“Sure, I’d given myself up for lost entirely,” laughed Kelly.  “And I said to St. Peter—­that’s my horse and the best animal bred out of Ireland—­’Pete,’ I said to him, ’it’s a hell of a country and no place for ye at all.  But if ye put your back into it, Pete, and get us out of this infernal sandpit, I’ll give ye such a draught of ale as’ll make ye dance on your head with delight.’  He’s got a taste for the liquor, has Pete.  I’ve put him in a cowshed I found round the corner, and, faith, he fair laughed to be out of the blast.  He’s a very human creature, Mrs. Ranger, with the soul of a Christian, only a bit saintlier.”

“I shall have to make his acquaintance,” said Sylvia.  “Now come in and have some refreshment!  I am sure you must need it.”

“And that’s a true word,” said Kelly, following her into the sitting-room.  “My throat feels as if it were lined with sand-paper.”

She rapidly cleared a place for him at the table, and ministered to his wants.  His presence was so large and comforting that her own doubts and fears had sunk into the background.  For a time, listening to his artless talk, she was scarcely aware of them, and she was thankful for the diversion.  It had been a terrible afternoon.

He began to make enquiries regarding Burke’s absence at length, and then she told him about the veldt-fires, and the menace to the land.  His distress returned somewhat as she did so, and he was quick to perceive the anxiety she sought to hide.

“Now don’t you worry—­don’t you worry!” he said.  “Burke wasn’t made to go under.  He’s one in a million.  He’s the sort that’ll win to the very top of the world.  And why?  Because he’s sound.”

“Ah!” Sylvia said.  Somehow that phrase at such a moment sent an odd little pang through her.  Would Burke indeed win to the top of the world, she wondered?  It seemed so remote to her now—­that palace of dreams which they had planned to share together.  Did he ever think of it now?  She wondered—­she wondered!

“Don’t you worry!” Kelly said again.  “There’s nothing in life more futile.  Is young Guy still here, by the way?  Has he gone out scotching veldt-fires too?”

She started and coloured.  How much did he know about Guy?  How much would it be wise to impart?

Perhaps he saw her embarrassment, for he hastened to enlighten her.  “I know all about young Guy.  Nobody’s enemy but his own.  I helped Burke dig him out of Hoffstein’s several weeks back, and a tough job it was.  How has he behaved himself lately?  Been on the bust at all?”

Sylvia hesitated.  She knew this man for a friend, and she trusted him without knowing why; but she could not speak with freedom to anyone of Guy and his sins.

But again the Irishman saw and closed the breach.  His shrewd eyes smiled kindly comprehension.  “Ah, but he’s a difficult youngster,” he said.  “Maybe he’ll mend his ways as he gets older.  We do sometimes, Mrs. Ranger.  Anyhow, with all his faults he’s got the heart of a gentleman.  I’ve known him do things—­decent things—­that only a gentleman would have thought of doing.  I’ve punched his head for him before now, but I’ve always liked young Guy.  It’s the same with Burke.  You can’t help liking the fellow.”