ou one
day, and found it perhaps too painful the next."

Meryl felt suddenly as if an icy hand had closed on her heart. His
meaning to her was so obvious. But she managed to say naturally, "I am
afraid it has been a great sorrow to you. Was she ill for long?"

"She died suddenly. There was a tragedy. Afterwards I came out here."

"And you have never been back?"

"No, I have never been back."

"But you will go?"

"I think not. When I came away it was like closing a book and writing
'Finis.' I do not want to reopen the book for many reasons."

"But your people?" she ventured, longing to hear more, yet fearful of
staying his unexpected confidence.

"I have no people," and his voice was suddenly stern.

"But your home?..." bravely; "your country?..."

"My home is here. My country is here. I am a Rhodesian."

Still with her face averted, she looked to the far kopjes lost in
thought. She seemed to be realising slowly all that his words meant;
feeling throughout her consciousness the utter exclusion of herself
from any plan of life he might formulate. It was as she had seen
before. His work, the country were everything to him--would continue
to be everything. Any unusual softness he had shown to her, any
unexpected pleasure in her company, was just for the sake of a certain
memory he held very precious, for the sake of what the book contained,
upon which he had written "Finis."

Of course, she might have known. What should such a man as he be drawn
to except in friendly intercourse in a girl as young and simple and
undeveloped as herself? What a madness it had been, what a
foolishness! and yet how it hurt, how it hurt!

With a sudden blind sense of ineradicable pain, she breathed over to
herself one verse of the "Immortal Persian" that is not contained in
many editions:

"Better, oh better, cancel from the scroll
Of universe one luckless human soul,
Than drop by drop enlarge the flood that rolls
Hoarser with anguish as the ages roll."

What pain there had evidently been for him! What pain for her now--and
to what end....

"Tis all a chequer-board of nights and days
Where Destiny with men for pieces plays;
Hither and thither moves, and mates and slays,
And one by one back and closet lays."

She stood up suddenly and brushed her hands across her eyes. This was
a weakness, and she knew it. He must not know, he must not guess.

But he saw enough to cause him to say s