and
although she didn't scream or faint, the expression of her face was one
that I devoutly hope never to see upon any face again. And now,
good-bye for the present. I'll call around later and hear how she's
getting on. Poor thing!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun of her life had set--had gone down into black night--yet the
warm rays of the summer sunshine glanced through the open window of her
room, glowing down upon the wide _veldt_ outside and upon the distant
sparkle of the blue sea. Never again would laughter issue from those
lips--yet the sound of light-hearted chat and peals of mirth was ever
and anon borne from without. The droning hum of insects in the
afternoon air--the clink of horse-hoofs, the deep-toned conversation of
natives passing near the window--all these familiar sounds of everyday
life found a faint and far-away echo in her benumbed brain. What,
though one heart was broken--the world went on just the same.

Stay! Was it but a few minutes ago that she passed out through that
door trilling the cheerful fragments of the airiest of songs--but a few
minutes since she picked up that fatal scrap of paper, and then stood
face to face with those who brought her news which had laid her life in
ruins! Only a few minutes! Why, it seemed years--centuries--aeons.
Was it a former state of existence that upon which she now looked back
as across a great and yawning gulf? Was she now dead--and was this the
place of torment? The fire that burned forever and ever! How should
she quench the fire in her heart and brain?

There was a very stoniness about her grief as if the blow had petrified
her. She did not fling herself upon the couch in her agony of despair.
No tears did she shed--better if she had. For long after she had gained
her room and locked herself in alone she stood--stood upright--and
finally when she sought a chair it was mechanically, as with the
movement of a sleep walker. Her heart was broken--her life was ended.
He had gone from her--it only remained for her to go to him.

And then, darting in across her tortured brain, in fiery characters,
came the recollection of his own words--spoken that first and last
blissful morning at Anta's Kloof. "If we are doing wrong through love
for each other we shall have to expiate it at some future time. We
shall be made to suffer _through_ each other," and to this she had
responded "Amen." How s