umour her in anything she asked. Which was
partly why some of the long hours of the hot, dusty journey were spent
in discussing plans for the settlement of young men upon his land, on
exceptionally easy terms. He was not quite sure that the country was
ripe for such a scheme yet; but Meryl's great wish for it, and obvious
pleasure in the discussions, took him to lengths he might otherwise
have avoided.

So they came to Bulawayo, and as they stepped out on to the platform,
Meryl saw suddenly among the other passengers a tall form in khaki
that caused her to draw in her breath with a little catch, while her
eyes grew strained and anxious. Diana was still in the saloon, only
half dressed, and her father was talking aside to someone who had come
to the station to meet him. She was quite alone, rooted momentarily to
the spot, waiting for the tall man to turn in her direction, if he
chanced to look that way at all before hurrying off.

Then someone accosted him, and she saw the strong, self-contained
face, as he turned to the speaker. A moment's suspense followed; then
the man who had accosted him went towards the station entrance, and
Carew came slowly in her direction, with his helmet low over his eyes.
Thus he did not see her until they were face to face, and in the
first moment of recognition she saw him start, as one taken in swift
surprise. Then a slow colour crept up under the sunburn on his cheeks,
and something came into his eyes that she had never seen there before.

But he only came forward with a formal air and saluted her solemnly.
"I joined the train in the night," he said. "I had no idea you would
be coming to Bulawayo so soon."

It was all very ordinary, very sedate, and a little wooden, but Meryl
paid no heed to that, paid no heed to the obvious conclusion he had
taken no chance journey hoping to see her again. For what his lips
could not say, and his manner would not, his eyes had revealed to her
in that first swift moment of surprise. She knew that whatever came
between them in the future, whatever was between them now, Peter Carew
was not indifferent to her.

XX

FAREWELL

"Did I hear the growl of a bear?" sang out a voice from behind a drawn
blind of the saloon coach beside which they were standing.

"I'm afraid you did," said Carew, addressing the blind.

"O, joy! joy! Growl again, growl again--like the Christmas bells. How
would it go?... 'Growl out, wild bear'--I forget the rest, but