she glances round
nervously towards the farmhouse, and finds herself wishing she had on
headgear less conspicuous than the snowy whiteness of a _kapje_.

On comes the dust-cloud, powdering up from the road at each hoof-stroke
as the horseman advances at a canter. He, whoever it may be, is yet a
great way off, and a speculation, in which hope is about equal to
disappointment and disgust combined, escapes those pretty lips:

"Only some Dutchman, I suppose."

But a very few minutes of further watching suffices to bring back the
light to her face, and an eager, expectant look, which she strives to
repress, shines from her eyes. For the rider is very near now, and
instinctively she moves a little further down the river bank in such
wise that the dip in the ground where the drift lies conceals her
effectually, white _kapje_ and all, from view of the homestead.

The horseman, who is now descending into the drift, perceives her and
turns his steed, so as to join her among the thorns.

"Why, May, this is good of you," he says, as he joins her. Seen
dismounted he is a tall, well-set-up man of about five-and-thirty, with
clean-cut features and a dark moustache. His brown eyes are clear and
searching, and there is a certain quickness about his speech and
movements which is totally disassociated with any suggestion of flurry.

"What is `good of' me? You don't suppose I came down here on purpose to
meet you, I hope?" is the characteristic rejoinder, uttered with a
certain tinge of defiance.

"Why not? It would have been very nice of you--very sweet of you, in
fact, and I should have appreciated it. Don't you run away with the
idea that the faculty of appreciation is exclusively vested in the
softer sex."

They were still holding each other's hands--holding them a good deal
longer than the usages of social greeting exacted.

"Well, I'm glad I came, anyhow," she answered, in a softer tone,
relaxing her grasp of his with ever so perceptible a final pressure.
"The slowness of this place gets upon my nerves."

"You've spoilt it now," he laughed, looking her in the eyes. "For
penalty you deserve what I'm about to tell you. I haven't time to
off-saddle. I'm going straight on."

She started. The bright face clouded over. The new arrival, who had
never removed his eyes from it, needed all his self-command to refrain
from an uncontrollable burst of merriment.

"If you pass our door to-day or any other day without off-