

So, as at last he drifted into sleep, Guy lying in a deathlikeimmobility by his side, there came to him the conviction that whathe had done had been well done, done in a good cause, andacceptable to the Master Builder at Whose Behest he was vaguelyconscious that all great things are achieved. 

CHAPTER VI

THE RETURN

When the morning broke upon Blue Hill Farm the sand-storm had blownitself out. With brazen splendour the sun arose to burn theparched earth anew, but Sylvia was before it. With the help ofFair Rosamond and, Joe, the boy, she was preparing a small woodenhut close by for the reception of a guest. He should not go backto that wretched cabin on the sand if she could prevent it. Heshould be treated with honour. He should be made to feel that toher--and to Burke--his welfare was a matter of importance. 

She longed to know how Burke had fared upon his quest. Sheyearned, even while she dreaded, to see the face which once hadbeen all the world to her. That he had ceased to fill her worldwas a fact that she frankly admitted to herself just as sherealized that she felt no bitterness towards this man who had somiserably failed her. Her whole heart now was set upon drawing himback from the evil paths down which he had strayed. When that wasdone, when Guy was saved from the awful destruction that menacedhim, then there might come time for other thoughts, otherinterests. Since Burke had acceded to her urgent request soobviously against his will, her feelings had changed towards him. A warmth of gratitude had filled her, It had been so fine of him toyield to her like that. 

But somehow she could not suffer her thoughts to dwell upon Burkejust then. Always something held her back, restraining her, filling her with a strange throbbing agitation that she herselfmust check, lest it should overwhelm her. Instinctively, almostwith a sense of self-preservation, she turned her mind away fromhim. And she was too busy--much too busy--to sit and dream. 

When the noon-day heat waxed fierce, she had to rest, though itrequired her utmost strength of will to keep herself quiet, lyinglistening with straining ears to the endless whirring of countlessinsects in the silence of the _veldt_. 

It was with unspeakable relief that she arose from this enforcedinactivity and, as evening drew on, resumed her work. She wasdetermined that Guy should be comfortable when he came. She knewthat it was more than possible that he would not come that day, butshe could not leave anything unfinished. It was so important thathe should realize his welcome from the very first moment of arrival. 

All was finished at last even to her satisfaction. She stood alonein the rough hut that she had turned into as dainty a guest-chamberas her woman's ingenuity could devise, and breathed a sigh ofcontentment, feeling that she had not worked in vain. Surely hewould feel at home here! Surely, even though through his weaknessthey had had to readjust both their lives, by love and patience aplace of healing might be found. It was impossible to analyze herfeelings towards him, but she was full of hope. Again she fell towondering how Burke had fared. 

At sunset she went out and saddled the horse he had given her as awedding-present, Diamond, a powerful animal, black save for a whitemark on his head from which he derived his name. She and Diamondwere close friends, and in his company her acute restlessness beganto subside. She rode him out to the _kopje_, but she did not goround to view the lonely cabin above the stony watercourse. Shedid not want to think of past troubles, only to cherish the hopefor the future that was springing in her heart. 

She was physically tired, but Diamond seemed to understand, andgave her no trouble. For awhile they wandered in the sunset light, she with her face to the sky and the wonderful mauve streamers ofcloud that spread towards her from the west. Then, as the lightfaded, she rode across the open _veldt_ to the rough road by whichthey must come. 

It wound away into the gathering dusk where no lights gleamed, anda strong sense of desolation came to her, as it were, out of thedesert and gripped her soul. For the first time she looked forwardwith foreboding. 

None came along the lonely track. She heard no sound of hoofs. She tried to whistle a tune to keep herself cheery, but very soonit failed. The silent immensity of the _veldt_ enveloped her. Shehad a forlorn feeling of being the only living being in all thatvastness, except for a small uneasy spirit out of the greatsolitudes that wandered to and fro and sometimes fanned her with anicy breath that made her start and shiver. 

She turned her horse's head at last. "Come, Diamond, we'll gohome. "

The word slipped from her unawares, but the moment she had utteredit she remembered, and a warm flush mounted in her cheeks. Was itreally home to her--that abode in the wilderness to which BurkeRanger had brought her? Had she come already to regard it as shehad once regarded that dear home of her childhood from which shehad been so cruelly ousted?

The thought of the old home went through her with a momentary pang. Did her father ever think of her now, she wondered? Was he happyhimself? She had written to him after her marriage to Burke, telling him all the circumstances thereof. It had been a difficultletter to write. She had not dwelt overmuch upon Guy's partbecause she could not bring herself to do so. But she had tried tomake the position intelligible to him, and she hoped she hadsucceeded. 

But no answer had come to her. Since leaving England, she hadreceived letters from one or two friends, but not one from her oldhome. It was as if she had entered another world. Already she hadgrown so accustomed to it that she felt as if she had known it foryears. And she had no desire to return. The thought of the summergaieties she was foregoing inspired her with no regret. Isolatedthough she was, she was not unhappy. She had only just begun torealize it, and not yet could she ask herself wherefore. 

A distinct chill began to creep round her with the approach ofnight. She lifted the bridle, and Diamond broke into a trot. Backto Blue Hill Farm they went, leaving the silence and the lonelinessbehind them as they drew near. Mary Ann was scolding the girl fromthe open door of the kitchen. Her shrill vituperations banishedall retrospection from Sylvia's mind. She found herself laughingas she slipped to the ground and handed the horse over to Joe. 

Then she went within, calling to the girl to light the lamps. There was still mending to be done in Burke's wardrobe. Shepossessed herself of some socks, and went to their sitting-room. Her former restlessness was returning, but she resolutely put itfrom her, and for more than an hour she worked steadily at hertask. Then, the socks finished, she took up a book oncattle-raising and tried to absorb herself in its pages. 

She soon realized, however, that this was quite hopeless, and, atlast, in desperation she flung on a cloak and went outside. Thenight was still, the sky a wonderland of stars. She paced to andfro with her face uplifted to the splendour for a long, long time. And still there came no sound of hoofs along the lonely track. 

Gradually she awoke to the fact that she was getting very tired. She began to tell herself that she had been too hopeful. Theywould not come that night. 

Her knees were getting shaky, and she went indoors. A cold supperhad been spread. She sat down and partook of food, scarcelyrealizing what she ate. Then, reviving, she rallied herself on herfoolishness. Of course they would not come that night. She hadexpected too much, had worn herself out to no purpose. Shesummoned her common sense to combat her disappointment, andcommanded herself sternly to go to bed before exhaustion overtookher. She had behaved like a positive idiot. It was high time shepulled herself together. 

It was certainly growing late. Mary Ann and her satellites hadalready retired to their own quarters some little distance from thebungalow. She was quite alone in the eerie silence. Obviously, bed was the only place if she did not mean to sit and shiver withsheer nervousness. Stoutly she collected her mental forces andretreated to her room. She was so tired that she knew she wouldsleep if she could control her imagination. 

This she steadfastly set herself to do, with the result that sleepcame to her at last, and in her weariness she sank into a deepslumber that, undisturbed by any outside influence, would havelasted throughout the night. She had left a lamp burning in thesitting-room that adjoined her bedroom, and the door between ajar, so that she was not lying in complete darkness. She had done thesame the previous night, and had felt no serious qualms. The lightscarcely reached her, but it was a comfort to see it at hand whenshe opened her eyes. It gave her a sense of security, and sheslept the more easily because of it. 

So for an hour or more she lay in unbroken slumber; then, like acloud arising out of her sea of oblivion, there came to her againthat dream of two horsemen galloping. It was a terrible dream, allthe more terrible because she knew so well what was coming. Onlythis time, instead of the ledge along the ravine, she saw themclearly outlined against the sky, racing from opposite directionsalong a knife-edge path that stood up, sharp and jagged, betweentwo precipices. 

With caught breath she stood apart and watched in anguishedexpectation, watched as if held by some unseen force, till therecame the inevitable crash, the terrible confusion of figures lockedin deadly combat, and then the hurtling fall of a single horsemandown that frightful wall of rock. His face gleamed white for aninstant, and then was gone. Was it Guy? Was it Burke? She knewnot. . . . 

It was then that strength returned to her, and she sprang up, crying wildly, every pulse alert and pricking her to action. Shefled across the room, instinctively seeking the light, stumbled onthe threshold, and fell headlong into the arms of a man who stoodjust beyond. They closed upon her instantly, supporting her. Shelay, gasping hysterically, against his breast. 

"Easy! Easy!" he said. "Did I startle you?"

It was Burke's voice, very deep and low. She felt the steady beatof his heart as he held her. 

Her senses returned to her and with them an overwhelmingembarrassment that made her swiftly withdraw herself from him. Helet her go, and she retreated into the darkness behind her. 

"What is it, partner?" he said gently. "You've nothing to beafraid of. "

There was no reproach in his voice, yet something within reproachedher instantly. She put on slippers and dressing-gown and went backto him. 

"I've had a stupid dream, " she said. "I expect I heard your horseoutside. So--you have come back alone!"

"He has gone back to his own cabin, " Burke said. 

"Burke!" She looked at him with startled, reproachful eyes. Herhair lay in a fiery cloud about her shoulders, and fire burned inher gaze as she faced him. 

He made a curious gesture as if he restrained some urging impulse, not speaking for a moment. When his voice came again it soundedcold, with an odd note of defiance. "I've done my best. "

She still looked at him searchingly. "Why wouldn't he come here?"she said. 

He turned from her with a movement that almost seemed to indicateimpatience "He preferred not to. There isn't much accommodationhere. Besides, he can very well fend for himself. He's used toit. "

"I have been preparing for him all day, " Sylvia said. She lookedat him anxiously, struck by something unusual in his pose, andnoted for the first time a wide strip of plaster on one side of hischin. "Is all well?" she questioned. "How have you hurt yourface?"

He did not look at her. "Yes, all's well, " he said. "I cutmyself--shaving. You go back to bed! I'm going to refresh beforeI turn in. "

Sylvia turned to a cupboard in the room where she had placed someeatables before retiring. She felt chill with foreboding. Whatwas it that Burke was hiding behind that curt manner? She was surethere was something. 

"What will Guy do for refreshment?" she said, as she set dishes andplates upon the table. 

"He'll have some tinned stuff in that shanty of his, " said Burke. 

She turned from the table with abrupt resolution. "Have somethingto eat, partner, " she said, "and then tell me all about it!"

She looked for the sudden gleam of his smile, but she looked invain. He regarded her, indeed, but it was with sombre eyes. 

"You go back to bed!" he reiterated. "There is no necessity foryou to stay up. You can see him for yourself in the morning. "

He would have seated himself at the table with the words, but shelaid a quick, appealing hand upon his arm, deterring him. "Burke!"she said. "What is the matter? Please tell me!"

She felt his arm grow rigid under her fingers. And then with asuddenness that electrified her he moved, caught her by the wristsand drew her to him, locking her close. 

"You witch!" he said. "You--enchantress! How shall I resist you?"

She uttered a startled gasp; there was no time for more ere hislips met hers in a kiss so burning, so compelling, that it reftfrom her all power of resistance. One glimpse she had of his eyes, and it was as if she looked into the deep, deep heart of the fireunquenchable. 

She wanted to cry out, so terrible was the sight, but his lipssealed her own. She lay helpless in his hold. 

Afterwards she realized that she must have been near to fainting, for when at the end of those wild moments of passion he let her go, her knees gave way beneath her and she could not stand. Yetinstinctively she gripped her courage with both hands. He hadstartled her, appalled her even, but there was a fighting strain inSylvia, and she flung dismay away. She held his arm in a quiveringgrasp. She smiled a quivering smile. And these were the bravestacts she had ever forced herself to perform. 

"You've done it now, partner!" she said shakily. "I'mnearly--squeezed--to death!"

"Sylvia!" he said. 

Amazement, contrition, and even a curious dash of awe, were in hisvoice. He put his arm about her, supporting her. 

She leaned against him, panting, her face downcast. "It's--allright, " she told him. "I told you you might sometimes, didn't I?Only--you--were a little sudden, and I wasn't prepared. I believeyou've been having a rotten time. Sit down now, and have somethingto eat!"

But he did not move though there was no longer violence in hishold. He spoke deeply, above her bent head. "I can't stand thisfarce much longer. I'm only human after all, and there is a limitto everything. I can't keep at arm's length for ever. Flesh andblood won't bear it. "

She did not lift her head, but stood silent within the circle ofhis arm. It was as if she waited for something. Then, after amoment or two, she began to rub his sleeve lightly up and down, herhand not very steady. 

"You're played out, partner, " she said. "Don't let's discussthings to-night! They are sure to look different in the morning. "

"And if they don't?" said Burke. 

She glanced up at him with again that little quivering smile. "Well, then, we'll talk, " she said, "till we come to anunderstanding. "

He put his hand on her shoulder. "Sylvia, don't--play with me!" hesaid. 

His tone was quiet, but it held a warning that brought her eyes tohis in a flash. She stood so for a few seconds, facing him, andher breast heaved once or twice as if breathing had becomedifficult. 

At last, "There was no need to say that to me, partner, " she said, in a choked voice. "You don't know me--even as well as--as youmight--if you--if you took the trouble. " She paused a moment, andput her hand to her throat. Her eyes were full of tears. "Andnow--good night!" she said abruptly. 

Her tone was a command. He let her go, and in an instant the doorhad closed between them. He stood motionless, waiting tensely forthe shooting of the bolt; but it did not come. He only heardinstead a faint sound of smothered sobbing. 

For a space he stood listening, his face drawn into deep lines, hishands hard clenched. Then at length with a bitter gesture heflung himself down at the table. 

He was still sitting motionless a quarter of an hour later, thefood untouched before him, when the intervening door openedsuddenly and silently, and like a swooping bird Sylvia came swiftlybehind him and laid her two hands on his shoulders. 

"Partner dear, I've been a big idiot. Will you forgive me?" shesaid. 

Her voice was tremulous. It still held a sound of tears. Shetried to keep out of his sight as he turned in his chair. 

"Don't--don't stare at me!" she said, and slipped coaxing arms thattrembled round his neck, locking her hands tightly in front of him. "You hurt me a bit--though I don't think you meant to. And nowI've hurt you--quite a lot. I didn't mean it either, partner. Solet's cry quits! I've forgiven you. Will you try to forgive me?"

He sat quite still for a few seconds, and in the silence shyly shelaid her cheek down against the back of his head. He moved then, and very gently clasped the trembling hands that bound him. Butstill he did not speak. 

"Say it's all right!" she urged softly. "Say you're not crossor--or anything!"

"I'm not, " said Burke very firmly. 

"And don't--don't ever think I want to play with you!" she pursued, a catch in her voice. "That's not me, partner. I'm sorry I'm sovery unsatisfactory. But--anyhow that's not the reason. "

"I know the reason, " said Burke quietly. 

"You don't, " she rejoined instantly. "But never mind that now!You don't know anything whatever about me, partner. I can't say Ieven know myself very intimately just now. I feel as if--as ifI've been blindfolded, and I can't see anything at all just yet. So will you try to be patient with me? Will you--will you--go onbeing a pal to me till the bandage comes off again? I--want apal--rather badly, partner. "

Her pleading voice came muffled against him. She was clinging tohim very tightly. He could feel her fingers straining upon eachother. He stroked them gently. 

"All right, little girl. All right, " he said. 

His tone must have reassured her, for she slipped round and kneltbeside him. "I'd like you to kiss me, " she said, and lifted a paleface and tear-bright eyes to his, He took her head between his hands, and she saw that he was moved. He bent in silence, and would have kissed her brow, but she raisedher lips instead. And shyly she returned his kiss. 

"You're so--good to me, " she said, in a whisper. "Thank you--somuch. "

He said no word in answer. Mutely he let her go. 

CHAPTER VII

THE GUEST

When Sylvia met her husband again, it was as if they had never beenparted or any cloud arisen to disturb the old frank comradeship. 

They breakfasted at daybreak before riding out over the lands, andtheir greeting was of the most commonplace description. Later, asthey rode together across the barren _veldt_, Burke told her alittle of his finding of Guy at Brennerstadt. He did not dwellupon any details, but by much that he left unsaid Sylvia gatheredthat the task had not been easy. 

"He knows about--me?" she ventured presently, with hesitation. 

"Yes, " Burke said. 

"Was he--surprised?" she asked. 

"No. He knew long ago. "

She asked no more. It had been difficult enough to ask so much. And she would soon see Guy for herself. She would not admit evento her own secret soul how greatly she was dreading that meetingnow that it was so near. 

Perhaps Burke divined something of her feeling in the matter, however, for at the end of a prolonged silence he said, "I thoughtI would fetch him over to lunch, --unless you prefer to ride roundthat way first. "

"Oh, thank you, " she said. "That is good of you. "

As they reached the bungalow, she turned to him with a suddenquestion. "Burke, you didn't--really--cut your chin so badlyshaving. Did you?"

She met the swift flash of his eyes without trepidation, refusingto be intimidated by the obvious fact that the question wasunwelcome. 

"Did you?" she repeated with insistence. He uttered a brief laugh. "All right, I didn't. And that's all there is to it. "

"Thank you, partner, " she returned with spirit, and changed thesubject. But her heart had given a little throb of dismay withinher. Full well she knew the reason of his reticence. 

They parted before the _stoep_, he leading her animal away, shegoing within to attend to the many duties of her household. 

She filled her thoughts with these resolutely during the morning, but in spite of this it was the longest morning she had ever known. 

She was at length restlessly superintending the laying of lunchwhen Joe hurried in with the news that a _baas_ was waiting on the_stoep_ round the corner to see her. The news startled her. Shehad heard no sounds of arrival, nor had Burke returned. For a fewmoments she was conscious of a longing to escape that was almostbeyond her, control, then with a sharp effort she commanded herselfand went out. 

Turning the corner of the bungalow, she came upon him verysuddenly, standing upright against one of the pillar-supports, awaiting her. He was alone, and a little throb of thankfulnesswent through her that this was so. She knew in that moment thatshe could not have borne to meet him for the first time in Burke'spresence. 

She was trembling as she went forward, but the instant their handsmet her agitation fell away from her, for she suddenly realizedthat he was trembling also. 

No conventional words came to her lips. How could she ever beconventional with Guy? And it was Guy--Guy in the flesh--who stoodbefore her, so little altered in appearance from the Guy she hadknown five years before that the thought flashed through her mindthat he looked only as if he had come through a sharp illness. Shehad expected far worse, though she realized now what Burke hadmeant when he had said that whatever resemblance had once existedbetween them, they were now no longer alike. He had not developedas she had expected. In Burke, she seemed to see the promise ofGuy's youth. But Guy himself had not fulfilled that promise. Hehad degenerated. He had proved himself a failure. And yet he didnot look coarsened or hardened by vice. He only looked, to herpitiful, inexperienced eyes, as if he had been ravaged by somesickness, as if he had suffered intensely and were doomed to sufferas long as he lived. 

That was the first impression she received of him, and it was thatthat made her clasp his hand in both her own and hold it fast. 

"Oh, Guy!" she said. "How ill you look!"

His fingers closed hard upon hers. He did not attempt to meet herearnest gaze. "So you got married to Burke!" he said, ignoring herexclamation. "It was the best thing you could do. He may not beexactly showy, but he's respectable. I wonder you want to speak tome after the way I let you down. "

The words were cool, almost casual; yet his hand still held hers ina quivering grasp. There was something in that grasp that seemedto plead for understanding. He flashed her a swift look from eyesthat burned with a fitful, feverish fire out of deep hollows. Howwell she remembered his eyes! But they had never before looked ather thus. With every moment that passed she realized that thechange in him was greater than that first glance had revealed. 

"Of course I want to speak to you!" she said gently. "I forgaveyou long ago--as, I hope, you have forgiven me. "

"I!" he said. "My dear girl, be serious!"

Somehow his tone pierced her. There was an oddly husky quality inhis voice that seemed to veil emotion. The tears sprang to hereyes before she was aware. 

"Whatever happens then, we are friends, " she said. "Remember thatalways, won't you? It--it will hurt me very much if you don't. "

"Bless your heart!" said Guy, and smiled a twisted smile. "Youwere always generous, weren't you? Too generous sometimes. Whatdid you want to rake me out of my own particular little comer ofhell for? Was it a mistaken idea of kindness or merely curiosity?I wasn't anyhow doing you any harm there. "

His words, accompanied by that painful smile, went straight to herheart. "Ah, don't--don't!" she said. "Did you think I couldforget you so easily, or be any thing but wretched while you werethere?"

He looked at her again, this time intently, "What can you be madeof, Sylvia?" he said. "Do you mean to say you found it easy toforgive me?"

She dashed the tears from her eyes. "I don't remember that I wasever--angry with you, " she said. "Somehow I realized--from thevery first--that--that--it was just--bad luck. "

"You amaze me!" he said. 

She smiled at him. "Do I? I don't quite see why. Is it soamazing that one should want to pass on and make the best ofthings? That is how I feel now. It seems so long ago, Guy, --likeanother existence almost. It is too far away to count. "

"Are you talking of the old days?" he broke in, in a voice thatgrated. "Or of the time a few weeks ago when you got here to findyourself stranded?"

She made a little gesture of protest. "It wasn't for long. Idon't want to think of it. But it might have been much worse. Burke was--is still--so good to me. "

"Is he?" said Guy. He was looking at her curiously, andinstinctively she turned away, avoiding his eyes. 

"Come and have some lunch!" she said. "He ought to be in directly. "

"He is in, " said Guy. "He went round to the stable. "

It was another instance of Burke's goodness that he had not beenpresent at their meeting. She turned to lead the way within with awarm feeling at her heart. It was solely due to this considerationof his that she had not suffered the most miserable embarrassment. Somehow she felt that she could not possibly have endured thatfirst encounter in his presence. But now that it was over, nowthat she had made acquaintance with this new Guy--this strangerwith Guy's face, Guy's voice, but not Guy's laugh or any of thesparkling vitality that had been his--she felt she wanted him. Sheneeded his help. For surely now he knew Guy better than she did!

It was with relief that she heard his step, entering from the backof the house. He came in, whistling carelessly, and she glancedinstinctively at Guy. That sound had always made her think of him. Had he forgotten how to whistle also, she wondered?

She expected awkwardness, constraint; but Burke surprised her byhis ease of manner. Above all, she noticed that he was by no meanskind to Guy. He treated him with a curt friendliness from whichall trace of patronage was wholly absent. His attitude was ratherthat of brother than host, she reflected. And its effect upon Guywas of an oddly bracing nature. The semi-defiant air dropped fromhim. Though still subdued, his manner showed no embarrassment. Heeven, as time passed, became in a sardonic fashion almost jocose. 

In company with Burke, he drank lager-beer, and he betrayed not thesmallest desire to drink too much. Furtively she watched himthroughout the meal, trying to adjust her impressions, trying torealize him as the lover to whom she had been faithful for so long, the lover who had written those always tender, though quiteuncommunicative letters, the lover, who had cabled her his welcome, and then had so completely and so cruelly failed her. 

Her ideas of him were a whirl of conflicting notions which utterlybewildered her. Of one thing only did she become very swiftly andsurely convinced, and that was that in failing her he had saved herfrom a catastrophe which must have eclipsed her whole life. Whatever he was, whatever her feelings for him, she recognized thatthis man was not the mate her girlish dreams had so fondlypictured. Probably she would have realized this in any case fromthe moment of their meeting, but circumstances might have compelledher to join her life to his. And then------

Her look passed from him to Burke, and instinctively she breathed asigh of thankfulness. He had saved her from much already, and hisrock-like strength stood perpetually between her and evil. For thefirst time she was consciously glad that she had entrusted herselfto him. 

At the end of luncheon she realized with surprise that there hadnot been an awkward moment. They went out on to the _stoep_ tosmoke cigarettes when it was over, and drink the coffee which shewent to prepare. It was when she was coming out with this that shefirst heard Guy's cough--a most terrible, rending sound that filledher with dismay. Stepping out on to the _stoep_ with her tray, shesaw him bent over the back of a chair, convulsed with coughing, andstood still in alarm. She had never before witnessed so painful astruggle. It was as if he fought some demon whose clutchthreatened to strangle him. 

Burke came to her and took the tray from her hands. "He'll bebetter directly, " he said. "It was the cigarette. "

With almost superhuman effort, Guy succeeded in forcing back themonster that seemed to be choking him, but for several minutesthereafter he hung over the chair with his face hidden, fightingfor breath. 

Burke motioned to Sylvia to sit down, but she would not. She stoodby Guy's side, and at length as he grew calmer, laid a gentle handupon his arm. 

"Come and sit down, Guy. Would you like some water?"

He shook his head. "No--no! Give me--that damned cigarette!"

"Don't you be a fool!" said Burke, but he said it kindly. "Sitdown and be quiet for a bit!"

He came up behind Guy, and took him by the shoulders. Sylvia sawwith surprise the young man yield without demur, and suffer himselfto be put into the chair where with an ashen face he lay for aspace as if afraid to move. 

Burke drew her aside. "Don't be scared!" he said, "It's nothingnew. He'll come round directly. "

Guy came round, sat slowly up, and reached a shaking hand towardsthe table on which lay his scarcely lighted cigarette. 

"Oh, don't!" Sylvia said quickly. "See, I have just brought outsome coffee. Won't you have some?"

Burke settled the matter by picking up the cigarette and tossing itaway. 

Guy gave him a queer look from eyes that seemed to bum like redcoals, but he said nothing whatever. He took the coffee Sylviaheld out to him and drank it as if parched with thirst. 

Then he turned to her. "Sorry to have made such an exhibition ofmyself. It's all this infernal sand. Yes, I'll have some more, please. It does me good. Then I'll get back to my own den andhave a sleep. "

"You can sleep here, " Burke said unexpectedly. "No one willdisturb you. Sylvia never sits here in the afternoon. "

Again Sylvia saw that strange look in Guy's eyes, a swift intentglance and then the instant falling of the lids. 

"You're very--kind, " said Guy. "But I think I'll get back to myown quarters all the same. "

Impulsively Sylvia intervened. "Oh, Guy, please, --don't go back tothat horrible little shanty on the sand! I got a room all readyfor you yesterday--if you will only use it. "

He turned to her. For a second his look was upon her also, and itseemed to her in that moment that she and Burke had united cruellyto bait some desperate animal. It sent such a shock through herthat she shrank in spite of herself. 

And then for the first time she heard Guy laugh, and it was a soundmore dreadful than his cough had been, a catching, painful soundthat was more like a cry--the hunger-cry of a prowling beast of thedesert. 

He got up as he uttered it, and stretched his arms above his head. She saw that his hands were clenched. 

"Oh, don't overdo it, I say!" he begged. "Hospitality is all verywell, but it can be carried too far. Ask Burke if it can't!Besides, two's company and three's the deuce. So I'll begoing--and many thanks!"

He was gone with the words, snatching his hat from a chair where hehad thrown it, and departing into the glare of the desert withnever a backward glance. 

Sylvia turned swiftly to her husband, and found his eyes upon her. 

"With a gasping cry she caught his arm. Oh, can't you go afterhim? Can't you bring him back?"

He freed the arm to put it round her, with the gesture of one whocomforts a hurt child. "My dear, it's no good, " he said. "Let himgo!"

"But, Burke--" she cried. "Oh, Burke----"

"I know, " he made answer, still soothing her. "But it can't bedone--anyhow at present. You'll drive him away if you attempt it. I know. I've done it. Leave him alone till the devil has gone outof him! He'll come back then--and be decent--for a time. "

His meaning was unmistakable. The force of what he said drove inupon her irresistibly. She burst into tears, hiding her faceagainst his shoulder in her distress. 

"But how dreadful! Oh, how dreadful! He is killing himself. Ithink--the Guy--I knew--is dead already. "

"No, he isn't, " Burke said, and he held her with sudden closenessas he said it. "He isn't--and that's the hell of it. But youcan't save him. No one can. "

She lifted her face sharply. There was something intolerable inthe words. With the tears upon her cheeks she challenged them. 

"He can be saved! He must be saved! I'll do it somehow--somehow!"

"You may try, " Burke said, as he suffered her to release herself. "You won't succeed. "

She forced a difficult smile with quivering lips. "You don't knowme. Where there's a will, there's a way. And I shall find itsomehow. "

He looked grim for an instant, then smiled an answering smile. "Don't perish in the attempt!" he said. "That do-or-die look ofyours is rather ominous. Don't forget you're my partner! I can'tspare you, you know. "

She uttered a shaky laugh. "Of course you can't. Blue Hill Farmwould go to pieces without me, wouldn't it? I've often thought I'mquite indispensable. "

"You are to me, " said Burke briefly; and ere the quick colour hadsprung to her face, he also had gone his way. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE INTERRUPTION

Sylvia meant to ride round to Guy's hut in search of him thatevening, but when the time came something held her back. 

Burke's words, "You'll drive him away, " recurred to her again andagain, and with them came a dread of intruding that finallyprevailed against her original intention. He must not think for amoment that she desired to spy upon him, even though that dreadfulcraving in his eyes haunted her perpetually, urging her to action. It seemed inevitable that for a time at least he must fight hisdevil alone, and with all her strength she prayed that he mightovercome. 

In the end she rode out with Burke, covering a considerabledistance, and returning tired in body but refreshed in mind. 

They had supper together as usual, but when it was over hesurprised her by taking up his hat again. 

"You are going out?" she said. 

"I'm going to have a smoke with Guy, " he said. "You have a game ofPatience, and then go to bed!"

She looked at him uncertainly. "I'll come with you, " she said. 

He was filling his pipe preparatory to departure. "You do as Isay!" he said. 

She tried to laugh though she saw his face was grim. "You'regetting rather despotic, partner. I shall have to nip that in thebud. I'm not going to stay at home and play Patience all bymyself. There!"

He raised his eyes abruptly from his task, and suddenly her heartwas beating fast and hard. "All right, " he said. "We'll stay athome together. "

His tone was brief, but it thrilled her. She was afraid to speakfor a moment or two lest he should see her strange agitation. Then, as he still looked at her, "Oh no, partner, " she saidlightly. "That wouldn't be the same thing at all. I am much toofond of my own company to object to solitude. I only thought Iwould like to come, too. I love the _veldt_ at night. "

"Do you?" he said. "I wonder what has taught you to do that. "

He went on with the filling of his pipe as he spoke, and she wasconscious of quick relief. His words did not seem to ask for ananswer, and she made none. 

"When are you going to take me to Ritzen?" she asked instead. 

"To Ritzen!" He glanced up again in surprise. "Do you want to goto Ritzen?"

"Or Brennerstadt, " she said, "Whichever is the best shoppingcentre. "

"Oh!" He began to smile. "You want to shop, do you? What do youwant to buy?"

She looked at him severely. "Nothing for myself, I am glad to say. "

"What! Something for me?" His smile gave him that look--thatboyish look--which once she had loved so dearly upon Guy's face. She felt as if something were pulling at her heart. She ignored itresolutely. 

"You will have to buy it for yourself, " she told him sternly. "I've got nothing to buy it with. It's something you ought to havegot long ago--if you had any sense of decency. "

"What on earth is it?" Burke dropped his pipe into his pocket andgave her his full attention. 

Sylvia, with a cigarette between her lips, got up to find thematches. She lighted it very deliberately under his watching eyes, then held out the match to him. "Light up, and I'll tell you. "

He took the slender wrist, blew out the match, and held her, facinghim. 

"Sylvia, " he said. "I ought to have gone into the money questionwith you before. But all I have is yours. You know that, don'tyou?"

She laughed at him through the smoke. "I know where you keep itanyhow, partner, " she said. "But I shan't take any--so you needn'tbe afraid. "

"Afraid!" he said, still holding her. "But you are to take it. Understand? It's my wish. "

She blew the smoke at him, delicately, through pursed lips. "Goodmy lord, I don't want it. Couldn't spend it if I had it. So now!"

"Then what is it I am to buy?" he said. 

Lightly she answered him. "Oh, you will only do the paying part. I shall do the choosing--and the bargaining, if necessary. "

"Well, what is it?" Still he held her, and there was something ofinsistence, something of possession, in his hold. 

Possibly she had never before seemed more desirable to him--or moreelusive. For she was beginning to realize and to wield her power. Again she took a whiff from her cigarette, and wafted it at himthrough laughing lips. 

"I want some wool--good wool--and a lot of it, to knit somesocks--for you. Your present things are disgraceful. "

His look changed a little. His eyes shone through the veil ofsmoke she threw between them, "I can buy ready-made socks. I'm notgoing to let you make them--or mend them. "

Sylvia's red lips expressed scorn. "Ready-made rubbish! No, sir. With your permission I prefer to make. Then perhaps I shall haveless mending to do. "

He was drawing her to him and she did not actively resist, thoughthere was no surrender in her attitude. 

"And why won't you have any money?" he said. "We are partners. "

She laughed lightly. "And you give me board and lodging. I am notworth more. "

He looked her in the eyes. "Are you afraid to take too much--lestI should want too much in return?"

She did not answer. She was trembling a little in his hold, buther eyes met his fearlessly. 

He put up a hand and took the cigarette very gently from her lips. "Sylvia, I'm going to tell you something--if you'll listen. "

He paused a moment. She was suddenly throbbing from head to foot. 

"What is it?" she whispered. 

He snuffed out the cigarette with his fingers and put it in hispocket. Then he bent to her, his hand upon her shoulder. 

His lips were open to speak, and her silence waited for the words, when like the sudden rending of the heavens there came an awfulsound close to them, so close that is shook the windows in theirframes and even seemed to shake the earth under their feet. 

Sylvia started back with a cry, her hands over her face. "Oh, what--what--what is that?"

Burke was at the window in a second. He wrenched it open, and ashe did so there came the shock of a thudding fall. A man'sfigure, huddled up like an empty sack lay across the threshold. Itsank inwards with the opening of the window, and Guy's face whiteas death, with staring, senseless eyes, lay upturned to thelamplight. 

Something jingled on the floor as his inert form collapsed, and asmoking revolver dropped at Burke's feet. 

He picked it up sharply, uncocked it and laid it on the table. Then he stooped over the prostrate body. The limbs were twitchingspasmodically, but the movement was wholly involuntary. Thedeathlike face testified to that. And through the grey flannelshirt above the heart a dark stain spread and spread. 

"He is dead!" gasped Sylvia at Burke's shoulder. 

"No, " Burke said. 

He opened the shirt with the words and exposed the wound beneath. Sylvia shrank at the sight of the welling blood, but Burke's voicesteadied her. 

"Get some handkerchiefs and towels, " he said, "and make a wad! Wemust stop this somehow. "

His quietness gave her strength. Swiftly she moved to do hisbidding. 

Returning, she found that he had stretched the silent figure fulllength upon the floor. The convulsive movements had wholly ceased. Guy lay like a dead man. 

She knelt beside Burke. "Tell me what to do and I'll do it! I'lldo--anything!"

"All right, " he said. "Get some cold water!"

She brought it, and he soaked some handkerchiefs and covered thewound. 

"I think we shall stop it, " he said. "Help me to get this thingunder his shoulders! I shall have to tie him up tight. I'll lifthim while you get it underneath. "

She was perfectly steady as she followed his instructions, and eventhough in the process her hands were stained with Guy's blood, shedid not shrink again. It was no easy task, but Burke's skill andstrength of muscle accomplished it at last. Across Guy's body helooked at her with a certain grim triumph. 

"Well played, partner! That's the first move. Are you all right?"

She saw by his eyes that her face betrayed the horror at her heart. She tried to smile at him, but her lips felt stiff and cold. Herlook went back to the ashen face on the floor. 

"What--what must be done next?" she said. 

"He will have to stay as he is till we can get a doctor, " Burkeanswered. "The bleeding has stopped for the present, but--" Hebroke off. 

"Child, how sick you look!" he said. "Here, come and wash!There's nothing more to be done now. "

She got up, feeling her knees bend beneath her but controlling themwith rigid effort. "I--am all right, " she said. "You--you thinkhe isn't dead?"

Burke's hand closed upon her elbow. "He's not dead, --no! He maydie of course, but I don't fancy he will at present, --not while helies like that. "

He was drawing her out of the room, but she resisted him suddenly. "I can't go. I can't leave him--while he lives. Burke, don't, please, bother about me! Are you--are you going to fetch a doctor?"

"Yes, " said Burke. 

She looked at him, her eyes wide and piteous. "Then please gonow--go quickly! I--will stay with him till you come back. "

"I shall have to leave you for some hours, " he said. 

"Oh, never mind that!" she answered, "Just be as quick as you can, that's all! I will be with him. I--shan't be afraid. "

She was urging him to the door, but he turned back. He went to thetable, picked up the revolver he had laid there, and put it away ina cupboard which he locked. 

She marked the action, and as he came to her again, laid atrembling hand upon his arm. "Burke! Could it--could it have beenan accident?"

"No. It couldn't, " said Burke. He paused a moment, looking at herin a way she did not understand. She wondered afterwards what hadbeen passing in his mind. But he said no further word except abrief, "Good-bye!"

Ten minutes later, she heard the quick thud of his horse's hoofs ashe rode into the night. 

CHAPTER IX

THE ABYSS

"Sylvia!"

Was it a voice that spoke in the overwhelming silence, or was itthe echo in her soul of a voice that would never speak again?Sylvia could not decide. She had sat for so long, propped againsta chair, watching that still figure on the floor, straining hersenses to see or hear some sign of breathing, trying to cheatherself into the belief that he slept, and then with a wrung heartwondering if he were not better dead. 

All memory of the bitterness and the cruel disappointment that hehad brought into her life had rolled away from her during thosestill hours of watching. She did not think of herself at all; onlyof Guy, once so eager and full of sparkling hope, now so tragicallyfallen in the race of life. All her woman's tenderness was awakeand throbbing with a passionate pity for this lover of her youth. Why, oh why had he done this thing? The horror of it oppressed herlike a crushing, physical weight. Was it for this that she hadpersuaded Burke to rescue him from the depths to which he had sunk?Had she by her rash interference only precipitated his finaldoom--she who had suffered so deeply for his sake, who had yearnedso ardently to bring him back?

Burke had been against it from the beginning; Burke knew to hiscost the hopelessness of it all. Ah, would it have been better ifshe had listened to him and refrained from attempting theimpossible? Would it not have been preferable to accept failurerather than court disaster? What had she done? What had she done?

"Sylvia!"

Surely the old Guy was speaking to her! Those pallid lips couldmake no sound; the new, strange Guy was dead. 

As in a dream, she answered him through the silence, feeling as ifshe spoke into the shadows of the Unknown. 

"Yes, Guy? Yes? I am here. "

"Will you--forgive me, " he said, "for making--a boss shot!"

Then she turned to the prostrate form beside her on the floor, andsaw that the light of understanding had come back into thosehaunted eyes. 

She knelt over him and laid her hand upon his rough hair. "Oh, Guy, hush--hush!" she said. "Thank God you are still here!"

A very strange expression flitted over his upturned face, a lookthat was indescribably boyish and yet so sad that she caught herbreath to still the intolerable pain at her heart. 

"I shan't be--long. " he said. "Thank God for that--too! I'vebeen--working myself up to it--all day. "

"Guy!" she said. 

He made a slight movement of one hand, and she gathered it closeinto her own. It seemed to her that the Shadow of Death had drawnvery near to them, enveloping them both. 

"It had--to be, " he said, in the husky halting voice so unfamiliarto her. "It--was a mistake--to try to bring me back. I'm--beyond--redemption. Ask Burke;--he knows!"

"You are not--you are not!" she told him vehemently. "Guy!" Shewas holding his hand hard pressed against her heart; her words camewith a rush of pitying tenderness that swept over every barrier. "Guy! I want you! You must stay. If you go now--you--you willbreak my heart. "

His eyes kindled a little at her words, but in a moment the emotionpassed. "It's too late, my dear;--too late, " he said and turnedhis head on the pillow under it as if seeking rest. "Youdon't--understand. Just as well for me perhaps. But I'm bettergone--for your sake, better gone. "

The conviction of his words went through her like a sword-thrust. He seemed to have passed beyond her influence, almost, she fancied, not to care. Yet why did the look in his eyes make her think of alost child--frightened, groping along an unknown road in the dark?Why did his hand cling to hers as though it feared to let go?

She held it very tightly as she made reply. "But, Guy, it isn'tfor us to choose. It isn't for us to discharge ourselves. OnlyGod knows when our work is done. "

He groaned. "I've given all mine to the devil. God couldn't useme if He tried. "

"You don't know, " she said. "You don't know. We're none of ussaints, I think He makes allowances--when things go wrong withus--just as--just as we make allowances for each other. "

He groaned again. "You would make allowances for the devilhimself, " he muttered. "It's the way you're made. But it isn'tjustice. Burke would tell you that. "

An odd little tremor of impatience went through her. "I know youbetter than Burke does, " she said. "Better, probably--than anyoneelse in the world. "

He turned his head to and fro upon the pillow. "You don't know me, Sylvia. You don't know me--at all. "

Yet the husky utterance seemed to plead with her as though helonged for her to understand. 

She stooped lower over him. "Never mind, dear! I love you all thesame, " she said. "And that's why I can't bear you--to go--likethis. " Her voice shook unexpectedly. She paused to steady it. "Guy, " she urged, almost under her breath at length, "you willlive--you will try to live--for my sake?"

Again his eyes were upon her. Again, more strongly, the flamekindled. Then, very suddenly, a hard shudder went through him, anda dreadful shadow arose and quenched that vital gleam. For a fewmoments consciousness itself seemed to be submerged in the mostawful suffering that Sylvia had ever beheld. His eyeballs rolledupwards under lids that twitched convulsively. The hand she heldclosed in an agonized grip upon her own. She thought that he wasdying, and braced herself instinctively to witness the lastterrible struggle, the rending asunder of soul and body. 

Then--as one upon the edge of an abyss--he spoke, his voice no morethan a croaking whisper. 

"It's hell for me--either way. Living or dead--hell!"

The paroxysm spent itself and passed like an evil spirit. Thestruggle for which she had prepared herself did not come. Instead, the flickering lids closed over the tortured eyes, the clutchinghand relaxed, and there fell a great silence. 

She sat for a long time not daring to move, scarcely breathing, wondering if this were the end. Then gradually it came to her, that he was lying in the stillness of utter exhaustion. She feltfor his pulse and found it beating, weakly but unmistakably. Hehad sunk into a sleep which she realized might be the means ofsaving his life. 

Thereafter she sat passive, leaning against a chair, waiting, watching, as she had waited and watched for so long. Once sheleaned her head upon her hand and prayed "O dear God, let himlive!" But something--some inner voice--seemed to check thatprayer, and though her whole soul yearned for its fulfilment shedid not repeat it. Only, after a little, she stooped very low, andtouched Guy's forehead with her lips. 

"God bless you!" she said softly. "God bless you!"

And in the silence that followed, she thought there was abenediction. 

CHAPTER X

THE DESIRE TO LIVE

In the last still hour before the dawn there came the tread ofhorses' feet outside the bungalow and the sound of men's voices. 

Sylvia looked up as one emerging from a long, long dream, thoughshe had not closed her eyes all night. The lamp was burning low, and Guy's face was in deep shadow; but she knew by the hand thatshe still held close between her own that he yet lived. She evenfancied that the throb of his pulse was a little stronger. 

She looked at Burke with questioning, uncertain eyes as he entered. In the dim light he seemed to her bigger, more imposing, moredominant, than he had ever seemed before. He rolled a little as hewalked as if stiff from long hours in the saddle. 

Behind him came another man--a small thin man with sleek black hairand a swarthy Jewish face, who moved with a catlike deftness, making no sound at all. 

"Well, Sylvia?" Burke said. "Is he alive?"

He took the lamp from the table, and cast its waning light fullupon her. She shrank a little involuntarily from the sudden glare. Almost without knowing it, she pressed Guy's inert hand to herbreast. The dream was still upon her. It was hardly of her ownvolition that she answered him. 

"Yes, he is alive. He has been speaking. I think he is asleep. "

"Permit me!" the stranger said. 

He knelt beside the still form while Burke held the lamp. Heopened the shirt and exposed the blood-soaked bandage. 

Then suddenly he looked at Sylvia with black eyes of a most amazingbrightness. "Madam, you cannot help here. You had better go. "

Somehow he made her think of a raven, unscrupulous, probably whollywithout pity, possibly wicked, and overwhelmingly intelligent. Sheavoided his eyes instinctively. They seemed to know too much. 

"Will he--do you think he win--live?" she whispered. 

He made a gesture of the hands that seemed to indicate infinitepossibilities. "I do not think at present. But I must beundisturbed. Go to your room, madam, and rest! Your husband willcome to you later and tell you what I have done--or failed to do. "

He spoke with absolute fluency but with a foreign accent. Hishands were busy with the bandages, dexterous, clawlike hands thatlooked as if they were delving for treasure. 

She watched him, speechless and fascinated, for a few seconds. Then Burke set the lamp upon the chair against which she had leanedall the night, and bent down to her. 

"Let me help you!" he said. 

A shuddering horror of the sight before her came upon her. Sheyielded herself to him in silence. She was shivering violentlyfrom head to foot. Her limbs were so numb she could not stand. Heraised her and drew her away. 

The next thing she knew was that she was sitting on the bed in herown room, and he was making her drink brandy and water in soburning a mixture that it stung her throat. 

She tried to protest, but he would take no refusal till she hadswallowed what he had poured out. Then he put down the glass, tucked her feet up on the bed with an air of mastery, and spread arug over her. 

He would have left her then with a brief injunction to remain whereshe was, but she caught and held his arm so that he was obliged topause. 

"Burke, is that dreadful man a doctor?"

"The only one I could get hold of, " said Burke. "Yes, he's adoctor all right. Saul Kieff his name is. I admit he's ascoundrel, but anyway he's keen on his job. "

"You think he'll save Guy?" she said tremulously. "Oh, Burke, hemust be saved! He must be saved!"

An odd look came into Burke's eyes. She remembered it later, though it was gone in an instant like the sudden flare of lightningacross a dark sky. 

"We shall do our best, " he said. "You stay here till I come back!"

She let him go. Somehow that look had given her a curious shockthough she did not understand it. She heard the door shut firmlybehind him, and she huddled herself down upon the pillow and laystill. 

She wished he had not made her drink that fiery draught. All hersenses were in a tumult, and yet her body felt as if weighted withlead. She lay listening tensely for every sound, but the silencewas like a blanket wrapped around her--a blanket which nothingseemed to penetrate. 

It seemed to overwhelm her at last, that silence, to blot out theclamour of her straining nerves, to deprive her of the power tothink. Though she did not know it, the stress of that night'shorror and vigil had worn her out. She sank at length into a deepsleep from which it seemed that nought could wake her. And whenmore than an hour later, Burke came, treading softly, and lookedupon her, he did not need to keep that burning hunger-light out ofhis eyes. For she was wholly unconscious of him as though herspirit were in another world. 

He looked and looked with a gaze that seemed as if it would consumeher. And at last he leaned over her, with arms outspread, andtouched her sunny, disordered hair with his lips. It was thelightest touch, far too light to awaken her. But, as if some happythought had filtered down through the deeps of her repose, shestirred in her sleep. She turned her face up to him with the faintsmile of a slumbering child. 

"Good night!" she murmured drowsily. 

Her eyes half-opened upon him. She gave him her lips. 

And as he stooped, with a great tremor, to kiss them, "Good night, dear--Guy!" Her voice was fainter, more indistinct. She sank backagain into that deep slumber from which she had barely been roused. 

And Burke went from her with the flower-like memory of her kissupon his lips, and the dryness of ashes in his mouth. 

It was several hours later that Sylvia awoke to full consciousnessand a piercing realization of a strange presence that watched byher side. 

She opened her eyes wide with a curious conviction that there was acat in the room, and then all in a moment she met the cool, repellent stare of the black-browed doctor whom Burke had broughtfrom Ritzen. 

A little quiver of repugnance went through her at the sight, swiftly followed by a sharp thrill of indignation. What was hedoing seated there by her side--this swarthy-faced stranger whomshe had disliked instinctively at first sight?

And then--suddenly it rushed through her mind that he was thebearer of evil tidings, that he had come to tell her that Guy wasdead. She raised herself sharply. 

"Oh, what is it? What is it?" she gasped. "Tell me quickly! It'sbetter for me to know. It's better for me to know. "

He put out a narrow, claw-like hand and laid it upon her arm. Hiseyes were like onyxes, Oriental, quite emotionless. 

"Do not agitate yourself, madam!" he said. "My patient is better. I think, that with care--he may live. That is, if he finds itworth while. "

"What do you mean?" she said in a whisper. 

That there was a veiled meaning to his words she was assured at theoutset. His whole bearing conveyed something mysterious, somethingsinister, to her startled imagination. She wanted to shake off thehand upon her arm, but she had to suffer it though the man's baretouch revolted her. 

He was leaning slightly towards her, but yet his face was utterlyinanimate. It was obvious that though he had imposed hispersonality upon her with a definite end in view, he was personallytotally indifferent as to whether he achieved that end or not. 

"I mean, " he said, after a quiet pause, "that the desire to live issometimes the only medicine that is of any avail. I know GuyRanger. He is a fool in many ways, but not in all. He is not forinstance fool enough to hang on to life if it holds nothing worthhaving. He was born with an immense love of life. He would nothave done this thing if he had not somehow lost this gift--for itis a gift. If he does not get it back--somehow--then, " the black, stony eyes looked into hers without emotion--"he will die. "

She shrank at the cold deliberation of his words. "Oh no--no! Notlike this! Not--by his own hand!"

"Ah!" He leaned towards her, bringing his sallow, impassivecountenance close to hers, repulsively close, to her over-acutesensibilities. "And how is that to be prevented? Who is to givehim that priceless remedy--the only medicine that can save him?Can I?" He lifted his shoulders expressively, indicating his ownhelplessness. And then in a voice dropped to a whisper, "Can you?"

She did not answer him. There was something horrible to her inthat low-spoken question, something that yet possessed for her aspecies of evil fascination that restrained her from open revolt. 

He waited for a while, his eyes so immovably fixed upon hers thatshe had a mild wonder if they were lidless--as the eyes of aserpent. 

Then at last, through grim pale lips that did not seem to move, hespoke again. "Madam, it lies with you whether Guy Ranger lives ordies. You can open to him the earthly paradise or you can hurl himback to hell. I have only Drought him a little way. I cannot keephim. Even now, he is slipping--he is slipping from my hold. It isyou, and you alone, who can save him. How do I know this thing?How do I know that the sun rises in the east? I--have--seen. Itis you who have taken from him the desire to live--perhapsunintentionally; that I do not know. It is you--and you alone--whocan restore it. Need I say more than this to open your eyes?Perhaps they are already open. Perhaps already your heart has beenin communion with his. If so, then you know that I have told youthe truth. If you really desire to save him--and I think youdo--then everything else in life must go to that end. Women weremade for sacrifice, they say. " A sardonic flicker that wasscarcely a smile touched his face. "Well, that is the only way ofsaving him. If you fail him, he will go under. "

He got up with the words. He had evidently said his say. As hishand left hers, Sylvia drew a deep hard breath, as of one emergingfrom a suffocating atmosphere. She had never felt so oppressed, sofettered, with evil in the whole of her life. And yet he had noturged her to any line of action. He had merely somewhat baldly, wholly dispassionately, told her the truth, and the very absence ofemotion with which he had spoken had driven conviction to her soul. She saw him go with relief, but his words remained like a stone atthe bottom of her heart. 

CHAPTER XI

THE REMEDY

When Sylvia went to Guy a little later, she found him installed inBurke's room. Burke himself was out on the farm, but it was pastthe usual hour for luncheon, and she knew he would be returningsoon. 

Kieff rose up noiselessly from the bedside at her entrance, and shesaw that Guy was asleep. She was conscious of a surging, passionate longing to be alone with him as she crept forward. Thesilent presence of this stranger had a curious, nauseating effectupon her. She suppressed a shudder as she passed him. 

He stood behind her in utter immobility as she bent over the bed. Guy was lying very still, but though he was pale, the deathly lookhad gone from his face. He looked unutterably tired, but verypeaceful. 

Lying so, with all the painful lines of his face relaxed, she sawthe likeness of his boyhood very clearly on his quiet features, andher heart gave a quick hard throb within her that sent the hottears to her eyes. The sight of him grew blurred and dim. Shejust touched his black hair with trembling fingers as she foughtback a sob. 

And then quite suddenly his eyes were open, looking at her. Thepupils were enormously enlarged, giving him an unfamiliar look. But at sight of her, a quick smile flashed across his face--his oldglad smile of welcome, and she knew him again. "Hullo--darling!"he said. 

She could not speak in answer. She could only lay her hand overhis and hold it fast. 

He went on, his speech rapid, slightly incoherent. Guy had beenlike that, she remembered, in moments of any excitement or stress. 

"I've had a beastly bad dream, sweetheart. Thought I'd lostyou--somehow I was messing about in a filthy fog, and there werebeastly precipices about. And you--you were callingsomewhere--telling me not to forget something. What was it? I'mdashed if I can remember now. "

"It--doesn't matter, " she managed to say, though her voice wasbarely audible. 

He opened his eyes a little wider. "Are you crying, I say? What'sthe matter? What, darling? You're not crying for me? Eh? Ishall get over it. I always come up again. Ask Kelly! Ask Kieff!"

"Yes, you always come up again, " Kieff said, in his brief, mechanical voice. 

Guy threw him a look that was a curious blend of respect anddisgust. "Hullo, Lucifer!" he said. "What are you doing here?Come to show us the quickest way to hell? He's an authority onthat, Sylvia. He knows all the shortest cuts. "

He broke off with a sudden hard breath, and Sylvia saw again thatawful shadow gather in his eyes. She made way for Kieff, thoughnot consciously at his behest, and there followed a dreadfulstruggling upon which she could not look. Kieff spoke once ortwice briefly, authoritatively, and was answered by a sound moreanguished than any words. Then at the end of several unspeakableseconds she heard Burke's footstep outside the door. She turned tohim as he entered, with a thankfulness beyond all expression. 

"Oh, Burke, he is suffering--so terribly. Do see if you can help!"

He passed her swiftly and went to the other side of the bed. Somehow his presence braced her. She looked again upon Guy in hisextremity. 

He was propped against Kieff's shoulder, his face quite livid, hiseyes roaming wildly round the room, till suddenly they found andrested upon her own. All her life Sylvia was to remember theappeal those eyes held for her. It was as if his soul were cryingaloud to her for freedom. 

She came to the foot of the bed. The anguish had entered into heralso, and it was more than she could bear. 

She turned from Burke to Kieff. "Oh, do anything--anything--tohelp him!" she implored him. "Don't let him suffer--like this!"

Kieff's hand went to his pocket. "There is only one thing, " hesaid. 

Burke, his arm behind Guy's convulsed body, made an abrupt gesturewith his free hand. "Wait! He'll come through it. He did before. "

And still those tortured eyes besought Sylvia, urged her, entreatedher. 

She left the foot of the bed, and went to Kieff. Her lips feltstiff and numb, but she forced them to speak. 

"If you have anything that will help him, give it to him now!Don't wait! Don't wait!"

Kieff the impassive, nodded briefly, and took his hand from hispocket. 

"Wait! He is better, " Burke said. 

But, "Don't wait! Don't wait!" whispered Sylvia. "Don't let himdie--like this!"

Kieff held out to her a small leather case. "Open it!" he said. 

She obeyed him though her hands were trembling. She took out theneedle and syringe it contained. 

Burke said no more. Perhaps he realized that the cause was alreadylost. And so he looked on in utter silence while Sylvia and Kieffbetween them administered the only thing that could ease the awfulsuffering that seemed greater than flesh and blood could bear. 

It took effect with marvellous quickness--that remedy of Kieff's. It was, to Sylvia's imagination, like the casting forth of a demon. Guy's burning eyes ceased to implore her. He strained no longer inthe cruel grip. His whole frame relaxed, and he even smiled at heras they laid him back against the pillows. 

"That's better, " he said. 

"Thank God!" Sylvia whispered. 

His eyes were drooping heavily. He tried to keep them open. "Holdmy hand!" he murmured to her. 

She sat on the edge of the bed, and took it between her own. 

His finger pressed hers. "That's good, darling. Now I'm happy. Wish we--could go on like this--always. Don't you?"

"No, " she whispered back. "I want you well again. "

"Ah!" His eyes were closing; he opened them again. "You meanthat, sweetheart? You really want me?"

"Of course I do, " she said. 

Guy was still smiling but there was pathos in his smile. "Ah, thatmakes a difference, " he said, "--all the difference. That meansyou've quite forgiven me. Quite, Sylvia?"

"Quite, " she answered, and she spoke straight from her heart. Shehad forgotten Burke, forgotten Kieff, forgotten everyone in thatmoment save Guy, the dear lover of her youth. 

And he too was looking at her with eyes that saw her alone. "Kissme, little sweetheart!" he said softly. "And then I'll know--forsure. "

It was boyishly spoken, and she could not refuse. She had nothought of refusing. 

As in the old days when they had been young together, her heartresponded to the call of his. She leaned down to him instantly andvery lovingly, and kissed him. 

"Sure you want me?" whispered Guy. 

"God knows I do, " she answered him very earnestly. 

He smiled at her and closed his eyes. "Good night!" he murmured. 

"Good night, dear!" she whispered back. 

And then in the silence that followed she knew that he fell asleep. 

Someone touched her shoulder, and she looked up. Burke wasstanding by her side. 

"You can leave him now, " he said. "He won't wake. "

He spoke very quietly, but she thought his face was stern. A faintthrob of misgiving went through her. She slipped her hand free androse. 

She saw that Kieff had already gone, and for a moment shehesitated. But Burke took her steadily by the arm, and led herfrom the room. 

"He won't wake, " he reiterated. "You must have something to eat, "

They entered the sitting-room, and she saw with relief that Kieffwas not there either. The table was spread for luncheon, and Burkeled her to it. 

"Sit down!" he said. "Never mind about Kieff! He can look afterhimself. "

She sat down in silence. Somehow she felt out of touch with Burkeat that moment. Her long vigil beside Guy seemed in someinexplicable fashion to have cut her off from him. Or was it thosestrange words that Kieff had uttered and which even yet wererunning in her brain? Whatever it was, it prevented all intimacybetween them. They might have been chance-met strangers sitting atthe same board. He waited upon her as if he were thinking of otherthings. 

Her own thoughts were with Guy alone. She ate mechanically, halfunconsciously watching the door, her ears strained to catch anysound. 

"He will probably sleep for hours, " Burke said, breaking thesilence. 

She looked at him with a start. She had almost forgotten hispresence. She met his eyes and felt for a few seconds oddlydisconcerted. It was with an effort she spoke in answer. 

"I hope he will. That suffering is so terrible. "

"It's bad enough, " said Burke. "But the morphia habit is worse. That's damnable. "

She drew a sharp breath. She felt almost as if he had struck herover the heart. "Oh, but surely--" she said--"surely--having itjust once--like that----"

"Do you think he is the sort of man to be satisfied with just onceof anything?" said Burke. 

The question did not demand an answer, she made none. With aneffort she controlled her distress and changed the subject. 

"How long will Dr. Kieff stay?"

Burke's eyes were upon her again. She wished he would not look ather so intently. "He will probably see him through, " he said. "How long that will take it is impossible to say. Not long, Ihope. "

"You don't like him?" she ventured. 

"Personally, " said Burke, "I detest him. He is not out here in hisprofessional capacity. In fact I have a notion that he was kickedout of that some years ago. But that doesn't prevent him being avery clever surgeon. He likes a job of this kind. "

Sylvia caught at the words. "Then he ought to succeed, " she said. "Surely he will succeed!"

"I think you may trust him to do his best, " Burke said. 

They spoke but little during the rest of the meal. There seemed tobe nothing to say. In some curious fashion Sylvia felt paralyzed. She could not turn her thought in any but the one direction, andshe knew subtly but quite unmistakably that in this they were notin sympathy. It was a relief to her when Burke rose from thetable. She was longing to get back to Guy. She had an almostoverwhelming desire to be alone with him, even though he layunconscious of her. They had known each other so long ago, beforeshe had come to this land of strangers. Was it altogetherunnatural that meeting thus again the old link should have beenforged anew? And his need of her was so great--infinitely greaternow than it had ever been before. 

She lingered a few moments to set the table in order for Kieff;then turned to go to him, and was surprised to find Burke stillstanding by the door. 

She looked at him questioningly, and as if in answer he laid hishand upon her shoulder, detaining her. He did not speakimmediately, and she had a curious idea that he was embarrassed. 

"What is it, partner?" she said, withdrawing her thoughts from Guywith a conscious effort. 

He bent slightly towards her. His hold upon her was not whollysteady. It was as if some hidden force vibrated strongly withinhim, making itself felt to his very finger-tips. Yet his face wasperfectly composed, even grim, as he said, "There is one thing Iwant to say to you before you go. Sylvia, I haven't asserted anyright over you so far. But don't forget--don't let anyone induceyou to forget--that the right is mine! I may claim it--some day. "

That aroused her from preoccupation very effectually. The colourflamed in her face. "Burke! I don't understand you!" she said, speaking quickly and rather breathlessly, for her heart was beatingfast and hard. "Have you gone mad?"

"No, I am not mad, " he said, and faintly smiled. 

"I am just looking after our joint interests, that's all. "

She opened her eyes wide. "Still I don't understand you, " shesaid. "I thought you promised--I thought we agreed--that you werenever to interfere with my liberty. "

"Unless you abused it, " said Burke. 

She flinched a little in spite of herself, so uncompromising wereboth his tone and attitude. But in a moment she drew herselferect, facing him fearlessly. 

"I don't think you know--quite--what you are saying to me, " shesaid. "You are tired, and you are looking at things--all crooked. Will you please take a rest this afternoon? I am sure you need it. And to-night--" She paused a moment, for, her couragenotwithstanding, she had begun to tremble--"to-night, "--she saidagain, and still paused, feeling his hand tighten upon her, feelingher heart quicken almost intolerably under its weight. 

"Yes?" he said, his voice low, intensely quiet, "Please finish!What am I to do to-night?"

She faced him bravely, with all her strength. "I hope, " she said, "you will come and tell me you are sorry. "

He threw up his head with a sharp gesture. She saw his eyes kindleand burn with a flame she dared not meet. 

A swift misgiving assailed her. She tried to release herself, buthe took her by the other shoulder also, holding her before him. 

"And if I do all that, " he said, a deep quiver in his voice thatthrilled her through and through, "what shall I get in return? Howshall I be rewarded?"

She gripped her self-control with a great effort, summoning thathigh courage of hers which had never before failed her. 

She smiled straight up at him, a splendid, resolute smile. "Youshall have--the kiss of peace, " she said. 

His expression changed. For a moment his hold became a grip thathurt her--bruised her. She closed her eyes with an involuntarycatch of the breath, waiting, expecting she knew not what. Then, very suddenly, the strain was over. He set her free and turnedfrom her. 

"Thank you. " he said, in a voice that sounded oddly strangled. "But I don't find that--especially satisfying--just now. "

His hands were clenched as he left her. She did not dare to followhim or call him back. 

PART III

CHAPTER I

THE NEW ERA

Looking back later, it almost seemed to Sylvia that the days thatfollowed were as an interval between two acts in the play of life. It was a time of transition, though what was happening within hershe scarcely realized. 

One thing only did she fully recognize, and that was that the oldfrank comradeship between herself and Burke had come to an end. During all the anxiety of those days and the many fluctuationsthrough which Guy passed, Burke came and went as an outsider, scarcely seeming to be interested in what passed, neverinterfering. He never spoke to Kieff unless circumstancescompelled him, and with Sylvia herself he was so reticent as to bealmost forbidding. Her mind was too full of Guy, too completelyoccupied with the great struggle for his life, to allow herthoughts to dwell very much upon any other subject. She saw thatBurke's physical wants were attended to, and that was all that shehad time for just then. He was sleeping in the spare hut which shehad prepared for Guy with such tender care, and she was quitesatisfied as to his comfort there. It came to be something of arelief when every evening he betook himself thither. Though shenever actually admitted it to herself, she was always more at easewhen he was out of the bungalow. 

She and Kieff were fighting inch by inch to save Guy, and she couldnot endure any distractions while the struggle lasted. For it wasa desperate fight, and there was little rest for either of them. Her first sensation of repugnance for this man had turned into aspecies of unwilling admiration, His adroitness, his resource, thealmost uncanny power of his personality, compelled her to a curiousallegiance. She gave him implicit obedience, well knowing that, though in all else they were poles asunder, in this thing they wereas one. They were allied in the one great effort to defeat theDestroyer. They fought day and night, shoulder to shoulder, neveryielding, never despairing, never slacking. 

And very gradually at last the tide that had ebbed so low began toturn. Through bitter suffering, often against his will, Guy Rangerwas drawn slowly back again to the world he had so nearly left. Kieff never let him suffer for long. He gave him oblivion wheneverthe weakened endurance threatened to fail. And Sylvia, seeing thatthe flickering strength was always greater under the influence ofKieff's remedy, raised no protest. They fought death with theweapon of death. It would be time enough when the battle was wonto cast that weapon aside. 

During those days of watching and conflict, she held littleconverse with Guy. He was like a child, content in his wakinghours to have her near him, and fretful if she were ever absent. Under Kieff's guidance, she nursed him with unfailing care, developing a skill with which she had never credited herself. Asgradually his strength returned, he would have her do everythingfor him, resenting even Kieff's interference though never activelyresisting his authority. He seemed to stand in awe of Kieff, Sylvia noticed, a feeling from which she herself was not whollyfree. For there was a subtle mastery about him which influencedher in spite of herself. But she had put aside her instinctivedislike of the man because of the debt she owed him. He hadbrought Guy back, had wrenched him from the very jaws of Death, andshe would never forget it. He had saved her from a life-longsorrow. 

And so, as slowly Guy returned, she schooled herself to subdue acertain distrust of him which was never wholly absent from herconsciousness. She forced herself to treat him as a friend. Shesilenced the warning voice within her that had bade her soconstantly beware. Perhaps her own physical endurance had begun towaver a little after the long strain. Undoubtedly his influenceover her was such as it could scarcely have become under any othercircumstances. Her long obedience to his will in the matter of Guyhad brought her to a state of submission at which once she wouldhave scoffed. And when at last, the worst of the battle over, shewas overtaken by an overpowering weariness of mind and body, allthings combined to place her at a hopeless disadvantage. 

One day, after three weeks of strenuous nursing, she quitted Guy'sroom very suddenly to battle with a ghastly feeling of faintnesswhich threatened to overwhelm her. Kieff, who had been presentwith Guy, followed her almost immediately to her own room, andfound her with a deathly face groping against the wall as onestricken blind. 

He took her firmly by the shoulders and forced her down over theback of a chair, holding her so with somewhat callous strength ofpurpose, till with a half-hysterical gasp she begged him to set herfree. The colour had returned to her face when she stood up, butthose few moments of weakness had bereft her of her self-control. She could not restrain her tears. 

Kieff showed no emotion of any sort. With professional calm, heput her down upon the bed, and stood over her, feeling her pulse. 

"You want sleep, " he said. 

She turned her face away from him, ashamed of the weakness shecould not hide. "Yes, I know. But I can't sleep. I'm alwayslistening. I can't help it. My brain feels wound up. Sometimes--sometimes it feels as if it hurts me to shut my eyes. "

"There's a remedy for that, " said Kieff, and his hand went to hispocket. 

She looked at him startled. "Oh, not that! Not that! I couldn't. It would be wrong. "

"Not if I advise it, " said Kieff, with a self-assurance that seemedto knock aside her resistance as of no account. 

She knew she ought to have resisted further, but somehow she couldnot. His very impassivity served to make opposition impossible. It came to her that the inevitable was upon her, and whatever shesaid would make no difference. Moreover, she was too tired greatlyto care. 

She uttered a little cry when a few seconds later she felt theneedle pierce her flesh, but she submitted without a struggle. After all, what did it matter for once? And she needed rest so much. 

With a sigh she surrendered herself, and was amazed at the swiftrelief that came to her. It was like the rolling away of animmense weight, and immediately she seemed to float upwards, upwards, like a soaring bird. 

Kieff remained by her side, but his presence did not trouble her. She was possessed by an ecstasy so marvellous that she had no roomfor any other emotion; She was as one borne on wings, ascending, ever ascending, through an atmosphere of transcendent gold. 

Once he touched her forehead, and bringing his hand slowlydownwards compelled her to close her eyes. A brief darkness cameupon her, and she uttered a muffled protest. But when he liftedhis hand again, her eyes did not open. The physical had fallenfrom her, material things had ceased to matter. She was free--freeas the ether through which she floated. She was mounting upwards, upwards, upwards, through celestial morning to her castle at thetop of the world. And the magic--the magic that beat in herveins--was the very elixir of life within her, inspiring her, uplifting her. For a space she hovered thus, still mounting, butimperceptibly, caught as it were between earth and heaven. Thenthe golden glamour about her turned to a mystic haze. Strangevisions, but half comprehended, took shape and dissolved beforeher. She believed that she was floating among the mountain-crestswith the Infinite all about her. The wonder of it and the rapturewere beyond all utterance, beyond the grasp of human knowledge; thejoy exceeded all that she had ever known. And so by exquisitephases, she entered at last a great vastness--a slumber-space whereall things were forgotten, lost in the radiance of an unbrokenpeace. 

She folded the wings of her enchantment with absolute contentmentand slept. She had come to a new era in her existence. She hadreached the top of the world. . . . 

It was long, long after that she awoke, returning to earth with thefeeling of one revisiting old haunts after half a lifetime. Shewas very tired, and her head throbbed painfully, but at the back ofher brain was an urgent sense of something needed, something thatmust be done. She raised herself with immense effort, --and met theeyes of Burke seated by her side. 

He was watching her with a grave, unstirring attention that did notwaver for an instant as she moved. It struck her that there was astrange remoteness about him, almost as if he belonged to anotherworld. Or was it she--she who had for a space overstepped theboundary and wandered awhile through the Unknown?

He spoke, and in his voice was a depth that awed her. 

"Do you know me?" he said. 

She gazed at him, bewildered, wondering. "But of course I knowyou! Why do you ask? Are you--changed in any way?"

He made an odd movement, as if the question in her wide eyespierced him. He did not answer her in words; only after a momenthe took her hand and pushed up the sleeve as though looking forsomething. 

She lay passive for a few seconds, watching him. Then suddenly, blindly, she realized what was the object of his search. She madea quick, instinctive movement to frustrate him. 

His hand tightened instantly upon hers; he pointed to a tiny markupon the inside of her arm. "How did you get that?" he said. 

His eyes looked straight into hers. There was something pitiless, something almost brutal, in their regard. In spite of herself sheflinched, and lowered her own. 

"Answer me!" he said. 

She felt the hot colour rush in a guilty flood over her face. "Itwas only--for once, " she faltered. "I wanted sleep, and I couldn'tget it. "

"Kieff gave it you, " he said, his tone grimly insistent. 

She nodded. "Yes. He meant well. He saw I was fagged out. "

Burke was silent for a space, still grasping her hand. Her headwas throbbing dizzily, but she would not lower it to the pillowagain in his presence. She felt almost like a prisoner awaitingsentence. 

"Did he give it you against your will?" he asked at length. 

"Not altogether. " Her voice was almost a whisper. Her heart wasbeating with hard, uneven strokes. She felt sick and faint. 

Burke moved suddenly, releasing her hand. He rose with thatdecision characteristic of him and walked across the room. Sheheard the splash of water in a basin, and then he came back to her. As if she had been a child, he raised her to lean against him, andproceeded very quietly to bathe her face and head with ice-coldwater. 

She shrank at the chill of it, but he persisted in his task, andvery soon she began to feel refreshed. 

"Thank you, " she murmured at last. "I am better now. I will getup. "

"You had better lie still for the present, " he said. "I will sendyou in some supper later. "

His tone was repressive. She could not look him in the face. But, as he made as if he would rise, something impelled her to lay adetaining hand upon his arm. 

"Please wait a minute!" she said, He waited, and in a moment, with difficulty, she went on. 

"Burke, I have done wrong, I know. I am sorry. Please don't beangry with me! I--can't bear it. "

There was a catch in her voice that she could not restrain. Shehad a great longing to hide her face on his shoulder and burst intotears. But something--some inner, urgent warning--held her back. 

Burke sat quite still. There was a touch of rigidity in hisattitude. "All right, " he said at last. "I am not angry--withyou. "

Her fingers closed upon his arm. "Please don't quarrel with Dr. Kieff about it!" she said nervously. "It won't happen again. "

She felt him stiffen still further at her words. "It certainlywon't, " he said briefly, "Tell me, have you got any of the infernalstuff by you?"

She glanced up at him, startled by the question. "Of course Ihaven't!" she said. 

His eyes held a glitter that was almost bestial. She dropped herhand from, his arm as if she had received an electric shock. Hegot up instantly. 

"Very well. I will leave you now. You had better go to bed. "

"I must see Guy first, " she objected. 

"I am attending to Guy, " he said. 

That opened her eyes. She started up, facing him, a sudden sharpmisgiving at her heart. "Burke! You! Where--is Dr. Kieff?"

He uttered a grim, exultant sound that made her quiver. "He is onhis way back to Ritzen--or Brennerstadt. He didn't mention which. "

"Ah!" Her hands were tightly clasped upon her breast. "What--whathave you done to him?" she panted. 

Burke had risen to his feet. "I have--helped him on his way, that's all, " he said. 

She tried to stand up also, but the moment she touched the ground, she reeled. He caught her, and held her, facing him. His eyesshone with a glow as of molten metal, "Do you think, " he said, breathing deeply, "that I would sufferthat accursed fiend to drag my wife--my wife--down into thatinfernal slough?"

She was trembling from head to foot; her knees doubled under her, but he held her up. The barely repressed violence of his speechwas perceptible in his hold also. She had no strength to meet it. 

"But what of Guy?" she whispered voicelessly. "He will die!"

"Guy!" he said, and in the word there was a bitternessindescribable. "Is be to be weighed in the balance against you?"

She was powerless to reason with him, and perhaps it was as wellfor her that this was so, for he was in no mood to endureopposition. His wrath seemed to beat about her like a storm-blast. But yet he held her up, and after a moment, seeing her weakness, hesoftened somewhat. 

"There! Lie down again!" he said, and lowered her to the bed. "I'll see to Guy. Only remember, " he stooped over her, and to herstrained senses he loomed gigantic, "if you ever touch that stuffagain, my faith in you will be gone. And where there is no trust, you can't expect--honour. "

The words seemed to pierce her, but he straightened himself themoment after and turned to go. 

She covered her face with her hands as the door closed upon him. She felt as if she had entered upon a new era, indeed, and shefeared with a dread unspeakable to look upon the path which laybefore her. 

CHAPTER XI

INTO BATTLE

When Sylvia saw Guy again, he greeted her with an odd expression inhis dark eyes, half-humorous, half-speculative. He was lyingpropped on pillows by the open window, a cigarette and a box ofmatches by his side. 

"Hullo, Sylvia!" he said. "You can come in. The big _baas_ hasset his house in order and gone out. "

The early morning sunshine was streaming across his bed. Shethought he looked wonderfully better, and marvelled at the change. 

He smiled at her as she drew near. "Yes, I've been washed and fedand generally made respectable. Thank goodness that brute Kieffhas gone anyway! I couldn't have endured him much longer. Whatwas the grand offence? Did he make love to you or what?"

"Make love to me! Of course not!" Sylvia flushed indignantly atthe suggestion. 

Guy laughed; he seemed in excellent spirits. "He'd better not, what? But the big _baas_ was very angry with him, I can tell you. And I can't think it was on my account. I'm inoffensive enough, heavens knows. "

He reached up a hand as she stood beside him, and took and heldhers. 

"You're a dear girl, Sylvia, " he said. "Just the very sight of youdoes me good. You're not sorry Kieff has gone?"

"Sorry! No!" She looked down at him with doubt in her eyes. "Only--we owe him a good deal, remember. He saved your life. "

"Oh, that!" said Guy lightly. "You may set your mind quite at reston that score, my dear. He wouldn't have done it if he hadn't feltlike it. He pleases himself in all he does. But I should like tohave witnessed his exit last night. That, I imagine, was moresatisfactory from Burke's point of view than from his. He--Burke--came back with that smile-on-the-face-of-the-tigerexpression of his. You've seen it, I daresay. It was very much inevidence last night. "

Sylvia repressed a sudden shiver. "Oh, Guy! What do you thinkhappened?"

He gave her hand a sudden squeeze. "Nothing to worry about, I doassure you. He's a devil of a fellow when he's roused, isn't he?But--so far as my knowledge goes--he's never killed anyone yet. Sit down, old girl, and let's have a smoke together! I'm allowedjust one to-day--as a reward for good behaviour. "

"Are you being good?" said Sylvia. 

Guy closed one eye. "Oh, I'm a positive saint to-day. I'vepromised--almost--never to be naughty again. Do you know Burkeslept on the floor in here last night? Decent of him, wasn't it?"

Sylvia glanced swiftly round. "Did he? How uncomfortable for him!He mustn't do that again, "

"He didn't notice, " Guy assured her. "He was much too pleased withhimself. I rather like him for that, you know. He has a wonderfulfaculty for--what shall we call it?--mental detachment? Or, is itphysical? Anyway, he knows how to enjoy his emotions, whateverthey are, and he doesn't let any little personal discomfort standin his way. "

He ended with a careless laugh from which all bitterness wasabsent, and after a little pause Sylvia sat down by his side. Hiswhole attitude amazed her this morning. Some magic had been atwork. The fretful misery of the past few weeks had passed like acloud. This was her own Guy come back to her, clean, sane, withthe boyish humour that she had always loved in him, and the oldquick light of understanding and sympathy in his eyes. 

He watched her with a smile. "Aren't you going to light up, too?Come, you'd better. It'll tone you up, "

She looked back at him. "Had you better smoke?" she said. "Won'tit start your cough?"

He lifted an imperious hand. "It won't kill me if it does. Whyare you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" she said. 

"As if I'd come back from the dead. " He frowned at her abruptlythough his eyes still smiled. "Don't!" he said. 

She smiled in answer, and picked up the matchbox. It was of silverand bore his initials. 

"Yes, " Guy said, "I've taken great care of it, haven't I? It'sbeen my mascot all these years. "

She took out a match and struck it without speaking. There wassomething poignant in her silence. She was standing again in thewintry dark of her father's park, pressed close to Guy's heart, andbegging him brokenly to use that little parting gift of hers withthoughts of her when more than half the world lay between them. Guy's cigarette was in his mouth. She stooped forward to light it. Her hand was trembling. In a moment he reached up, patted itlightly, and took the match from her fingers. The action said morethan words. It was as if he had gently turned a page in the bookof life, and bade her not to look back. 

"Now don't you bother about me!" he said. "I'm being good--as yousee. So go and cook the dinner or do anything else that appeals toyour housekeeper's soul! That is, if you feel it's immoral tosmoke a cigarette at this early hour. Needless to say, I shall becharmed if you will join me. "

But he did not mean to talk upon intimate subjects, and his toneconveyed as much. She lingered for a while, and they spoke of thefarm, the cattle, Burke's prospects, everything under the sun savepersonal matters. Yet there was no barrier in their reserve. Theyavoided these by tacit consent. 

In the end she left him, feeling strangely comforted. Burke hadbeen right. The devil had gone out of Guy, and he had come back. 

She pondered the matter as she went about her various tasks, butshe found no solution thereof. Something must have happened tocause the change in him; she could not believe that Kieff'sdeparture had effected it. Her thoughts went involuntarily toBurke--Burke whose wrath had been so terrible the previous night. Was it due to him? Had he accomplished what neither Kieff's skillnor her devotion had been able to achieve? Yet he had spoken ofGuy as one of his failures. He had impressed upon her the factthat Guy's, case was hopeless. She had even been convinced of itherself until to-day. But to-day all things were changed. Guy hadcome back. 

The thought of her next meeting with Burke tormented hercontinually, checking all gladness. She dreaded it unspeakably, listening for him with nerves on edge during the busy hours thatfollowed. 

She made the Kaffir boy bring the camp-bed out of the guest-hutwhich Burke had occupied of late and set it up in a corner of Guy'sroom. Kieff had slept on a long-chair in the sitting-room, takinghis rest at odd times and never for any prolonged spell. She hadeven wondered sometimes if he ever really slept at all, so alerthad he been at the slightest sound. But she knew that Burke hatedthe long-chair because it creaked at every movement, and she wasdetermined that he should not spend another night on the floor. So, while with trepidation she awaited him, she made suchpreparations as she could for his comfort. 

Joe, the house-boy, was very clumsy in all his ways, and Guy, looking on, seemed to derive considerable amusement from hisperformance. "I always did like Joe, " he remarked. "There'ssomething about his mechanism that is irresistibly comic. Oh, doleave him alone, Sylvia! Let him arrange the thing upside down ifhe wants to!"

Joe's futility certainly had something of the comic order about it. He had a dramatic fashion of rolling his eyes when expectant ofrebuke, which was by no means seldom. And the vastness of hissmile was almost bewildering. Sylvia had never been able quite toaccustom herself to his smile. 

"He's exactly like a golliwog, isn't he?" said Guy. "His head willsplit in two if you encourage him. "

But Sylvia, hot and anxious, found it impossible to view Joe'sexhibition with enjoyment. He was more stupid in the execution ofher behests than she had ever found him before, and at length, losing patience, she dismissed him and proceeded to erect the bedherself. 

She was in the midst of this when there came the sound of a step inthe room, and Guy's quick, "Hullo!" told her of the entrance of a third person. She stood upsharply, and met Burke face to face. 

She was panting a little from her exertions, and her hand went toher side. For the moment a horrible feeling of discomfitureoverwhelmed her. His look was so direct; it seemed to go straightthrough her. 

"What is this for?" he said. 

She mastered her embarrassment with a swift effort. "Guy said youslept on the floor last night. I am sure it wasn't verycomfortable, so I have brought this in instead. You don't mind?"with a glance at him that held something of appeal. 

"I mind you putting it up yourself, " he said briefly. "Sit down!Where's that lazy hound, Joe?"

"Oh, don't call Joe!" Guy begged. "He has already reduced her toexasperation. She won't listen to me either when I tell her that Ican look after myself at night. You tell her, Burke! She'lllisten to you perhaps. "

But Burke ended the matter without further discussion by puttingher on one side and finishing the job himself. Then he stood up. 

"Let Mary Ann do the rest! You have been working too hard. Come, and have some lunch! You'll be all right, Guy?"

"Oh, quite, " Guy assured him. "Mary Ann can take care of me. She'll enjoy it. "

Sylvia looked back at him over her shoulder as she went out, butshe did not linger. There was something imperious about Burke justthen. 

They entered the sitting-room together. "Look here!" he said. "You're not to tire yourself out. Guy is convalescent now. Lethim look after himself for a bit!"

"I haven't been doing anything for Guy, " she objected. "Only Ican't have you sleeping on the floor. "

"What's it matter, " he said gruffly, "where or how I sleep?" Andthen suddenly he took her by the shoulders and held her before him. "Just look at me a moment!" he said. 

It was a definite command. She lifted her eyes, but the instantthey met his that overwhelming confusion came upon her again. Hisgaze was so intent, so searching. All her defences seemed to godown before it. 

Her lip suddenly quivered, and she turned her face aside. "Be--kind to me, Burke!" she said, under her breath. 

He let her go; but he stood motionless for some seconds after as ifdebating some point with himself. She went to the window andnervously straightened the curtain. After a considerable pause hisvoice came to her there. 

"I want you to rest this afternoon, and ride over with me to theMerstons after tea. Will you do that?"

She turned sharply. "And leave Guy? Oh, no!"

Across the room she met his look, and she saw that he meant to havehis way. "I wish it, " he said. 

She came slowly back to him. "Burke, --please! I can't do that. It wouldn't be right. We can't leave Guy to the Kaffirs. "

"Guy can look after himself, " he reiterated. "You have doneenough--too much--in that line already. He doesn't need you withhim all daylong. "

She shook her head. "I think he needs--someone. It wouldn't beright--I know it wouldn't be right to leave him quite alone. Besides, the Merstons won't want me. Why should I go?"

"Because I wish it, " he said again. And, after a moment, as shestood silent, "Doesn't that count with you?"

She looked up at him quickly, caught by something in his tone, "Ofcourse your wishes count with me!" she said. "You know they do. But all the same--" She paused, searching for words. 

"Guy comes first, " he suggested, in the casual voice of one statingan acknowledged fact. 

She felt the hot colour rise to her temples. "Oh, it isn't fair ofyou to say that!" she said. 

"Isn't it true?" said Burke. 

She collected herself to answer him. "It is only because his needhas been so great. If we had not put him first--before everythingelse--we should never have saved him. "

"And now that he is saved, " Burke said, a faint ring of irony inhis voice, "isn't it almost time to begin to consider--other needs?Do you know you are looking very ill?"

He asked the question abruptly, so abruptly that she started. Hernerves were on edge that day. 

"Am I? No, I didn't know. It isn't serious anyway. Please don'tbother about that!"

He smiled faintly. "I've got to bother. If you don't improve veryquickly, I shall take you to Brennerstadt to see a decent doctorthere. "

"Oh, don't be absurd!" she said, with quick annoyance. "I'm notgoing to do anything so silly. "

He put his hand on her arm. "Sylvia, I've got something to say toyou, " he said. 

She made a slight movement as if his touch were unwelcome. "Well?What is it?" she said. 

"Only this. " He spoke very steadily, but while he spoke his handclosed upon her. You've gone your own way so far, and it hasn'tbeen specially good for you. That's why I'm going to pull you upnow, and make you go mine. "

"Make me!" Her eyes flashed sudden fire upon him. She wasoverwrought and weary, and he had taken her by surprise, or shewould have dealt with the situation--and with him--far otherwise. "Make me!" she repeated, and in second, almost before she knew it, she was up in arms, facing him with open rebellion. "I'll defy youto do that!" she said. 

The moment she had said it, the word still scarcely uttered, sherepented. She had not meant to defy him. The whole thing had comeabout so swiftly, so unexpectedly, hardly, she felt, of her ownvolition. And now, more than half against her will, she stoodcommitted to carry through an undertaking for which even at theoutset, she had no heart. For there was no turning back. Thechallenge, once uttered, could not be withdrawn. She was nocoward. The idea came to her that if she blenched then she wouldfor all time forfeit his respect as well as her own. 

So she stood her ground, slim and upright, braced to defiance, though at the back of all her bravery there lurked a sickening fear. 

Burke did not speak at once. His look scarcely altered, his holdupon her remained perfectly steady and temperate. Yet in the pausethe beating of her heart rose between them--a hard, insistentthrobbing like the fleeing feet of a hunted thing. 

"You really mean that?" he asked at length. 

"Yes. " Straight and unhesitating came her answer. It was now ornever, she told herself. But she was trembling, despite her utmosteffort. 

He bent a little, looking into her eyes. "You really wish me toshow you who is master?" he said. 

She met his look, but her heart was beating wildly, spasmodically. There was that about him, a ruthlessness, a deadly intention, thatappalled her. The ground seemed to be rocking under her feet, anda dreadful consciousness of sheer, physical weakness rushed uponher. She went back against the table, seeking for support. 

But through it all, desperately she made her gallant struggle forfreedom. "You will never master me against my will, " she said. "I--I--I'll die first!"

And then, as the last shred of her strength went from her shecovered her face with her hands, shutting him out. 

"Ah!" he said. "But who goes into battle without first countingthe cost?"

He spoke sombrely, without anger; yet in the very utterance of thewords there was that which made her realize that she was beaten. Whether he chose to avail himself of the advantage or not, thevictory was his. 

At the end of a long silence, she lifted her head. "I give youbest, partner, " she said, and held out her hand to him with adifficult smile. "I'd no right--to kick over the traces--likethat. I'm going to be good now--really. "

It was a frank acceptance of defeat; so frank as to be utterlydisarming. He took the proffered hand and held it closely, withoutspeaking. 

She was still trembling a little, but she had regained herself-command. "I'm sorry I was such a little beast, " she said. "But you've got me beat. I'll try and make good somehow. "

He found his voice at that. It came with an odd harshness. "Don't!" he said. "Don't!--You're not--beat. The battle isn'talways to the strong. "

She laughed faintly with more assurance, though still somewhatshakily. "Not when the strong are too generous to take advantage, perhaps. Thank you for that, partner. Now--do you mind if I takeGuy his nourishment?"

She put the matter behind her with that inimitable lightness ofhers which of late she had seemed to have lost. She went from himto wait upon Guy with the tremulous laugh upon her lips, and whenshe returned she had fully recovered her self-control, and talkedwith him upon many matters connected with the farm which he had notheard her mention during all the period of her nursing. Shedisplayed all her old zest. She spoke as one keenly interested. But behind it all was a feverish unrest, a nameless, intangiblequality that had never characterized her in former days. She waselusive. Her old delicate confidence in him was absent. Shewalked warily where once she had trodden without the faintesthesitation. 

When the meal was over, she checked him as he was on the point ofgoing to Guy. "How soon ought we to start for the Merstons?" sheasked. 

He paused a moment. Then, "I will let you off to-day, " he said. "We will ride out to the _kopje_ instead. "

He thought she would hail this concession with relief, but sheshook her head instantly, her face deeply flushed. 

"No, I think not! We will go to the Merstons--if Guy is wellenough. We really ought to go. "

She baffled him completely. He turned away. "As you will, " hesaid. "We ought to start in two hours. "

"I shall be ready, " said Sylvia. 

CHAPTER III

THE SEED

"Well!" said Mrs. Merston, with her thin smile. "Are you stillenjoying the Garden of Eden, Mrs. Ranger?"

Sylvia, white and tired after her ride, tried to smile in answerand failed. "I shall be glad when the winter is over, " she said. 

Mrs. Merston's colourless eyes narrowed a little, taking her in. "You don't look so blooming as you did, " she remarked. "I hear youhave had Guy Ranger on your hands. "

"Yes, " Sylvia said, and coloured a little in spite of herself. 

"What has been the matter with him?" demanded Mrs. Merston. 

Sylvia hesitated, and in a moment the older woman broke into agrating laugh. 

"Oh, you needn't trouble to dress it up in polite language. I knowthe malady he suffers from. But I wonder Burke would allow you tohave anything to do with it. He has a reputation for being ratherparticular. "

"He is particular, " Sylvia said. 

Somehow she could not bring herself to tell Mrs. Merston the actualcause of Guy's illness. She did not want to talk of it. But Mrs. Merston was difficult to silence. 

"Is it true that that scoundrel Kieff has been staying at Blue HillFarm?" she asked next, still closely observant of her visitor'sface. 

Sylvia looked at her with a touch of animation. "I wonder whyeveryone calls him that, " she said. "Yes, he has been with us. Heis a doctor, a very clever one. I never liked him very much, but Ioften wondered what he had done to be called that. "

"Oh, I only know what they say, " said Mrs. Merston. "I imagine hewas in a large measure responsible for young Ranger's fall fromvirtue in the first place--and that of a good many besides. He'ssomething of a vampire, so they say. There are plenty of themabout in this charming country. "

"How horrible!" murmured Sylvia, with a slight shudder as a visionof the motionless, onyx eyes which had so often watched her rose inher mind. 

"You're looking quite worn out, " remarked Mrs. Merston. "Why didyou let your husband drag you over here? You had better stay thenight and have a rest. "

But Sylvia hastened to decline this invitation with much decision. "I couldn't possibly do that, thank you. There is so much to beseen to at home. It is very kind of you, but please don't suggestit to Burke!"

Mrs. Merston gave her an odd look. "Do you always do as yourhusband tells you!" she said. "What a mistake!"

Sylvia blushed very deeply. "I think--one ought, " she said in alow voice. 

"How old-fashioned of you!" said Mrs. Merston. "I don't indulgemine to that extent. Are you going to Brennerstadt for the racesnext month? Or has the oracle decreed that you are to stay behind?"

"I don't know. I didn't know there were any. " Sylvia looked outthrough the mauve-coloured twilight to where Burke stood talkingwith Merston by one of the hideous corrugated iron cattle-sheds. The Merstons' farm certainly did not compare favourably withBurke's. She could not actively condemn Mrs. Merston's obviousdistaste for all that life held for her. So far as she could see, there was not a tree on the place, only the horrible prickly pearbushes thrusting out their distorted arms as if exulting in theirown nakedness. 

They had had their tea in front of the bungalow, if it could bedignified by such a name. It was certainly scarcely more than aniron shed, and the heat within during the day was, she could wellimagine, almost unbearable. It was time to be starting back, andshe wished Burke would come. Her hostess's scoffing reference tohim made her long to get away. Politeness, however, forbade hersummarily to drop the subject just started. 

"Do you go to Brennerstadt for the races?" she asked. 

"I?" said Mrs. Merston, and laughed again her caustic, mirthlesslaugh. "No! My acquaintance with Brennerstadt is of a lessamusing nature. When I go there, I merely go to be ill, and assoon as I am partially recovered, I come back--to this. " There wasinexpressible bitterness in her voice. "Some day, " she said, '"Ishall go there to die. That is all I have to look forward to now. "

"Oh, don't!" Sylvia said, with quick feeling. "Don't, please! Youshouldn't feel like that. "

Mrs. Merston's face was twisted in a painful smile. She lookedinto the girl's face with a kind of cynical pity. "You will cometo it, " she said. "Life isn't what it was to you even now. You'rebeginning to feel the thorns under the rose-leaves. Of course youmay be lucky. You may bear children, and that will be yoursalvation. But if you don't--if you don't----"

"Please!" whispered Sylvia. "Please don't say that to me!"

The words were almost inarticulate. She got up as she uttered themand moved away. Mrs. Merston looked after her, and very strangelyher face altered. Something of that mother-love in her which hadso long been cheated showed in her lustreless eyes. 

"Oh, poor child!" she said. "I am sorry. "

It was briefly spoken. She was ever brief in her rare moments ofemotion. But there was a throb of feeling in the words thatreached Sylvia. She turned impulsively back again. 

"Thank you, " she said, and there were tears in her eyes as shespoke. "I think perhaps--" her utterance came with an effort "--mylife is--in its way--almost as difficult as yours. That ought tomake us comrades, oughtn't it? If ever there is anything I can doto help you, please tell me!"

"Let it be a mutual understanding!" said Mrs. Merston, and toSylvia's surprise she took and pressed her hand for a moment. 

There was more comfort in that simple pressure than Sylvia couldhave believed possible. She returned it with that quick warmth ofhers which never failed to respond to kindness, and in that secondthe seed of friendship was sown upon fruitful ground. 

The moment passed, sped by Mrs. Merston who seemed half-afraid ofher own action. 

"You must get your husband to take you to Brennerstadt for theraces, " she said. "It would make a change for you. It's a shamefor a girl of your age to be buried in the wilderness. "

"I really haven't begun to be dull yet, " Sylvia said. 

"No, perhaps not. But you'll get nervy and unhappy. You've beenused to society, and it isn't good for you to go without itentirely. Look at me!" said Mrs. Merston, with her short laugh. "And take warning!"

The two men were sauntering towards them, and they moved to meetthem. Far down in the east an almost unbelievably huge moon hunglike a brazen shield. The mauve of the sunset had faded to pearl. 

"It is rather a beautiful world, isn't it?" Sylvia said a littlewistfully. 

"To the favoured few--yes, " said Mrs. Merston. 

Sylvia gave her a quick glance. "I read somewhere--I don't know ifit's true--that we are all given the ingredients of happiness, butthe mixing is left to ourselves. Perhaps you and I haven't foundthe right mixture yet. "

"Ah!" said Mrs. Merston. "Perhaps not. "

"I'm going to have another try, " said Sylvia, with sudden energy. 

"I wish you luck, " said Mrs. Merston somewhat grimly. 

CHAPTER IV

MIRAGE

From the day of her visit to the Merstons Sylvia took up her oldlife again, and pursued all her old vocations with a vigour thatseemed even more enthusiastic than of yore. Her ministrations toGuy had ceased to be of an arduous character, or indeed to occupymuch of her time. It was mainly Burke who filled Kieff's place andlooked after Guy generally with a quiet efficiency that neverencouraged any indulgence. They seemed to be good friends, yetSylvia often wondered with a dull ache at the heart if this wereany more than seeming. There was so slight a show of intimacybetween them, so little of that camaraderie generally so noticeablebetween dwellers in the wilderness. Sometimes she fancied shecaught a mocking light in Guy's eyes when they looked at Burke. Hewas always perfectly docile under his management, but was he alwaysgenuine? She could not tell. His recovery amazed her. He seemedto possess an almost boundless store of vitality. He cast hisweakness from him with careless jesting, laughing down all herfears. She knew well that he was not so strong as he would havehad her believe, that he fought down his demon of suffering insolitude, that often he paid heavily for deeds of recklessness. But the fact remained that he had come back from the gates ofdeath, and each day she marvelled anew. 

She and Burke seldom spoke of him when together. That intangiblereserve that had grown up between them seemed to make itimpossible. She had no longer the faintest idea as to Burke'sopinion of the returned prodigal, whether he still entertained hisprevious conviction that Guy was beyond help, or whether he hadbegun at length to have any confidence for the future. In a vaguefashion his reticence hurt her, but she could not bring herself toattempt to break through it. He was a man perpetually watching forsomething, and it made her uneasy and doubtful, though for what hewatched she had no notion. For it was upon herself rather thanupon Guy that his attention seemed to be concentrated. Hisattitude puzzled her. She felt curiously like a prisoner, thoughto neither word, nor look, nor deed could she ascribe the feeling. She was even at times disposed to put it down to the effect of theweather upon her physically. It did undoubtedly try her veryseverely. Though the exercise that she compelled herself to takehad restored to her the power to sleep, she always felt as wearywhen she arose as when she lay down. The heat and the droughtcombined to wear her out. Valiantly though she struggled to rallyher flagging energies, the effort became increasingly difficult. She lived in the depths of a great depression, against which, strive as she might, she ever strove in vain. She was furious withherself for her failure, but it pursued her relentlessly. Shefound the Kaffir servants more than usually idle and difficult todeal with, and this added yet further to the burden that weighedher down. 

One day, returning from a ride to find Fair Rosamond swabbing thefloor of the _stoep_ with her bath-sponge, she lost her tempercompletely and wholly unexpectedly, and cut the girl across hernaked shoulders with her riding-switch. It was done in a moment--asingle, desperate moment of unbearable exasperation. Rosamondscreamed and fled, upsetting her pail inadvertently over hermistress's feet as she went. And Sylvia, with a burning sense ofshame for her violence, retreated as precipitately to her own room. 

She entered by the window, and, not even noticing that the doorinto the sitting-room stood ajar, flung herself down by the tablein a convulsion of tears. She hated herself for her action, shehated Rosamond for having been the cause of it. She hated theblazing sky and the parched earth, the barren _veldt_, theimprisoning _kopjes_, the hopeless sense of oppression, of beingalways somehow in the wrong. A wild longing to escape was uponher, to go anywhere--anywhere, so long as she could get right awayfrom that intolerable weight of misgiving, doubt, dissatisfaction, foreboding, that hung like a galling chain upon her. 

She was getting like Mrs. Merston, she told herself passionately. Already her youth had gone, and all that made life worth living wasgoing with it. She had made her desperate bid for happiness, andshe had lost. And Burke--Burke was only watching for her hour ofweakness to make himself even more completely her master than hewas already. Had he not only that morning--only thatmorning--gruffly ordered her back from a distant cattle-run thatshe had desired to inspect? Was he not always asserting hisauthority in some fashion over her, crumbling away her resistancepiece by piece till at last he could stride in all-conquering andtake possession? He was always so strong, so horribly strong, sosure of himself. And though it had pleased him to be generous inhis dealings with her, she had seen far less of that generositysince Guy's recovery. They were partners no longer, she toldherself bitterly. That farce was ended. Perhaps it was her ownfault. Everything seemed to be her fault nowadays. She had notplayed her cards well during Guy's illness. Somehow she had notfelt a free agent. It was Kieff who had played the cards, hadinvolved her in such difficulties as she had never beforeencountered, and then had left her perforce to extricate herselfalone; to extricate herself--or to pay the price. She seemed tohave been struggling against overwhelming odds ever since. She hadfought with all her strength to win back to the old freedom, butshe had failed. And in that dark hour she told herself thatfreedom was not for her. She was destined to be a slave for therest of her life. 

The wild paroxysm of crying could not last. Already she wasbeginning to be ashamed of her weakness. And ere long she wouldhave to face Burke. The thought of that steady, probing look madeher shrink in every fibre. Was there anything that those shrewdeyes did not see?

What was that? She started at a sound. Surely he had not returnedso soon!

For a second there was something very like panic at her heart. Then, bracing herself, she lifted her head, and saw Guy. 

He had entered by the sitting-room door and in his slippers she hadnot heard him till he was close to her. He was already bendingover her when she realized his presence. 

She put up a quick hand. "Oh, Guy!" she said with a gasp. 

He caught and held it in swift response. "My own girl!" he said. "I heard you crying. I was in my room dressing. What's it allabout?"

She could not tell him, the anguish was still too near. She bowedher head and sat in throbbing silence. 

"Look here!" said Guy. "Don't!" He stooped lower over her, hisdark face twitching. "Don't!" he said again. "Life isn't worthit. Life's too short. Be happy, dear! Be happy!"

He spoke a few words softly against her hair. There was entreatyin their utterance. It was as if he pleaded for his own self. 

She made a little movement as if something had pierced her, and ina moment she found her voice. 

"Life is so--difficult, " she said, with a sob. 

"You take it too hard, " he answered rapidly. "You think too muchof--little things. It isn't the way to be happy. What you oughtto do is to grab the big things while you can, and chuck the littleones into the gutter. Life's nothing but a farce. It isn't meantto be taken--really seriously. It isn't long enough for sacrifice. I tell you, it isn't long enough!"

There was something passionate in the reiterated declaration. Theclasp of his hand was feverish. That strange vitality of his thathad made him defy the death he had courted seemed to vibrate withinhim like a stretched wire. His attitude was tense with it. And acurious thrill went through her, as though there were electricityin his touch. 

She could not argue the matter with him though every instinct toldher he was wrong. She was too overwrought to see things with animpartial eye. She felt too tired greatly to care. 

"I feel, " she told him drearily, "as if I want to get away fromeverything and everybody. "

"Oh no, you don't!" he said. "All you want is to get away fromBurke. That's your trouble--and always will be under presentconditions. Do you think I haven't looked on long enough? Whydon't you go away?"

"Go away!" She looked up at him again, startled. 

Guy's sunken eyes were shining with a fierce intensity. They urgedher more poignantly than words. "Don't you see what's going tohappen--if you don't?" he said. 

That moved her. She sprang up with a sound that was almost a cry, and stood facing him, her hand hard pressed against her heart. 

"Of course I know he's a wonderful chap and all that, " Guy went on. "But you haven't cheated yourself yet into believing that you carefor him, have you? He isn't the sort to attract any woman at firstsight, and I'll wager he has never made love to you. He's far toobusy with his cattle and his crops. What on earth did you marryhim for? Can't you see that he makes a slave of everyone who comesnear him?"

But she lifted her head proudly at that. "He has never made aslave of me, " she said. 

"He will, " Guy rejoined relentlessly. "He'll have you under hisheel before many weeks. You know it in your heart. Why did youmarry him, Sylvia? Tell me why you married him!"

The insistence of the question compelled an answer. Yet shepaused, for it was a question she had never asked herself. Why hadshe married Burke indeed? Had it been out of sheer expediency? Orhad there been some deeper and more subtle reason? She knew fullwell that there was probably not another man in Africa to whom shewould have thus entrusted herself, however urgent thecircumstances. How was it then that she had accepted Burke?

And then, looking into Guy's tense face, the answer came to her, and she had uttered it almost before she knew. "I married himbecause he was so like you. "

The moment she had uttered the words she would have recalled them, for Guy made an abrupt movement and turned so white that shethought he would faint. His eyes went beyond her with a strained, glassy look, and for seconds he stood so, as one gone suddenlyblind. 

Then with a jerk he pulled himself together, and gave her an oddsmile that somehow cut her to the heart. 

"That was a straight hit anyway, " he said. "And are you going tostick to him for the same reason?"

She turned her face away with the feeling of one who dreads to lookupon some grievous hurt. "No, " she said, in a low voice. "Onlybecause--I am his wife. "

Guy made a short, contemptuous sound. "And for that you're goingto let him ride rough-shod over you--give him the right to controlyour every movement? Oh, forgive me, but you good people hold suchghastly ideas of right and wrong. And what on earth do you gain byit all? You sacrifice everything to the future, and the future isall mirage--all mirage. You'll never get there, never as long asyou live. "

Again that quick note of passion was in his voice, and she tingledat the sound, for though she knew so well that he was wrongsomething that was quick and passionate within her made instinctiveresponse. She understood him. Had she not always understood him?

She did not answer him. She had given him her answer. And he, realizing this turned aside to open the window. Yet, for a momenthe stood looking back at her, and all her life she was to rememberthe love and the longing of his eyes. It was as if for that seconda veil had been rent aside, and he had shown her his naked soul. 

She wondered afterwards if he had really meant her to see. Forimmediately, as he went out, he broke into a careless whistle, andthen, an instant later, she heard him fling a greeting to someoneout in the blinding sunshine. 

An answer came back from much nearer than she had anticipated. Itwas in the guttural tones of Hans Schafen the overseer, and with ajerk she remembered that the man always sat on the corner of the_stoep_ to await Burke if he arrived before their return from thelands. It was his custom to wear rubber soles to his boots, and noone ever heard him come or go. For some reason this fact hadalways prejudiced her against Hans Schafen. 

CHAPTER V

EVERYBODY'S FRIEND

When Burke came in to lunch half an hour later, he found Sylviaalone in the sitting-room, laying the cloth. 

She glanced up somewhat nervously at his entrance. "I'vefrightened Rosamond away, " she said. 

"Little cuss! Good thing too!" he said. She proceeded rapidlywith her occupation. 

"I believe there's a sand-storm coming, " she said, after a moment. 

"Yes, confound it!"' said Burke. 

He went to the window and stood gazing out with drawn brows. 

With an effort she broke the silence. "What has Schafen to report?Is all well?"

He wheeled round abruptly and stood looking at her. For a fewseconds he said nothing whatever, then as with a startled sense ofuncertainty she turned towards him he spoke. "Schafen? Yes, hereported--several things. The dam over by Ritter Spruit is driedup for one thing. The animals will all have to driven down here. Then there have been several bad _veldt_-fires over to the north. It isn't only sand that's coming along. It's cinders too. We'vegot to take steps to protect the fodder, or we're done. It's justthe way of this country. A single night may bring ruin. "

He spoke with such unwonted bitterness that Sylvia was aroused outof her own depression. She had never known him take so pessimistica view before. With an impulsiveness that was warm and verywomanly, she left her task and went to him. 

"Oh, Burke!" she said. "But the worst doesn't happen, does it?Anyway not often!"

He made an odd sound that was like a laugh choked at birth. "Notoften, " he agreed. And then abruptly, straightening himself, "Suppose it did, --what then?"

"What then?" She looked at him for a moment, still feelingcuriously unsure of her ground. "Well, we'd weather it somehow, partner, " she said, and held out her hand to him with a littlequivering smile. 

He made no movement to take her hand. Perhaps he had already heardwhat a few seconds later reached her own ears, --the sound of Guy'sfeet upon the _stoep_ outside the window. But during those secondshis eyes dwelt upon her, holding her own with a fixed intentnessthat somehow made her feel cold. It was an unspeakable relief toher when he turned them from her, as it were setting her free. 

Guy came in with something of his old free swing, and closed thewindow behind him. "Better to stew than to eat sand, " he remarked. "I've just heard from one of the Kaffirs that Piet Vreiboom's landis on fire. "

"What?" said Burke sharply. 

"It's all right at present, " said Guy. "We can bear it withequanimity. The wind is the other way. "

"The wind may change, " said Burke. 

"That wouldn't be like your luck, " remarked Guy, as he seatedhimself. 

They partook of the meal almost in silence. To Sylvia the very airwas laden with foreboding. Everything they ate was finely poweredwith sand, but she alone was apparently aware of the fact. Theheat inside the bungalow was intense. Outside a fierce wind hadbegun to blow, and the sky was dark. 

At the end of a very few minutes Burke arose. Guy sprang instantlyto his feet. 

"Are you off? I'm coming!"

"No--no, " Burke said shortly. "Stay where you are!"

"I tell you I'm coming, " said Guy, pushing aside his chair. 

Burke, already ac the door, paused and looked at him. "Betternot, " he said. "You're not up to it--and this infernal sand----"

"Damn the sand!" said Guy, with vehemence. "I'm coming!"

He reached Burke with the words. His hand sought the door. Burkeswallowed the rest of his remonstrance. 

"Please yourself!" he said, with a shadowy smile; and then for amoment his eyes went to Sylvia. "You will stay in this afternoon, "he said. 

It was a definite command, and she had no thought of defying it. But the tone in which it was uttered hurt her. 

"I suppose I shall do as I am told, " she said, in a low voice. 

He let Guy go and returned to her. He bent swiftly down over herand dropped a small key into her lap. "I leave you in charge ofall that I possess, " he said. "Good-bye!"

She looked up at him quickly. "Burke!" she stammered. Burke!There is no--danger?"

"Probably not of the sort you mean, " he answered. And thensuddenly his arms were round her. He held her close and hard. Fora second she felt the strong beat of his heart, and then forgot itin an overwhelming rush of emotion that so possessed her as almostto deprive her of her senses. For he kissed her--he kissedher--and his kiss was as the branding of a hot iron. It seemed toburn her to the soul. 

The next moment she was free; the door closed behind him, and shewas alone. She sank down over the table, quivering all over. Herpulses were racing, her nerves in a wild tumult. She believed thatthe memory of that scorching kiss would tingle upon her lips forever. It was as if an electric current had suddenly entered herinner-most being and now ran riot in every vein. And so wild wasthe tumult within her that she knew not whether dread or dismay ora frantic, surging, leaping thing that seemed to cry aloud forliberty were first in that mad race. She clasped her hands verytightly over her face, struggling to master those inner forces thatfought within her. Never in her life had so fierce a conflict tornher. Soul and body, she seemed to be striving with an adversarywho pierced her at every turn. He had kissed her thus; and in thatunutterable moment he had opened her eyes, confronting her with anamazing truth from which she could not turn aside. Passion and afierce and terrible jealousy had mingled in his kiss, anger also, and a menacing resentment that seemed to encompass her like a fieryring, hedging her round. 

But not love! There had been no love in his kiss. It had been anoutrage of love, and it had wounded her to the heart. It had madeher want to hide--to hide--till the first poignancy of the painshould be past. And yet--and yet--in all her anguish she knew thatthe way which Guy had so recklessly suggested was no way of escapefor her. To flee from him was to court disaster--such disaster aswould for ever wreck her chance of happiness. It could but confirmthe evil doubt he harboured and might lead to such a catastrophe asshe would not even contemplate. 

But yet some way of escape there must be, and desperately shesought it, striving in defence of that nameless thing that hadsprung to such wild life within her under the burning pressure ofhis lips, that strange and untamed force that she could neitherbind nor subdue, but which to suffer him to behold meant sacrilegeto her shrinking soul--such sacrilege as she believed she couldnever face and live. 

Gradually the turmoil subsided, but it left her weak, inert, impotent. The impulse to pray came to her, but the prayer thatwent up from her trembling heart was voiceless and wordless. Shehad no means of expression in which to cloak her utter need. Onlythe stark helplessness of her whole being cried dumbly fordeliverance. 

A long time passed. The bungalow was silent and empty. She wasquite alone. She could hear the rising rush of the wind across the_veldt_, and it sounded to her like a thing hunted and fleeing. The sand of the desert whipped against the windows, and the gloomincreased. She was not naturally nervous, but a sense of fearoppressed her. She had that fateful feeling, which sometimes comeseven in the sunshine, of something about to happen, of turning asharp corner in the road of life that must change the whole outlookand trend of existence. She was afraid to look forward. For thefirst time life had become terrible to her. 

She roused herself to action at last and got up from the table. Something fell on the ground as she did so. It was the key thatBurke had given into her care. She knew it for the key of hisstrong-box in which he kept his money and papers. His journeys toBrennerstadt were never frequent, and she knew that he usually kepta considerable sum by him. The box was kept on the floor of thecupboard in the wall of the room which Guy now occupied. It wasvery heavy, so heavy that Burke himself never lifted it, seldommoved it from its place, but opened and closed it as it stood. Shewondered as she groped for the key why he had given it to her. That action of his pointed to but one conclusion. He expected tobe going into danger. He would not have parted with it otherwise. Of that she was certain. He and Guy were both going into dangerthen, and she was left in utter solitude to endure her suspense asbest she could. 

She searched in vain for the key. It was small and made to fit apatent lock. The darkness of the room baffled her search, and atlast she abandoned it and went to the pantry for a lamp. TheKaffirs had gone to their huts. She found the lamp empty anduntrimmed in a corner, with two others in the same condition. Theoil was kept in an outbuilding some distance from the bungalow, andthere was none in hand. She diverted her search to candles, butthese also were hard to find. She spent several minutes there inthe darkness with the wind howling weirdly around like a lost thingseeking shelter, and the sand beating against the little windowwith a persistent rattle that worried her nerves with a strangebewilderment. 

Eventually she found an empty candlestick, and after prolongedsearch an end of candle. Sand was everywhere. It ground under herfeet, and made gritty everything she touched. Was it fancy thatbrought to her the smell of burning, recalling Burke's words? Shefound herself shivering violently as she went to her own room formatches. 

It was while she was here that there came to her above the roar ofthe wind a sudden sound that made her start and listen. Someonewas knocking violently, almost battering, at the door that led intothe passage. 

Her heart gave a wild leap within her. Somehow--she knew notwherefore--her thoughts went to Kieff. She had a curiously strongfeeling that he was, if not actually at the door, not far away. Then, even while she stood with caught breath listening, the doorburst open and a blast of wind and sand came hurling into thehouse. It banged shut again instantly, and there followed atramping of feet as if a herd of cattle had entered. Then therecame a voice. 

"Damnation!" it said, with vigour. "Damnation! It's a hell of acountry, and myself was the benighted fool ever to come near it atall. Whist to it now! Anyone would think the devil himself wastrying for admittance. "

Very strangely that voice reassured Sylvia though she had neverheard it before in her life. It did more; it sent such a rush ofrelief through her that she nearly laughed aloud. 

She groped her way out into the passage, feeling as if a greatweight had been lifted from her. "Come in, whoever you are!" shesaid. "It is rather infernal certainly. I'll light a candle in amoment--as soon as I can find some matches. "

She saw a dim, broad figure standing in front of her and heard along, soft whistle of dismay. 

"I beg your pardon, madam, " said the voice that had spoken suchhearty invective a few seconds before. "Sure, I had no idea I wasoverheard. And I hope that I'll not have prejudiced you at allwith the violence of me language. But it's in the air of thecountry, so to speak. And we all come to it in time. If it's amatch that you're wanting, I've got one in my pocket this minutewhich I'll hand over with all the good will in the world if you'lldo me the favour to wait. "

Sylvia waited. She knew the sort of face that went with thatvoice, and it did not surprise her when the red Irish visage andsandy brows beamed upon her above the flickering candle. The laughshe had repressed a moment before rose to her lips. There wassomething so comic in this man's appearance just when she had beenstrung up for tragedy. 

He looked at her with the eyes of a child, smiling good-humouredlyat her mirth. "Sure, you're putting the joke on me, " he said. "They all do it. Where can I have strayed to? Is this a fairypalace suddenly sprung up in the desert, and you the Queen of NoMan's Land come down from your mountain-top to give me shelter?"

She shook her head, still laughing, "No, I've never been to themountain-top. I'm only a farmer's wife. "

"A farmer's wife!" He regarded her with quizzical curiosity for aspace. "Is it Burke's bride that you are?" he questioned. "And isit Burke Ranger's farm that I've blundered into after all?"

"I am Burke Ranger's wife, " she told him. "But I left off being abride a long time ago. We are all too busy out here to keep upsentimental nonsense of that sort. "

"And isn't it the cynic that ye are entirely?" rejoined thevisitor, broadly grinning. "Sure, it's time I introduced myself tothe lady of the house. I'm Donovan Kelly, late of His Majesty'sImperial Yeomanry, and at present engaged in the peaceful avocationof mining for diamonds under the rubbish-heaps of Brennerstadt. "

Sylvia held out her hand. There could be no standing upon ceremonywith this man. She hailed him instinctively as a friend. Thereare some men in the world whom no woman can regard in any otherlight. 

"I am very pleased to meet you, " she said, with simplicity. "And Iknow Burke will be glad too that you have managed to make your wayover here. You haven't chosen a very nice day for your visit. What a ghastly ride you must have had! What about your horse?"

"Sure, I'd given myself up for lost entirely, " laughed Kelly. "AndI said to St. Peter--that's my horse and the best animal bred outof Ireland--'Pete, ' I said to him, 'it's a hell of a country and noplace for ye at all. But if ye put your back into it, Pete, andget us out of this infernal sandpit, I'll give ye such a draught ofale as'll make ye dance on your head with delight. ' He's got ataste for the liquor, has Pete. I've put him in a cowshed I foundround the corner, and, faith, he fair laughed to be out of theblast. He's a very human creature, Mrs. Ranger, with the soul of aChristian, only a bit saintlier. "

"I shall have to make his acquaintance, " said Sylvia. "Now come inand have some refreshment! I am sure you must need it. "

"And that's a true word, " said Kelly, following her into thesitting-room. "My throat feels as if it were lined withsand-paper. "

She rapidly cleared a place for him at the table, and ministered tohis wants. His presence was so large and comforting that her owndoubts and fears had sunk into the background. For a time, listening to his artless talk, she was scarcely aware of them, andshe was thankful for the diversion. It had been a terribleafternoon. 

He began to make enquiries regarding Burke's absence at length, andthen she told him about the _veldt_-fires, and the menace to theland. His distress returned somewhat as she did so, and he wasquick to perceive the anxiety she sought to hide. 

"Now don't you worry--don't you worry!" he said. "Burke wasn'tmade to go under. He's one in a million. He's the sort that'llwin to the very top of the world. And why? Because he's sound. "

"Ah!" Sylvia said. Somehow that phrase at such a moment sent anodd little pang through her. Would Burke indeed win to the top ofthe world, she wondered? It seemed so remote to her now--thatpalace of dreams which they had planned to share together. Did heever think of it now? She wondered--she wondered!

"Don't you worry!" Kelly said again. "There's nothing in life morefutile. Is young Guy still here, by the way? Has he gone outscotching _veldt_-fires too?"

She started and coloured. How much did he know about Guy? Howmuch would it be wise to impart?

Perhaps he saw her embarrassment, for he hastened to enlighten her. "I know all about young Guy. Nobody's enemy but his own. I helpedBurke dig him out of Hoffstein's several weeks back, and a toughjob it was. How has he behaved himself lately? Been on the bustat all?"

Sylvia hesitated. She knew this man for a friend, and she trustedhim without knowing why; but she could not speak with freedom toanyone of Guy and his sins. 

But again the Irishman saw and closed the breach. His shrewd eyessmiled kindly comprehension. "Ah, but he's a difficult youngster, "he said. "Maybe he'll mend his ways as he gets older. We dosometimes, Mrs. Ranger. Anyhow, with all his faults he's got theheart of a gentleman. I've known him do things--decentthings--that only a gentleman would have thought of doing. I'vepunched his head for him before now, but I've always liked youngGuy. It's the same with Burke. You can't help liking the fellow. "

"I don't think Burke likes him, " Sylvia said almost involuntarily. 

"Then, begging your pardon, you're wrong, " said Kelly. "Burkeloves him like a brother. I know that all right. No, he'll neversay so. He's not the sort. But it's the truth, all the same. He's about the biggest disappointment in Burke's life. He'd neverhave left him to sink if he hadn't been afraid the boy would shoothimself if he did anything else. "

"Ah!" Sylvia said again, with a sharp catch in her breath. "Thatwas what he was afraid of. "

"Sure, that was it, " said Kelly cheerfully. "You'll generally findthat that good man of yours has a pretty decent reason foreverything he does. It isn't often he loses his head--or histemper. He's a fine chap to be friendly with, but a divil tocross. "

"Yes. I've heard that before, " Sylvia said, with a valiant littlesmile. "I should prefer to be friendly with him myself. "

"Ah, sure and you're right, " said Kelly. "But is it yourself thatcould be anything else? Why, he worships the very ground underyour feet. I saw that clear as daylight that time at Brennerstadt. "

She felt her heart quicken a little. "How--clever of you!" shesaid. 

He nodded with beaming appreciation of the compliment. "You'llfind my conclusions are generally pretty near the mark, " he said. "It isn't difficult to know what's in the minds of the peopleyou're fond of. Now is it?"

She stifled a sigh. "I don't know. I'm not very good atthought-reading myself. "

He chuckled like a merry child. "Ah, then you come to me, Mrs. Ranger!" he said. "I'll be proud to help ye any time. "

"I expect you help most people, " she said. "You are everybody'sfriend. "

"I do my best, " said Donovan Kelly modestly. "And, faith, a verypleasant occupation it is. "

CHAPTER VI

THE HERO

The wind went down somewhat at sunset and Sylvia realized withrelief that the worst was over. She sat listening for the returnof Burke and Guy while her companion chatted cheerfully of athousand things which might have interested her at any other timebut to which now she gave but fitful attention. 

He was in the midst of telling her about the draw for the greatdiamond at Brennerstadt and how the tickets had been reduced frommonkeys to ponies because the monkeys were too shy, when there camethe sound for which she waited--a hand upon the window-catch andthe swirl of sand blown in by the draught as it opened. 

She was up in a moment, guarding the candle and looking out over itwith eager, half-dazzled eyes. For an instant her look met Burke'sas he stood in the aperture, then swiftly travelled to the man withhim. Guy, with a ghastly face that tried to smile, was hangingupon him for support. 

Burke shut the window with decision and stood staring at Sylvia'scompanion. 

Kelly at once proceeded with volubility to explain his presence. "Ah, yes, it's meself in the flesh, Burke, and very pleased to seeye. I've taken a holiday to come and do ye a good turn. And Mrs. Ranger has been entertaining me like a prince in your absence. Soyou've got young Guy with you! What's the matter with the boy?"

"I'm all right, " said Guy, and quitted his hold upon Burke as if todemonstrate the fact. 

But Burke took him by the arm and led him to a chair. "You sitdown!" he commanded briefly. "Hullo, Donovan! Glad to see you!Have you had a drink?"

"Sure, I've had all that mortal man could desire and more to it, "declared Kelly. 

"Good, " said Burke, and turned to Sylvia. "Get out the brandy, will you?"

She hastened to do his bidding. There was a blueness about Guy'slips that frightened her, and she saw that his hands were clenched. 

Yet, as Burke bent over him a few moments later, he laughed withsomething of challenge in, his eyes. "Ripping sport, old chap!" hesaid, and drank with a feverish eagerness. 

Burke's hand was on his shoulder. She could not read hisexpression, but she was aware of something unusual between them, something that was wholly outside her experience. Then he spoke, his voice very quiet and steady. 

"Go slow, man! You've had a bit of a knockout. "

Guy looked across at her, and there was triumph in his look. "It'sbeen--sport, " he said again. "Ripping sport!" It was so boyishlyuttered, and his whole attitude was so reminiscent of the old days, that she felt herself thrill in answer. She moved quickly to him. 

"What has been happening? Tell me!" she said. 

He laughed again. "My dear girl, we've been fighting the devil inhis own element, and we've beat him off the field. " He sprang tohis feet. "Here, give me another drink, or I shall die! My throatis a bed of live cinders. "

Burke intervened. "No--no! Go slow, I tell you! Go slow! Getsome tea, Sylvia! Where are those Kaffirs?"

"They haven't been near all day, " Sylvia said. "I frightenedRosamond away this morning, and the others must have been afraid ofthe storm. "

"I'll rout 'em out, " said Kelly. 

"No. You stay here! I'll go. " Burke turned to the door, butpaused as he opened it and looked back. "Sylvia!" he said. 

She went to him. He put his hand through her arm and drew her intothe passage. "Don't let Guy have any more to drink!" he said. "Mind, I leave him to you. "

He spoke with urgency; she looked at him in surprise. 

"Yes, I mean it, " he said. "You must prevent him somehow. Ican't--nor Kelly either. You probably can--for a time anyhow. "

"I'll do my best, " she said. 

His hand closed upon her. "If you fail, he'll go under, I know thesigns. It's up to you to stop him. Go back and see to it!"

He almost pushed her from him with the words, and it came to herthat for some reason Guy's welfare was uppermost with him justthen. He had never betrayed any anxiety on his account before, andshe wondered greatly at his attitude. But it was no time forquestioning. Mutely she obeyed him and went back. 

She found Guy in the act of filling a glass for Kelly. His ownstood empty at his elbow. She went forward quickly, and laid herhand on his shoulder. "Guy, please!" she said, He looked at her, the bottle in his hand. In his eyes she sawagain that dreadful leaping flame which made her think of somestarved and desperate animal. "What is it?" he said. 

An overwhelming sense of her own futility came upon her. She feltalmost like a child standing there, attempting that of which Burkehad declared himself to be incapable. 

"What is it?" he said again. 

She braced herself for conflict. "Please, " she said gently. "Iwant you to wait and have some tea. It won't take long to get. "Then, as the fever of his eyes seemed to burn her: "Please, Guy!Please!"

Kelly put aside his own drink untouched. "There's no refusing sucha sweet appeal as that, " he declared gallantly. "Guy, I move apostponement. Tea first!"

But Guy was as one who heard not. He was staring at Sylvia, andthe wild fire in his eyes was leaping higher, ever higher. In thatmoment he saw her, and her alone. It was as if they two hadsuddenly met in a place that none other might enter. His words ofthe morning rushed back upon her--his passionate declaration thatlife was not long enough for sacrifice--that the future to whichshe looked was but a mirage which she would never reach. 

It all flashed through her brain in a few short seconds, vivid, dazzling, overwhelming, and the memory of Kieff went with it--Kieffand his cold, sinister assertion that she held Guy's destinybetween her hands. 

Then, very softly, Guy spoke. "To please--you?" he said. 

She answered him, but it was scarcely of her own volition. She wasas one driven--"Yes--yes!"

He looked at her closely as if to make sure of her meaning. Then, with a quick, reckless movement, he turned and set down the bottleon the table. 

"That settles that, " he said boyishly. "Go ahead, Kelly! Drink!Don't mind me! I am--brandy-proof. "

And Sylvia, throbbing from head to foot, knew she had conquered, knew she had saved him for a time at least from the threateningevil. But there was that within her which shrank from the thoughtof the victory. She had acted almost under compulsion, yet shefelt that she had used a weapon which would ultimately pierce themboth. 

She scarcely knew what passed during the interval that followedbefore Burke's return. As in a dream she heard Kelly still talkingabout the Brennerstadt diamond, and Guy was asking him questionswith a keenness of interest that seemed strange to her. Sheherself was waiting and watching for Burke, dreading his coming, yet in a fashion eager for it. For very curiously she had afeeling that she needed him. For the first time she wanted to leanupon his strength. 

But when at length he came, her dread of him was uppermost and shefelt she could not meet his look. It was with relief that she sawGuy was still his first thought. He had fetched Joe from theKaffir huts, and the lamps were filled and lighted. He wascarrying one as he entered, and the light flung upwards on his faceshowed it to her as the face of a strong man. 

He set the lamp on the table and went straight to Guy. "Lookhere!" he said. "I'm going to put you to bed. "

Guy, with his arms on the table, looked up at him and laughed. "Oh, rats! I'm all right. Can't you see I'm all right? Well, Imust have some tea first anyway. I've been promised tea. "

"I'll bring you your tea in bed, " Burke said. 

But Guy protested. "No, really, old chap. I must sit up a bitlonger. I'll be very good. I want to hear all Kelly's news. Ibelieve I shall have to go back to Brennerstadt with him to paintthe town red. I'd like to have a shot at that diamond. You neverknow your luck when the devil's on your side. "

"I know yours, " said Burke drily. "And it's about as rotten as itcan be. You've put too great a strain on it all your life. "

Guy laughed again. He was in the wildest spirits. But suddenly inthe midst of his mirth he began to cough with a dry, harsh soundlike the rending of wood. He pushed his chair back from the table, and bent himself double, seeming to grope upon the floor. It wasthe most terrible paroxysm that Sylvia had ever witnessed, and shethought it would never end. 

Several times he tried to straighten himself, but each effortseemed to renew the anguish that tore him, and in the end hesubsided limply against Burke who supported him till at last theconvulsive choking ceased. 

He was completely exhausted by that time and offered noremonstrance when Burke and Kelly between them bore him to theformer's room and laid him on the bed he had occupied for so long. Burke administered brandy again; there was no help for it. Andthen at Guy's whispered request he left him for a space to recover. 

He drew Sylvia out of the room, and Kelly followed. "I'll go backto him later, and help him undress, " he said. "But he willprobably get on better alone for the present. "

"What has been happening?" Sylvia asked him. "Tell me what hasbeen happening!"

A fevered desire to know everything was upon her. She felt shemust know. 

Burke looked at her as if something in her eagerness struck him asunusual. But he made no comment upon it. He merely with hiscustomary brevity proceeded to enlighten her. 

"We went to Vreiboom's, and had a pretty hot time. Kieff was theretoo, by the way. The fire got a strong hold, and if the wind, hadheld, we should probably have been driven out of it, and our ownland would have gone too. As it was, " he paused momentarily, "well, we have Guy to thank that it didn't. "

"Guy!" said Sylvia quickly. 

"Yes. He worked like a nigger--better. He's been among hot ashesand that infernal sand for hours. I couldn't get him out. He didthe impossible. " A curious tremor sounded in Burke's voice--"Theimpossible!" he said again. 

"Sure, I always said there was grit in the boy, " said Kelly. "You'll be making a man of him yet, Burke. You'll have to have agood try after this. "

Burke was silent. His eyes, bloodshot but keen, were upon Sylvia'sface. 

It was some moments before with an effort she lifted her own tomeet them. "So Guy is a hero!" she said, with a faint uncertainsmile. "I'm glad of that. "

"Let's drink to him, " said Kelly, "now he isn't here to see!Burke, fill up! Mrs. Ranger!"

"No--no!" Sylvia said. "I am going to get the tea. "

Yet she paused beside Burke, as if compelled. "What else did hedo?" she said. "You haven't told us all. "

"Not quite all, " said Burke, and still his eyes searched hers witha probing intentness. 

"Don't you want to tell me?" she said. 

"Yes, I will tell you, " he answered, "if you especially want tohear. He saved my life. "

"Hooray!" yelled Kelly, in the voice of one holloaing to hounds. 

Sylvia said nothing for a moment. She had turned very pale. Whenshe spoke it was with an effort. "How?"

He answered as if speaking to her alone. "One of Vreiboom'stumble-down old sheds fired while we were trying to clear it. Theplace collapsed and I got pinned inside. Piet Vreiboom didn'ttrouble himself, or Kieff, either. He wouldn't--naturally. Guygot me out. "

"Ah!" she said. It was scarcely more than an intake of the breath. She could not utter another word, for that imprisoned thing withinher seemed to be clawing at her heart, choking her. If Burke haddied--if Burke had died! She turned herself quickly from thesearching of his eyes, lest he should see--and understand. Shecould not--dared not--show him her soul just then. The memory ofhis kiss--that single, fiery kiss that had opened her owneyes--held her back. She went from him in silence. If Burke haddied!

CHAPTER VII

THE NET

It was not often that Sylvia lay awake, but that night her brainwas in a turmoil, and for long she courted sleep in vain. For sometime after she retired, the murmur of Burke's and Kelly's voices inthe adjoining room kept her on the alert, but it was mainly thethoughts that crowded in upon her that would not let her rest. Thethought of Guy troubled her most, this and the knowledge that Kieffwas in the neighbourhood. She had an almost uncanny dread of thisman. He seemed to stand in the path as a menace, an evil influencethat she could neither avert nor withstand. Burke had barelymentioned him, yet his words had expressed the thought that hadsprung instantly to her mind. He was an enemy to them all, most ofall to Guy, and she feared him. She had a feeling that she wouldsooner or later have to fight him for Guy's soul, and she was sickwith apprehension. For the only weapon at her disposal was thatweapon she dare not wield. 

The long night dragged away. She thought it would never end. Whensleep came to her at last it was only to bring dreadful dreams inits train. Burke in danger! Burke imprisoned in a burning hut!Burke at the mercy of Kieff, the merciless!

She wrenched herself free from these nightmares in the very earlymorning while the stars were still in the sky, and went out on tothe _stoep_ to banish the evil illusions from her brain. It wasstill and cold and desolate. The guest-hut in which Kelly wassleeping was closed. There was no sign of life anywhere. A greatlonging to go out alone on to the _veldt_ came to her. She felt asif the great solitude must soothe her spirit. And it would be goodto realize her wish and to see the day break from that favourite_kopje_ of hers. 

She turned to re-enter her room for an extra wrap, and then startedat sight of another figure standing at the corner of the bungalow. She thought it was Burke, and her heart gave a wild leap withinher, but the next moment as it began to move noiselessly towardsher, she recognized Guy. 

He came to her on stealthy feet. "Hullo!" he whispered. "Can'tyou sleep?"

She held out her hand to him. "Guy! You ought to be in bed!"

He made an odd grimace, and bending, carried her hand to his lips. "I couldn't sleep either. I've been tormented with a fiery thirstall night long. What has been keeping you awake? Honestly now!"

He laughed into her eyes, and she was aware that he was trying todraw her nearer to him. There was about him at, that moment asubtle allurement that was hard to resist. Old memories thrilledthrough her at his touch. For five years she had held herself asbelonging to him. Could the spell be broken in as many months?

Yet she did resist him, turning her face away. "I can't tell you, "she said, a quiver in her voice. "I had a good deal to thinkabout. Guy, what is--Kieff doing at Piet Vreiboom's?"

Guy frowned. "Heaven knows. He is there for his own amusement, not mine. "

"You didn't know he was there?" she said, looking at him again. 

His frown deepened. "Yes, I knew. Of course I knew. Why?"

Her heart sank. "I don't like him, " she said. "I know he isclever. I know he saved your life. But I never did like him. I--am afraid of him. "

"Perhaps you would have rather he hadn't saved my life?" suggestedGuy, with a twist of the lips. "It would have simplified mattersconsiderably, wouldn't it?"

"Don't!" she said, and withdrew her hand. "You know how it hurtsme--to hear you talk like that. "

"Why should it hurt you?" said Guy. 

She was silent, and he did not press for an answer. Instead, verysoftly he whistled the air of a song that he had been wont to singto her half in jest in the old days. 

 Love that hath us in the net Can he pass and we forget?

She made a little movement of flinching, but the next moment sheturned back to him with absolute steadfastness. "Guy, you and Iare friends, aren't we? We never could be anything else. "

"Oh, couldn't we?" said Guy. 

"No, " she maintained resolutely. "Please let us remember that!Please let us build on that!"

He looked at her whimsically. "It's a shaky foundation, " he said. "But we'll try. That is, we'll pretend if you like. Who knows?We may succeed. "

"Don't put it like that!" she said. "Be a man, Guy! I know youcan be. Only yesterday----"

"Yesterday? What happened yesterday?" said Guy. "I never rememberthe yesterdays. "

"I think you do, " she said. "You did a big thing yesterday. Yousaved Burke. "

"Oh, that!" He uttered a low laugh. "My dear girl, don't canonizeme on that account! I only did it because those swine wanted to seehim burn. "

She shuddered. "That is not true. You know it is not true. Itpleases you to pretend you are callous. But you are not at heart. Burke knows that as well as I do, "

"Oh, damn Burke!" he said airly. "He's no great oracle. I wonderwhat you'd have said if I had come back without him. "

She clenched her hands hard to keep back another shudder. "I can'ttalk of that--can't think of it even. You don't know--you willnever realize--all that Burke has done for me. "

"Yes, I do know, " Guy said. "But most men would have jumped at thechance to do the same. You take it all too seriously. It was nosacrifice to him. You don't owe him anything. He wouldn't havedone it if he hadn't taken a fancy to you. And he didn't do it fornothing either. He's not such a philanthropist as that. "

Somehow that hurt her intolerably. She looked at him with a quickflash of anger in her eyes. "Do you want to make me hate you?" shesaid. 

He turned instantly and with a most winning gesture. "No, darling. You couldn't if you tried, " he said. 

She went back a step, shaking her head. "I am not so sure, " shesaid. "Why do you say these horrible things to me?"

He held out his hand to her. "I'm awfully sorry, dear, " he said. "But it is for your good. I want you to see life as it is, not asyour dear little imagination is pleased to paint it. You are sodreadfully serious always. Life isn't, you know. It really isn't. It's nothing but a stupid and rather vulgar farce. "

She gave him her hand, for she could not deny him; but she gave nosign of yielding with it. "Oh, how I wish you would take it moreseriously!" she said. 

"Do you?" he said. "But what's the good? Who Is it going tobenefit if I do? Not myself. I should hate it. And not you. Youare much too virtuous to have any use for me. "

"Oh, Guy, " she said, "Is it never worth while to play the game?"

His hand tightened upon hers. "Look here!" he said suddenly. "Suppose I did as you wish--suppose I did pull up--play the game, as you call it? Suppose I clawed and grabbed for success Like therest of the world--and got it. Would you care?"

"I wasn't talking of success, " she said. "That's no answer. " Heswung her hand to and fro with vehement impatience. "Suppose youwere free--yes, you've got to suppose it just for a moment--supposeyou were free--and suppose I came to you with both hands full, andoffered you myself and all I possessed--would you send me emptyaway? Would you? Would you?"

He spoke with a fevered insistence. His eyes were alight andeager. Just so had he spoken in the long ago when she had givenhim her girlish heart in full and happy surrender. 

There was no surrender in her attitude now, but yet she could not, she could not, relentlessly send him from her. He appealed sostrongly, with so intense an earnestness. 

"I can't imagine these things, Guy, " she said at last. "I only askyou--implore you--to do your best to keep straight. It is worthwhile, believe me. You will find that it is worth while. "

"It might be--with you to make it so, " he said. "Without you----"

She shook her head. "No--no! For other, better reasons. We haveour duty to do. We must do it. It is the only way to be happy. Iam sure of that. "

"Have you found it so?" he said. "Are you happy?"

She hesitated. 

He pressed his advantage instantly. "You are not. You know youare not. Do you think you can deceive me even though you maydeceive yourself? We have known each other too long for that. Youare not happy, Sylvia. You are afraid of life as it is--of life asit might be. You haven't pluck to take your fate into your ownhands and hew out a way for yourself. You're the slave ofcircumstances and you're afraid to break free. " He made as if hewould release her, and then suddenly, unexpectedly, caught her handup to his face. "All the same, you are mine--you are mine!" hetold her hotly. "You belonged to me from the beginning, andnothing else counts or ever can count against that. I would havedied to get out of your way. I tried to die. But you brought meback. And now, say what you like--say what you like--you are mine!I saw it in your eyes last night, and I defy every law that manever made to take you from me. I defy the thing you call duty. You love me! You have always loved me! Deny it if you can!"

It was swift, it was almost overwhelming. At another moment itmight have swept her off her feet. But a greater force was at workwithin her, and she stood her ground. 

She drew her hand away. "Not like that, Guy, " she said. "I loveyou. Yes, I love you. But only as a friend. You--you don'tunderstand me. How should you? I have grown beyond all yourknowledge of me. I was a girl in the old days--when we played atlove together. " A sharp sob rose in her throat, but she stifledit. "All that is over. I am a woman now. My eyes areopen, --and--the romance is all gone. "

He stiffened as if he had been struck, but only for a second. Thenext recklessly he laughed. "That is just your way of putting it, "he said. "Love doesn't change--like that. It either goes out, orit remains--for good. It is you who don't understand yourself. You may turn your back on the truth, but you can't alter it. Thosewho have once been lovers--and lovers such as you and I--can neveragain be only friends. That, if you like, is the impossible. But--" He paused for a moment, with lifted shoulders, thenabruptly turned to go. "Good-bye!" he said. 

"You are going?" she questioned. 

He swung on his heel as if irresolute. "Yes, I am going. I amgoing back to my cabin, back to my wallowing in the mire. Why not?Is there anyone who cares the toss of a halfpenny what I do?"

"Yes. " Breathlessly she answered him; the words seemed to leapfrom her of their own accord, and surely it was hardly of her ownvolition that she followed and held his arm, detaining him. "Guy!You know we care. Burke cares. I care. Guy, please, dear, please! It's such a pity. Oh, it's such a pity! Won't you--can'tyou--fight against it? Won't you even--try? I know you couldconquer, if only--if only you would try!" Her eyes were raised tohis. She besought him with all the strength of her being. Sheclung to him as if she would hold him back by sheer physical forcefrom the abyss at his feet. "Oh, Guy, it is worth while!" shepleaded. "Indeed--indeed it is worth while--whatever it costs. Guy, --I beseech--I implore you----"

She broke off, for with a lightning movement he had taken her facebetween his hands. "You can make it worth while, " he said. "Iwill do it--for you. "

He held her passionately close for an instant, but he did not kissher. She saw the impulse to do so in his eyes, and she saw himbeat it fiercely back. That was the only comfort that remained toher when the next moment he sprang away and went so swiftly fromher that he was lost to sight almost before she knew that he wasgone. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE SUMMONS

When Kelly awoke that morning, it was some time later, and Burkewas entering his hut with a steaming cup of cocoa. The Irishmanstretched his large bulk and laughed up at his friend. 

"Faith, it's the good host that ye are! I've slept like a top, myson, and never an evil dream. How's the lad this morning? Andhow's the land?"

"The land's all right so far, " Burke said. "I'm just off to helpthem bring in the animals. The northern dam has failed. "

Kelly leaped from his bed. "I'll come. That's just the job for meand St. Peter. Don't bring the missis along though! It's too muchfor her. "

"I know that, " Burke said shortly. "I've told her so. She is totake it easy for a bit. The climate is affecting her. "

Kelly looked at him with his kindly, curious eyes. "Can't you getthings fixed up here and bring her along to Brennerstadt for theraces and the diamond gamble? It would do you both good to have achange. "

Burke shook his head, "I doubt if she would care for it. And youngGuy would want to come too. If he did, he would soon get up tomischief again. He has gone back to his hut this morning, clearedout early. I hope he is to be trusted to behave himself. "

"Oh, leave the boy alone!" said Kelly. "He's got some decentfeelings of his own, and it doesn't do to mother him too much. Give him his head for a bit! He's far less likely to bolt. "

Burke shrugged his shoulders. "I can't hold him if he means to go, I quite admit. But I haven't much faith in his keeping on thestraight, and that's a fact. I don't like his going back to thehut, and I'd have prevented it if I'd known. But I slept in thesitting-room last night, and I was dead beat. He cleared outearly. "

"Didn't anyone see him go?" queried Kelly keenly. 

"Yes. My wife. " Again Burke's tone was curt, repressive. "Shecouldn't stop him. "

"She made him hold hard with the brandy-bottle last night, " saidKelly. "I admired her for it. She's got a way with her, Burke. Sure, the devil himself couldn't have resisted her then. "

Burke's faint smile showed for a moment; he said nothing. 

"How you must worship her!" went on Kelly, with amiable effusion. "Some fellows have all the luck. Sure, you're never going to letthat sweet angel languish here like that poor little Mrs. Merston!You wouldn't now! Come, you wouldn't!"

But Burke passed the matter by. He had pressing affairs on hand, and obviously it was not his intention to discuss his conducttowards his wife even with the worthy Kelly whose blunderinggoodness so often carried him over difficult ground that few otherswould have ventured to negotiate. 

He left Kelly to dress, and went back to the bungalow where Sylviawas busy with a duster trying to get rid of some of the sand thatthickly covered everything. He had scarcely spoken to her thatmorning except for news Of Guy, but now he drew her aside. 

"Look here!" he said. "Don't wear yourself out!"

She gave him a quick look. "Oh, I shan't do that. Work is goodfor me. Isn't this sand too awful for words?"

She spoke with a determined effort to assume the old carelessattitude towards him, but the nervous flush on her cheeks betrayedher. 

He put his hand on her shoulder, and wheeled her round somewhatsuddenly towards the light. "You didn't sleep last night, " he said. 

She tried to laugh, but she could not check the hot flush ofembarrassment that raced into her pale cheeks under his look. "Icouldn't help it, " she said. "I was rather wound up yesterday. It--was an exciting day, wasn't it?"

He continued to look at her for several seconds, intently but notsternly. Then very quietly he spoke. "Sylvia, if things go wrong, if the servants upset you, come to me about it! Don't go to Guy!"

She understood the reference in a moment. The flush turned toflaming crimson that mounted in a wave to her forehead. She drewback from him, her head high. 

"And if Schafen or any other man comes to you with offensive gossipregarding my behaviour, please kick him as he deserves--next time!"she said. "And then--if you think it necessary--come to me for anexplanation!"

She spoke with supreme scorn, every word a challenge. She was moreangry in that moment than she could remember that she had ever beenbefore. How dared he hear Schafen's evidence against her, and thencoolly take her thus to task?

The memory of his kiss swept back upon her as she spoke, that kissthat had so cruelly wounded her, that kiss that had finally rentthe veil away from her quivering heart. She stood before him withclenched hands. If he had attempted to kiss her then, she wouldhave struck him. 

But he did not move. He stood, looking at her, looking at her, till at last her wide eyes wavered and sank before his own. Hespoke then, an odd inflection in his voice. 

"Why are you so angry?"

Her two fists were pressed hard against her sides. She was awareof a weakening of her self-control, and she fought with all herstrength to retain it. She could not speak for a second or two, but it was not fear that restrained her. 

"Tell me!" he said. "Why are you angry?"

The colour was dying slowly out of her face; a curious chill hadfollowed the sudden flame. "It is your own fault, " she said. 

"How--my fault?" Burke's voice was wholly free from any sort ofemotion; but his question held insistence notwithstanding. 

She answered it almost in spite of herself. "For making me hateyou. "

He made a slight movement as of one who shifts his hold upon somechafing creature to strengthen his grip. "How have I done that?"he said. 

She answered him in a quick, breathless rush of words that betrayedher failing strength completely. "By doubting me--by being jealousand showing it--by--by--by insulting me!"

"What?" he said. 

She turned from him sharply and walked away, battling with herself. "You know what I mean, " she said tremulously. "You know quite wellwhat I mean. You were angry yesterday--angry because HansSchafen--a servant--had told you something that made you distrustme. And because you were angry, you--you--you insulted me!" Sheturned round upon him suddenly with eyes of burning accusation. She was fighting, fighting, with all her might, to hide from himthat frightened, quivering thing that she herself had recognizedbut yesterday. If it had been a plague-spot, she could not haveguarded it more jealously. Its presence scared her. Her everyinstinct was to screen it somehow, somehow, from those keen eyes. For he was so horribly strong, so shrewd, so merciless!

He came up to her as she wheeled. He took one of her quiveringwrists, and held it, his fingers closely pressed upon the leapingpulse. "Sylvia!" he said, and this time there was an edge to hisvoice that made her aware that he was putting force upon himself. "I have never insulted you--or distrusted you. Everything wasagainst me yesterday. But when I left you, I gave all I possessedinto your keeping. It is in your keeping still. Does that looklike distrust?"

She gave, a quick, involuntary start, but he went on, scarcelypausing. 

"When a man is going into possible danger, and his wife is thinkingof--other things, is he so greatly to blame if he takes thequickest means at his disposal of waking her up?"

"Ah!" she said. Had he not waked her indeed? But yet--butyet--She looked at ham doubtfully. 

"Listen!" he said. "We've been going round in a circle lately. It's been like that infernal game we used to play as children. 'Snail, ' wasn't it called? Where nobody ever got home andeverybody always lost their tempers! Let's get out of it, Sylvia!Let's leave Guy and Schafen to look after things, and go to the topof the world by ourselves! I'll take great care of you. You'll behappy, you know. You'll like it. "

He spoke urgently, leaning towards her. There was nothing terribleabout him at that moment. All the mastery had gone from hisattitude. He was even smiling a little. 

Her heart gave a great throb. It was so long, so long, since hehad spoken to her thus. And then, like a blasting wind, the memoryof Guy's bitter words rushed across her. She seemed again to feelthe sand of the desert blowing in her face, sand that was blendedwith ashes. Was it only a slave that he wanted after all? Shehated herself for the thought, but she could not drive it out. 

"Don't you like that idea?" he said. 

Still she hesitated. "What of Guy?" she said. "We must think ofhim, Burke. We must. "

"I'm thinking of him, " he said. "A little responsibility wouldprobably do him good. "

"But to leave him--entirely--" She broke off. Someone wasknocking at the outer door, and she was thankful for theinterruption. Burke turned away, and went to answer. He came backwith a note in his hand. 

"It's Merston's house-boy, " he said. "I've sent him round to thekitchen to get a feed. Something's up there, I am afraid. Let'ssee what he has to say!"

He opened the letter while he was speaking, and there fell a shortsilence while he read. Sylvia took up her duster again. Her handswere trembling. 

In a moment Burke spoke. "Yes, it's from Merston. The poor chaphas had an accident, fallen from his horse and badly wrenched hisback. His overseer is away, and he wants to know if I will go overand lend a hand. I must go of course. " He turned round to her. "You'll be able to manage for a day or two?"

Her breathing came quickly, nervously. She felt oddly uncertain ofherself, as if she had just come through a crisis that had berefther of all her strength, "Of course, " she said, not looking at him. "Of course. "

He stood for a moment or two, watching her. Then he moved to herside. 

"I'm leaving you in charge, " he said, "But you won't overdo it?Promise me!"

She laughed a little. The thought of his going was a vast reliefto her at that moment. She yearned to be alone, to readjust herlife somehow before she met him again. She wanted to rebuild herdefences. She wanted to be quite sure of herself. 

"Oh, I shall take great care of myself, " she said. "I'm very goodat that. "

"I wonder, " said Burke, And then he laid his hand upon the flickingduster and stopped her quivering activity. "Are you still--hatingme?" he said. 

She stood motionless, and still her eyes avoided his. "I'll tellyou, " she said, "when we meet again. "

"Does that mean that I am to go--unforgiven?" he said. 

Against her will she looked at him. In spite of her, her liptrembled, He put his arm round her. "Does it?" he said. 

"No, " she whispered back. 

In that moment they were nearer than they had been through all theweeks of Guy's illness, nearer possibly than they had ever beenbefore. It would have been so easy for Sylvia to lean upon thatstrong encircling arm, so easy that she wondered afterwards how sherestrained the impulse to do so. But the moment passed so quickly, sped by the sound of Kelly's feet upon the _stoep_, and Burke's armpressed her close and then fell away. 

There was neither disappointment nor annoyance on his face as heturned to meet his guest. He was even smiling. 

Sylvia recalled that smile afterwards--the memory of it went withher through all the bitter hours that followed. 

CHAPTER IX

FOR THE SAKE OF THE OLD LOVE

Kelly accompanied Burke when, after hurried preparation andconsultation with Schafen, he finally took the rough road thatwound by the _kopje_ on his way to the Merstons' farm. He had notintended to prolong his visit over two days, and he proposed toconclude it now; for his leisure was limited, and he had undertakento be back in Brennerstadt for the occasion of the diamond drawwhich he himself had organized, and which was to take place at theend of the week. But at Burke's request, as they rode upon theirway, he promised to return to Blue Hill Farm for that night and thenext also if Burke could not return sooner. He did not mean to beabsent for more than two nights. His own affairs could not beneglected for longer, though he might decide to send Schafen overto help the Merstons if necessary. 

"My wife can't look after Guy single-handed, " he said. "It's not awoman's job, and I can't risk it. I shall feel easier if you arethere. "

And Kelly professed himself proud to be of service in any capacity. If Mrs. Burke would put up with him for another night, sure, he'dbe delighted to keep her company, and he'd see that the boy behavedhimself too, though for his own part he didn't think that there wasany vice about him just then. 

They did not visit the hut or the sand whither Guy had betakenhimself. The sun was getting high, and Burke, with the Kaffir boywho had brought the message running at his stirrup, would notlinger on the road. 

"He's probably having a rest, " he said. "He won't be fit for muchelse to-day. You'll see him to-night, Donovan?"

And Donovan promised that he would. He was in fact rather proud ofthe confidence reposed in him. To treat him as a friend in needwas the highest compliment that anyone could pay the kind-heartedIrishman. Cheerily he undertook to remain at Blue Hill Farm untilBurke's return, always providing that Mrs. Burke didn't get tiredof him and turn him out. 

"She won't do that, " said Burke. "You'll find she will bedelighted to see you to-day when you get back. She hasn't beentrained for solitude, and I fancy it gets on her nerves. "

Perhaps it did. But on that occasion at least Sylvia was thankfulto be left alone. She had her house to set in order, and at thatvery moment she was on her knees in the sitting-room, searching, searching in all directions for the key which she had dropped onthe previous day during the dust-storm, before Kelly's arrival. Burke's reference to the matter had recalled it to her mind, andnow with shamed self-reproach she sought in every cranny for theonly thing of any importance which he had ever entrusted to hercare. 

She sought in vain. The sand was thick everywhere, but shesearched every inch of the floor with her hands, and found nothing. The stifling heat of the day descended upon her as she searched. She felt sick in mind and body, sick with a growing hopelessnesswhich she would not acknowledge. The thing could not be lost. Sheknew that Burke had slept in the room, and none of the servants hadbeen alone in it since. So the key must be somewhere there, musthave been kicked into some corner, or caught in a crack. She hadfelt so certain of finding it that she had not thought it necessaryto tell Burke of her carelessness. But now she began to wish shehad told him. Her anxiety was turning to a perfect fever ofapprehension. The conviction was beginning to force itself uponher that someone must have found the key. 

But who--who? No Kaffir, she was certain. No Kaffir had entered. And Burke had been there all night long. He had slept in the longchair, giving up his bed to the guest. And he had slept late, tired out after the violent exertions of the previous day. 

He had slept late! Suddenly, there on her knees in the litter ofsand, another thought flashed through her brain, the thought of herown sleeplessness, the thought of the early morning, the thought ofGuy. 

He had been up early. He generally rested till late in themorning. He too had been sleepless. But he had a remedy for thatwhich she knew he would not scruple to take if he felt the need. His wild excitement of the night before rose up before her. Hiseager interest in Kelly's talk of the diamond, the strangeness ofhis attitude that morning. And then, with a lightning suddenness, came the memory of Kieff. 

Guy was under Kieff's influence. She was certain of it. AndKieff? She shrank at the bare thought of the man, his subtleforce, his callous strength of purpose, his almost uncannyintelligence. Yes, she was afraid of Kieff--she had always beenafraid of Kieff. 

The midday heat seemed to press upon her like a burning, crushingweight. It seemed to deprive her of the power to think, certainlyof the power to reason. For what rational connection could therebe between Kieff and the loss of Burke's key? Kieff was severalmiles away at the farm of Piet Vreiboom. And Guy--where was Guy?She wished he would come back. Surely he would come back soon!She would tell him of her loss, she yearned to tell someone; shewould get him to help her in her search. For it could not be lost. It could not be really lost! They would find it somehow--somehow!

It was no actual reasoning but a blind instinct that moved her toget up at length and go to the room that Guy had occupied for solong, the room that was Burke's. It was just as Guy had left itthat morning. She noted mechanically the disordered bed. Thecupboard in the corner was closed as usual, but the key was in thelock. Burke kept his clothes on the higher shelves. Thestrong-box stood on the floor with some boots. 

Her eyes went straight to it. Some magnetism seemed to be at work, compelling her. And then--she gave a gasp of wonder, and almostfell on to the sandy floor beside the box. The key was in the lock!

Was it all a dream then? Had it never been lost? Had she butimagined Burke's action in confiding it to her? She closed hereyes for a space, for her brain was swimming. The terrible, parching heat seemed to have turned into a wheel--a fiery wheel oftorture that revolved behind her eyes, making her wince at everyturn. The pain was intense; when she tried to move, it wasexcruciating. She sank down with her head almost on the iron boxand waited in dumb endurance for relief. 

A long time passed so, and she fancied later that she must haveslept, for she dared not move while that awful pain lasted, and shewas scarcely conscious of her surroundings. But it became lessacute at last; she found herself sitting up with wide-open eyes, trying to collect her thoughts. 

They evaded her for a while, and she dared not employ any verystrenuous effort to capture them, lest that unspeakable sufferingshould return. But gradually--very gradually--the power to reasonreturned to her. She found herself gazing at the key that had costher so much; and after a little, impelled by what seemed to bealmost a new sense within her, she took it between her quiveringfingers and turned it. 

It went with an ease that surprised her, for she remembered--herbrain was becoming every moment more strangely clear and alert--sheremembered that Burke had said only a day or two before that itneeded oiling. She opened the box, and with a fateful premonitionlooked within. 

A few papers in a rubber band lay in the bottom of the box, andbeside them, carelessly tossed aside, an envelope! There was nomoney at all. 

She took up the envelope, feverishly searching. It contained acigarette--one of her own--that had been half-smoked. She staredat it for a second or two in wonder, then like a stab came thememory of that night--so long ago--when he had taken the cigarettefrom between her lips, when he had been on the verge of speech, when she had stood waiting to hear . . . And Guy had come between. 

Many seconds later she put the envelope back, and got up. Conviction had come irresistibly upon her; she knew now whose handhad oiled the lock, she knew beyond all doubting who had opened thebox, and left it thus. 

She was trembling no longer, but steady--firm as a rock. She mustfind Guy. Wherever he was, she must find him. That money--her ownsacred charge--must be returned before she faced Burke again. Guywas mad. She must save him from his madness. This fight for Guy'ssoul--she had seen it coming. She realized it as a hand to handfight with Kieff. But she would win. She was bound to win. Soshe told herself. No power of evil could possibly triumphultimately, and she knew that deep in his inmost heart Guyacknowledged this. However wild and reckless his words, he did notreally expect to see her waver. He might be the slave of evilhimself, but he knew that she would never share his slavery. Heknew it, and in spite of himself he honoured her. She believed hewould always honour her. And this was the weapon on which shecounted for his deliverance, this and the old sweet friendshipbetween them that was infinitely more enduring than first love. She believed that her influence over him was greater than Kieff's. Otherwise she had not dared to pit her strength against that of theenemy. Otherwise she had waited to beg the help of Kelly, whoalways helped everyone. 

The thought of Burke she put resolutely from her. Burke shouldnever know, if she could prevent it, how low Guy had fallen. Ifonly she could save Guy from that, she believed she might save himfrom all. When once his eyes were opened, when once she had beatendown Kieff's ascendancy, the battle would be won. But she must actimmediately and with decision. There was not a moment to lose. IfGuy were not checked now, at the very outset, there would be nosaving him from the abyss. She must find him now, at once. Andshe must do it alone. There was no alternative to that. Onlyalone could she hope to influence him. 

She stooped and locked the box once more, taking the key. Now thatshe knew the worst, her weakness was all gone. With the old steadyfearlessness she went from the room. The battle was before her, but she knew no misgiving. She would win--she was bound towin--for the sake of the old love and in the strength of the new. 

CHAPTER X

THE BEARER OF EVIL TIDINGS

It was late in the afternoon when Kelly returned to Blue Hill Farm. He had been riding round Merston's lands with Burke during a greatpart of the day, and he was comfortably tired. He looked forwardto spending a congenial evening with his hostess, and he hoped thatyoung Guy would not be of too lively a turn, for he was in a moodfor peace. 

The first chill of evening was creeping over the _veldt_ as heambled along the trail past the _kopje_. As he came within sightof the farm a wave of sentiment swept over him. 

"Faith, it's a jolly little homestead!" he said, with a sigh. "Lucky devil--Burke!"

There was no one about, and he took his horse to the stable andgave him a rub-down and feed before catering. Then he made his wayinto the house from the back, There was a light in the sitting-room, and he betook himselfthither, picturing the homely scene of Sylvia knitting socks forher husband or engaged upon some housewifely task. 

He announced himself with his customary, cheery garrulity as heentered. 

"Ah, here I am again, Mrs. Burke! And it's good news I've got forye. Merston's not so badly damaged after all, and your husband ishoping to be back by midday in the morning. "

He stopped short. The room was not empty, but the figure that roseup with an easy, sinuous movement to meet him was not the figure hehad expected to see. 

"Good evening, Kelly!" said Saul Kieff. 

"What the devil!" said Kelly. 

Kieff smiled in a cold, detached fashion. "I came over to find Mr. Burke Ranger. But I gather he is away from home. "

"What have you come for?" said Kelly. 

He did not like Kieff though his nature was too kindly to entertainany active antipathy towards anyone. But no absence of intimacycould ever curb his curiosity, and he never missed any informationfor lack of investigation. 

Kieff's motionless black eyes took him in with satiricalcomprehension. He certainly would never have made a confidant ofsuch a man as Kelly unless it had suited his purpose. He tookseveral moments for consideration before he made reply. "I presumeyou are aware, " he said then, "that Mrs. Ranger has left forBrennerstadt?"

"What?" said Kelly. 

Kieff did not repeat his question. He merely waited for it to sinkin. A faint, subtle smile still hovered about his sallow features. It was obvious that he regarded his news in anything but a tragiclight. 

"Gone to Brennerstadt!" ejaculated Kelly at length. "But what thedevil would she go there for? I was going myself to-morrow. I'dhave taken her. "

"She probably preferred to choose her own escort, " said Kieff. 

"What?" said Kelly again. "Man, is it the truth you're giving me?"

"Not much point in lying, " said Kieff coldly, "when there isnothing to be gained by it! Mrs. Burke Ranger has gone toBrennerstadt by way of Ritzen, in the company of Guy Ranger. PietVreiboom will tell you the same thing if you ask him. He is goingto Brennerstadt too to-morrow, and I with him. Perhaps we cantravel together. We may overtake the amorous couple if we ride allthe way. "

Without any apparent movement, his smile intensified at sight ofthe open consternation on Kelly's red countenance. 

"You seem surprised at something, " he said. 

"I don't believe a damn' word of it, " said Kelly bluntly. "Youdidn't see them. "

"I saw them both, " said Kieff, still smiling, "Piet Vreiboom sawthem also. But the lady seemed to be in a great hurry, so we didnot detain them. They are probably at Ritzen by now, if notbeyond. "

"Oh, damnation!" said Kelly tragically. 

Kieff's smile slowly vanished. His eyes took on a stony, remotelook as though the matter had ceased to interest him. And whileKelly tramped impotently about the room, he leaned his shouldersagainst the wall and stared into space. 

"I am really rather glad to have met you, " he remarked presently. "Can you give me any tip regarding this diamond of Wilbraham's?You know its value to the tenth part of a farthing, I have nodoubt. "

Kelly paused to glare at him distractedly, "Oh, curse the diamond!"he said, "It's Mrs. Burke I'm thinking of. "

Kieff's thin lips curled contemptuously. "A woman!" he said, andsnapped his fingers. "A woman who can be bought and soldagain--for far less than half its cost! My good Kelly! Are youserious?"

Kelly stamped an indignant foot. "You infernal, cold-bloodedKaffir!" he roared. "I'm human anyway, which is more than you are!"

Kieff's sneer deepened. It was Kelly's privilege always to speakhis mind, and no one took offence however extravagantly heexpressed himself. "Can't we have a drink?" he suggested, in theindulgent tone of one humouring a fractious child. 

"Drink--with you!" fumed Kelly. 

Kieff smiled again. "Of course you will drink with me! It's toogood an excuse to miss. What is troubling you? Surely there isnothing very unusual in the fact that Mrs. Burke finds herself inneed of a little change!"

Kelly groaned aloud. "I've got to go and tell Burke. That's thehell of it. Sure I'd give all the money I can lay hands on to bequit of that job. "

"You are over-sensitive, " remarked Kieff, showing a gleam of teethbetween his colourless lips. "He will think far less of this thanof disease in his cattle or crops. They were nothing to eachother, nor ever could be. She and Guy Ranger have been lovers allthrough. "

"Ah, faith then, I know better!" broke in Kelly. "He worships herfrom the crown of her head to the sole of her foot. He'll be fitto kill young Guy for this. By the saints above us, I could almostkill him myself. "

"You needn't!" said Kieff with ironical humour. "And Burke needn'teither. As for the woman--" he snapped his fingers again--"she'llcome back like a homing dove, if he waits a little. "

Kelly swore again furiously. "Ah, why did I ever lend myself todigging young Guy out of Hoffstein's? Only a blasted fool couldhave expected to bring anything but corruption out of that sink ofevil. It was Burke's own doing, but I was a fool--I was a threetimes fool--to give in to him. "

"Where is the worthy Burke?" questioned Kieff, "Over at Merston's, doing the good Samaritan; been working like a nigger all day. Andnow!" There was actually a sound of tears in Kelly's voice. "I'dgive me right hand, " he vowed tremulously, "I'd give me soul--suchas it is--to be out of this job. "

"You want a drink, " said Kieff. 

Kelly sniffed and began a clumsy search for refreshment. 

Kieff came forward kindly and helped him. It was he who measuredthe drinks finally when they were produced, and even Kelly, whocould stand a good deal, opened his eyes somewhat at the draught heprepared for himself. 

"Dry weather!" remarked Kieff, as he tossed it down. "You're notgoing back to Merston's to-night, are you?"

"Must, " said Kelly laconically. 

"Why not wait till the morning?" suggested Kieff. "I shall bepassing that way myself then. We could go together. "

There was a gleam in his black eyes that made Kelly look at himhard. "And what would you want to be there for?" he demandedaggressively. "Isn't one bearer of evil tidings enough?"

Kieff smiled. "I wonder if the lady left any message behind, " hesuggested. "Possibly she has written a note to explain her ownabsence. How long did the good Burke propose to be away?"

"Two or three nights in the first place. But he is coming backto-morrow. " A sudden idea flashed upon Kelly. "Ah, p'raps she'shoping to be back before he is! Maybe there's more to this than weunderstand! I'll not go over. I'll wait and see. She may be backin the morning, she and young Guy too. They're old friends. P'raps there's nothing in it but just a jaunt. "

Kieff's laugh had a sound like the slipping of a stone in a slimycave. "You always had ideas, " he remarked. "But they willscarcely be back from Brennerstadt by the morning. Can't youdevise some means of persuading Burke to extend his visit to theperiod originally intended? Then perhaps they might return intime. "

Kelly looked at him sternly. That laugh was abominable in hisears. "Faith, I'll go now, " he said. "And I'll go alone. You'vedone your part, and I'll not trouble you at all to help me do mine. "

Kieff turned to go. "I always admired your sense of duty, Donovan, " he said. "Let us hope it will bring you out on the rightside, --and your friends the Rangers with you!"

He was gone with the words, silent as a shadow on the wall, andKelly was left wondering why he had not seized the bearer of eviltidings and kicked the horrible laughter out of him. 

"Faith, I'll do it when I get to Brennerstadt, " he said to himselfvindictively. "But it's friends first, eh, Burke, my lad?--Ah, Burke, my boy, friends first!"

CHAPTER XI

THE SHARP CORNER

Was it only a few months since last she had looked out over thebarren _veldt_ from the railway at Ritzen? It seemed to Sylvialike half a lifetime. 

In the dark of the early morning she sat in the southward-boundtrain on her way to Brennerstadt, and tried to recall her firstimpressions. There he had stood under the lamp waiting forher--the man whom she had taken for Guy. She saw herself springingto meet him with eager welcome on her lips and swift-growingmisgiving at her heart. How good he had been to her! That thoughtcame up above the rest, crowding out the memory of her firstterrible dismay. He had surrounded her with a care as chivalrousas any of the friends of her former life could have displayed. Hehad sheltered her from the dreadful loneliness, and from the worldupon the mercy of which she had been so completely thrown. He hadnot seemed to bestow, but she realized now how at every turn hisgoodness had provided, his strength had shielded. He had notsuffered her to feel the obligation under which she was placed. Hehad treated her merely as a comrade in distress. He had given herfreely the very best that a man could offer, and he had done it ina fashion that had made acceptance easy, almost inevitable. 

Her thoughts travelled onwards till they came to her marriage. Again the memory of the man's unfailing chivalry came before allelse. Again, how good he had been to her! And she had taken fulladvantage of his goodness. For the first time she wondered if shehad been justified in so doing. She asked herself if she hadbehaved contemptibly. She had not been ready to make a fullsurrender, and he had not asked for it. But it seemed to her nowthat she had returned his gifts with a niggardliness which musthave made her appear very small-minded. He had been great. He hadsubordinated his wishes to her. He had been patient; ah yes, perhaps too patient! Probably her utter dependence upon him hadmade him so. 

Slowly her thoughts passed on to the coming of Guy. She realizedthat the rapid events that had succeeded his coming had renderedher impressions of Burke a little blurred. Through all those firststages of Guy's illness, she could scarcely recall him at all. Hermind was full of the image of Kieff, subtle, cruel, almostghoulish, a man of deep cunning and incomprehensible motives. Ithad suited his whim to save Guy. She had often wondered why. Shewas certain that no impulse of affection had moved him or wascapable of moving him. No pity, no sympathy, had ever complicatedthis man's aims or crippled his achievements. He had a clear, substantial reason for everything that he did. It had pleased himto bring Guy back to life, and so he had not scrupled as to themeans he had employed to do so. He had practically forced her intoa position which circumstances had combined to make her retain. Hehad probably, she reflected now, urged Guy upon every opportunityto play the traitor to his best friend. He had established overhim an influence which she felt that it would take her utmosteffort to overthrow. He had even forced him into the quagmire ofcrime. For that Guy had done this thing, or would ever havedreamed of doing it, on his own initiative she did not believe. And it was that certainty which had sent her from his empty hut onthe sand in pursuit of him, daring all to win him back ere he hadsunk too deep for deliverance. She had ridden to Ritzen by way ofthe Vreiboom's farm, half-expecting to find Guy there. But she hadseen only Kieff and Piet Vreiboom. Her face burned still at thememory of the former's satirical assurance that Guy was but a fewmiles ahead of her and she would easily overtake him. He hadtranslated this speech to Piet Vreiboom who had laughed, laughedwith a sickening significance, at the joke. In her disgust she hadridden swiftly on without stopping to ascertain if Guy had gone toRitzen or had decided to ride the whole forty miles to Brennerstadt. 

The lateness of the hour, however, had decided her to make for theformer place since she knew she could get a train there on thefollowing morning and she could not face the long journey at nightalone on the _veldt_. It had been late when she reached Ritzen, but she had thankfully found accommodation for the night at the byno means luxurious hotel in which she had slept on the night of herarrival so long ago. 

Now in the early morning she was ready to start again, havingregretfully left her horse, Diamond, in the hotel-stable to awaither return. 

If all went well, she counted upon being back, perhaps with Guyaccompanying her, in the early afternoon. And then she wouldprobably be at Blue Hill Farm again before Burke's return. Shehoped with all her heart to accomplish this. For though it wouldbe impossible to hide the fact of her journey from him, she did notwant him to suspect the actual reason that had made it so urgent. Let him think that anxiety for Guy--their mutual charge--had senther after him! But never, for Guy's sake, let him imagine theactual shameful facts of the case! She counted upon Burke'signorance as the strongest weapon for Guy's persuasion. Let himbut realize that a way of escape yet remained to him, and shebelieved that he would take it. For surely--ah, surely, if sheknew him--he had begun already to repent in burning shame andself-loathing. 

He must have ridden all the way to Brennerstadt, for he was not atRitzen. Ritzen was not a place to hide in. Would she find him atBrennerstadt? There were only two hotels there, and Kieff had saidhe would stop at one of them. She did not trust Kieff for amoment, but some inner conviction told her that it was hisintention that she should find Guy. He did not expect herinfluence to overcome his. That she fully realized. He was notafraid of being superseded. Perhaps he wanted to demonstrate toher her utter weakness. Perhaps he had deeper schemes. She didnot stop to imagine what they were. She shrank from the thought ofthem as purity shrinks instinctively from the contemplation ofevil. She believed that, if once she could meet Guy face to face, she could defeat him. She counted upon that understanding whichhad been between them from the beginning and which had drawn themto each other in spite of all opposition. She counted upon thatpart of Guy which Kieff had never known, those hidden qualitieswhich vice had overgrown like a fungus but which she knew werestill existent under the surface evil. Guy had been generous andfrank in the old days, a lover of fair play, an impetuous followerof anything that appealed to him as great. She was sure that thesecharacteristics had been an essential part of his nature. He hadfailed through instability, through self-indulgence and weakness ofpurpose. But he was not fundamentally wicked. She was sure thatshe could appeal to those good impulses within him, and that shewould not appeal in vain. She was sure that the power of goodwould still be paramount over him if she held out to him thehelping hand which he so sorely needed. She had the strengthwithin her--strength that was more than human--and she was certainof the victory, if only she could find him quickly, quickly!

As she sat there waiting feverishly to start, her whole being wasin a passion of supplication that she might be in time. Even inher sleep she had prayed that one prayer with a fierce urging thathad rendered actual repose an impossibility. She had never in herlife prayed with so intense a force. It was as if she were stakingthe whole of her faith upon that one importunate plea, and thoughno answer came to her striving spirit, she told herself that itcould not be in vain. In all her maddening anxiety and impatienceshe never for a moment dwelt upon the chance of failure. God couldnot suffer her to fail when she had fought so hard. Her very brainseemed on fire with the urgency of her mission, and again for aspace the thought of Burke was crowded out. He occupied the backof her mind, but she would not voluntarily turn towards him. Thatwould come later when her mission was fulfilled, when she couldlook him in the face again with no sense of a charge neglected, ortrust betrayed. She must stand straight with Burke, but she mustsave Guy first, whatever the effort, whatever the cost. She feltshe had forfeited the right to think of her own happiness till hernegligence--and the terrible consequences thereof--had beenremedied. Perhaps it was in a measure self-blame that inspired herfrantic prayer, the feeling that the responsibility was hers, andtherefore that she was a sharer of the guilt. That was anotherplea, less worthy perhaps; but one to which Guy could not refuse tolisten. It could not be his intention to wreck her happiness. Hecould not know all that hung upon it. Her happiness! She shiveredsuddenly in the chill of the morning air. Could it be thathappiness--the greatest of all--had been actually within her grasp, and she had let it slip unheeded? Sharply she turned her thoughtsback. No, she must not--must not think of Burke just then. 

The chance would come again. The chance must come again. But shemust not suffer herself to contemplate it now. She had forfeitedthe right. 

Time passed. She thought the train would never start. The longwaiting had become almost a nightmare. She felt she would not beable to endure it much longer. The night had seemed endless too, aperpetual dozing and waking that had seemed to multiply the hours. Now and then she realized that she was very tired; but for the mostpart the fever of impatience that possessed her kept theconsciousness of fatigue at bay. If only she could keep moving shefelt that she could face anything. 

The day broke over the _veldt_ and the scattered open town, with aburning splendour like the kindling of a great fire. She watchedthe dawn-light spread till the northern hills shone with acelestial radiance. She leaned from the train to watch it; and asshe watched, the whole world turned golden. 

Burke's words flashed back upon her with a force irresistible. "Let us go to the top of the world by ourselves!" Her eyes filledwith sudden tears, and as she sank down again in her seat the trainbegan to move. It bore her relentlessly southwards, and the landof the early morning was left behind. 

She reflected later that that journey must have been doomed todisaster from the very outset. It was begun an hour late, and allthings seemed to conspire to hinder them. After many halts, thebreaking of an engine-piston rendered them helpless, and the heatof the day found them in a desolate place among _kopjes_ thatseemed to crowd them in, cutting off every current of air, whilethe sun blazed mercilessly overhead and the sand-flies ceaselesslybuzzed and tormented. It was the longest day that Sylvia had everknown, and she thought that the smell of Kaffirs would haunt herall her life. Of the few white men on the train she knew not one, and the desolation of despair entered into her. 

By the afternoon, when she had hoped to be on her way back, tardyhelp arrived, and they crawled into Brennerstadt station, parchedand dusty and half-starved, some three hours later. 

Hope revived in her as at length she left the train. Anything wasbetter than the awful inactivity of that well-nigh interminablejourney. There was yet a chance--a slender one--that by an earlystart or possibly travelling by a night train she and Guy might yetbe back at Blue Hill Farm by the following evening in time to meetBurke on his return. 

Yes, the chance was there, and still she could not think that allthis desperate effort of hers could be doomed to failure. If shecould only find Guy quickly--oh, quickly! She almost ran out ofthe station in her haste. 

She turned her steps instinctively towards the hotel in which shehad stayed for her marriage, It was not far from the station, andit was the first place that occurred to her. The town was full ofpeople, men for the most part, men it seemed to her, of allnationalities and colours. She heard Dutch and broken English allaround her. 

She went through the crowds, shrinking a little now and then fromany especially coarse type, nervously intent upon avoiding contactwith any. She found the hotel without difficulty, but when shefound it she checked her progress for the first time. For she wasafraid to enter. 

The evening was drawing on. She felt the welcome chill of it onher burning face, and it kept her from yielding to the faintnessthat oppressed her. But still she could not enter, till a great, square-built Boer lounging near the doorway came up to her andlooked into her eyes with an evil leer. 

Then she summoned her strength, drew herself up, and passed himwith open disgust. 

She had to push her way through a crowd of men idling in theentrance, and one or two accosted her, but she went by them instony unresponsiveness. 

At the little office at the end she found a girl, sandy-haired andsandy-eyed, who looked up for a moment from a great book in frontof her, and before she could speak, said briskly, "There's no moreaccommodation here. The place is full to overflowing. Better tryat the Good Hope over the way. "

She had returned to her occupation before the words were welluttered, but Sylvia stood motionless, a little giddy, leaningagainst the woodwork for support. 

"I only want to know, " she said, after a moment, speaking with aneffort in a voice that sounded oddly muffled even to herself, "ifMr. Ranger is here. "

"Who?" The girl looked up sharply. "Hullo!" she said. "What's thematter?"

"If Mr. Ranger--Mr. Ranger--is here, " Sylvia repeated through acurious mist that had gathered unaccountably around her. 

The girl got up and came to her. "Yes, he's here, I believe, orwill be presently. He's engaged a room anyhow. I didn't see himmyself. Look here, you'd better come and sit down a minute. Iseem to remember you. You're Mrs. Ranger, aren't you?"

"Yes, " said Sylvia. 

She was past explanation just then, and that simple affirmativeseemed her only course. She leaned thankfully upon the supportingarm, fighting blindly to retain her senses. 

"Come and sit down!" the girl repeated. "I expect he'll be inbefore long. They're all mad about this diamond draw. The wholetown is buzzing with it. The races aren't in it. Sit down andI'll get you something. "

She drew Sylvia into a small inner sanctum and there left her, sitting exhausted in a wooden armchair. She returned presentlywith a tray which she set in front of her, observing practically, "That's what you're wanting. Have a good feed, and when you'vedone you'd better go up and lie down till he comes. "

She went back to her office then, closing the door between, andSylvia was left to recover as best she might. She forced herselfafter a time to eat and drink, reflecting that physical weaknesswould utterly unfit her for the task before her. She hoped withall her heart that Guy would come soon--soon. There was a nighttrain back to Ritzen. She had ascertained that at the station. They might catch that. The diamond draw was still two days away. She prayed that he had not yet staked anything upon it, that whenhe came the money might be still in his possession. 

She finished her meal and felt considerably revived. For a whileshe sat listening to the hubbub of strange voices without, then thefear that her presence might be forgotten by the busy occupant ofthe office moved her to rise and open the intervening door. 

The girl was still there. She glanced round with the same alertexpression. "That you, Mrs. Ranger? He hasn't come in yet. Butyou go up and wait for him! It's quieter upstairs. I'll tell himyou're here as soon as he comes in. "

She did not want to comply, but certainly the little room adjoiningthe office was no place for private talk, and she dreaded the ideaof meeting Guy before the curious eyes of strangers. He would bestartled; he would be ashamed! None but herself must see him inthat moment. 

So, without protest, she allowed herself to be conducted upstairsto the room he had engaged, her friend in the office promisingfaithfully not to forget to send him up to her at once. 

The room was at the top of the house, a bare apartment but notuncomfortable. It possessed a large window that looked across thewide street. 

She sat down beside it and listened to the tramping crowds below. 

Her faintness had passed, but she was very tired, overwhelminglyso. Very soon her senses became dulled to the turmoil. Shesuffered herself to relax, certain that the first sound of a stepoutside would recall her. And so, as night spread over the town, she sank into sleep, lying back in the cane-chair like a worn-outchild, her burnished hair vivid against the darkness beyond. 

She did not wake at the sound of a step outside, or even at theopening of the door. It was no sound that aroused her hours later, but a sudden intense consciousness of expediency, as if she hadcome to a sharp comer that it needed all her wits to turn insafety. She started up with a gasp. "Guy!" she said. And then, as her dazzled eyes saw more clearly, a low, involuntaryexclamation of dismay. "Ah!"

It was Burke who stood with his back against the closed door, looking at her, and his face had upon it in those first wakingmoments of bewilderment a look that appalled her. For it was toher as the face of a murderer. 

CHAPTER XII

THE COST

He did not speak in answer to her exclamation, merely stood therelooking at her, almost as if he had never seen her before. Hiseyes were keen with a sort of icy fierceness. She thought she hadnever before realized the cruelty of his mouth. 

It was she who spoke first. The silence seemed so impossible. "Burke!" she said. "What--is the matter?"

He came forward to her with an abruptness that was like thebreaking of bonds. He stopped in front of her, looking closelyinto her face. "What are you doing here?" he said. 

In spite of herself she shrank, so terrible was his look. But shewas swift to master her weakness. She stood up to her full height, facing him. "I have come to find Guy, " she said. 

He threw a glance around; it was like the sweep of a rapier. "Youare waiting for him--here?"

Again for a moment she was disconcerted. She felt the quick bloodrise to her forehead. "They told me he would come here, " she said. 

He passed on, almost as if she had not spoken, but his eyes weremercilessly upon her, marking her confusion. "What do you wantwith him?"

His words were like the snap of a steel rope. They made her flinchby their very ruthlessness. She had sprung from sleep withbewildered senses. She was not-prepared to do battle in her owndefence. 

She hesitated, and immediately his hand closed upon her shoulder. It seemed to her that she had never known what anger could be likebefore this moment. All the force of the man seemed to be gatheredtogether in one tremendous wave, menacing her. 

"Tell me what you want with him!" he said. 

She shuddered from head to foot as if she had been struck with ascourge. "Burke! What do you mean?" she cried out desperately. "You--you must be mad!"

"Answer me!" he said. 

His hold was a grip. The ice in his eyes had turned to flame. Herheart leapt and quivered within her like a wild thing fighting toescape. 

"I--don't know what you mean, " she panted. "I have done nothingwrong. I came after him to--to try and bring him back. "

"Then why did you come secretly?" he said, She shrank from the intolerable inquisition of his eyes. "I wantedto see him--alone, " she said. 

"Why?" Again it was like the merciless cut of a scourge. Shecaught her breath with a sharp sound that was almost a cry. 

"Why?" he reiterated. "Answer me! Answer me!"

She did not answer him. She could not. And in the silence thatfollowed, it seemed to her that something within her--somethingthat had been Vitally wounded--struggled and died. 

"Look at me!" he said. 

She lifted an ashen face. His eyes held hers, and the torture ofhis hell encompassed her also. 

"Tell me the truth!" he said. "I shall know if you lie. When didyou see him last?"

She shook her head. "A long while ago. Ages ago. Before you leftthe farm. "

The memory of his going, his touch, his smile went through her withthe words. She had a sickening sensation as of having been struckover the heart. 

"Where did you spend last night?" he said. 

"At Ritzen. " Her white lips seemed to speak mechanically. Sheherself stood apart as it were, stunned beyond feeling. 

"You came here by rail---alone?"

The voice of the inquisitor pierced her numbed sensibilities, compelling--almost dictating--her answer. 

"Yes--alone. "

"You had arranged to meet here then?"

Still the scourging continued, and she marvelled at herself, thatshe felt so little. But feeling was coming back. She was waitingfor it, dreading it. 

She answered without conscious effort. "No--I came after him. Hedoesn't know I am here. "

"And yet you are posing as his wife?"

She felt that. It cut through her apathy irresistibly. A sharptremor went through her. "That, " she said rather breathlessly, "was a mistake. "

"It was. " said Burke. "The greatest mistake of your life. It is apity you took the trouble to lie to me. The truth would haveserved you better. " He turned from her contemptuously with thewords, setting her free. 

For a moment the relief of his going was such that the intentionthat lay behind it did not so much as occur to her. Then suddenlyit flashed upon her. He was going in search of Guy. 

In an instant her passivity was gone. The necessity for actiondrove her forward. With a cry she sprang to the door before him, and set herself against it. She could not let him go with thatlook of the murderer in his eyes. 

"Burke!" she gasped. "Burke! What--are you going to do?"

His lips parted a little, and she saw his teeth. "You shall hearwhat I have done--afterwards, " he said. "Let me pass!"

But she barred his way. Her numbed senses were all awake now andquivering. The very fact of physical effort seemed to haverestored to her the power to suffer. She stood before him, herbosom heaving with great sobs that brought no tears or relief ofany sort to the anguish that tore her. 

"You--you can't pass, " she said. "Not--not--like this! Burke, listen! I swear to you--I swear----"

"You needn't, " he broke in. "A woman's oath, when it is her lastresource, is quite valueless. I will deal with you afterwards. Let me pass!"

The command was curt as a blow. But still she withstood him, striving to still her agitation, striving with all her desperatecourage to face him and endure. 

"I will not!" she said, and with the words she stood up to herfull, slim height, thwarting him, making her last stand. 

His expression changed as he realized her defiance. She waspanting still, but there was no sign of yielding in her attitude. She was girt for resistance to the utmost. 

There fell an awful pause--a silence which only her rapid breathingdisturbed. Her eyes were fixed on his. She must have seen thechange, but she dared it unflinching. There was no turning backfor her now. 

The man spoke at last, and his voice was absolutely quiet, deadlevel. "You had better let me go, " he said. 

She made a sharp movement, for there was that in the steel-coldvoice that sent terror to her heart. Was this Burke--the man uponwhose goodness she had leaned ever since she had come to this landof strangers? Surely she had never met him before that moment!

"Open that door!" he said. 

A great tremor went through her. She turned, the instinct to obeyurging her. But in the same instant the thought of Guy--Guy inmortal danger--flashed across her. She paused for a second, makinga supreme effort, while every impulse fought in mad tumult withinher, crying to her to yield. Then, with a lightning twist of thehand she turned the key and pulled it from the lock. For aninstant she held it in her hand, then with a half-strangled soundshe thrust it deep into her bosom. 

Her eyes shone like flames in her white face as she turned back tohim. "Perhaps you will believe me--now!" she said. 

He took a single step forward and caught, her by the wrists. "Woman!" he said. "Do you know what you are doing?"

The passion that blazed in his look appalled her. Yet some strangeforce within her awoke as it were in answer to her need. She flungfear aside. She had done the only thing possible, and she wouldnot look back. 

"You must believe me--now!" she panted. "You do believe me!"

His hold became a grip, merciless, fierce, tightening upon her likea dosing trap. "Why should I believe you?" he said, and there wasthat in his voice that was harder to bear than his look. "Have Iany special reason for believing you? Have you ever given me one?"

"You know me, " she said, with a sinking heart. 

He uttered a scoffing sound too bitter to be called a laugh. "Do Iknow you? Have I ever been as near to you as this devil who hasmade himself notorious with Kaffir women for as long as he has beenout here?"

She flinched momentarily from the stark cruelty of his words. Butshe faced him still, faced him though every instinct of herwomanhood shrank with a dread unspeakable. 

"You know me, " she said again. "You may not know me very well, butyou know me well enough for that. "

It was bravely spoken, but as she ceased to speak she felt herstrength begin to fail her. Her throat worked spasmodically, convulsively, and a terrible tremor went through her. She saw himas through a haze that blotted out all beside. 

There fell a silence between them--a dreadful, interminable silencethat seemed to stretch into eternities. And through it verystrangely she heard the wild beating of her own heart, like thehoofs of a galloping horse, that seemed to die away. . . . 

She did not know whether she fell, or whether he lifted her, butwhen the blinding mist cleared away again, she was lying in thewicker-chair by the window, and he was walking up and down the roomwith the ceaseless motion of a prowling animal. She sat up slowlyand looked at him. She was shivering all over, as if stricken withcold. 

At her movement he came and stood before her, but he did not speak. He seemed to be watching her. Or was he waiting for something?

She could not tell; neither, as he stood there, could she look upat him to see. Only, after a moment, she leaned forward. Shefound and held his hand. 

"Burke!" she said. 

His fingers closed as if they would crush her own. He did notutter a word. 

She waited for a space, gathering her strength. Then, speakingalmost under her breath, she went on. "I have--something to say toyou. Please will you listen--till I have finished?"

"Go on!" he said. 

Her head was bent. She went on tremulously. "You are quiteright--when you say--that you don't know me--that I have given youno reason--no good reason--to believe in me. I have taken--a greatdeal from you. And I have given--nothing in return. I see thatnow. That is why you distrust me. I--have only myself to thank. "

She paused a moment, but he waited in absolute silence, neitherhelping nor hindering. 

With a painful effort she continued. "People makemistaken--sometimes--without knowing it. It comes to themafterwards--perhaps too late. But--it isn't too late with me, Burke. I am your partner--your wife. And--I never meantto--defraud you. All I have--is yours. I--am yours. "

She stopped. Her head was bowed against his hand. That dreadfulsobbing threatened to overwhelm her again, but she fought it down. She waited quivering for his answer. 

But for many seconds Burke neither moved nor spoke. The grasp ofhis hand was vicelike in its rigidity. She had no key whatever towhat was passing in his mind. 

Not till she had mastered herself and was sitting in absolutestillness, did he stir. Then, very quietly, with a decision thatbrooked no resistance, he took her by the chin with his free handand turned her face up to his own. He looked deep into her eyes. His own were no longer ablaze, but a fitful light came and went inthem like the flare of a torch in the desert wind. 

"So, " he said, and his voice was curiously unsteady also; itvibrated as if he were not wholly sure of himself, "you have madeyour choice--and counted the cost?"

"Yes, " she said. 

He looked with greater intentness into her eyes, searching withoutmercy, as if he would force his way to her very soul. "And forwhose sake this--sacrifice?" he said. 

She shrank a little; for there was something intolerable in hiswords. Had she really counted the cost? Her eyelids flutteredunder that unsparing look, fluttered and sank. "You willknow--some day, " she whispered. 

"Ah! Some day!" he said. 

Again his voice vibrated. It was as if some door that led to hisinnermost being had opened suddenly, releasing a savage, primitiveforce which till then he had held restrained. 

And in that moment it came to her that the thing she valued most inlife had been rudely torn from her. She saw that new, mostprecious gift of hers that had sprung to life in the wilderness andwhich she had striven so desperately to shield from harm--that holything which had become dearer to her than life itself--desecrated, broken, and lying in the dust. And it was Burke who had flung itthere, Burke who now ruthlessly trampled it underfoot. 

Her throat worked again painfully for a moment or two; and thenwith a great effort of the will she stilled it. This thing wasbeyond tears--a cataclysm wrecking the whole structure ofexistence. Neither tears nor laughter could ever be hers again. In silence she took the cup of bitterness, and drank it to thedregs. 

PART IV

CHAPTER I

SAND OF THE DESERT

Donovan Kelly was out of temper. There was no denying it, thoughwith him such a frame of mind was phenomenal. He leaned moodilyagainst the door-post at the hotel-entrance, smoking a short pipeof very strong tobacco, and speaking to no one. He had been therefor some time, and the girl in the office was watching him witheyes round with curiosity. For he had not even said "Good morning"to her. She wanted to accost him, but somehow the hunch of hisshoulders was too discouraging even for her. So she contentedherself with waiting developments. 

There were plenty of men coming and going, but though several ofthem gave him greeting as they passed, Kelly responded to none. Heseemed to be wrapped in a gloomy fog of meditation that cut him offcompletely from the outside world. He was alone with himself, andin that state he obviously intended to remain. 

But the girl in the office had her own shrewd suspicions as to thereason of his waiting there, suspicions which after the lapse ofnearly half an hour she triumphantly saw verified. For presentlythrough the shifting, ever-changing crowd a square-shouldered manmade his appearance, and without a glance to right or left wentstraight to the big Irishman lounging in the doorway, and took himby the shoulder. 

Kelly started round with an instant smile of welcome. "Ah, and isit yourself at last? I've been waiting a devil of a time for ye, my son. Is all well?"

The girl in the office did not hear Burke's reply though she cranedfar forward to do so. She only saw his shoulders go up slightly, and the next moment the two men turned and entered the publicdining-room together. 

Kelly's ill-temper had gone like an early morning fog. He led theway to a table reserved in a corner, and they sat down. 

"I was half afraid ye wouldn't have anything but a kick for Donovanthis morning, " he said, with a somewhat rueful smile. 

Burke's own brief smile showed for a moment. "I shouldn't start onyou anyway, " he said. "You found young Guy?"

Kelly made an expressive gesture. "Oh yes, I found him, him andhis master too. At Hoffstein's of course. Kieff was holding oneof his opium shows, the damn' dirty skunk. I couldn't get the boyaway, but I satisfied myself that he was innocent of this. Henever engaged a room here or had any intention of coming here. What Kieff's intentions were I didn't enquire. But he had got thedevil's own grip on Guy last night, He could have made himdo--anything. " Kelly ended with a few strong expressions whichleft no doubt as to the opinion he entertained of Kieff and all hisworks. 

Burke ate his breakfast in an absorbed silence. Finally he lookedup to enquire, "Have you any idea what has become of Guy thismorning?"

Kelly shook his head. "Not the shadow of a notion. I shall lookfor him presently on the racecourse. He seems to have found somemoney to play with, for he told me he had taken two tickets for thediamond draw, one for himself and one for another. But he was justmad last night. The very devil had got into him. What will I dowith him if I get him?"

Burke's eyes met his for a moment. "You can do--anything you likewith him, " he said. 

"Ah, but he saved your life, Burke, " said the Irishman pleadingly. "It's only three days ago. "

"I know what he did, " said Burke briefly, both before and afterthat episode. "He may think himself lucky that I have no furtheruse for him. "

"But aren't you satisfied, Burke?" Kelly leaned forwardimpulsively. "I've told you the truth. Aren't you satisfied?"

Burke's face was grim as if hewn out of rock. "Not yet, " he said. "You've told me the truth--what you know of it. But there's moreto it. I've got to know--everything before I'm satisfied. "

"Ah, but sure!" protested Kelly. "Women are very queer, you know. Ye can't tell what moves a woman. Often as not, it's somethingquite different from what you'd think. "

Burke was silent, continuing his breakfast. 

Kelly looked at him with eyes of pathetic persuasion. "I've beenlambastin' meself all night, " he burst forth suddenly, "for everbringing ye out on such a chase. It was foul work. I see it now. She'd have come back to ye, Burke lad. She didn't mean any harm. Sure, she's as pure as the stars. "

Burke's grey eyes, keen as the morning light, looked suddenlystraight at him. Almost under his breath, Burke spoke. "Don'ttell me--that!" he said. "Just keep Guy out of my way! That'sall. "

Kelly sighed aloud. "And Guy'll go to perdition faster than if thedevil had kicked him. He's on his way already. "

"Let him go!" said Burke. 

It was his last word on the subject. Having spoken it, he gave hisattention to the meal before him, and concluded it with adeliberate disregard for Kelly's depressed countenance that anonlooker might have found somewhat brutal. 

"What are you going to do?" asked Kelly meekly, as at length hepushed back his chair. 

Burke's eyes came to him again. He smiled faintly at the woebegonevisage before him. "Cheer up, Donovan!" he said. "You're allright. You've had a beastly job, but you've done it decently. I'mgoing back to my wife now. She breakfasted upstairs. We shallprobably make tracks this evening. "

"Ah!" groaned Kelly. "Your wife'll never speak to me again afterthis. And I thinking her the most charming woman in the world!"

Burke turned to go, "Don't fret yourself on that account!" he said. "My wife will treat my friends exactly as she would treat her own. "

He spoke with a confidence that aroused Kelly's admiration. "Sure, you know how to manage a woman, don't ye, Burke, me lad?" he said. 

He watched the broad figure till it was out of sight, then got upand went out into the hot sunshine, intent upon another quest. 

Burke went on steadily up the stairs till he reached the top storywhere he met a servant carrying a breakfast-tray with the mealpractically untouched upon it. With a brief word Burke took thetray himself, and went on with the same air of absolute purpose tothe door at the end of the passage. 

Here, just for a moment he paused, standing in semi-darkness, listening. Then he knocked. Sylvia's voice answered him, and heentered. 

She was dressed and standing by the window. "Oh, please, Burke!"she said quickly, at sight of what he carried. "I can't eatanything more. "

He set down the tray and looked at her. "Why did you get up?" hesaid. 

Her face was flushed. There was unrest in every line of her. "Ihad to get up, " she said feverishly. "I can't rest here. It is sonoisy. I want to get out of this horrible place. I can't breathehere. Besides--besides----"

"Sit down!" said Burke. 

"Oh, don't make me eat anything!" she pleaded. "I really can't. Iam sorry, but really----"

"Sit down!" he said again, and laid a steady hand upon her. 

She yielded with obvious reluctance, avoiding his eyes. "I amquite all right, " she said. "Don't bully me, partner!"

Her voice quivered suddenly, and she put her hand to her throat. Burke was pouring milk into a cap. She watched him, fighting withherself. 

"Now, " he said, "you can drink this anyway. It's what you'reneeding. " He gave her the cup, and she took it from him without aword. He turned away, and stood at the window, waiting. 

At the end of a full minute, he spoke. "Has it gone?"

"Yes, " she said. 

He turned back and looked at her. She met his eyes with an effort. 

"I am quite all right, " she said again. 

"Ready to start back?" he said. 

She leaned forward in her chair, her hands clasped very tightly infront of her. "To-day?" she said in a low voice. 

"I thought you wanted to get away, " said Burke. 

"Yes--yes, I do. " Her eyes suddenly fell before his. "I do, " shesaid again. "But--but--I've got--something--to ask of you--first. "

"Well?" said Burke. 

Her breath came quickly; her fingers were straining against eachother. "I--don't quite know--how to say it, " she said. 

Burke stood quite motionless, looking down at her. "Must it besaid?" he asked. 

"Yes. " She sat for a moment or two, mustering her strength. Then, with an abrupt effort, she got up and faced him. "Burke, I think Ihave a right to your trust, " she said. 

He looked straight back at her with piercing, relentless eyes. "Ifwe are going to talk of rights, " he said, "I might claim a right toyour confidence. "

She drew back a little, involuntarily, but the next moment, quickly, she went to him and clasped his arm between her hands. "Please be generous, partner!" she said. "We won't talk of rights, either of us. You--are not--angry with me now, are you?"

He stiffened somewhat at her touch, but he did not repulse her. "I'm afraid you won't find me in a very yielding mood, " he said. 

She held his arm a little more tightly, albeit her hands weretrembling. "Won't you listen to me?" she said, in a voice thatquivered. "Is there--no possibility of--of--coming to anunderstanding?"

He drew a slow hard breath. "We have a very long way to go first, "he said. 

"I know, " she answered, and her voice was quick with pain. "Iknow. But--we can't go on--like this. It--just isn't bearable. If--even if you can't understand me--Burke, won't you--won't youtry at least to give me--the benefit of the doubt?"

It was very winningly spoken, but as she spoke she leaned her headsuddenly against the arm she held and stifled a sob. "For both oursakes!" she whispered. 

But Burke stood, rigid as rock, staring straight before him intothe glaring sunlight. She did not know what was passing in hismind; that was the trouble of it. But she felt his grim resistancelike a wall of granite, blocking her way. And the brave heart ofher sank in spite of all her courage. 

He moved at last, but it was a movement of constraint. He laid hisfree hand on her shoulder. "Crying won't help, " he said. "I thinkwe had better be getting back. "

And then, for the sake of the old love, she made her supremeeffort. She lifted her face; it was white to the lips, but it boreno sign of tears. "I can't go, " she said, "till--I have seen Guy. "

He made a sharp gesture. "Ah!" he said. "I thought that wascoming. "

"Yes, you knew it! You knew it!" Passionately she uttered thewords. "It's the one thing that's got to be settled betweenus--the only thing left that counts. Yes, you mean to refuse. Iknow that. But--before you refuse--wait, please wait! I am askingit quite as much for your sake as for mine. "

"And for his, " said Burke, with a twist of the lips more bitterthan the words. 

But she caught them up unflinching. "Yes, and for his. We've setout to save him, you and I. And--we are not going to turn back. Burke, I ask you to help me--I implore you to help me--in thisthing. You didn't refuse before. "

"I wish to Heaven I had!" he said, "I might have known how it wouldend!"

"No--no! And you owe him your life too. Don't forget that! Hesaved you. Are you going to let him sink--after that?" She reachedup and held him by the shoulders, imploring him with all her soul. "You can't do it! Oh, you can't do it!" she said. "It isn't--you. "

He looked at her with a certain doggedness. "Not your conceptionof me perhaps, " he said, and suddenly his arms closed about herquivering form. "But--am I--the sort of man you have always takenme to be? Tell me! Am I?"

She turned her face aside, hiding it against his shoulder. "Iknow--what you can be, " she said faintly. 

"Yes. " Grimly he answered her. "You've seen the ugly side of meat last, and it's that that you are up against now. " He paused amoment, then very sombrely he ended. "I might force you to tell methe whole truth of this business, but I shall not--simply because Idon't want to hear it now. I know very well he's been making loveto you, tempting you. But I am going to put the infernal matteraway, and forget it--as far as possible. We may never reach thetop of the world now, but we'll get out of this vile slough at anycost. You won't find me hard to live with if you only play thegame, --and put that damned scoundrel out of your mind for good. "

"And do you think I shall ever be able to forgive you?" She liftedher head with an unexpectedness that was almost startling. Hereyes were alight, burning with a ruddy fire out of the whiteness ofher face. She spoke as she had never spoken before. It was as ifsome strange force had entered into and possessed her. "Do youthink I shall ever forget--even if you do? Perhaps I am not enoughto you now to count in that way. You think--perhaps--that a slaveis all you want, and that partnership, comradeship, friendship, doesn't count. You are willing to sacrifice all that now, and tosacrifice him with it. But how will it be--afterwards? Will aslave be any comfort to you when things go wrong--as they surelywill? Will it satisfy you to feel that my body is yours when mysoul is so utterly out of sympathy, out of touch, that I shall bein spirit a complete stranger to you? Ah yes, " her voice rang on adeep note of conviction that could not be restrained--"you thinkyou won't care. But you will--you will. A time will come when youwill feel you would gladly give everything you possess to undo whatyou are doing to-day. You will be sick at heart, lonely, disillusioned, suspicious of me and of everybody. You will see thehorrible emptiness of it all, and you will yearn for better things. But it will be too late then. What once we fling away never comesagain to us. We shall be too far apart by that time, toohopelessly estranged, ever to be more to each other than what weare at this moment--master and slave. Through all our lives weshall never be more than that. "

She ceased to speak, and the fire went out of her eyes. Shedrooped in his hold as if all her strength had gone from her. 

He turned and put her steadily down into the chair again. He hadheard her out without a sign of emotion, and he betrayed none then. He did not speak a word. But his silence said more to her thanspeech. It was as the beginning of a silence which was to lastbetween them for as long as they lived. 

She sank back exhausted with closed eyes. The struggle--that long, fierce battle for Guy's soul--was over. And she had failed. Herprayers had been in vain. All her desperate effort had beenfruitless, and nothing seemed to matter any more. She told herselfthat she would never be able to pray again. Her faith had died inthe mortal combat. And there was nothing left to pray for. Shewas tired to the very soul of her, tired unto death; but she knewshe would not die. For death was rest, and there could be no restfor her until the days of her slavery were accomplished. The sandof the desert would henceforth be her portion. The taste of it wasin her mouth. The desolation of it encompassed her spirit. 

Two scalding tears forced their way through her closed lids and randown her white cheeks. She did not stir to wipe them away. Shehoped he did not see them. They were the only tears she shed. 

CHAPTER II

THE SKELETON TREE

"Ah, Mrs. Burke, and is it yourself that I see again? Sure, andit's a very great pleasure!" Kelly, his face crimson withembarrassment and good-will, took the hand Sylvia offered and heldit hard. "A very great pleasure!" he reiterated impressively, before he let it go. 

She smiled at him as one smiles at a shy child. "Thank you, Mr. Kelly, " she said. 

"Ah, but you'll call me Donovan, " he said persuasively, "the sameas everyone else! So you've come to Brennerstadt after all! Andis it the diamond ye're after?"

She shook her head. They were standing on a balcony that led outof the public smoking-room, an awning over their heads and the openstreet at their feet. It was from the street that he had spiedher, and the sight of her piteous, white face with its deeplyshadowed eyes had gone straight to his impulsive Irish heart. "No, " she said. "We are not bothering about the diamond. I thinkwe shall probably start back to Ritzen to-night. "

"Ah now, ye might stay one day longer and try your luck, " wheedledthe Irishman. "The Fates would be sure to favour ye. Where'shimself?"

"I don't know. " She spoke very wearily. "He left me here to rest. But it's so dusty--and airless--and noisy. "

Kelly gave her a swift, keen look. "Come for a ride!" he said. 

"A ride!" She raised her heavy eyes with a momentary eagerness, butit was gone instantly. "He--might not like me to go, " she said. "Besides, I haven't a horse. "

"That's soon remedied, " said Kelly. "I've got a lamb of a horse tocarry ye. And he wouldn't care what ye did in my company. Heknows me. Leave him a note and come along! He'll understand. It's a good gallop that ye're wanting. Come along and get it!"

Kelly could be quite irresistible when he chose, and he hadevidently made up his mind to comfort the girl's forlornness so faras in him lay. She yielded to him with the air of being tooindifferent to do otherwise. But Kelly had seen that moment'seagerness, and he built on that. 

A quarter of an hour later they met again in the sweltering street, and he complimented her in true Irish fashion upon the rose-flushin her cheeks. He saw that she looked about uneasily as shemounted, but with unusual tact he omitted to comment upon the fact. 

The sun was slanting towards the west as they rode away. Thestreets were crowded, but Kelly knew all the short cuts, and guidedher unerringly till they reached the edge of the open _veldt_. 

Then, "Come along!" he cried. "Let's gallop!"

The sand flew out behind them, the parched air rushed by, and theblood quickened in Sylvia's veins. She felt as if she had left anoverwhelming burden behind her in the town. The great open spacesdrew her with their freedom and their vastness. She went with theflight of a bird. It was like the awakening from a dreadful dream. 

They drew rein in the shadow of a tall _kopje_ that rose abruptlyfrom the plain like a guardian of the solitudes. Kelly waslaughing with a boy's hearty merriment. 

"Faith, but ye can ride!" he cried, with keen appreciation, "Neversaw a prettier spectacle in me life. Was it born in the saddle yewere?"

She laughed in answer, but her heart gave a quick throb of pain. It was the first real twinge of homesickness she had known, and fora moment it was almost intolerable. Ah, the fresh-turned earth andthe shining furrows, and the sweet spring rain in her face! Andthe sun of the early morning that shone through a scud of clouds!

"My father and I used to ride to hounds, " she said. "We loved it. "

"I've done it meself in the old country, " said Kelly. "But ye canride farther here. There's more room before ye reach the horizon. "

Sylvia stifled a quick sigh. "Yes, it's a fine country. At leastit ought to be. Yet I sometimes feel as if there is somethinglacking. I don't know quite what it is, but it's the quality thatmakes one feel at home. "

"That'll come, " said Kelly, with confidence. "You wait till thespring! That gets into your veins like wine. Ye'll feel the magicof it then. It's life itself. "

Sylvia turned her face up to the brazen sky. "I must wait for thespring then, " she said, half to herself. And then very suddenlyshe became aware of the kindly curiosity of her companion's surveyand met it with a slight heightening of colour. 

There was a brief silence before, in a low voice, she said, "Wecan't--all of us--afford to wait. "

"You can, " said Kelly promptly. 

She shook her head. "I don't think by the time the spring comesthat there will be much left worth having. "

"Ah, but ye don't know, " said Kelly. "You say that because youcan't see all the flowers that are hiding down below. But youmight as well believe in 'em all the same, for they're there allright, and they'll come up quick enough when God gives the word. "

Sylvia looked around her over the barren land. "Are there flowershere?" she said. 

"Millions, " said Kelly. "Millions and millions. Why, if you wereto come along here in a few weeks' time ye'd be trampling themunderfoot they'd be so thick, such flowers as only grow here, onthe top of the world. "

"The top of the world!" She looked at him as if startled. "Is thatwhat you call--this place?"

He laughed. "Ye don't believe me! Well, wait--wait and see!"

She turned her horse's head, and began to walk round the _kopje_. Kelly kept pace beside her. He was not quite so talkative asusual, but it was with obvious effort that he restrained himself, for several times words sprang to his eager lips which he swallowedunuttered. He seemed determined that the next choice of a subjectshould be hers. 

And after a few moments he was rewarded. Sylvia spoke. 

"Mr. Kelly!"

"Sure, at your service--now and always!" he responded with a warmththat no amount of self-restraint could conceal. 

She turned towards him. "You have been very kind to me, and Iwant--I should like--to tell you something. But it's somethingvery, very private. Will you--will you promise me----"

"Sure and I will!" vowed the Irishman instantly. "I'll swear thesolemn oath if it'll make ye any happier. "

"No, you needn't do that. " She held out her hand to him with agesture that was girlishly impulsive. "I know I can trust you. And I feel you will understand. It's about--Guy. "

"Ah, there now! Didn't I know it?" said Kelly. He held her handtight for a moment, looking into her eyes, his own brimful ofsympathy. 

"Yes. You know--all about him. " She spoke with some hesitationnotwithstanding. "You know---just as I do--that he isn't--isn'treally bad; only--only so hopelessly weak. "

There was a little quiver in her voice as she said the words. Shelooked at him with appeal in her eyes. 

"I know, " said Kelly. 

With a slight effort she went on. "He--Burke--thinks otherwise. And because of that, he won't let me see Guy again. He is veryangry with me--I doubt if he will ever really forgive me--forfollowing Guy to this place. But, --Mr. Kelly, --I had a reason--anurgent reason for doing this. I hoped to be back again before hefound out; but everything was against me. "

"Ah! Didn't I know it?" said Kelly. "It's the way of the world inan emergency. Nothing ever goes right of itself. "

She smiled rather wanly. "Life can be--rather cruel, " she said. "Something is working against me. I can feel it. I have forfeitedall Burke's respect and his confidence at a stroke. He will nevertrust me again. And Guy--Guy will simply go under. "

"No--no!" said Kelly. "Don't you believe it! He'll come round andlead a decent life after this; you'll see. There's nothingwhatever to worry about over Guy. No real vice in him!"

It was a kindly lie, stoutly spoken; but it failed to convince. Sylvia shook her head even while, he was speaking. 

"You don't know all yet. I haven't told you. But I will tellyou--if you will listen. Once when Burke and I were talking ofGuy--it was almost the first time--he said that he had done almosteverything bad except one thing. He had never robbed him. Andsomehow I felt that so long as there was that one great exceptionhe would not regard him as utterly beyond redemption. But now--butnow--" her voice quivered again--"well, even that can't be said ofhim now, " she said. 

"What? He has taken money?" Kelly looked at her in swift dismay. "Ye don't mean that!" he said. And then quickly: "Are ye sure nowit wasn't Kieff?"

"Yes. " She spoke with dreary conviction. "I am fairly sureKieff's at the back of it, but--it was Guy who did it, thanks to mycarelessness. "

"Yours!" Kelly's eyes bulged. "Ye don't mean that!" he said again. 

"Yes, it's true. " Drearily she answered him. "Burke left the keyof the strong-box in my keeping on the day of the sand-storm. Idropped it in the dark. I was hunting for it when you came. Then--I forgot it. Afterwards, you remember, Burke and Guy came intogether. He must have found it--somehow--then. "

"He did!" said Kelly suddenly. "Faith, he did! Ye remember whenhe had that attack? He picked up something then--on the flooragainst his foot. I saw him do it, the fool that I am! He'd gotit in his hand when we helped him up, and I never noticed, --neverthought. The artful young devil!"

A hint of admiration sounded in his voice. Kelly the simple-mindedhad ever been an admirer of art. 

Sylvia went on very wearily. "The box was kept in a cupboard inthe room he was sleeping in. The rest was quite easy. He left thekey behind him in the lock. I found it after you and Burke hadgone to the Merstons'. I guessed what had happened of course. Iwent round to his hut, but it was all fastened up as usual. Then Iwent to Piet Vreiboom's. " She shuddered suddenly. "I saw Kieff aswell as Vreiboom. They seemed hugely amused at my appearance, andtold me Guy was just ahead on the way to Brennerstadt. It was toolate to ride the whole way, so I went to Ritzen, hoping to find himthere. But I could get no news of him, so I came on by train inthe morning. I ought to have got here long ago, but the enginebroke down. We were held up for hours, and so I arrived--too late. "

The utter dreariness of her speech went straight to Kelly's heart. "Ah, there now--there now!" he said. "If I'd only known I'd havefollowed and helped ye that night. "

"You see, I didn't know you were coming back, " she said. "Andanyhow I couldn't have waited. I had to start at once. It was--myjob. " She smiled faintly, a smile that was sadder than tears. 

"And do ye know what happened?" said Kelly. "Did Burke tell yewhat happened?"

She shook her head. "No. He told me very little. I suppose heconcluded that we had run away together. "

"Ah no! That wasn't his doing, " said Kelly, paused a moment, thenplunged valiantly at the truth. "That was mine. I thought someself--foul swine as ye may very well call me. Kieff told meso--the liar; and I--like a blasted fool--believed it. At least, no, I didn't right at the heart of me, Mrs. Ranger. I knew what yewere, just the same as I know now. But I'd seen ye look into hiseyes when ye begged him off the brandy-bottle, and I knew thefriendship between ye wasn't just the ordinary style of thing; nomore is it. But it was that devil Kieff that threw the mud. Ifound him waiting that night when I got back. He was waiting forBurke, he said; and his story was that he and Vreiboom had seen thepair of ye eloping. I nearly murdered him at the time. Faith, Iwish I had!" ended Kelly pathetically, with tears in his eyes. "Itwould have stopped a deal of mischief both now and hereafter. "

"Never mind!" said Sylvia gently. "You couldn't tell. You hadn'tknown me more than a few hours. "

"It was long enough!" vowed Kelly. "Anyway, Burke ought to haveknown better. He's known you longer than that. "

"He has never known me, " she said quietly. "Of course he believedthe story. "

"He doesn't believe it now, " said Kelly quickly. 

A little quiver went over her face. "Perhaps not. I don't knowwhat he believes, or what he will believe when he finds the moneygone. That is what I want to prevent--if only I can prevent it. It is Guy's only chance. What he did was done wickedly enough, butit was at a time of great excitement, when he was not altogethermaster of himself. But unless it can be undone, he will go rightdown--and never come up again. Oh, don't you see--" a sudden throbsounded in her tired voice--"that if once Burke knows of this, Guy's fate is sealed? There is no one else to help him. Besides, --it wasn't all his own doing. It was Kieff's. And awayfrom Kieff, he is so different. "

"Ah! But how to get him away from Kieff!" said Kelly. "Thefellow's such a damn' blackguard. Once he takes hold, he neverlets go till he's got his victim sucked dry. "

Sylvia shuddered. "Can't you do anything?" she said. 

Kelly looked at her with his honest kindly eyes, "If it were me, Mrs. Ranger, " he said, "I should tell me husband the wholetruth--and--let him deal with it. "

She shook her head instantly. "It would be the end of everythingfor Guy. Even if Burke let him off, he could never come back tous. It would be as bad as sending him to prison--or even worse. "

"Not it!" said Kelly. "You don't trust Burke. It's a pity. He'ssuch a fine chap. But look here, I'll do me best, I'll get hold ofyoung Guy and make him disgorge. How much did the young ruffiantake?"

"I don't know. That's the hopeless part of it. That is why I mustsee him myself. "

Kelly pursed his lips for a moment, but the next he smiled uponher, "All right. I'll manage somehow. But you mustn't goto-night. You tell Burke you're too tired. He'll understand. "

"Do you know where Guy is?" she said. 

"Oh yes, I can put me hand on the young divil if I want him. Youleave that to me! I'll do me best all round. Now--suppose we haveanother trot, and then go back!"

Sylvia turned her horse's head. "I'm--deeply grateful to you, Mr. Kelly, " she said. 

"Donovan!" insinuated Kelly. 

She smiled a little. She seemed almost more piteous to him whenshe smiled. "Donovan, " she said. 

"Ah, that's better!" he declared. "That does me good. To be afriend of both of ye is what I want. Burke and you together!Ye're such a fine pair, and just made for each other, faith, madefor each other. When I saw you, Mrs. Burke, I didn't wonder thathe'd fallen in love at last. I give ye me word, I didn't. AndI'll never forget the look on his face when he thought he'd lostye; never as long as I live. It--it was as if he'd been stabbed tothe heart. "

Tactless, clumsy, sentimental, he sought to pour balm upon thewounded spirit of this girl with her tragic eyes that should haveheld only the glad sunshine of youth. It hurt him to see her thus, hurt him unspeakably, and he knew himself powerless to comfort. Yet with that odd womanly tenderness of his, he did his best. 

He wondered what she was thinking of as she sat her horse, gazingout over the wide spaces, so wearily and yet so intently. She didnot seem to have heard his last remarks, or was that merely theimpression she desired to convey? A vague uneasiness tookpossession of him. He did not like her to look like that. 

"Shall we move on?" he said gently. 

She pointed suddenly across the _veldt_. "I want to ride as far asthat skeleton tree, " she said. "Don't come with me! I shall catchyou up if you ride slowly. "

"Right!" said Kelly, and watched her lift her bridle and ride away. 

He would have done anything to oblige her just then; but hiscuriosity was whetted to a keen edge. For she rode swiftly, as onewho had a definite aim in view. Straight as an arrow across the_veldt_ she went to the skeleton tree with its stripped trunk andstark, outflung arms that seemed the very incarnation of thebarrenness around. 

Here she checked her animal, and sat for a moment with closed eyes, the evening sunlight pouring over her. Very strangely she wastrembling from head to foot, as if in the presence of a vision uponwhich she dared not look. She had returned as she had always meantto return--but ah, the dreary desert spaces and the cruel roughnessof the road! Her husband's words uttered only a few hours beforecame back upon her as she stood there. "We may never reach the topof the world now, " No, they would never reach it. Had anyone everdone so, she wondered drearily? But yet they had been near itonce--nearer than many. Did that count for nothing?

It seemed to her that aeons had passed over her since last she hadstood beneath that tree. She had been a girl then, ardent and fullof courage. Now she was a woman, old and very tired, and there wasnothing left in life. It was almost as if she had ceased to live. 

But yet she had come back to the starting-point, and here, as ifstanding beside a grave and reading the inscription to one longdead, she opened her eyes in the last glow of the sunshine to readthe words which Burke had cut into the bare wood on the evening ofhis wedding-day. She remembered how she had waited for him, thetumult of doubt, of misgiving, in her soul, how she had wished hewould not linger in that desolate place. Now, out of the midst ofa desolation to which this sandy waste was as nothing, she searchedwith almost a feeling of awe as one about to read a message fromthe dead. 

The bare, bleached trunk of the tree shone strangely in the sinkingsun, faintly tinted with rose. The world all around her waschanging; slowly, imperceptibly, changing. A tender lilac glow wascreeping over the _veldt_. A curious sensation came upon Sylvia, as if she were moving in a dream, as if she were stepping into anew world and the old had fallen from her. The bitterness hadlifted from her spirit. Her heart beat faster. She was atreasure-seeker on the verge of a great discovery. Trembling, shelifted her eyes. . . . 

There on the smooth wood, like a scroll upon a marble pillar, werewords, rough-hewn but unmistakable--_Fide et Amore_. . . . 

It was as if a voice had spoken in her soul, a dear, insistentvoice, bidding her begone. She obeyed, scarcely knowing what shedid. Back across the dusty _veldt_ she rode, moving as one in atrance. She joined the Irishman waiting for her, but she looked athim with eyes that saw not. 

"Well?" he said, frankly curious. "Did you find anything?"

She started a little, and came out of her dream. "I found what Iwas looking for, " she said. 

"What was it?" Kelly was keenly interested; there was no checkinghim now, he was like a hound on the scent. 

She did not resent his questions. That was Kelly's privilege. Butneither did she answer him as fully as he could have wished. "Ifound out, " she said slowly, after a moment, "how to get to the topof the world. "

"Ah, really now!" said Kelly, opening his eyes to their widestextent. "And are ye going to pack your bag and go?"

She smiled very faintly, looking, straight before her. "No. It'stoo late now, " she said. "I've missed the way. So has Burke. "

"But ye'll try again--ye'll try again!" urged Kelly, eager as achild for the happy ending of a fairy-tale. 

She shook her head. Her lips were quivering, but still she madethem smile. "Not that way. I am afraid it's barred, " she said, and with the words she touched her horse with her heel and rodequickly forward towards the town. 

Donovan followed her with a rueful countenance. There were timeswhen even he felt discouraged with the world. 

CHAPTER III

THE PUNISHMENT

"Good evening, Mrs. Ranger!"

Sylvia started at the sound of a cool, detached voice as shere-entered the hotel. Two eyes, black as onyx and asexpressionless, looked coldly into hers. A chill shudder ranthrough her. She glanced instinctively back at Kelly, who cameforward instantly in his bulky, protective fashion. 

"Hullo, Kieff! What are you doing here? Gambling for the diamond?"

"I?" said Kieff, with a stretching of his thin, colourless lipsthat was scarcely a smile. "I don't gamble for diamonds, my goodKelly. Well, Mrs. Ranger, I hope you had a pleasant journey here. "

"He gambles for souls, " was the thought in Sylvia's mind, as with aquick effort she controlled herself and passed on in icy silence. She would never voluntarily speak to Kieff again. He was an openenemy; and she turned from him with the same loathing that shewould have shown for a reptile in her path. 

His laugh--that horrible, slippery sound--followed her. He saidsomething in Dutch to the man who lounged beside him, and at onceanother laugh--Piet Vreiboom's--bellowed forth like the blare of abull. She flinched in spite of herself. Every nerve shrank. Yetthe next moment, superbly, she wheeled and faced them. There wassomething intolerable in that laughter, something that stung herbeyond endurance. 

"Tell me, " she commanded Kelly, "tell me whatthese--gentlemen--find about me to laugh at!"

Her face was white as death, but her eyes shone red as leapingflame. She was terrible in that moment--terrible as a lioness atbay--and the laughter died. Piet Vreiboom slunk a little back, hislow brows working uneasily. 

Kelly swallowed an oath in his throat; his hands were clenched. But Kieff, in a voice smooth as oil, made ready, mocking answer. 

"Oh, not at you, madam! Heaven forbid! What could any man find tosmile at in such a model of virtuous propriety as yourself?"

He was baiting her openly, and she knew it. An awful wave of angersurged through her brain, such anger as had never before possessedher. For the moment she felt sick, as if she had drunk of someoverpowering drug. He meant to humiliate her publicly. Sherealized it in a flash. And she was powerless to prevent it. Whether she went or whether she stayed, he would accomplish hisend. Among all the strange faces that stared at her, only Kelly's, worried and perplexed, betrayed the smallest concern upon heraccount. And he, since her unexpected action, had been obviouslyat a loss as to how to deal with the situation or with her. Single-handed, he would have faced the pack; but with her at hisside he was hopelessly hampered, afraid of blundering and makingmatters worse. 

"Ah, come away!" he muttered to her. "It's not the place for ye atall. They're hogs and swine, the lot of 'em. Don't ye be drawn bythe likes of them!"

But she stood her ground, for there was hot blood in Sylvia and afierce pride that would not tamely suffer outrage. Moreover, shehad been wounded cruelly, and the desire for vengeance welled upfuriously within her. Now that she stood in the presence of herenemy, the impulse to strike back, however futile the blow, urgedher and would not be denied. 

She confronted Saul Kieff with tense determination. "You willeither repeat--and explain--what you said to your friend regardingme just now, " she said, in tones that rang fearlessly, echoingthrough the crowded place, "or you will admit yourself acontemptible coward for vilely slandering a woman whom you know tobe defenceless!"

It was regally spoken. She stood splendidly erect, facing him, withering him from head to foot with the scorching fire of herscorn. A murmur of sympathy went through the rough crowd of mengathered before her. One or two cursed Kieff in a growlingundertone. But Kieff himself remained absolutely unmoved. He wassmoking a cigarette and he inhaled several deep breaths before hereplied to her challenge. Then, with his basilisk eyes fixedimmovably upon her, as it were clinging to her, he made his deadlyanswer: "I will certainly tell you what I said, madam, since youdesire it. But the explanation is one which surely only you cangive. I said to my friend, 'There goes the wife of the Rangers. 'Did I make a mistake?"

"Yes, you damned hound, you did!" The voice that uttered the wordscame from the door that led into the office. Burke Ranger swungsuddenly out upon them, moving with a kind of massive force thatcarried purpose in every line. Men drew themselves together as hepassed them with the instinctive impulse to leave his progressunimpeded; for this man would have forced his way past everyobstacle at that moment. He went straight for his objectivewithout a glance to right or left. 

Sylvia started back at his coming. That which her enemy could notdo was accomplished by her husband by neither word nor look. Theregal poise went out of her bearing. She shrank against Kelly asif seeking refuge. For she had seen Burke's eyes, as she had seenthem the night before; and they were glittering with the lust forblood. They were the eyes of a murderer. 

Straight to Kieff he came, and Kieff waited for him, quitemotionless, with thin lips drawn back, showing a snarling gleam ofteeth. But just as Burke reached him he moved. His right arm shotforth with a serpentine ferocity, and in a flash the muzzle of arevolver gleamed between them. 

"Hands up, if you please, Mr. Ranger!" he said smoothly. "We shalltalk better that way. "

But for once in his life he had made a miscalculation, and the nextinstant he realized it. He had reckoned without the blundererKelly. For a fierce oath broke from the Irishman at sight of theweapon, and in the same second he beat it down with the stock ofhis riding-whip with a force that struck it out of Kieff's grasp. It spun along the floor to Sylvia's feet, and she stooped andsnatched it up. 

Burke did not so much as glance round. He had Kieff by the collarof his coat, and the fate of the revolver was obviously a matter ofno importance to him. "Give me that horse-whip of yours, Donovan!"he said, Kelly complied with the childlike obedience he invariably yieldedto Burke. Then he fell back to Sylvia, and very gently took therevolver out of her clenched hand. 

She looked at him, her eyes wide, terror-stricken. "He will killhim!" she said, in a voiceless whisper. 

"Not a bit of it, " said Kelly, and put his arm around her. "Thesepoisonous vermin don't die so easy. Pity they don't. "

And then began the most terrible scene that Sylvia had ever lookedupon. No one intervened between Burke and his victim. There waseven a look of brutal satisfaction upon some of the faces around. Piet Vreiboom openly gloated, as if he were gazing upon a spectacleof rare delight. 

And Burke thrashed Kieff, thrashed him with all the weight of hismanhood's strength, forced him staggering up and down the openspace that had been cleared for that awful reckoning, making apublic show of him, displaying him to every man present as acrawling, contemptible thing that not one of them would have ownedas friend. It was a ghastly chastisement, made deadly by thehatred that backed it. Kieff writhed this way and that, but henever escaped the swinging blows. They followed himmercilessly, --all the more mercilessly for his struggles. His coattore out at the seams and was ripped to rags. And still Burkethrashed him, his face grim and terrible and his eyes shot red andgleaming--as the eyes of a murderer. 

In the end Kieff stumbled and pitched forward upon his knees, hisarms sprawling helplessly out before him. It was characteristic ofthe man that he had not uttered a sound; only as Burke stayed hishand his breathing came with a whistling noise through the tensesilence, as of a wounded animal brought to earth. His face wasgrey. 

Burke held him so for a few seconds, then deliberately dropped thehorse-whip and grasped him with both hands, lifting him. Kieff'shead was sunk forward. He looked as if he would faint. Butinexorably Burke dragged him to his feet and turned him till hestood before Sylvia. 

She was leaning against Kelly with her hands over her face. Relentlessly Burke's voice broke the silence. 

"Now, " he said briefly, "you will apologize to my wife forinsulting her. "

She uncovered her face and raised it. There was shrinking horrorin her look. "Oh, Burke!" she said. "Let him go!"

"You will--apologize, " Burke said again very insistently, withpitiless distinctness. 

There was a dreadful pause. Kieff's breathing was less laboured, but it was painfully uneven and broken. His lips twitchedconvulsively. They seemed to be trying to form words, but no wordscame. 

Burke waited, and several seconds dragged away. Then suddenly fromthe door of the office the girl who had received Sylvia theprevious evening emerged. 

She carried a glass. "Here you are!" she said curtly. "Give himthis!"

There was neither pity nor horror in her look. Her eyes dwelt uponBurke with undisguised admiration. 

"You've given him a good dose this time, " she remarked. "Serve himright--the dirty hound! Hope it'll be a lesson to the rest of'em, " and she shot a glance at Piet Vreiboom which was moreeloquent than words. 

She held the glass to Kieff's lips with a contemptuous air, andwhen he had drunk she emptied the dregs upon the floor and marchedback into the office. 

"Now, " Burke said again, "you will apologize. "

And so at last in a voice so low as to be barely audible, SaulKieff, from whose sneer all women shrank as from the sting of ascorpion, made unreserved apology to the girl he had plotted toruin. At Burke's behest he withdrew the vile calumny he hadlaunched against her, and he expressed his formal regret for themalice that had prompted it. 

When Burke let him go, no one attempted to offer him help. Therewas probably not a man present from whom he would have accepted it. He slunk away like a wounded beast, staggering, but obviouslyintent upon escape, and the gathering shadows of the coming nightreceived him. 

A murmur as of relief ran round the circle of spectators he leftbehind, and in a moment, as it were automatically, the generalattention was turned upon Sylvia. She was still leaning againstKelly, her death-white face fixed and rigid. Her eyes were closed. 

Burke went to her. "Come!" he said. "We will go up. "

Her eyes opened. She looked straight at him, seeing none beside. "Was that how you treated Guy?" she said. 

He laid an imperative hand upon her. "Come!" he said again. 

She made a movement as though to evade him, and then suddenly shefaltered. Her eyes grew wide and dark. She threw out her handswith a groping gesture as if stricken blind, and fell straightforward. 

Burke caught her, held her for a moment; then as she sank in hisarms he lifted her, and bore her away. 

CHAPTER IV

THE EVIL THING

When Sylvia opened her eyes again she was lying in the chair by theopen window where she had waited so long the previous evening. Herfirst impression was that she was alone, and then with a suddenstabbing sense of fear she realized Burke's presence. 

He was standing slightly behind her, so that the air might reachher, but leaning forward, watching her intently. With a gasp shelooked up into his eyes. 

He put his hand instantly upon her, reassuring her. "All right. It's all right, " he said. 

Both tone and touch were absolutely gentle, but she shrank fromhim, shrank and quivered with a nervous repugnance that she waspowerless to control. He took his hand away and turned aside. 

She spoke then, her voice quick and agitated. "Don't go! Pleasedon't go!"

He came and stood in front of her, and she saw that his face wasgrim. "What is the matter?" he said. "Surely you don't object toa serpent like that getting his deserts for once!"

She met his look with an effort. "Oh, it's not that--not that!"she said. 

"What then? You object to me being the executioner?" He spokecurtly, through lips that had a faintly cynical twist. 

She could not answer him; only after a moment she sat up, holdingto the arms of the chair. "Forgive me for being foolish!" shesaid. "I--you gave me--rather a fright, you know. I've never seenyou--like that before. I felt--it was a horrible feeling--as ifyou were a stranger. But--of course--you are you--just the same. You are--really--you. "

She faltered over the words, his look was so stern, so forbidding. She seemed to be trying to convince herself against her ownjudgment. 

His eyes met hers relentlessly. "Yes, I am myself--and no oneelse, " he said. "I fancy you have never quite realized me before. Possibly you have deliberately blinded yourself. But you know menow, and it is as well that you should. It is the only way to anultimate understanding. "

She blenched a little in spite of herself. "And you--andyou--once--thrashed--Guy, " she said, her voice very low, sunkalmost to a whisper. "Was it--was it--was it like--that?"

He turned sharply away as if there were something intolerable inthe question. He went to the window and stood there in silence. And very oddly at that moment the memory of Kelly's assurance wentthrough her that he had been fond of Guy. She did not believe it, yet just for the moment it influenced her. It gave her strength. She got up, and went to his side. 

"Burke, " she said tremulously, "promise me--please promise me--thatyou will never do that again!"

He gave her a brief, piercing glance. "If he keeps out of my way, I shan't run after him, " he said. 

"No--no! But even if he doesn't--" she clasped her hands hardtogether--"Burke, even if he doesn't--and even though he hasdisappointed you--wronged you--oh, have you no pity? Can'tyou--possibly--forgive?"

He turned abruptly and faced her. "Forgive him for making love toyou?" he said. "Is that what you are asking?"

She shivered at the question. "At least you won't--punish him likethat--whatever he has done, " she said. 

He was looking full at her. "You want my promise on that?" he said. 

"Yes, oh yes. " Very earnestly she made reply though his eyes wereas points of steel, keeping her back. "I know you will keep apromise. Please--promise me that!"

"Yes, " he said drily. "I keep my promises. He can testify tothat. So can you. But if I promise you this, you must make me apromise too. "

"What is it?" she said. 

"Simply that you will never have anything more to do with himwithout my knowledge--and consent. " He uttered the words with thesame pitiless distinctness as had characterized his speech whendictating to Kieff. 

She drew sharply. "Oh, but why--why ask such a promise of me whenyou have only just proved your own belief in me?"

"How have I done that?" he said. 

"By taking my part before all those horrible men downstairs. " Shesuppressed a hard shudder. "By--defending my honour. "

Burke's face remained immovable. "I was defending my own, " hesaid. "I should have done that--in any case. "

She made a little hopeless movement with her hands and dropped themto her sides. "Oh, how hard you are!" she said, "How hard--and howcruel!"

He lifted his shoulders slightly, and turned away in silence. Perhaps there was more of forbearance in that silence than sherealized. 

He did not ask her where she had been with Kelly or comment uponthe fact that she had been out at all. Only after a brief pause hetold her that they would not leave till the following day as he hadsome business to attend to. Then to her relief he left her. Atleast he had promised that he would not go in search of Guy!

Later in the evening, a small packet was brought to her which shefound to contain some money in notes wrapped in a slip of paper onwhich was scrawled a few words. 

"I have done my best with young G. , but he is rather out of handfor the present. I enclose the 'loan. ' Just put it back, anddon't worry any more. Yours, D. K. "

She put the packet away with a great relief at her heart. Thatdanger then, had been averted. There yet remained a chance forGuy. He was not--still he was not--quite beyond redemption. Ifonly--ah, if only--she could have gone to Burke with the wholestory! But Burke had become a stranger to her. She had begun towonder if she had ever really known him. His implacabilityfrightened her almost more than his terrible vindictiveness. Shefelt that she could never again turn to him with confidence. 

That silence that lay between them was like an ever-widening gulfsevering them ever more and more completely. She believed thatthey would remain strangers for the rest of their lives. Verycuriously, those three words which she had read upon the treeserved to strengthen this conviction. They were, indeed, to her asa message from the dead. The man who had written them had ceasedto exist. Guy might have written them in the old days, but hislikeness to Guy was no more. She saw them both now with adistinctness that was almost cruel--the utter weakness of the one, the merciless strength of the other. And in the bitterness of hersoul she marvelled that either of them had ever managed to reachher heart. 

That could never be so again, so she told herself. The power tolove had been wrested from her. The object of her love had turnedinto a monstrous demon of jealousy from which now she shrank moreand more--though she might never escape. Yes, she had loved themboth, and still her compassion lingered pitifully around thethought of Guy. But for Burke she had only a shrinking that almostamounted to aversion. He had slain her love. She even believedshe was beginning to hate him. 

She dreaded the prospect of another long day spent at Brennerstadt. It was the day of the diamond draw, too. The place would be aseething tumult. She was so unutterably tired. She thought with aweary longing of Blue Hill Farm. At least she would find a measureof peace there, though healing were denied her. This place hadbecome hateful to her, an inferno of vice and destruction. Sheyearned to leave it. 

Something of this yearning she betrayed on the following morningwhen Burke told her that he was making arrangements to leave by theevening train for Ritzen. 

"Can't we go sooner?" she said. 

He looked at her as if surprised by the question. "There is atrain at midday, " he said. "But it is not a good time fortravelling. "

"Oh, let us take it!" she said feverishly. "Please let us take it!We might get back to the farm by to-night then. "

He had sent his horse back to Ritzen the previous day in the careof a man he knew, so that both their animals would be waiting forthem. 

"Do you want to get back?" said Burke. 

"Oh, yes--yes! Anything is better than this. " She spoke rapidly, almost passionately. "Let us go! Do let us go!"

"Very well, " said Burke. "If you wish it. "

He paused at the door of the office a few minutes later, when theydescended, to tell the girl there that they were leaving at noon. 

She looked up at him sharply as he stood looking in. "Heard thelatest?" she asked. 

"What is the latest?" questioned Burke. 

"That dirty dog you thrashed last night--Kieff; he's dead, " shetold him briefly. "Killed himself with an overdose of opium, diedat Hoffstein's early this morning. " She glanced beyond him atSylvia who stood behind. "And a good job, too, " she saidvindictively. "He's ruined more people in this town than I'd liketo be responsible for--the filthy parasite. He was the curse ofthe place. "

Burke turned with a movement that was very deliberate. He alsolooked at Sylvia. For a long moment they stood so, in the man'seyes a growing hardness, in the woman's a horror undisguised. Then, with a very curious smile, Burke put his hand through hiswife's arm and turned her towards the room where breakfast awaitedthem. 

"Come and have something to eat, partner!" he said, his voice verylevel and emotionless. 

She went with him without a word; but her whole being throbbed andquivered under his touch as if it were torture to her. Stark andhideous, the evil thing reared itself in her path, and there was noturning aside. She saw him, as she had seen him on the night ofher arrival, as she had seen him the night after, as she believedthat she would always see him for the rest of her life. And theeyes that looked into hers--those eyes that had held her, dominatedher, charmed her--were the eyes of a murderer. Go where she would, there could be no escape for her for ever. The evil thing had herenchained. 

CHAPTER V

THE LAND OF BLASTED HOPES

They were still at breakfast when Kelly came dashing in full of thenews of the death of Kieff. No one knew whether it had beenaccidental or intentional, but he spoke--as the girl in the officehad spoken--as if a curse had been lifted from the town. AndSylvia sat at the table and listened, feeling as if her heart hadbeen turned to ice. The man had died by his own hand, but shecould not shake from her the feeling that she and Burke had beenthe cause of his death. 

She saw Kelly for a few minutes alone when the meal was over, andwhispered her thanks to him for what he had done with regard toGuy. He would scarcely listen to her, declaring it had been apleasure to serve her, that it had been the easiest thing in theworld, and that now it was done she must not worry any more. 

"But was it really easy?" she questioned. 

"Yes--yes! He was glad enough of the chance to give it back. Heonly acted on impulse, ye see, and Kieff was pushing behind. He'dnever have done it but for Kieff. Very likely he'll pull round nowand lead a respectable life, " said Kelly cheerily. "He's got thestuff in him, ye know, if he'd only let it grow. "

She smiled wanly at his optimism. "Oh, do beg him to try!" shesaid. 

"I'll do me best, " promised Kelly. "Anyway, don't you worry! It'sa sheer waste of time and never helped anybody yet. "

His cheerful attitude helped her, small as was her hope for Guy'sreformation. Moreover, she knew that Kelly would keep his word. He would certainly do his best for Guy. 

He took his leave of her almost immediately, declaring it was thebusiest day of his life, but assuring her that he would ride overto Blue Hill Farm to see her on the earliest opportunity with thegreatest pleasure in the world. 

She asked him somewhat nervously at parting if the death of Kieffwere likely to hinder their return, but he laughed at the notion. Why, of course not! Burke hadn't killed the man. Such affairs asthe one she had witnessed the night before were by no means unusualin Brennerstadt. Besides, it was a clear case of opium poisoning, and everyone had known that he would die of it sooner or later. Itwas the greatest mercy he had, gone, and so she wasn't to worryabout that! No one would have any regrets for Kieff except thepeople he had ruined. 

And so with wholesome words of reassurance he left her, and shewent to prepare for her journey. 

When Burke joined her again, they spoke only of casual things, avoiding all mention of Guy or Kieff by tacit consent. He was veryconsiderate for her, making every possible provision for hercomfort, but his manner was aloof, almost forbidding. There was nointimacy between them, no confidence, no comradeship. 

They reached Ritzen in the late afternoon. Burke suggestedspending the night there, but she urged him to continue thejourney. The heat of the day was over; there was no reason forlingering. So they found their horses, and started on the longride home. 

They rode side by side along the dusty track through a barren wastethat made the eyes ache. A heavy stillness hung over the land, making the loneliness seem more immense. They scarcely spoke atall, and it came to Sylvia that they were stranger to each othernow than they had been on that day at the very beginning of theiracquaintance when he had first brought her to Blue Hill Farm. Shefelt herself to be even more of an alien in this land of crueldesolation than when first she had set foot in it. It was like avast prison, she thought drearily, while the grim, unfriendly_kopjes_ were the sentinels that guarded her, and the far bluemountains were a granite wall that none might pass. 

The sun was low in the sky when they reached the watercourse. Itwas quite dry with white stones that looked like the skeletons ofthe ages scattered along its bed. 

"Shall we rest for a few minutes?" said Burke. But she shook herhead. "No--no! Not here. It is getting late. "

So they crossed the _spruit_ and went on. 

The sun went down in an opalescent glow of mauve and pink and pearlthat spread far over the _veldt_, and she felt that the beauty ofit was almost more than she could bear. It hid so much that wasterrible and cruel. 

They came at length, when the light was nearly gone, to a branchingtrack that led to the Merstons' farm. 

Burke broke his silence again. "I must go over and see Merston inthe morning. "

She felt the warm colour flood her face. How much had the Merstonsheard? She murmured something in response, but she did not offerto accompany him. 

A deep orange moon came up over the eastern hills and lighted thelast few miles of their journey, casting a strange amber radiancearound them, flinging mysterious shadows about the _kopjes_, shedding an unearthly splendour upon the endless _veldt_. Itspread like an illimitable ocean in soundless billows out of whichweird rocks stood up--a dream-world of fantastic possibilities, butpetrified into stillness by the spell of its solitudes--a worldthat once surely had thrilled with magic and now was dead. 

As they rode past the last _kopje_--her _kopje_ that she had neveryet climbed, they seemed to her to enter the innermost lonelinessof all, to reach the very heart of the desert. 

They arrived at Blue Hill Farm, and the sound of their horses' feetbrought the Kaffirs buzzing from their huts, but the clatter thatthey made did not penetrate that great and desolate silence. Thespell remained untouched. 

Burke went with Joe to superintend the rubbing down and feeding oftheir animals, and Sylvia entered the place alone. Though it wasexactly the same as when she had left it, she felt as if she wereentering a ruin. 

She went to her own room and washed away the dust of the journey. The packet that Kelly had given her she locked away in her own box. Burke might enter at any moment, and she did not dare to attempt toopen the strong-box then. She knew the money must be returned andspeedily; she would not rest until she had returned it. But shecould not risk detection at that moment. Her courage was worn downwith physical fatigue. She lacked the nerve. 

When Burke came in, he found her bringing in a hastily preparedsupper. He took the tray from her and made her sit down while hewaited upon her. Her weariness was too great to hide, and sheyielded without demur, lacking the strength to do otherwise. 

He made her eat and drink though she was almost too tired even forthat, and when the meal was done he would not suffer her to rest ina chair but led her with a certain grim kindliness to the door ofher room. 

"Go to bed, child!" he said. "And stay there till you feel better!"

She obeyed him, feeling that she had no choice, yet still tooanxious to sleep. He brought her a glass of hot milk when she wasin bed, remarking that her supper had been a poor one, and shedrank in feverish haste, yearning to be left alone. Then, when hehad gone, she tormented herself by wondering if he had noticedanything strange in her manner, if he thought that she were goingto be ill and so would perhaps mount guard over her. 

A chafing sense of impotence came upon her. It would be terribleto fail now after all she had undergone. She lay listening, straining every nerve. He would be sure to smoke his pipe on the_stoep_ before turning in. That was the opportunity that she mustseize. She dared not leave it till the morrow. He might ask forthe key of the strong-box at any time. But still she did not hearhim moving beyond the closed door, and she wondered if he couldhave fallen asleep in the sitting-room. A heavy drowsiness wasbeginning to creep over her notwithstanding her uneasiness. Shefought against it with all her strength, but it gained ground inspite of her. Her brain felt clogged with weariness. 

She began to doze, waking with violent starts and listening, drifting back to slumber ever more deeply, till at last actualsleep possessed her, and for a space she lay in complete oblivion. 

It must have been a full hour later that she became suddenlyconscious again, with every faculty on the alert, and rememberedthe task still unfulfilled. It was almost as if a voice--Guy'svoice--had called her, urging her to action. 

The room was full of moonlight, and she could see every object init as clearly as if it had been day. The precious packet was underher pillow with the key of the strong-box. She felt for andgrasped them both almost instinctively before she looked round, andthen, on the verge of raising herself, her newly awakened eyeslighted upon something which sent all the blood in a wild rush toher heart. A man's figure was kneeling motionless at the foot ofthe bed. 

She lay and gazed and gazed, hardly believing her senses, wonderingif the moonlight could have tricked her. He was so still, he mighthave been a figure wrought in marble. His face was hidden on hisarms, but there was that in his attitude that sent a stab of wonderthrough her. Was it--was it Guy kneeling there in an abandonmentof despair? Had he followed her like a wandering outcast now thathis master Kieff was gone? If so, but no--but no! Surely it was adream. Guy was far away. This was but the fantasy of her ownbrain. Guy could never have come to her thus. And yet, was it notGuy's voice that had called her from her sleep?

A great quiver went through her. What if Guy had died in the nightfar away in Brennerstadt? What if this were his spirit come tohold commune with hers. Was she not dearer to him than anyone elsein the world? Would he not surely seek her before he passed on?

Trembling, she raised herself at last and spoke his name. "Guy, isthat you? Dear Guy, speak to me!"

She saw an answering tremor pass through the kneeling figure, butthe face remained hidden. The moonlight lay upon the dark head, and she thought she saw streaks of white upon it. It was Guy inthe flesh then. It could be none other. A yearning tendernessthrilled through her. He had come back--in spite of all hissinning he had come back. And again through the years there cameto her the picture of the boy she had known and loved--ah, howdearly! in the days of his innocence. It was so vivid that for themoment it swept all else aside. Oh, if he would but move and showher once more the sparkling eager face of his youth! She longedwith a passionate intensity for one glimpse, however fleeting, ofthat which once had filled her heart with rapture. And in herlonging she herself was swept back for a few blind seconds into thehappy realms of girlhood. She forgot all the bitterness and thesorrow of this land of strangers. She Stretched out her arms tothe golden-winged Romance that had taught her the ecstasy of firstlove. 

"Oh, Guy--my own Guy--come to me!" she said. 

It moved then, moved suddenly, even convulsively, as a wounded manmight move. He lifted his head, and looked at her. 

Her dream passed like the rending of a veil. His eyes pierced her, but she had to meet them, lacking power to do otherwise. 

So for a space they looked at one another in the moonlight, sayingno word, scarcely so much as breathing. 

Then, at last he got to his feet with the heavy movements of atired man, stood a while longer looking down at her, finally turnedin utter silence and left her. 

When Sylvia slept, many hours later, there came again to her forthe third and last time the awful dream of two horsemen whogalloped towards each other upon the same rocky path. She sawagain the shock of collision and the awful hurtling fall. She wentagain down into the stony valley and searched for the man who sheknew was dead. She found him in a deep place that no other livingbeing had ever entered. He lay with his face upturned to themoonlight, and his eyes wide and glassy gazing upwards. She drewnear, and stooped to close those eyes; but she could not. For theygazed straight into her own. They pierced her soul with the mutereproach of a silence that could never be broken again. 

She turned and went away through a devastating loneliness. Sheknew now which of the two had galloped free and which had fallen, and she went as one without hope or comfort, wandering through thewaste places of the earth. 

Late in the morning she awoke and looked out upon a world ofdreadful sunshine, --a parched and barren world that panted in vainfor the healing of rain. 

"It is a land of blasted hopes, " she told herself drearily. "Everything in it is doomed. "

CHAPTER VI

THE PARTING

Sylvia entered the sitting-room that day with the feeling of onereturning after a prolonged absence. She had been almost too tiredto notice her surroundings the previous night upon arrival. Herlimbs felt leaden still, but her brain was alive and throbbing witha painful intensity. 

Mary Ann informed her that the big _baas_ was out on the lands, andshe received the news thankfully. Now was her chance! She tookit, feeling like a traitor. 

Once more she went to Burke's room. She opened the strong-boxstealthily, listening intently for every sound. She slipped thepacket of notes inside, and shut it again quickly with a queerlittle twist of the heart as she caught sight of the envelopecontaining the cigarette which once he had drawn from between herlips. Then with a start she heard the sound of hoofs outside thewindow, and she knew that Burke had returned. 

She hurried from the room with the key in her hand, meeting him inthe passage. He had his back to the light, but she thought helooked very grim. The past weeks had aged and hardened him. Shewondered if they had wrought a similar change in her. 

He spoke to her at once, before she had time to formulate agreeting. 

"Ah, here you are! Will you come in here? I want to speak to you. "

She went into the sitting-room with a curious feeling offatefulness that outweighed her embarrassment. There was nointimacy in his speech, and that helped her also. She saw that hewould not touch upon that which had happened in the night. 

He gave her a critical look as he entered. "Are you rested? Haveyou had breakfast?"

She answered him nervously. "Yes, I am quite all right to-day. Mary Ann brought me some breakfast in bed. "

He nodded, dismissing the matter. "I have been over to seeMerston. He is on his legs again, practically well. But she isnot feeling up to the mark. She wants to know if you will go over. I told her I thought you would. But don't go if you would rathernot!"

"Of course I will go, " Sylvia said, "if I can do any good. "

And then she looked at him with a sudden curious doubt. Had thissuggestion originated with him. Did he feel, as she felt, that thepresent state of affairs was intolerable? Or was he, for her sakealone, offering her the only sanctuary in his power?

His face told her nothing. She had not the faintest idea as towhether he wished her to go or stay. But he accepted her decisionat once. 

"I will take you over in the cart this evening, " he said. "Ithought you would probably wish to go. They are more or lessexpecting you. "

His tone was practical, wholly free from emotion. But the wonderstill lingered in her mind. She spoke after a moment with slighthesitation. 

"You--will be able to manage all right without me?"

"I shall try, " said Burke. 

There was no perceptible cynicism in his tone, yet she winced alittle, for in some fashion it hurt her. Again she wondered, wouldit be a relief to him when she had gone? Ah, that terrible barrierof silence! If she could but have passed it then! But she lackedthe strength. 

"Very well, " she said, and turned away. "I will be ready. "

His voice arrested her at the door of her room. "May I have thekey of the strong-box?"

She turned back. Her face was burning. He had taken her unawares. 

"I have it here, " she said, and gave it to him with a hand thatshook uncontrollably. 

"Thank you, " he said, and put it in his pocket. "I should take iteasy to-day if I were you. You need a rest. "

And that was all. He went out again into the blazing sunshine, anda little later she heard him talking to Schafen as they crossed theyard to the sheep-pens. 

She saw him again at the midday meal, but he ate in haste andseemed preoccupied, departing again at the earliest momentpossible. Though he did not discuss the matter with her, she knewthat the cruel drought would become a catastrophe if it lasted muchlonger. She prepared for departure with a heavy heart. 

He came in again to tea, but went to his room to change and onlyemerged to swallow a hasty cup before they started. Then, indeed, just at the last, as she rose to dress for the journey, sheattempted shyly to penetrate the armour in which he had cladhimself. 

"Are you sure you want me to go?" she said. 

He turned towards her, and for a moment her heart stood still. "Don't you want to go?" he said. 

She did not answer the question. Somehow she could not. Neithercould she meet the direct gaze of the keen grey eyes upturned tohers. 

"I feel almost as if I am deserting my post, " she told him, with arather piteous smile. 

"Oh, you needn't feel that, " he said quietly. "In any case you cancome back whenever you want to. You won't be far away. "

Not far away! Were they not poles asunder already--theirpartnership dissolved as if it had never been, --theirgood-fellowship--their friendship--crumbled to ashes? Her heartwas beating again quickly, unevenly. She knew that the way wasbarred. 

"Well, send for me if you want me at any time!" she said, andpassed on to her room. 

There was no need and small opportunity for talk during the drive, for Burke had his hands full with a pair of young horses who triedto bolt upon every conceivable occasion that offered, and he had tokeep an iron control upon them throughout the journey. 

So at length they came to the Merstons' farm, and with a minglingof relief and dissatisfaction Sylvia realized that any furtherdiscussion was out of the question. 

Merston came out, full of jovial welcome, to meet them, and in amoment she was glad that she had come. For she saw that he wasgenuinely pleased to see her. 

"It's most awfully good of you to come, " he said, as he helped herdown. "You've been having a strenuous time at Brennerstadt, I'mtold. I wondered if you were going in for Kelly's diamond that hewas so full of the other day. How the fellow did talk to be sure!He's a walking advertisement. I should think he must have filledWilbraham's coffers for him. And you didn't hear who won it?"

It was Burke who answered. "No, we didn't stop for that. Wewanted to get away. "

Merston looked at Sylvia. "And you left young Guy behind? It wasvery sporting of you to go after him like that. Burke told meabout it. I blame myself that he wasn't on the spot to help. Ihope the journey wasn't very infernal?"

He spoke with so kindly an interest that but for Burke's presenceshe would have felt no embarrassment. He evidently thought thatshe had acted with commendable courage. She answered him withoutdifficulty, though she could not restrain a quick flush at hiswords. It was thus then that Burke had defended her honour--andhis own!

"It wasn't a very nice Journey of course, but I managed it allright. Mr. Kelly has promised to look after Guy. "

"He'll do it then, " said Merston reassuringly. "He's a grand chapis Kelly. A bit on the talkative side of course, but a real goodsort. Come in now! Come and see my wife! Burke, get down! Youmust have a drink anyway before you start back. "

But Burke shook his head. "Thanks, old chap! I won't wait. I'vethings to do, and it's getting late. If you can just get my wife'sbaggage out, I'll be off. "

The last of the sunset light shone upon him as he sat there. Looking back at him, Sylvia saw him, brown, muscular, firm as arock, and an odd little thrill went through her. There was aspecies of rugged magnificence about him that moved her strangely. The splendid physique of the man had never shown to fulleradvantage. Perhaps the glory of the sunset intensified theimpression, but he seemed to her great. 

Merston was dragging forth her belongings. She went to help him. Burke kept his seat, the reins taut in his hands. 

Merston abruptly gripped him by the knee. "Look here, old boy!You must have a drink! Wait where you are while I fetch it!"

He was gone with the words, and they were left alone. Sylvia bentover her suit-case, preparing to pick it up. A tumult of strangeemotion had swept over her. She was quivering all over. Thehorses were stamping and chafing at their bits. He spoke to themwith a brief command and they stood still. 

Then, very suddenly, he spoke to her. "Good-bye!" he said. 

She lifted her face. He was smiling faintly, but his smile hurther inexplicably. It seemed to veil something that was tragic fromher eyes. 

He bent towards her. "Good-bye!" he said again. 

She moved swiftly, seized by an impulse she could not pause toquestion. It was as if an unknown force compelled her. Shemounted the wheel, and offered him her lips in farewell. 

For a moment his arms encircled her with a close and quiveringtension. He kissed her, and in that kiss for the first time shefelt the call of the spirit. 

Then she was free, and blindly feeling for the ground. As shereached it, she heard Merston returning, and without a backwardlook she took up her suit-case and turned to enter. There was aburning sensation as of tears in her throat, but she kept them fromher eyes by sheer determination, and Merston noticed nothing. 

"Go straight in!" he said to her with cheery hospitality. "You'llfind my wife inside. She's cooking the supper. She'll be awfullypleased to see you. "

If this were indeed the case, Mrs. Merston certainly concealed anyexcess of pleasure very effectually. She greeted her with aperfunctory smile, and told her it was very good of her to come butshe would soon wish she hadn't. She was looking very worn andtired, but she assured Sylvia somewhat sardonically that she wasnot feeling any worse than usual. The heat and the drought hadbeen very trying, and her husband's accident had given her more todo. She had fainted the evening before, and he had been frightenedfor once and made a fuss--quite unnecessarily. She was quiteherself again, and she hoped Sylvia would not feel she had beensummoned on false pretences. 

Sylvia assured her that she would not, and declared it would do hergood to make herself useful. 

"Aren't you that at home?" said Mrs. Merston. 

"Well, there are plenty of Kaffirs to do the work. I am notabsolutely necessary to Burke's comfort, " Sylvia explained. 

"I thought you were, " Matilda Merston's pale eyes gave her a shrewdglance. "He was keen enough to run after you to Brennerstadt, " sheremarked. "How did you get on there?"

Sylvia hesitated. "We were only there a couple of nights, " shesaid vaguely. 

"So I gathered. Did you find Guy?"

"No. I didn't see him. But Mr. Kelly has promised to look afterhim. "

"Ah, Donovan is a good sort, " said Mrs. Merston. "He'd nursemaidanyone. So Kieff is dead!"

She said it abruptly, too intent upon the mixing of her cake tolook up. 

There came the sound of wheel and hoofs outside, and Sylvia pausedto listen before she replied. 

"Yes. Kieff is dead. "

The sound died away in the distance, and there fell a silence. 

Then, "Killed himself, did he?" asked Mrs. Merston. 

"I was told so, " said Sylvia. 

"Don't you believe it?" Mrs. Merston looked across at her suddenly. "Did someone else have a try first? Did he have a row with Burke?"

There was no evading the questions though she would fain haveavoided the whole subject. In a very low voice Sylvia spoke of theviolent scene she had witnessed. 

Mrs. Merston listened with interest, but with no great surprise. "Burke always was a savage, " she commented. "But after all, Kieffhad tried to kill him a day or two before. Guy prevented that, soDonovan told me. What made Guy go off in such a hurry?"

"I--can't tell you, " Sylvia said. 

Something in her reply struck Mrs. Merston. She became suddenlysilent, and finished her task without another word. 

Later, when she took Sylvia to the guest-room, which was no morethan a corrugated iron lean-to lined with boarding, sheunexpectedly drew the girl to her and kissed her. But still shedid not say a word. 

CHAPTER VII

PIET VREIBOOM

It was a strange friendship that developed between Sylvia andMatilda Merston during the days that followed; for they had littlein common. The elder woman leaned upon the younger, and, perhapsin consequence of this, Sylvia's energy seemed inexhaustible. Sheamazed Bill Merston by her capacity for work. She lifted theburden that had pressed so heavily upon her friend, and manfullymastered every difficulty that arose. She insisted that herhostess should rest for a set time every day, and the effect ofthis unusual relaxation upon Matilda was surprising. Her husbandmarvelled at it, and frankly told her she was like another woman. For, partly from the lessening of the physical strain and partlyfrom the influence of congenial companionship, the carpingdiscontent that had so possessed her of late had begun to give wayto a softer and infinitely more gracious frame of mind. The bondof their womanhood drew the two together, and the intimacy betweenthem nourished in that desert place though probably in no otherground would it have taken root. 

Work was as an anaesthetic to Sylvia in those days. She wasthankful to occupy her mind and at night to sleep from sheerweariness. The sense of being useful to someone helped her also. She gave herself up to work as a respite from the torment ofthought, resolutely refusing to look forward, striving so to becomeabsorbed in the daily task as to crowd out even memory. She andMerston were fast friends also, and his wholesome masculineselfishness did her good. He was like a pleasant, rather spoiltchild, unconventionally affectionate, and by no means difficult tomanage. They called each other by their Christian names before shehad been twenty-four hours at the farm, and chaffed each other withcheery inconsequence whenever they met. Sylvia sometimes marvelledat herself for that surface lightheartedness, but somehow it seemedto be in the atmosphere. Bill Merston's hearty laugh wasirresistible to all but his wife. 

It was but a brief respite. She knew it could not last, but itsvery transience made her the more ready 10 take advantage of it. And she was thankful for every day that carried her farther fromthat terrible time at Brennerstadt. It had begun to seem more likean evil dream to her now--a nightmare happening that never couldhave taken place in ordinary, normal existence. 

Burke did not come over to see them again, nor did he write. Evidently he was too busy to do either. But one evening Merstonannounced his intention of riding over to Blue Hill Farm, and askedSylvia if she would like to send a note by him. 

"You've got ten minutes to do it in, " he gaily told her. "So you'dbetter leave all the fond adjectives till the end and put them inif you have time. "

She thanked him carelessly enough for his advice, but when shereached her own room she found herself confronted with a problemthat baffled her. How was she to write to Burke? What could shesay to him? She felt strangely confounded and unsure of herself. 

Eight of the allotted ten minutes had flown before she set pencilto paper. Then, hurriedly, with trembling fingers, she scribbled afew sentences. "I hope all is well with you. We are very busyhere. Matilda is better, and I am quite fit and enjoying the work. Is Mary Ann looking after you properly?" She paused there. Somehow the thought of Burke with only the Kaffir servants tominister to him sent an odd little pang through her. She had begunto accustom him to better things. She wondered if he werelonely--if he wanted her. Ought she to offer to go back?

Something cried out sharply within her at the thought. Her wholebeing shrank as the old nightmare horror swept back upon her. No--no! She could not face it--not yet. The memory of hisimplacability, his ruthlessness, arose like a menacing wave, shaking her to the soul. 

Then, suddenly, the vision changed. She saw him as she had seenhim on that last night, when she had awaked to find him kneeling byher bed. And again that swift pang went through her. She did notask herself again if he wanted her. 

The door of her room opened on to the yard. She heard Merston leadhis horse up to the front of the bungalow and stand talking to hiswife who was just inside. She knew that in a moment or two hischeery shout would come to her, calling for the note. 

Hastily she resumed her task. "If there is any mending to be done, send it back by Bill. "

Again she paused. Matilda was laughing at something her husband hadsaid. It was only lately that she had begun to laugh. 

Almost immediately came an answering shout of laughter fromMerston, and then his boyish yell to her. 

"Hi, Sylvia! How much longer are you going to keep me waiting forthat precious love-letter?"

She called an answer to him, dashing off final words as she did so. "I feel I am doing some good here, but if you should specially wishit, of course I will come back at any time. " For a second more shehesitated, then simply wrote her name. 

Folding up the hurried scrawl, she was conscious of a strong senseof dissatisfaction, but she would not reopen it. There was nothingmore to be said. 

She went out with it to Bill Merston, and met his chaff withcareless laughter. 

"You haven't told him to come and fetch you away, I hope?" Matildasaid, as he rode away. 

And she smiled and answered, "No, not unless he specially needs me. "

"You don't want to go ?" Matilda asked abruptly. 

"Not unless you are tired of me, " Sylvia rejoined. 

"Don't be silly!" said Matilda briefly. 

Half an hour after Merston's departure there came the shamblingtrot of another horse, and Piet Vreiboom, slouched like a sack inthe saddle rode up and rolled off at the door. 

"Oh, bother the man!" said Matilda, "I shan't ask him in with Billaway. "

The amiable Piet, however, did not wait to be asked. He fastenedup his horse and rolled into the house with his hat on, where hegave her perfunctory greeting, grinned at Sylvia, and seatedhimself in the easiest chair he could find. 

Matilda's face of unconcealed disgust nearly provoked Sylvia touncontrolled laughter, but she checked herself in time, and went toget the unwelcome visitor a drink in the hope of speeding hisdeparture. 

Piet Vreiboom however was in no hurry, though they assured himrepeatedly that Merston would probably not return for some hours. He sat squarely in his chair with his little greedy eyes fixed uponSylvia, and merely grunted in response to all their efforts. 

When he had refreshed himself and lighted his pipe, he began tosearch his mind for the few English words at his disposal and toarrange these in a fashion intelligible to the two very inferiorbeings who were listening to him. He told them in labouredlanguage that he had come from Brennerstadt, that the races wereover and the great Wilbraham diamond was lost and won. Who had wonit? No one knew. Some said it was a lady. He looked again atSylvia who turned out the pockets of her overall, and assured himthat she was not the lucky one. 

He looked as if he suspected ridicule behind her mirth, and changedthe subject. Guy Ranger had disappeared, and no one knew what hadbecome of him. Some people thought he was dead, like Kieff. Againhe looked searchingly at Sylvia, but she did not joke over thisinformation. She began to peel some potatoes as if she had notheard it. And Piet Vreiboom sat back in his chair and stared ather, till the hot colour rose and spread over her face and neck, and then he puffed forth a cloud of vile smoke and laughed. 

At that juncture Mrs. Merston came forward with unusual briskness. "You had better go, " she said, with great decision. "There isgoing to be a storm. "

He began to dispute the point, but meeting most unexpectedlightning in her pale eyes he thought better of it, and after a fewseconds for deliberation and the due assertion of his masculinesuperiority, he lumbered to his feet and prepared to depart. 

Mrs. Merston followed him firmly to the door, reiterating, herbelief in a coming change. Certainly the sky was overcast, but theclouds often came up thickly at night and dispersed again withoutshedding any rain. There had not been rain for months. 

Very grimly Matilda Merston watched the departure of her unwelcomevisitor, enduring the dust that rose from his horse's hoofs withthe patience of inflexible determination. Then, when she had seenhim go and the swirling dust had begun to settle again, she turnedinwards and proceeded to wash the glass that the Boer had used withan expression of fixed disgust. 

Suddenly she spoke. "I shouldn't believe anything that man said onoath. "

"Neither should I, " said Sylvia quietly. She did not look up fromher task, and Matilda Merston said no more. 

There was a brief silence, then Sylvia spoke again. "You are verygood to me, " she said. 

"My dear!" said Matilda almost sharply. 

Sylvia's hands were trembling a little, but she continued to occupythem. "You must sometimes wonder why Guy is so much to me, " shesaid. "I think it has been very sweet of you never to ask. But Ifeel I should like to tell you about it. "

"Of course; if you want to, " said Matilda. 

"I do want you to know, " Sylvia said, with slight effort. "Youhave taken me so much on trust. And I never even told you how Icame to meet--and marry--Burke. "

"There was no necessity for you to tell me, " said Matilda. 

"Perhaps not. But you must have thought it rather sudden--ratherstrange. " Sylvia's fingers moved a little more rapidly. "You see, I came out here engaged to marry Guy. "

"Good gracious!" said Matilda. 

Sylvia glanced up momentarily. "We had been engaged for years. Wewere engaged before he ever came here. We--loved each other. But--" Words failed her suddenly; she drew a short, hard breathand was silent. 

"He let you down?" said Matilda. 

She nodded. 

Matilda's face hardened. "That was Burke's doing. "

"No--no!" Sylvia found her voice again with an effort. "It isn'tfair to say that. Burke tried to help him, --has tried--many times. He may have been harsh to him; he may have made mistakes. But Iknow he has tried to help him. "

"Was that why he married you?" asked Matilda, with a bitter curl ofthe lip. 

Sylvia winced. "No. I--don't quite know what made him think ofthat. Perhaps--in a way--he felt he ought. I was thrown on hisprotection, and he never would believe that I was capable offending for myself. "

"Very chivalrous!" commented Matilda. "Men are like that. "

Sylvia shivered. "Don't--please! He--has been very good to me. "

"In his own way, " said Matilda. 

"No, in every way. I can't tell you how good till--till Guy cameback. He brought him back to please me. " Sylvia's voice was lowand distressed. "That was when things began to go wrong, " she said. 

"There was nothing very magnanimous in that, " commented Matilda. "He wanted you to see poor Guy when he was down. He wanted to giveyou a lesson so that you should realize your good luck in beingmarried to him. He didn't count on the fact that you loved him. He expected you to be disgusted. "

"Oh, don't!" Sylvia said quickly. "Really that isn't fair. Thatisn't--Burke. He did it against his judgment. He did it for mysake. "

"You don't know much about men, do you?" said Matilda. 

"Perhaps not. But I know that much about Burke. I know that heplays fair. "

"Even if he kills his man, " suggested Matilda cynically. 

"He always plays fair. " Sylvia spoke firmly. "But he doesn't knowhow to make allowances. He is hard. "

"Have you found him so?" said Matilda. 

"I?" Sylvia looked across at her. 

Their eyes met. There was a certain compulsion in the elderwoman's look. 

"Yes, you, " she said. "You personally. Has he been cruel to you, Sylvia? Has he? Ah no, you needn't tell me! I--know. " She wentsuddenly to her, and put her arm around her. 

Sylvia was trembling. "He didn't--understand, " she whispered. 

"Men never do, " said Matilda very bitterly. "Love is beyond them. They are only capable of passion. I learnt that lesson long ago. It simplified life considerably, for I left off expecting anythingelse. "

Sylvia clung to her for a moment. "I think you are wrong, " shesaid. "I know you are wrong--somehow. But--I can't prove it toyou. "

"You're so young, " said Matilda compassionately. 

"No, no, I am not. " Sylvia tried to smile as she disengagedherself. "I am getting older. I am learning. If--if only I felthappy about Guy, I believe I should get on much better. But--but--" the tears rose to her eyes in spite of her--"he hauntsme. I can't rest because of him. I dream about him. I feel tornin two. For Burke--has given him up. But I--I can't. "

"Of course you can't. You wouldn't. " Matilda spoke with warmth. "Don't let Burke deprive you of your friends! Plenty of menimagine that when you have got a husband, you don't need anyoneelse. They little know. "

Sylvia's eyes went out across the _veldt_ to a faint, dim line ofblue beyond, and dwelt upon it wistfully. "Don't you think itdepends upon the husband?" she said. 

CHAPTER VIII

OUT OF THE DEPTHS

That night the thunder rolled among the _kopjes_, and Sylvia lay inher hut wide-awake and listening. The lightning glanced andquivered about the distant hills and threw a weird and fitfulradiance about her bed, extinguishing the dim light thrown by hernight-lamp. 

Bill Merston had brought her back a written message from herhusband, and she lay with it gripped in her hand. For that messageheld a cry which had thrown her whole soul into tumult. 

"I want you, " he had written in a hand that might have been Guy's. "I can't get on without you. I am coming to-morrow to fetch youback--if you will come. "

If she would come! In those last words she seemed to hear theappeal of a man's agony. What had he been through before he hadbrought himself to write those words? They hurt her unutterably, piercing her to the soul, when she remembered her own half-heartedoffer to return. Yet she would have given all she had for a fewdays' respite. The hot fierce longing that beat in those few wordsfrightened her by its intensity. It made her think of one of thoseoverwhelming _veldt_ fires, consuming everything in its path, leaving behind it the blackness of desolation. Yes, he wanted hernow because she had been denied to him. The flame of his desirehad been fanned to a white heat. She seemed to feel it reachingout to her, scorching her, even as she lay. And she shrank with adesperate sense of impotence, feeling her fate to be sealed. Forshe knew that she must go to him. She must pass through thefurnace anew. She must endure her fate. Afterwards--it mightbe--when it had burnt itself out, some spark of the Divine would befound kindled among the ashes to give her comfort. 

And ever the thought of Guy waited at the back of her mind, Guy whohad failed her so hopelessly, so repeatedly. Was she going to failhim now? Was she going to place herself so completely out of hisreach that even if he called to her for help she would be powerlessto stretch forth a hand to him? The thought tormented her. It wasthe one thing that she felt she could not face, the one point uponwhich she and Burke would be for ever at variance. Ah no!Whatever else she surrendered, she could not yield to him in this. She could not, she would not, leave Guy to sink while thereremained the smallest chance of saving him. 

So she told herself, lying there alone, while the thunder rollednow near, now far, like a menacing monster wandering hither andthither in search of prey. Earlier in the night she had tried topray, but it had brought her no relief. She had not really prayedsince that terrible journey to Brennerstadt when she had poured outher whole soul in supplication and had met only failure. She feltin a fashion cut off, forgotten in this land of strangers. Thevery effort to bridge the gulf seemed but to emphasize her utterimpotence. She had come to that barren part of the way where eventhe most hopeful traveller sometimes feels that God has forgottento be gracious. She had never felt more alone in all her life, andit was a loneliness that frightened her. 

Weirdly the lightning played about her bed. She watched it witheyes that would not close. She wondered if Burke were watching italso, and shivered with the thought of the morrow, asking herselffor the first time why she had ever consented to marry him, why shehad not rather shouldered her fate and gone back to her father. She would have found work in England. He would have helped her ifshe had only had the courage to return, the strength to be humble. Her thoughts lingered tenderly about him. They had been so much toeach other once. Did he ever regret her? Did he ever wish herback?

A burning lump rose in her throat. She turned her head upon thepillow, clasping her hands tightly over her eyes. Ah, if she hadbut gone back to him! They had loved each other, and somehow lovewould have conquered. Did not love always conquer? What werethose words that she had read cut deep in the trunk of a dead tree?They flashed through her brain more vividly than the glancinglightning--the key to every closed door--the balm for everywound--the ladder by which alone the top of the world is reached. _Fide et Amore_! By Faith and Love!

There came again to her that curious feeling of revelation. Looking back, she saw the man on horseback hewing those words whileshe waited. The words themselves shone in fiery letters across. Her closed eyelids. She asked herself suddenly, with an awedwonder if perchance her prayer had been answered after all, and shehad suffered the message to pass her by. . . . 

There came a crash of thunder nearer and more menacing than anythat had gone before, startling her almost with a sense of doom, setting every pulse in her body beating. She uncovered her faceand sat up. 

Sullenly the echoes rolled away, yet they left behind a strangeimpression that possessed her with an uncanny force from which shecould not shake herself free--a feeling that amounted to actualconviction that some presence lurked without in the storm, alertand stealthy, waiting for something. 

The window was at the side of her bed. She had but to draw asidethe curtain and look out. It was within reach of her hand. Butfor many breathless seconds she dared not. 

What it was that stood outside she had no idea, but the thought ofKieff was in her mind--Kieff the vampire who was dead. 

She felt herself grow cold all over. She had only to cross thenarrow room and knock on the main wall of the bungalow to summonMerston. He would come at a moment's notice, she knew. But shefelt powerless to move. Sheer terror bound her limbs. 

The thunder slowly ceased, and there followed a brief stillnessthrough which the beating of her heart clamoured wildly. Yet shewas beginning to tell herself that it was no more than a nightmarepanic that had caught her, when suddenly something knocked softlyupon the closed window beneath which she lay. 

She started violently and glanced across the room, measuring thedistance to the further wall on which she herself would have toknock to summon help. 

Then, while instinctively she debated the point, summoning herstrength for the effort, there came another sound close to her--alow voice speaking her name. 

"Sylvia! Sylvia! Wake up and let me in!"

She snatched back the curtain in a second. She knew that voice. By the shifting gleam of the lightning she saw him, looking in uponher. Her fear vanished. 

Swiftly she sprang to do his bidding. Had she ever failed toanswer any call of his? She drew back the bolts of her door, andin a moment they were together. 

The thunder roared again behind him as he entered, but neither ofthem heard it. For he caught her in his arms with a hungry sound, and as she clung to him nearly fainting with relief, he kissed her, straining her to him gasping wild words of love. 

The touch of those hot, devouring lips awoke her. She had neverfelt the slightest fear of Guy before that moment, but thefierceness of his hold called a sharp warning in her soul. Therewas about him an unrestraint, a lawlessness, that turned her reliefinto misgiving. She put up a quick hand, checking him. 

"Guy--Guy, you are hurting me!"

He relaxed his hold then, looking at her, his head back, the oldboyish triumph shining in his eyes. "Little sweetheart, I'm sorry. I couldn't help it--just for the moment. The sight of you and thetouch of you together just turned my head. But it's all right. Don't look so scared! I wouldn't harm a single hair of yourprecious little head. " He gathered up the long plait of her hairand kissed it passionately. 

She laid a trembling hand against his shoulder. "Guy, please! Youmustn't. I had to let you in. But not--not for this. "

He uttered a low laugh that seemed to hold a note of triumph. Buthe let her go. 

"Of course you had to let me in! Were you asleep? Did I frightenyou?"

"You startled me just at first. I think the thunder had set me onedge, for I wasn't asleep. It's such a--savage sort of night, isn't it?"

Sylvia glanced forth again over the low _veldt_ where theflickering lightning leaped from cloud to cloud. 

"Not so bad, " said Guy. "It will serve our turn all right. Do youknow what I have come for?"

She looked back at him quickly. There was no mistaking theexultation in his low voice. It amazed her, and again she wasstabbed by that sense of insecurity. 

"I thought you had come to--explain things, " she made answer. "Andto say--good-bye. "

"To say--what?" He took her by the shoulders; his dark eyesflashed a laughing challenge into hers. "You're not in earnest!"he said. 

She backed away from him. "But I am, Guy. I am. " Her voicesounded strained even to herself, for she was strangely discomfitedby his attitude. She had expected a broken man kneeling at herfeet in an agony of contrition. His overweening confidenceconfounded her. "Have you no sense of right and wrong left?" shesaid. 

He kept his hands upon her. "None whatever, " he told herrecklessly. "The only thing in life that counts is you--just you. Because we love each other, the whole world is ours for the taking. No, listen, darling! I'm not talking rot. Do you remember thelast time we were together? How I swore I would conquer--for yoursake? Well, --I've done it. I have conquered. Now that that devilKieff is dead, there is no reason why I shouldn't keep straightalways. And so I have come to you--for my crown. "

His voice sank. He stooped towards her. 

But she drew back sharply. "Guy, don't forget--don't forget--I ammarried to Burke!" she said, speaking quickly, breathlessly. 

His hands tightened upon her. "I am going to forget, " he told herfiercely. "And so are you. You have no love for him. Yourmarriage is nothing but an empty bond. "

"No--no!" Painfully she broke in upon him. "My marriage is--morethan that. I am his wife--and the keeper of his honour. I amgoing back to him--to-morrow. "

"You are not! You are not!" Hotly he contradicted her. "Byto-morrow we shall be far away. Listen, Sylvia! I haven't toldyou all. I am rich. My luck has turned. You'll hardly believeit, but it's true. It was I who won the Wilbraham diamond. We'vekept it secret, because I didn't want to be dogged by parasites. I've thought of you all through. And now--and now--" his voicevibrated again on that note of triumph--"I've come to take youaway. Mine at last!"

He would have drawn her to him, but she resisted him. She pushedhim from her. For the first time in her life she looked at himwith condemnation in her eyes. 

"Is this--true?" Her voice held a throb of anger. 

He stared at her, his triumph slowly giving place to a half-formeddoubt. "Of course it's true. I couldn't invent anything sostupendous as that. "

She looked back at him mercilessly. "If it is true, how did youfind the money for the gamble?"

The doubt on his face deepened to something that was almost shame. "Oh, that!" he said. "I--borrowed that. "

"You borrowed it!" She repeated the words without pity. "Youborrowed it from Burke's strong-box. Didn't you?"

The question was keen as the cut of a whip. It demanded an answer. Almost involuntarily, the answer came. 

"Well--yes! But---I hoped to pay it back. I'm going to pay itback--now. "

"Now!" she said, and almost laughed. Was it for this that she hadstaked everything--everything she had--and lost? There was bitterscorn in her next words. "You can pay it back to Donovan Kelly, "she said. "He has replaced it on your behalf. "

"What do you mean?" His hands were clenched. Behind his cloak ofshame a fire was kindling. The glancing lightning seemed reflectedin his eyes. 

But Sylvia knew no fear, only an overwhelming contempt. "I mean, "she said, "that to save you--to leave you a chance of getting backto solid ground--Donovan and I deceived Burke. He supplied themoney, and I put it back. "

"Great Jove!" said Guy. He was looking at her oddly, almostspeculatively. "But Donovan never had any money to spare!" hesaid. "He sends it all home to his old mother. "

"He gave it to me nevertheless. " Sylvia's voice had a scathingnote. "And--he pretended that it had come from you--that you hadreturned it. "

"Very subtle of him!" said Guy. He considered the point for amoment or two, then swept it aside. "Well, I'll settle up withhim. It'll be all right. I always pay my debts--sooner or later. So that's all right, isn't it? Say it's all right!"

He spoke imperiously, meeting her scorn with a dominatingself-assurance. There followed a few moments that were tense witha mental conflict such as Sylvia had never deemed possible betweenthem. Then in a very low voice she made answer. 

"No. It is not all right. Nothing can ever make it so again. Please say good-bye--and go!"

He made a furious movement, and caught her suddenly and violentlyby the wrists. His eyes shone like the eyes of a starving animal. Before she had time to resist him, her hands were gripped behindher and she was fast locked in his arms. 

He spoke, his face close to hers, his hot breath seeming to consumeher, his words a mere whisper through lips that almost moved uponher own. 

"Do you think I'm going--now? Do you think you can send me awaywith a word like that--fling me off like an old glove--you who havebelonged to me all these years? No, don't speak! You'd better notspeak! If you dare to deny your love for me now, I believe I shallkill you! If you had been any other woman, I wouldn't have stoppedto argue. But--you are you. And--I--love you so. "

His voice broke unexpectedly upon the words. For a moment--onesickening, awful moment--his lips were pressed upon hers, seemingto draw all the breath--the very life itself--out of her quiveringbody. Then there came a terrible sound--a rending sound like thetearing of dry wood--and the dreadful constriction of his hold wasgone. She burst from it, gasping for air and freedom with theagonized relief of one who has barely escaped suffocation. Shesprang for the door though her knees were doubling under her. Shereached it, and threw it wide. Then she looked back. . . . 

He was huddled against the wall, his head in his hands, writhing asif in the grip of some fiendish torturer. Broken sounds escapedhim--sounds he fought frantically to repress. He seemed to bechoking; and in a second her memory flashed back to that anguishshe had witnessed weeks before when first she had seen Kieff'sremedy and implored him to use it. 

For seconds she stood, a helpless witness, too horrified to move. Then, her physical strength reviving, pity stirred within her, striving against what had been a sick and fearful loathing. Gradually her vision cleared. The evil shadow lifted from herbrain. She saw him as he was--a man in desperate need of help. 

She flung her repugnance from her, though it dung to her, draggingupon her as she moved like a tangible thing. She closed the doorand went slowly back into the room, mastering her horror, fightingit at every step. She readied the struggling, convulsed figure, laid her hands upon it, --and her repulsion was gone. 

"Sit down!" she said. "Sit down and let me help you!"

Blindly he surrendered to her guiding. She led him to the bed, andhe sank upon it. She opened his shirt at the throat. She broughthim water. 

He could not drink at first, but after repeated effort he succeededin swallowing a little. Then at length in a hoarse whisper, scarcely intelligible, he asked for the remedy which he alwayscarried. 

She felt in his pockets and found it, all ready for use. Thelightning had begun to die down, and the light within the room wasdim. She turned the lamp higher, moving it so that its ray fellupon Guy. And in that moment she saw Death in his face. . . . 

She felt as if a quiet and very steady Hand had been laid upon her, checking all agitation. Calmly she bent over the bared arm hethrust forth to her. Unflinchingly she ran the needle into thewhite flesh, noting with a detached sort of pity his emaciation. 

He put his other arm about her like a frightened, dinging child. "Stay with me! Don't leave me!" he muttered. 

"All right, " she made gentle answer. "Don't be afraid!"

He leaned against her, shuddering violently, his dark head bowed, his spasmodic breathing painful to hear. She waited beside him forthe relief that seemed so slow in coming. Kieff's remedy did notact so quickly now. 

Gradually at last the distress began to lessen. She felt thetension of his crouched body relax, the anguished breathing becomeless laboured. He still clung to her, and her hand was on his headthough she did not remember putting it there. The dull echoes ofthe thunder reverberated far away among the distant hills. Thenight was passing. 

Out of a deep silence there came Guy's voice. "I want--" he saidrestlessly--"I want----"

She bent over him. Her arm went round his shoulders. Somehow shefelt as if the furnace of suffering through which he had come hadpurged away all that was evil. His weakness cried aloud to her;the rest was forgotten. 

He turned his face up to her; and though the stamp of his agony wasstill upon it, the eyes were pure and free from all taint ofpassion. 

"What do you want?" she asked him softly. 

"I've been--horrible to you, Sylvia, " he said, speaking ratherjerkily. "Sometimes I get a devil inside me--and I don't know whatI'm doing. I believe it's Kieff. I never knew what hell meanttill I met him. He taught me practically everything I know in thatline. He was like an awful rotting disease. He ruined everyone hecame near. Everything he touched went bad. " He paused a moment. Then, with a sudden boyishness, "There, it's done with, darling, "he said. "Will you forget it all--and let me start afresh? I'vehad such damnable luck always. "

His eyes pleaded with her, yet they held confidence also. He knewthat she would not refuse. 

And because of that which the lamplight had revealed to her, Sylviabent after a moment and kissed him on the forehead. She knew asshe did it that the devil, that had menaced her had been drivenforth. 

So for a space they remained in a union of the spirit that wascuriously unlike anything that had ever before existed betweenthem. Then Guy's arm began to slip away from her. There came fromhim a deep sigh. 

She bent low over him, looking into his face. His eyes wereclosed, but his lips moved, murmuring words which she guessedrather than heard. 

"Let me rest--just for a little! I shall be all right--afterwards. "

She laid him back very gently upon the pillow, and lifted his feeton to the bed. He thanked her almost inaudibly, and relaxed everymuscle like a tired child. She turned the lamp from him and movedaway. 

She dressed in the dimness. Guy did not stir again. He layshrouded in the peace of utter repose. She had watched those deepslumbers too often to fear any sudden awakening. 

A few minutes later she went to the door, and softly opened it. 

The sullen clouds were lifting; the night had gone. Very far awaya faint orange light spread like the reflected glow from a mightyfurnace somewhere behind those hills of mystery. The _veldt_ laywide and dumb like a vast and soundless sea. 

She stood awed, as one who had risen out of the depths and scarcelyyet believed in any deliverance. But the horror had passed fromher like an evil dream. She stood in the first light of thedawning and waited in a great stillness for the coming of the day. 

CHAPTER IX

THE MEETING

Joe, the Kaffir boy, bestirred himself to the sound of Mary Ann'sshrill rating. The hour was still early, but the big _baas_ was ina hurry and wanted his boots. Joe hastened to polish them to thetune of Mary Ann's repeated assurance that he would be wanting hiswhip next, while Fair Rosamond laid the table with a nervous speedthat caused her to trip against every chair she passed. When Burkemade his appearance, the whole bungalow was as seething withexcitement as if it had been peopled by a horde of Kaffirs insteadof only three. 

He was scarcely aware of them in his desire to be gone, merelythrowing an order here and there as he partook of a hastybreakfast, and then striding forth to their vast relief to mountinto the Cape cart with its two skittish horses that awaited himbeyond the _stoep_. 

He departed in a cloud of dust, for still the rain did not fall, and immediately, like the casting of a spell, the peace of a greatsomnolence descended upon the bungalow. The Kaffirs strolled backto their huts to resume their interrupted slumbers. 

The dust slowly settled upon all things, and all was quiet. 

Down the rough track Burke jolted. The horses were fresh, and hedid not seek to check them. All night long he had been picturingthat swift journey and the goal that awaited him, and he was in afever to accomplish it. Their highest speed was not swift enoughfor him. 

Through the heavy clouds behind him there came the first break ofthe sunshine transforming the _veldt_. It acted like a goad uponhim. He wanted to start back before the sun rose high. The trackthat led to Bill Merston's farm was even rougher than his own, butit did not daunt him. He suffered the horses to take their ownpace, and they travelled superbly. They had scarcely slackenedduring the whole ten-mile journey. 

He smiled faintly to himself as he sighted the hideous ironbuilding that was Bill Merston's dwelling-place. He wondered howSylvia appreciated this form of life in the wilderness. He sloweddown the animals to a walk as he neared it, peering about for somesign of its inhabitants. The clouds had scattered, and the son wasshining brilliantly behind him. He reflected that Merston wasprobably out on the lands. His wife would be superintending thepreparation of breakfast. And Sylvia----

Something jerked suddenly within him, and a pulse awoke to afurious beating in his throat. Sylvia was emerging at that verymoment from the doorway of the humble guest-chamber. The sun wasin her eyes, blinding her, and she did not see him. Yet she pauseda moment on the threshold. 

Burke dragged in his horses and sat watching her across the yard. She looked pale and unspeakably weary in the searching morninglight. For a second or two she stood so, then, slightly turning, she spoke into the room behind her ere she closed the door:

"Stay here while I fetch you something to eat! Then you shall goas soon as you like. "

Clearly her voice came to him, and in it was that throb oftenderness which he had heard once before when she had offered himher dreaming face to kiss with the name of another man upon herlips. He sat quite motionless as one transfixed while she drew thedoor after her and stepped forth into the sunshine. And still shedid not see him for the glory of the morning. 

She went quickly round to the back of the bungalow and disappearedfrom his sight. 

Two minutes later Burke Ranger strode across the yard with that inhis face which made it more terrible than the face of a savagebeast. He reached the closed door, opened it, and stepped within. 

His movements were swift and wholly without stealth, but they didnot make much sound. The man inside the room did not hearimmediately. 

He was seated on the edge of the bed adjusting the strap of one ofhis gaiters. Burke stood and watched him unobserved till he liftedhis head. Then with a curt, "Now!" he turned and bolted the doorbehind him. 

"Hullo!" said Guy, and got to his feet. 

They stood face to face, alike yet unlike, men of the same breed, bearing the same ineradicable stamp, yet poles asunder. 

The silence between them was as the appalling pause between thelightning and the thunder-clap. All the savagery of which thehuman heart is capable was pent within its brief bounds. ThenBurke spoke through lips that were white and strangely twisted:

"Have you anything at all to say for yourself?"

Guy threw a single glance around. "Not here, " he said. "And notnow. I'll meet you. Where shall I meet you?"

"Why not here--and now?" Burke's hands were at his sides, hardclenched, as if it took all his strength to keep them there. Hiseyes never stirred from Guy's face. They had the fixed and cruellook of a hawk about to pounce upon its prey and rend it to atoms. 

But there was no fear about Guy, neither fear nor shame. Whateverhis sins had been, he had never flinched from the consequences. 

He answered without an instant's faltering: "Because we shall beinterrupted. We don't want a pack of women howling round. Also, there are no weapons. You haven't even a _sjambok_. " His eyesgleamed suddenly. "And there isn't space enough to use it if youhad. "

"I don't need even a _sjambok_, " Burke said, "to kill a rat likeyou. "

"No. And I shan't die so hard as a rat either. All the same, " Guyspoke with quiet determination, "you can't do it here. Damn it, man! Are you afraid I shall run away?"

"No!" The answer came like a blow. "But I can't wait, youaccursed blackguard! I've waited too long already. "

"No, you haven't!" Guy straightened himself sharply, braced forviolence, for Burke was close to him and there was something of thequality of a coiled spring in his attitude, a spring that a touchwould release. "Wait a minute, Burke! Do you hear? Wait aminute? I'm everything you choose to call me. I'm a traitor, athief, and a blackguard. But I'm another thing as well. " Hisvoice broke oddly and he continued in a lower key, rapidly, as ifhe feared his strength might not last. "I'm a failure. I haven'tdone this thing I tried to do. I never shall do it now. Because--your wife--is incorruptible. Her loyalty is greater thanmy--treachery. "

Again there sounded that curious catch in his voice as if aremorseless hand were tightening upon his throat. But he foughtagainst it with a fierce persistence. He faced Burke with livid, twitching lips. 

"God knows, " he said in a passionate whisper, "whether she lovesyou. But she will be true to you--as long as you live!"

His words went into silence--a silence so tense that it seemed asif it must end in furious action--as if a hurtling blow and acrashing, headlong fall could be the only outcome. 

But neither came. After several rigid seconds Burke spoke, hisvoice dead level, without a hint of emotion. 

"You expect me to believe that, do you?"

Guy made a sharp movement that had in it more of surprise thanprotest. His throat worked spasmodically for a moment or two erehe forced it to utterance. 

"Don't you think, " he said then, in a half-strangled undertone, "that it would be a million times easier for me to let youbelieve--otherwise?"

"Why?" said Burke briefly. 

"Because--" savagely Guy flung back the answer--"I would rather bemurdered for what I've done than despised for what I've failed todo. "

"I see, " Burke said. "Then why not let me believe the obviouswithout further argument?"

There was contempt in his voice, but it was a bitter self-contemptin which the man before him had no share. He had entered that roomwith murder in his heart. The lust was still there, but he knewnow that it would go unsatisfied. He had been stopped, by whatmeans he scarcely realized. 

But Guy knew; and though it would have been infinitely easier, ashe had said, to have endured that first mad fury than to havestayed it with a confession of failure, for some reason he forcedhimself to follow the path of humiliation that he had chosen. 

"Because what you call the obvious chances also to be theimpossible, " he said. "I'm not such a devil as to want to ruin herfor the fun of the thing. I tell you she's straight--as straightas I am crooked. And you've got to believe in her--whether youwant to or not. That--if you like--is the obvious. " He broke off, breathing hard, yet in a fashion oddly triumphant, as if invindicating the girl he had somehow vindicated himself also. 

Burke looked at him fixedly for a few seconds longer. Then, abruptly, as if the words were hard to utter, he spoke; "I believeyou. "

Guy relaxed with what was almost a movement of exhaustion, but in amoment he braced himself again. "You shall have your satisfactionall the same, " he said. "I owe you that. Where shall I meet you?"

Burke made a curt gesture as if dismissing a matter of but minorimportance, and turned to go. 

But in an instant, as if stung into action, Guy was before him. Hegripped him by the shoulder. "Man! Don't give me any of yourdamned generosity!" He ground out the words between his teeth. "Name a place! Do you hear? Name a place and time!"

Burke stopped dead. His face was enigmatical as he looked at Guy. There was a remote gleam in his stern eyes that was neither ofanger nor scorn. He stood for several seconds in silence, till thehand that clutched his shoulder gripped and feverishly shook it. 

Then deliberately and with authority bespoke: "I'll meet you in myown time. You can go back to your old quarters and--wait for methere. "

Guy's hand fell from him. He stood for a moment as if irresolute, then he moved aside. "All right. I shall go there to-day, " hesaid. 

And in silence Burke unbolted the door and went out. 

CHAPTER X

THE TRUTH

When Burke presented himself at the door of the main bungalow hefound it half-open. The whirr of a sewing-machine came forth tohim, but it paused in answer to his knock, and Mrs. Merston's voicebade him enter. 

He went in to find her seated at a plain wooden table with greyflannel spread around her, her hand poised on the wheel of hermachine, which she drove round vigorously as he entered. Her lighteyes surveyed him in momentary surprise, and then fell straightupon her work. A slightly deeper colour suffused her face. 

"You've come early, " she said. 

"Good morning!" said Burke. 

She nodded without speaking, absorbed in her work. 

He came to a stand on the opposite side of the table, watching her. He was quite well aware that Matilda Merston did not like him. Shehad never scrupled to let him know it. The whirr of the machinerose between them. She was working fast and furiously. 

He waited with absolute patience till she flung him a word. "Sitdown!"

He seated himself facing her. 

Faster and faster spun the wheel. Matilda's thin lips werecompressed. Tiny beads appeared on her forehead. She wasbreathing quickly. Suddenly there was a check, a sharp snap. Sheuttered an impatient sound and stopped, looking across at hervisitor with undisguised hostility in her eyes. 

"I didn't do it, " said Burke. 

She got up, not deigning a reply. "I suppose you'd like a drink, "she said. "Bill is out on the lands. "

His eyes comprehended her with a species of grim amusement. "No. I won't have anything, thanks. I have come for my wife. Can youtell me where she is ?"

"You're very early, " Matilda remarked again. 

He leaned his arms upon the table, looking up at her. "Yes. Iknow. Isn't she up?"

She returned his look with obvious disfavour. And yet Burke Rangerwas no despicable figure of manhood sitting there. He was broad, well-knit, well-developed, clean of feature, with eyes of piercingkeenness. 

He met her frown with a faint smile. "Well?" he said. 

"Yes. Of course she is up. " Grudgingly Matilda made answer. Somehow she resented the clean-limbed health of these men who madetheir living in the wilderness. There was something almostaggressive about it. Abruptly she braced herself to give utteranceto her thoughts. "Why can't you leave her here a little longer?She doesn't want to go back. "

"I think she must tell me that herself, " Burke said. 

He betrayed no discomfiture. She had never seen him discomfited. That was part of her grievance against him. 

"She won't do that, " she said curtly. "She has old-fashioned ideasabout duty. But it doesn't make her like it any the better. "

"It wouldn't, " said Burke. A gleam that was in no way connectedwith his smile shone for a moment in his steady eyes, but it passedimmediately. He continued to contemplate the faded woman beforehim very gravely, without animosity. "You have got rather fond ofSylvia, haven't you?" he said. 

Matilda made an odd gesture that had in it something of vehemence. "I am very sorry for her, " she said bluntly. 

"Yes?" said Burke. 

"Yes. " She repeated the word uncompromisingly, and closed her lips. 

"You're not going to tell me why?" he suggested. 

Her pale eyes grew suddenly hard and intensely bright. "Yes. Ishould like to tell you, " she said. 

He got up with a quiet movement. "Well, why?" he said. 

Her eyes flashed fire. "Because, " she spoke very quickly, scarcelypausing for breath, "you have turned her from a happy girl into amiserable woman. I knew it would come. I saw it coming, Iknew--long before she did--that she had married the wrong man. AndI knew what she would suffer when she found out. She tried hardnot to find out; she did her best to blind herself. But she had toface it at last. You forced her to open her eyes. And now--sheknows the truth. She will do her duty, because you are her husbandand there is no escape. But it will be bondage to her as long asshe lives. You have taken all the youth and the joy out of herlife. "

There was a fierce ring of passion in the words. For once MatildaMerston glowed with life. There was even something superb in herreckless denunciation of the man before her. 

He heard it without stirring a muscle, his eyes fixed unwaveringlyupon her, grim and cold as steel. When she ceased to speak, hestill stood motionless, almost as if he were waiting for something. 

She also waited, girt for battle, eager for the fray. But heshowed no sign of anger, and gradually her enthusiasm began towane. She bent, panting a little and began to smooth out a pieceof the grey flannel with nervous exactitude. 

Then Burke spoke. "So you think I am not the right man for her. "

"I am quite sure of that, " said Matilda without looking up. 

"That means, " Burke spoke slowly, with deliberate insistence, "thatyou know she loves another man better. "

Matilda was silent. 

He bent forward a little, looking straight into her downcast face. "Mrs. Merston, " he said, "you are a woman; you ought to know. Doyou believe--honestly--that she would have been any happier marriedto that other man?"

She looked at him then in answer to his unspoken desire. He hadrefused to do battle with her. That was her first thought, and shewas conscious of a momentary sense of triumph. Then--for she was awoman--her heart stirred oddly within her, and her triumph wasgone. She met his quiet eyes with a sudden sharp misgiving. Whathad she done?

"Please answer me!" Burke said. 

And, in a low voice, reluctantly, she made answer. "I am afraid Ido. "

"You know the man?" he said. 

She nodded. "I believe--in time--she might have been hissalvation. Everybody thought he was beyond redemption. I knowthat. But she--had faith. And they loved each other. That makesall the difference. "

"Ah!" he said. 

For the first time he looked away from her, looked out through theopen door over the _veldt_ to that far-distant line of hills thatbounded their world. His brown face was set in stern, unwaveringlines. 

Furtively Matilda watched him, still with that uneasy feeling ather heart. There was something enigmatical to her about this man'shard endurance, but she did not resent it any longer. It awed her. 

Several seconds passed ere abruptly he turned and spoke. "I amgoing back. Will you tell Sylvia? Say I can manage all rightwithout her if she is--happier here!" The barely perceptible pausebefore the word made Matilda avert her eyes instinctively thoughhis face never varied. "I wish her to do exactly as she likes. Good-bye!"

He held out his hand to her suddenly, and she was amazed by thewarmth of his grasp. She murmured something incoherent abouthoping she had not been very unpleasant. It was the humblestmoment she had ever known. 

He smiled in reply--that faint, baffling smile. "Oh, not in theleast. I am grateful to you for telling me the truth. I am sureyou didn't enjoy it. "

No, to her own surprise, she had not enjoyed it. She even watchedhim go with regret. There was that about Burke Ranger at themoment which made her wonder if possibly the harsh conception shehad formed of him were wholly justified. 

As for Burke, he went straight out to his horses, looking neitherto right nor left, untied the reins, and drove forth again into the_veldt_ with the dust of the desert rising all around him. 

CHAPTER XI

THE STORM

Hans Schafen met his master on the boundary of Blue Hill Farm witha drawn face. Things were going from bad to worse. The droughtwas killing the animals like flies. If the rain did not come soon, there would be none left. He made his report to Burke with aprecision that did not hide his despair. Matters had never beforelooked so serious. The dearth of water had begun to spell disaster. 

Burke listened with scarcely a comment. Blue Hill Farm was onrising ground, and there had always been this danger in view. Buttill this season it had never materialized to any alarming extent. His position had often enough been precarious, but his losses hadnever been overwhelming. The failure of the dam at Ritter Spruithad been a catastrophe more far reaching than at the time he hadrealized. It had crippled the resources of the farm, and flung himupon the chances of the weather. He was faced with ruin. 

He heard Schafen out with no sign of consternation, and when he hadended he drove on to the farm and stabled his horses himself withhis usual care. Then he went into his empty bungalow. . . 

Slowly the long hours wore away. The sun rose in its strength, shining through a thick haze that was like the smoke from afurnace. The atmosphere grew close and suffocating. An intensestillness reigned without, broken occasionally by the despairingbleating of thirst-stricken sheep. The haze increased, seeming topress downwards upon the parched earth. The noonday was dark withgathering clouds. 

At the hour of luncheon there came a slight stir in the bungalow. Mary Ann thrust her amazing visage round the door and rolled hereyes in frightened wonder at what she saw. The big _baas_ waslying across the table, a prone, stricken figure, with his headupon his arms. 

For a few seconds she stood in open-mouthed dismay, thinking himdead; for she had never seen him thus in life. Then she saw hisshoulders heave convulsively, and promptly she turned and fled. 

Again the bungalow was empty and still, the hours dragged onunheeded. Lower and lower pressed the threatening clouds. But theman who sat alone in the darkening room was blind to all outwardthings. He did not feel the pitiless, storm-laden heat of the day. He was consumed by the agony of his soul. 

It was evening before the end came suddenly; a dancing flash thatlighted the heavens from east to west and, crashing upon it, anexplosion that seemed to rend the earth. It was a cataclysm ofsound, drowning the faculties, stunning the senses, brimming up thevoid with awful tumult. 

A great start ran through the man's bowed figure. He sat up dazed, stiffly opening his clenched hands. The world without seemed to berunning with fire. The storm shrieked over the _veldt_. It waspandemonium. 

Stiffly he straightened his cramped muscles. His heart wasthumping in heavy, uneven strokes, obstructing his breathing. Hefought for a few seconds to fill his lungs. The atmosphere wasdense with sand. It came swirling in upon him, suffocating him. He stood up, and was astounded to feel his own weakness againstthat terrific onslaught. Grimly he forced his way to the openwindow. The _veldt_ was alight with lurid, leaping flame. Thefar-off hills stood up like ramparts in the amazing glare, stabbedhere and there with molten swords of an unendurable brightness. Hehad seen many a raging storm before, but never a storm like this. 

The sand blinded him and he dragged the window shut, using all hisstrength. It beat upon the glass with baffled fury. The thunderrolled and echoed overhead like the chariot-wheels of God, shakingthe world. The clouds above the lightning were black as night. 

Suddenly far across the blazing _veldt_ he saw a sight thattightened every muscle, sending a wild thrill through every nerve. It came from the hills, a black, swift-moving pillar, seeming totrail just above the ground, travelling straight forward throughthe storm. Over rocks and past _kopjes_ it travelled, propelled bya force unseen, and ever as it drew nearer it loomed more black andterrible. 

He watched it with a grim elation, drawn irresistibly by itsimmensity, its awfulness. Straight towards him it came, and thelightning was dulled by its nearness and the thunder hushed. Heheard a swishing, whistling sound like the shriek of a shell, andinstinctively he gathered himself together for the last great shockwhich no human power could withstand, the shattering asunder ofsoul and body, the swift amazing release of the spirit. 

Involuntarily he shut his eyes as the thing drew near; but he didnot shrink, nor was there terror in his heart. 

"Thank God I shall die like a man!" he said through his set teeth. 

And then--while he waited tense and ready for the great revelation, while all that was mortal in him throbbed with anguishedexpectation--the monster of destruction swerved as if drawn by agiant hand and passed him by. 

He opened his eyes upon a flicker of lightning and saw it whirlingonwards, growing ever in volume, towards the _kopje_ which Sylviahad never conquered. The blackness of the sky above was appalling. It hung so near, pressing earthwards through that mighty spout. 

With bated breath he watched till the _kopje_ was blotted from hissight, and the demons of the storm came shrieking back. Thensuddenly there came a crash that shook the world and made thesenses reel. He heard the rush and swish of water, watertorrential that fell in a streaming mass, and as his understandingcame staggering back he knew that the first, most menacing dangerwas past. The cloud had burst upon the _kopje_. 

The thunder was drowned in the rush of the rain. It descended in avast sheet through which the lightning leapt and quivered. Thelight of day was wholly gone. 

The bungalow rocked on its foundations; the wrath of the tempestbeat around it as if it would sweep it away. The noise of thefalling rain was terrific. He wondered if the place would stand. 

Gradually the first wild fury spent itself, and though the stormcontinued the sky seemed to lift somewhat, to recede as if theswollen clouds were being drawn upwards again. In the glimmeringlightning the _veldt_ shone like a sea. The water must be deep inthe hollows, and he hoped none of the sheep had been caught. Thefact that the farm was on rising ground, though it had been exposedto the full force of the storm, had been its salvation. He thoughtof the Kaffir huts, and dismissed the idea of any serious dangerthere. The stables, too, were safe for the same reason. It wasonly on the lower ground beyond the _kopje_ that the flood could beformidable. He thought of the watercourse, dry for so many weeks, now without doubt a seething torrent. He thought with a suddenleap of memory of the hut on the sand above. . . . 

"I shall go there to-day. " How long was it since he had heardthose words? Had they indeed been uttered only that morning? Ordid they belong to an entirely different period of his life? Hefelt as if many empty and bitter years had passed over him sincethey had been spoken. Was it indeed but that morning that theboy's eyes with their fierce appeal had looked into his--and he hadgiven him that stern command to await his coming?

His hand went up to the fastening of the window. He knew Guy. There was a strain of honour in his nature which nothing could everchange. He would keep that sort of appointment or die in theattempt. If he still lived--if that frightful cloudburst had notoverwhelmed him--he was there waiting above the raging torrent. 

The rain beat with a deafening rattle upon the roof of the _stoep_. It was falling perfectly straight now as if a million taps wererunning. And another memory flashed upon Burke as he steppedforth, --the memory of a girl who had clung to him in just suchanother downpour and begged him not to leave her. He heard theaccents of her voice, felt again the slender youthfulness of herframe. He flung his arms wide with an anguished gesture. 

Another voice, keen-edged and ruthless, was cutting its way throughhis soul, lacerating him, agonizing him. "And they loved eachother. That made all the difference. " Ah, God, the bitterdifference that it made!

He went down the steps up which he had lifted her on that first dayof her coming, and floundered into water that was half way to hisknees. The rain rushed down upon him, beating upon his uncoveredhead. He was drenched to the skin in five seconds. 

The lightning flashes were less frequent now, and the darkness inbetween less intense. He splashed his way cautiously round thebungalow to the stable. 

A frightened whinnying greeted him. He heard the animals stampingin the sodden straw, but the water was not so deep here. Itscarcely covered their hocks. 

He spoke reassuringly to them as he made his way to Diamond, Sylvia's mount. Diamond had always been a favourite with him sincethe day she had laid her face against his nose, refusing to doubthim. By faith and love! By faith and love!

He saddled the horse more by feeling than sight, and led him out. The rain was still beating furiously down, but Diamond did notflinch with his master's hand upon him. He stood firm while Burkeswung himself up. Then, with the lightning still flashing athwartthe gloom and the thunder rolling in broken echoes all around them, they went down the track past the _kopje_ to find the hut on thesand. 

CHAPTER XII

THE SACRIFICE

The sound of water, splashing, welling, overflowing, waseverywhere. It was difficult to keep the track, but Diamond trodwarily. He knew the _veldt_ by heart. Passing the _kopje_, therush of the water was like the spouting of a thousand springs. Itgurgled and raced over its scarred sides. The prickly pear busheshung flattened over the rocks. By the fitful gleam of thelightning Burke saw these things. The storm was passing, thoughthe rain still beat down mercilessly. It would probably rain formany hours; but a faint vague light far down on the unseen horizontold of a rising moon. It would not be completely dark again. 

They splashed their way past the _kopje_, and immediately a loudroaring filled his ears. As he had guessed the dry watercourse hadbecome a foaming torrent. Again a sharp anxiety assailed him. Hespoke to Diamond, and they turned off the track. 

The animal was nervous. He started and quivered at theunaccustomed sound. But in a moment or two he responded to Burke'sinsistence, and went down the sloping ground that led to theseething water. 

Burke guided him with an unerring hand, holding him up firmly, forthe way was difficult and uneven. A vivid flash of lightning gavehim his direction, and by it he saw a marvellous picture. Thespruit had become a wide, dashing river. The swirl and rush of thecurrent sounded like a sea at high tide. The flood spread like anestuary over the _veldt_ on the farther side, and he saw that thebank nearest to him was brimming. 

The picture was gone in a moment, but it was registered indeliblyupon his brain. And the hut--Guy's hut--was scarcely more thantwenty yards from that swirling river which was rising with everysecond. 

"He can't be there, " he said aloud. But yet he knew that he couldnot turn back till he had satisfied himself on this point. So, with a word of encouragement to Diamond, he splashed onwards. 

Again the lightning flared torchlike through the gloom, but thethunder of the torrent drowned the thunder overhead. He wasnearing the hut now, and found that in places the rain had sobeaten down the sandy surface of the ground that it sank andyielded like a quagmire. He knew that it was only a matter ofminutes--possibly seconds--before the crumbling bank above thestream gave way. 

He was close to the hut now, though still he assured himself thatthe place was empty. The roar of the water was deafening, seemingto numb the senses. He never knew afterwards whether a lightsuddenly kindled as he drew near behind the canvas that screenedthe hut-window, or if it had been there all along and the leapingelusive lightning had blinded him to it. But the light was therebefore him as he reached the place, and in a moment the knowledgeflashed upon him beyond all questioning that he had not come upon avain quest. 

He knew also with that menacing roar below him and the streamingrain around that there was not a moment to be lost. He swunghimself from Diamond's back and secured the bridle to a projectingpiece of wood at the back of the hut. Then, floundering andslipping at every step, he made his way round to the door. 

He groped for some seconds before he found it. It was closed andhe knew that there was no handle on the outside. He battered uponit with his fist, shouting Guy's name. 

There came no answer to his summons, but the sound of the waterseemed to swell in volume, filling the night. It drove him to afierce impatience. If he had not seen the light he would scarcelyhave taken the risk. None but a fool would have remained in such adeath-trap. But the presence of the light forced him on. He couldnot leave without satisfying himself. He set his shoulder againstthe closed door and flung the full weight of his body into onestupendous effort to force an entrance. 

The wood cracked and splintered with the shock. He felt himselfpitching forward and grabbed at the post to save himself. The doorswung back upon its hinges, and he burst into the hut headlong. 

The flame of a candle glimmered in his eyes, momentarily dazzlinghim. Then he heard a cry. A figure sprang towards him--a woman'sfigure with outstretched arms waving him back! Was he dreaming?Was he mad? It was Sylvia's face, white and agonized, thatconfronted him--Sylvia's voice, but so strained that he hardlyrecognized it, broken and beseeching, imploring him for mercy. 

"Oh, Burke--for God's sake--don't kill him! Don't kill him! Iwill kill myself--I swear--if you do. "

He caught the outflung hands, gripping them hard, assuring himselfthat this thing was no illusion. He looked into her eyes of wildappeal. 

She attempted no, further entreaty, but she flung herself againsthim, impeding him, holding him back. Over her shoulder he lookedfor Guy; and found him. 

He was sitting crouched on a low trestle-bed at the further end ofthe hut with his head in his hands. Burke turned to the girl whostood palpitating, pressed against him, still seeking with all herstrength to oppose his advance. 

Her wide eyes met his. They were filled with a desperate fear. "He is ill, " she said. 

The roar of the rising water filled the place. The ground undertheir feet seemed to be shaking. 

Burke looked down at the woman he held, and a deadly sensationarose and possessed him. For the moment he felt sick with anoverpowering longing. The temptation to take her just as she wasand go was almost more than human endurance could bear. He hadundergone so much for her sake. He had suffered so fiery atorture. The evil impulse gripped and tore him like a living thing. 

And then--was it the purity of those eyes upraised to his?--he wasconscious of a change within him. It was as if a quieting touchhad been laid upon him. He knew--quite suddenly he knew--what hewould do. The temptation and the anguish went out together like anextinguished fire. He was his own master. 

He bent to her and spoke, his words clear above the tumult: "Helpme to save him! There is just a chance!"

He saw the swift change in her eyes. She bent with a sharpmovement, and before he could stop her he felt her lips upon hishand. They thrilled him with a strange exaltation. The memory ofthat kiss would go with him to the very Gate of Death. 

Then he had reached Guy, was bending over him, raising him withurgent hands. He saw the boy's face for a moment, ashen in theflickering candlelight, and he knew that the task before him wasone which it would take his utmost strength to accomplish. But heexerted it and dragged him to his feet, half-supporting, half-carrying, him towards the open door, Sylvia helping on theother side. The thought went through him that this was the lastact that they would perform in partnership. And somehow he knewthat she would remember it later in the same way. 

They reached the threshold. Guy was stumbling blindly. He seemedto be dazed, scarcely conscious of his surroundings. The turmoilof the water was terrific through the ceaseless rush of the rain. With heads bent to the storm they forced their way out into thetumult. 

They found Diamond tramping and snorting with fright at the back ofthe hut, but to Burke's brief command and Sylvia's touch he stoodstill. 

"Get up!" Burke said to the girl. 

But she started and drew back. "Oh no--no!" she cried back to him. "I will go on foot. "

He said no more, merely turned and hoisted Guy upwards. He landedin the saddle, instinctively gripping with his knees while Burke onone side, Sylvia on the other, set his feet in the stirrups. 

Then still in that utter silence Burke went back to Sylvia. He hadlifted her before she was aware, and for one breathless moment heheld her. Then she also was up on the horse's back. He thrust herhands away from him, pushing them into Guy's belt with a masterythat would brook no resistance. 

"Wake up!" he yelled to Guy, and smote him on the thigh as hedragged the bridle free. 

Then, slipping and sliding on the yielding ground, he pulled thehorse round, gave the rein, into Guy's clutching hand, and struckthe animal smartly on the flank. Diamond squealed and sprangforward bearing his double burden, and in a moment he was off, making for the higher ground and the track that led to the farm, terrified yet blindly following the instinct that does not err. 

The sound of the scrambling, struggling hoofs was lost in thestrife of waters, the swaying figures disappeared in the gloom, andthe man who was left behind turned grimly and went back into theempty hut. 

The candle still cast a flickering light over table and bed. Hestood with his back to the raging night and stared at the unsteadyflame. It was screened from extinction in the draught by astanding photograph-frame. The picture this contained was turnedaway from him. After a moment it caught his attention. He movedround the table. Though Death were swooping towards him, swift andcertain, on the wings of the rising current, he was drawn as aneedle to the magnet. Like a dying man, he reached for the lastdraught that should slake his thirst and give him peace in dying. 

He leaned upon the table, that creaked and shook beneath hisweight. He stretched forth his arms on each side of the candle, and drew the portrait close to the flame. Sylvia's face laughed athim through the shifting, uncertain light. She was standing on awind-blown open space. Her lips were parted. He thought he heardher voice, calling him. And the love in her eyes--the love thatshone through the laughter! It held him like a spell--even thoughit was not for him. 

He gazed earnestly upon this thing that had been another man'streasure long before he had even seen her, and as he gazed, heforgot all beside. By that supreme sacrifice of self, he had wipedout all but his exceeding love for her. The spirit had triumphedover the flesh. Love the Immortal to which Death is but a smallthing had lifted him up above the world. . . . 

What was it that suddenly pierced him as he leaned there? No soundabove that mighty tumult could possibly have reached him. Nomovement beyond that single flickering flame could have caught hisvision. No touch was laid upon him. Yet suddenly he jerkedupright with every nerve a-quiver--and beheld her!

She stood in the doorway, gasping for breath, clinging to thewoodwork for support, with Death behind her, but no fear of Deathin her eyes. They held instead a glory which he had never seenbefore. 

He stood and gazed upon her, unbelieving, afraid to move. His lipsformed her name. And, as one who springs from tempest into safeshelter, Sylvia sprang to him. Her arms were all about him beforehe knew that she was not a dream. 

He clasped her then with such a rush of wonder and joy as nearlydeprived him of the power to think. And in that moment their lipsmet in a kiss that was close and sacred, uniting each to eachbeyond all severance--a soul communion. 

Burke was trembling as she had never known him tremble before. "Why--have you come back?" he said, as speech returned. 

She answered him swiftly and passionately, clinging faster with thewords: "Because--God knows--I would rather die with you--than--thanlive without you! I love you so! Oh, don't you understand?"

Yes, he understood, though all else were beyond his comprehension. Never again would he question that amazing truth that had burstupon him here at the very Gate of Death, changing the whole world. 

He looked down upon her as he held her, the light from the candleshining through her hair, her vivid face uplifted to his, her eyeswide and glowing, seeing him alone. No, he needed no words to tellhim that. 

And then suddenly the roar without increased a hundredfold. Ashrieking wind tore past, and in a moment the flickering light wentout. They stood in darkness. 

Her arms clasped his neck more closely. He felt the coming agonyin her hold. She spoke again, her lips against his own. "Throughthe grave--and Gate of Death--" she said. 

That aroused him. A strength that was titanic entered into him. Why should they wait here for Death? At least they would make afight for it, however small their chance. He suddenly realizedthat mortal life had become desirable again--a thing worth fightingfor--a precious gift. 

He bent, as he had bent on that first night at the farm--how longago!--and gathered her up into his arms. 

A rush of water swirled about his knees as he made for the dimopening. The bank had gone. Yet the rise in the ground would givethem a few seconds. He counted upon the chance. Out into the openhe stumbled. 

The water was up to his waist here. He floundered on the yieldingground. 

"Don't carry me!" she said. "I can wade too. Let me hold yourhand!"

But he would not let her go out of his arms. His strength in thatmoment was as the strength of ten. He knew that unless the floodactually overwhelmed him, it would not fail. 

So, slipping, struggling, fighting, he forced his way, and, likeDiamond, he was guided by an instinct that could not err. Thirtyseconds after they left it, the hut on the sand was swept away bythe hungry waters, but those thirty seconds had been theirsalvation. They had reached the point where the ground began torise towards the _kopje_, and though the water still washed aroundthem the force of it was decreasing at every step, As they reached the foot of the _kopje_ itself, a stream ofmoonlight suddenly rushed down through the racing clouds, revealingthe whole great waste of water like a picture flung upon a screen. 

Burke's breath came thick and laboured; yet he spoke. "We aresaved!" he said. 

"Put me down now!" she urged. "Please put me down!"

But still he would not, till he had climbed above the seethingflood, and could set her feet upon firm ground. And even then heclasped her still, as if he feared to let her go. 

They stood in silence, holding fast to one another while themoonlight flickered in and out, and Burke's heart graduallysteadied again after the terrific struggle. The rain had almostceased. Only the sound of the flood below and the gurgle of ahundred rivulets around filled the night. 

Sylvia's arm pressed upon Burke's neck. "Shall we go--right to thetop?" she said. 

"The top of what?" He turned and looked into her eyes as she stoodabove him. 

She bent to him swiftly, throbbing, human, alive. She held hisface between her hands, looking straight back for a space. Thenwith a little quivering laugh, she bent lower and kissed him. 

"I think you're right, partner, " she said. "We don't need togo--any farther than this. We've--got there. "

He caught her to him with a mastery that was dearer to her in thatmoment than any tenderness, swaying her to his will. "Yes--we'vegot there!" he said, and kissed her again with lips that trembledeven while they compelled. "But oh, my soul--what a journey!"

She clung to him more closely, giving of her all in full and sweetsurrender. "And oh, my soul, " she laughed back softly--"what anarrival!"

And at that they laughed together, triumphant as those who have theworld at their feet. 

CHAPTER XIII

BY FAITH AND LOVE

The flood went down in the morning, and behind it there sprang intobeing a new world of softest, tenderest green in place of thebrown, parched desert that had been. Mary Ann stood at the door ofher hut and looked at it with her goggle-eyes in which the frightof the storm was still very apparent. 

Neither she nor her satellites would go near the house of the_baas_ that morning, for a dread shadow lay upon it into which theydared not venture. The _baas_ himself was there. He had drivenher into the cooking-hut a little earlier and compelled her toprepare a hot meal under his stern supervision. But even the_baas_ could not have forced her to enter the bungalow. For bysome occult means Mary Ann knew that Death was waiting there, andthe wrath of the gods was so recent that she had not courage leftfor this new disaster. 

Diamond had brought his burden safely out of the storm, and was nowcomfortably sheltered in his own stable. But the man who hadridden him had been found hours later by the big _baas_ facedownwards on the _stoep_, and now he lay in the room in which hehad lain for so long, with breathing that waxed and waned andsometimes stopped, and eyes that wandered vaguely round as thoughseeking something which they might never find. 

What were they looking for? Sylvia longed to know. In the hush ofthat room with the light of the early morning breaking through, itseemed to her that those eyes were mutely waiting for a messagefrom Beyond. They did not know her even when they rested upon herface. 

She herself was worn out both physically and mentally, but shewould not leave him. And so Burke had brought in the long chairfor her and made her lie down while she watched. He brought herfood also, and they ate together in the quiet room where theever-changing breathing of the man upon the bed was the only sound. 

He would have left them alone then, but she whispered to him tocome back. 

He came and bent over her. "I'll smoke on the _stoep_, " he said. "You have only to raise your voice if you want-me, and I shallhear. "

She slipped her arms about his neck, and drew him down to her. "Iwant you--all the time, " she whispered. 

He kissed her on lips and hair, but he would not stay. She heardhim pass out on to the _stoep_, and there fell a deep silence. 

It seemed to lap her round like a vast and soundless sea. Presently she was drifting upon it, sometimes dipping under, sometimes bringing herself to the surface with a deliberate effortof the will, lest Guy should come back and need her. She wasunutterably tired, and the rest was balm to her weary soul, butstill, she fought against complete repose, until, like the fallingof a mist, oblivion came at last very softly upon her, and she sankinto the deeps of slumber. . . . 

It must have been some time later that something spoke within her, recalling her. She raised herself quickly and looked at Guy tofind his eyes no longer roving but fixed upon her. She thought hisbreathing must be easier, for he spoke without effort. 

"Fetch Burke!" he said. 

She started up to obey. There was that about Guy at the momentwhich she had never seen before, a curious look of knowledge, astrength new-born that, was purely spiritual. But ere she reachedthe window, Burke was there. He came straight in and went to Guy. And she knew that the end was very near. 

Instinctively she drew back as the two men met. She had a strongfeeling that her presence was not needed, was almost an intrusion. Yet she could not bring herself to go, till suddenly Burke turnedto her and drew her forward. 

"He wants you to say good-bye to him, " he said, "and then--to go. "

It was very tenderly spoken. His hand pressed her shoulder, andthe pressure was reassuring, infinitely sustaining. 

She bent over Guy. He looked straight up at her, and though themystery of Death was in his eyes they held no fear. They evenfaintly smiled upon her. 

"Good-bye, darling!" he said softly. "Think of me sometimes--whenyou've nothing better to do!"

She found and clasped his hand. "Often!" she whispered. "Veryoften!"

His fingers pressed hers weakly. "I wish--I'd made good, " he said. 

She bent lower over him. "Ah, never mind now!" she said. "That isall over--forgiven long ago. "

His eyes still sought hers with that strange intentness. "I neverloved---anyone but you, Sylvia, " he said. "You'll remember that. It's the only thing in all my life worth remembering. Now go, darling! Go and rest! I've got--to talk to Burke--alone. "

She kissed him on the forehead, and then, a moment later, on thelips. She knew as she went from him that she would never hear hisvoice again on earth. 

 * * * * *

She went to her own room and stood at the window gazing out uponthat new green world that but yesterday had been a desert. Thethought of her dream came upon her, but the bitterness and thefears were all gone from her heart. The thing she had dreaded sounspeakably had come and passed. The struggle between the two menon that path which could hold but one was at an end. The greaterlove had triumphed over the lesser, but even so the lesser had notperished. Dimly she realized that Guy's broken life had not beenutterly cast away. It seemed to her that already--there at theGate of Death--he had risen again. And she knew that her agonizedprayer had found an answer at last. Guy was safe. 

It was a long time before Burke came to her. When he did, it wasto find her in a chair by the window with her head pillowed on thetable, sunk in sleep. But she awoke at his coming, looking at himswiftly with a question in her eyes which his as swiftly answered. He came and knelt beside her, and gathered her into his arms. 

She clung to him closely for a while in silence, finding peace andgreat comfort in his hold. Then at length, haltingly she spoke. 

"Burke, --you--forgave him?"

"Yes, " he said. 

She lifted her face and kissed his neck. "Burke, youunderstand--I--couldn't forsake him--then?"

"I understand, " he said, drawing her nearer. "You couldn't forsakeanyone in trouble. "

"Oh, not just that, " she said. "I loved him so. I couldn't helpit. I--had to love him. "

He was silent for a few seconds, and the wonder stirred within herif perhaps even now he could misunderstand her. And then he spoke, his voice very low, curiously uneven. "I know. I loved him, too. That was--the hell of it--for me. "

"Oh, Burke--darling!" she said. 

He drew a hard breath, controlling himself with an effort. "I'dhave cut off my right hand to save him, but it was no good. Itcame to me afterwards--that you were the one who might have doneit. But it was too late then. Besides--besides--" he spoke as ifsomething within him battled fiercely for utterance--"I couldn'thave endured it--standing by. Not you--not you!"

She put up a hand, and stroked his face. "I belonged to you fromthe first moment I saw you, " she said. 

"Sylvia!" He moved abruptly, taking her by the shoulders so thathe might look into her eyes. "That is--the truth?" he said. 

She met his look steadfastly. "Of course it is the truth!" shesaid. "Could I tell you anything else?"

He held her still. "But--Sylvia----"

Her hands were clasped against his breast. "It is the truth, " shesaid again. "I didn't realize it myself at first. It came tome--quite suddenly--that day of the sand-storm--the day Guy savedyour life. "

"Ah!" he said. 

She went on with less assurance. "It frightened me--when I knew. I was so afraid you would find out. "

"But why?" he said. "Why?"

She shook her head, and suddenly her eyes fell before his. Shelooked almost childishly ashamed. 

"Won't you tell me why?" he said. 

She made a small, impulsive movement of protest. "Ididn't--quite--trust you, " she said. 

"But you knew I loved you!" he said. 

She shook her head again with vehemence. "I didn't know--I didn'tknow! How could I? Why, you have never told me so--even now. "

"Great heavens!" he said, as if aghast. 

Very oddly his unexpected discomfiture restored her confidence. She faced him again. "It doesn't matter now, " she said. "Youneedn't begin at this stage. I've found out for myself--as youmight have done long ago if you hadn't been quite blind. But I'mrather glad, after all, that you didn't, because--you learnt totrust me without. It was dear of you to trust me, Burke. I don'tknow how you managed it. "

"I would trust you to the world's end--blindfold, " he said. "Iknow you. "

"Yes, now. But you didn't then. When you found me in thehut--with Guy, " her voice quivered a little--"you didn'tknow--then--that I was with him because he was too ill to be therealone. "

"And to protect him from me, " Burke said. 

"Yes; that too. " She laid her cheek suddenly against his hand. "Forgive me for that!" she said. 

He drew her head back to his shoulder. "No--you had reason enoughfor fearing me, " he said. "God alone knows what brought you backto me. "

She leaned against him with a little sigh. "Yes, He knows, " shesaid softly, "just as He knows what made you stay behind to diealone. It was the same reason with us both. Don't you understand?"

His arms grew close about her. His lips pressed her forehead. "Yes, " he said. "Yes, I understand. "

They spoke later of Kieff and the evil influence he had exertedover Guy. 

"The man was his evil genius, " Burke said. "But I couldn't keephim away when the boy was damaged and there was no one else tohelp. " He paused a moment. "He was the only man in the world I wasever afraid of, " he said then. "He had an uncanny sort of strengththat I couldn't cope with. And he was such a fiend. When he triedto get you into his toils--frankly, I was terrified. He haddragged down so many, "

"And you think--Guy--might have been different but for him?" Sylviaquestioned. 

"Yes. I believe I could have kept him straight if it hadn't beenfor Kieff. He and Piet Vreiboom were thick as thieves, and betweenthem the boy got pulled under. I was beat, and Kelly, too. "

"Mr. Kelly!" Sylvia gave a slight start; that name reminded her. "Burke, do you know--I owe him money? I've got to tell you aboutthat. "

She paused in rather painful hesitation; it was hard to tell himeven now what she had sacrificed so much to hide. 

But he stopped her. "No. You needn't. I know all about it. Iput Kelly up to the job. The money was mine. "

"Burke!" She stared at him in astonishment. "You--knew!"

He nodded. "I guessed a little. And I made Donovan do the rest. You were so upset about it. Something had to be done. "

"Oh, Burke!" she said again. 

He went on. "Guy told me all about it too--only a little whileago. He made a clean breast of everything. He was--awfullypenitent. Look here! We'll forget all that, won't we? Promise meyou'll forget it!" He spoke rapidly, just as Guy would have spoken. She saw that he was deeply moved. "I was a devil ever to doubtyou. I want to be sure--to be certain sure--that you'll neverthink of it again--that you'll forget it all--as if it had neverbeen. "

The earnest appeal in his eyes almost startled her. It brought thequick tears to her own. She gave him both her hands. "I shallonly remember--one thing, " she said. "And that is--your greatgoodness to me--from beginning to end. "

He made a sound of dissent, but she would not hear. 

"I am going to remember that always, for it is the biggest thing inmy life. And now, Burke, please tell me--for I've got to know--arewe quite ruined?"

He gave her an odd look. "What made you think of that?"

She coloured a little. "I don't know. I have been thinking aboutit a great deal lately. Anyhow, " she met his look almostdefiantly, "I've a right to think of it, haven't I? We'repartners. "

"You've a right to do anything that seems good to you, " he said. "I am not absolutely down and out, but I'm pretty near it. Thereisn't much left. "

She squeezed his hands hard, hearing the news with no hint ofdismay. Her eyes were shining with the old high courage. "Nevermind, partner! We'll pull up again, " she said. "We're a soundworking proposition, aren't we?"

He drew her suddenly and closely into his arms. "My own bravegirl!" he said. 

 * * * * *

Bill Merston came over in the evening, summoned by one of Burke'sKaffirs, and they buried Guy under the shadow of the _kopje_ inwhat in a few more days would be a paradise of flowers. The sunwas setting far away in an opalescent glow of mauve and pink andpearl. And the beauty of it went straight to Sylvia's heart. 

She listened to the Burial Service, read by Merston in his simplesincere fashion, and she felt as if all grief or regret wereutterly out of place. She and Burke, standing hand in hand, hadbeen lifted above earthly things. And again there came to her thethrilling certainty that Guy was safe. She wondered if, in his ownwords, he had forgotten it all and started afresh. 

Merston could not stay for the night. He looked at Sylvia ratherquestioningly at parting. 

She smiled in answer as she gave him her hand. "Give my love toMatilda!" she said. "Say I am coming to see her soon!"

"Is that all?" he said. 

She nodded. "Yes, that's all. No--one thing more!" She detainedhim a moment. "Thank her for all she has done for me, and tell herI have found the right mixture at last! She will understand, or--if she doesn't--I will give her the recipe when I come. "

He frowned at her with masculine curiosity. "What is it for? Anew kind of pickles?"

She turned from him. Her face was deeply flushed. "No. It's athing called happiness. Don't forget to tell her! Good-bye!^

"Then in heaven's name, come soon!" said Merston, as he mounted hishorse. 

 * * * * *

When he was gone, they mounted the _kopje_ together, still hand inhand. 

The way was steep, but they never rested till they reached the top. The evening light was passing, but the sky was full of stars. The_spruit_ was a swift-flowing river below them. They heard the rushof its waters--a solemn music that seemed to fill the world. 

Sylvia turned her face to the north, and the long, dim range ofhills beyond the _veldt_. 

"We will go beyond some day, " Burke said. 

She held his hand very fast. "I don't mind where we go, partner, so long as we go together, " she said. 

He drew something out of his pocket and held it out to her. "I'vegot to give you this, " he said. 

She looked at him in surprise. "Burke! What is it?"

"It's something Guy left to you, " he said, "with his love. Ipromised to give it you to-night. Take it, won't you?"

She took it, a small object wrapped in paper, strangely heavy forits size. "What is it?" she said again. 

"Open it!" he said. 

She complied, trembling a little. "Oh--Burke!" she said. 

It lay in her hand, a rough stone like a small crystal, oddlyshaped. The last of the evening light caught it, and it gleamed asif with living fire. 

"The diamond!" she whispered. 

"Yes--the diamond. " Burke spoke very quietly. "He gave it to mejust before he died. 'Tell her she is not to keep it!' he said. 'She is to sell it. I won it for her, and she is to make use ofit. '"

"But--it is yours really, " Sylvia said. 

"No. It is yours. " Burke spoke with insistence. "But I think heis right. You had better sell it. Vreiboom and some ofHoffstein's gang are after it. They don't know yet who won it. Donovan covered Guy's tracks pretty cleverly. But they'll findout. It isn't a thing to keep. "

She turned to him impulsively. "You take it, partner!" she said. "It was won with your money, and no one has a greater right to it. "

"It is yours, " he insisted. 

She smiled. "Very well. If it's mine, I give it to you; and ifit's yours you share it with me. We are partners, aren't we?Isn't that what Guy intended?"

He smiled also. "Well--perhaps. "

She put it into his hand and closed his fingers over it. "There'sno perhaps about it. We'll take it back to Donovan, and make himsell it. And when we've done that--" She paused. 

"Yes?" he said. 

She pushed her hand through his arm. "Would it bore you very much, partner, to take me back to England--just--for a little while? Iwant to see my daddy again and tell him how happy I am. He'll liketo know. "

"Of course I will take you, " he said. 

"Thank you. " Her hand pressed his arm. "And then we'll come backhere. I want to come back here, Burke. It isn't--a land ofstrangers to me any more. It's just--the top of the world. ShallI tell you--would you like me to tell you--how we managed to gethere?"

His arm went round her. "I think I know. "

She turned her face to his. "By faith--and love, my darling, " shesaid. "There is--no other way. You taught me that. "

He kissed her fervently, with lips that trembled. "I love you withmy whole soul, " he told her, with sudden passion. "God knows how Ilove you!"

She gave herself to him with a little quivering laugh. "Do youknow, partner, " she said, "I wanted you to tell me that? I've beenwanting it--for ever so long. "

And they were nearer to the stars above them in that moment than tothe world that lay at their feet. 

THE END