s of irresponsible inconsistency. He was
full of splendid possibilities that invariably withered ere they
approached fruition. He had come to regard him as a born failure,
and though for Sylvia's sake he had made this final effort, he had
small faith in its success. Only she was so hard to resist, that
frank-eyed, earnest young partner of his. She was so unutterably
dear in all her ways. How could he hear the tremor of her pleading
voice and refuse her?

The memory of her came over him like a warm soft wave. He felt
again the quick pressure of her arm about his neck, the fleeting
sweetness of her kiss. How had he kept himself from catching her
to his heart in that moment, and holding her there while he drank
his fill of the cup she had so shyly proffered? How had he ever
suffered her to flit from him down the rough _kopje_ and turn at
the bottom with the old intangible shield uplifted between them?

The blood raced in his veins. He clenched his hands in impotent
self-contempt. And yet at the back of his man's soul he knew that
by that very forbearance his every natural impulse condemned, he
had strengthened his position, he had laid the foundation-stone of
a fabric that would endure against storm and tempest. The house
that he would build would be an abiding-place--no swiftly raised
tent upon the sand. It would take time to build it, infinite care,
possibly untold sacrifice. But when built, it would be absolutely
solid, proof for all time against every wind that blew. For every
stone would be laid with care and made fast with the cement that is
indestructible. And it would be founded upon a rock.

So, as at last he drifted into sleep, Guy lying in a deathlike
immobility by his side, there came to him the conviction that what
he had done had been well done, done in a good cause, and
acceptable to the Master Builder at Whose Behest he was vaguely
conscious that all great things are achieved.

CHAPTER VI

THE RETURN

When the morning broke upon Blue Hill Farm the sand-storm had blown
itself out. With brazen splendour the sun arose to burn the
parched earth anew, but Sylvia was before it. With the help of
Fair Rosamond and, Joe, the boy, she was preparing a small wooden
hut close by for the reception of a guest. He should not go back
to that wretched cabin on the sand if she could prevent it. He
should be treated with honour. He should be made to feel that to
her--and to Burke--his welfare