for the absent one, who had forgiven him what time he had
incurred the most severe penalties.

During the homeward ride she was still rather silent. The two small
boys, Charlie and Frank, dropped behind and kept up their own chatter,
but even it was rather subdued, rather laboured. The sun flamed down in
all the glory of the cloudless afternoon. Two little steinbok rushed,
startled, from the roadside, and scampering a couple of score yards
halted to gaze at them curiously. It brought back just such another
incident when he had been with her, and jumping off, had turned over one
of them with a neat rifle shot. The shrill grating cackle of a troop of
wild guinea-fowl rose from a clump of prickly pear down towards the
river, and, shading her eyes, she could see the long lines of dust
rising against the sun as the wary birds ran. Here too, he had bagged
quite a goodly number while she waited for him, and under exactly the
same circumstances. Every sight and sound of the sunlit veldt, recalled
him with a vividness more than ordinary to-day, which is dealing in
superlatives. Yet--why?

There was the spot on which they had made their last farewell on that
memorable evening. Lalante had passed over it several times since, but
now, to-day, such an overpowering feeling came upon her, as nearly
impelled her there and then to dismount and kiss the very dust his feet
had pressed. Yet--why?

"Man--Frank," exclaimed Charlie, as they were descending the last slope
opposite the homestead. "There's somebody with father. Wonder who it
is."

Lalante started, and strained her eyes. The distance was over great for
identification purposes, but whoever it was she was pretty sure who it
wasn't.

"Why it's Mr Warren," went on the first speaker. "_Ja_--but I'm glad.
He's no end of a jolly chap."

Again Lalante's heart tightened, as she remembered a similar eulogium,
more than once uttered, with regard to another. Otherwise, as to Warren
she was rather glad of his presence than not. He was good company and
would somehow draw her on to talk of Wyvern, whose praises he would
deftly sound; moreover he never lost a chance of trying to soften her
father's resentment against the absent one. Then, too, there was his
daring feat in the flooded Kunaga on that dreadful afternoon. But, for
any other consideration, if he had only known it, Warren was nowhere.
There was only one in the world for her; one who was totally unlike any
oth