going?"

"That will be for you to decide, love. Listen, now; this is my position.
I have been quite steady for years, and worked hard, with the result
that I and my partner have a fine farm in the Transvaal, on the high
land near Lake Chrissie, out Wakkerstroom way. We breed horses there,
and have done very well with them. I have L1,500 saved, and the farm
brings us in quite L600 a year beyond the expenses. But it is a lonely
place, with only a few Boers about, although they are good fellows
enough. You might not care to live there with no company."

"I don't think that I should mind," she answered, smiling.

"Not now, but by-and-by you would when you know what it is like. Now I
might sell my share in the farm to my partner, who, I think, would buy
it, or I might trust to him to send me a part of the profits, which
perhaps he would not. Then, if you wish it, we could live in or near
one of the towns, or even, as you have an income of your own, go home to
England, if that is your will."

"Is it your will?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No; all my life is here. Also, I have something to
find before I die--for your sake, dear."

"Do you mean up among those ruins?" she asked, looking at him curiously.

"Yes. So you know about it?" he answered, with a flash of his blue eyes.
"Oh! of course, Seymour told you. Yes, I mean among the ruins--but I
will tell you that story another time--not here, not here. What do you
wish to do, Benita? Remember, I am in your hands; I will obey you in all
things."

"Not to stop in a town and not to go to England," she replied, while he
hung eagerly upon her words, "for this has become my holy land. Father,
I will go with you to your farm; there I can be quiet, you and I
together."

"Yes," he answered rather uneasily; "but, you see, Benita, we shall not
be quite alone there. My partner, Jacob Meyer, lives with me."

"Jacob Meyer? Ah! I remember," and she winced. "He is a German, is he
not--and odd?"

"German Jew, I imagine, and very odd. Should have made his fortune a
dozen times over, and yet has never done anything. Too unpractical, too
visionary, with all his brains and scheming. Not a good man, Benita,
although he suits me, and, for the matter of that, under our agreement I
cannot get rid of him."

"How did he become your partner?" she asked.

"Oh! a good many years ago he turned up at the place with a doleful
story. Said that he had been trading among the Zulus; he was what