healing, his pulses beat a thought more firmly. He knew now all about
that strange night, when his mind first wandered back into the chambers
of life again. He knew that Jacoba loved him, and the thought troubled
him. Had he been wise? Had he done well to make so great a friend of
this simple Dutch child, to have her so much about with him? Ought he
to have kissed her? to have wandered in the dusk with her, arm-in-arm,
or with his arm round her waist? All these questions returned again and
again to his mind and sought answer.

One quiet morning, as he lay on the _kartel_ there under the tent-sail,
they two were alone in the camp. The men were out hunting; Vrouw Steyn
and Hans were down at the river, washing; the native servants were
scattered. Juno, the pointer, lay by her master's bedside, as she
always did; and, as Jacoba came in under the tent and sat down in the
wagon-chair, something in Juno's affectionate eyes, now turned from
Jacoba's face wistfully to her master's, seemed to ask a question.
Meredith returned Juno's look, and then spoke.

"Jacoba," he said, taking the girl's hand, "I want to tell you
something. I ought to have told it you before, I am afraid. If I had
known what I think I know now, I would have done so. I shall be leaving
you very shortly--as soon as I am well enough to start. I have to be
back in England before Christmas, because early next year I am going to
be married. That is what I ought to have told you before. Forgive me,
Jacoba; I never dreamt that our friendship was turning in another
direction. I heard you say something the other night, just when my
senses were coming back, which makes me think that I have done wrong in
not telling you of all this before. I have been selfish and unfair.
You must forgive me, Jacoba, and forget all about the past two months,
though, indeed, it will be hard for me to forget the pleasant days we
have had together. Don't! don't cry, my dear; I am not worth it, and
you will forget it all soon enough."

Jacoba, seated in her low chair by the bedside, had buried her face in
Meredith's hand and her own as he neared the end of his speaking, and
was now sobbing heavily. Presently she mastered herself, dried her
tears a little, and spoke.

"Perhaps, Hendrik," she said, "you ought to have told me. But, indeed,
it would not have much mattered. I loved you ever since I set eyes on
you the first evening we met. And I should have loved you just