uddenly, with quick concern,
"You are not well. Something is troubling you."

"O no," and she gave a little laugh that he could not but know was
forced. "I've been rather bothered with a headache to-day. Shall we go
back?" She had been carrying the large grey hat slung over her arm,
but now she tied it on, pulling it down over her face, so that he
could see nothing but the small, firm chin and sensitive mobile mouth.
And neither could she see that, under or through the rigidity, his
face wore now a troubled aspect, and his eyes looked to the horizon
seeing nothing. Why had he come back? he was asking. Why was he
hovering in the grip of it again, that strong need of the human,
however resolute, for sympathy, for companionship, for understanding?
For now, as they stood together alone on the kopje, all the ache of
the last sixteen years seemed to be merged into one great longing for
her. And then in his heart he laughed harshly. He, the British South
African policeman, not even a regular soldier; and she, the only
child, and sole heiress, of a millionaire father who adored her. He,
with his tragedy in the background, that he could not speak of, in his
forty-third year. She young, beautiful, fresh, with all the world at
her feet. Ah, of course, he had been a fool to run any risk of another
encounter; and he was sore with the fate that had led him thither in
ignorance.

And Meryl, walking a little stumblingly over the rough pathway, was
glad of the big shady hat that hid her eyes and gave her time to pull
herself together. Of course, that other woman he had loved sixteen
years ago had been one of his own people--one of those whom the great
Fourtenay family of Devon regarded as an equal. Whereas she was just
Meryl Pym, and though many needy peers chose rich wives from across
the sea, anyone might know Peter Carew was not of these, and would
sooner shun such riches than seek them.

So they walked back, mostly in silence, only no longer the silence of
quiet, contented understanding, but rather a silence which she showed
no inclination to break, and he felt baffled, and worried, and
anxious. And at dinner, though Meryl made one of her spasmodic efforts
and contrived to be gay, he remained somewhat preoccupied and
taciturn. And Ailsa looked from one to the other secretly, and
wondered what had been said before they reached the Mission Station;
and felt again that womanlike desire to shake the man for the very
resoluteness she