e went. I should have skinned him sooner
or later if he hadn't. He realized that. So did I. So we agreed
to part."

So briefly and baldly Burke stated the case, and every sentence he
uttered was a separate thrust in the heart of the white-faced girl
who sat her horse beside him, quite motionless, with burning eyes
fixed upon the miserable little hovel that had enshrined the idol
she had worshipped for so long.

She lifted her bridle at last without speaking a word and walked
her animal forward through the sparse grass and the stones. Burke
moved beside her, still gazing straight ahead, as if he were alone.

They went down to the cabin, and Sylvia dismounted. The only
window space was filled with wire-netting instead of glass, and
over this on the inside a piece of cloth had been firmly fastened
so that no prying eyes could look in. The door was locked and
padlocked. It was evident that the owner had taken every
precaution against intrusion.

And yet--though he lived in this wretched place at which even a
Kaffir might have looked askance--he had sent her that message
telling her to come to him. This fact more than any other that she
had yet encountered brought home to her the bitter, bitter truth of
his failure. Out of the heart of the wilderness, out of desolation
unspeakable, he had sent that message. And she had answered it--to
find him gone.

The slow hot tears welled up and ran down her face. She was not
even aware of them. Only at last she faced the desolation, in its
entirety, she drank the cup to its dregs. It was here that he had
taken the downward road. It was here that he had buried his
manhood. When she turned away at length, she felt as if she had
been standing by his grave.

Burke waited for her and helped her to mount again in utter
silence. Only as she lifted the bridle again he laid his hand for
a moment on her knee. It was a dumb act of sympathy which she
could not acknowledge lest she should break down utterly. But it
sent a glow of comfort to her hurt and aching heart. He had given
her a comrade's sympathy just when she needed it most.

CHAPTER II

THE VISITORS

It was after that ride to Guy's hut that Sylvia began at last to
regard him as connected only with that which was past. It was as
if a chapter in her life had closed when she turned away from that
solitary hut in the wilderness. She said to herself that the man
she had known and loved was dead, and she