And Kelly professed himself proud to be of service in any capacity.  If Mrs. Burke would put up with him for another night, sure, he’d be delighted to keep her company, and he’d see that the boy behaved himself too, though for his own part he didn’t think that there was any vice about him just then.

They did not visit the hut or the sand whither Guy had betaken himself.  The sun was getting high, and Burke, with the Kaffir boy who had brought the message running at his stirrup, would not linger on the road.

“He’s probably having a rest,” he said.  “He won’t be fit for much else to-day.  You’ll see him to-night, Donovan?”

And Donovan promised that he would.  He was in fact rather proud of the confidence reposed in him.  To treat him as a friend in need was the highest compliment that anyone could pay the kind-hearted Irishman.  Cheerily he undertook to remain at Blue Hill Farm until Burke’s return, always providing that Mrs. Burke didn’t get tired of him and turn him out.

“She won’t do that,” said Burke.  “You’ll find she will be delighted to see you to-day when you get back.  She hasn’t been trained for solitude, and I fancy it gets on her nerves.”

Perhaps it did.  But on that occasion at least Sylvia was thankful to be left alone.  She had her house to set in order, and at that very moment she was on her knees in the sitting-room, searching, searching in all directions for the key which she had dropped on the previous day during the dust-storm, before Kelly’s arrival.  Burke’s reference to the matter had recalled it to her mind, and now with shamed self-reproach she sought in every cranny for the only thing of any importance which he had ever entrusted to her care.

She sought in vain.  The sand was thick everywhere, but she searched every inch of the floor with her hands, and found nothing.  The stifling heat of the day descended upon her as she searched.  She felt sick in mind and body, sick with a growing hopelessness which she would not acknowledge.  The thing could not be lost.  She knew that Burke had slept in the room, and none of the servants had been alone in it since.  So the key must be somewhere there, must have been kicked into some corner, or caught in a crack.  She had felt so certain of finding it that she had not thought it necessary to tell Burke of her carelessness.  But now she began to wish she had told him.  Her anxiety was turning to a perfect fever of apprehension.  The conviction was beginning to force itself upon her that someone must have found the key.

But who—­who?  No Kaffir, she was certain.  No Kaffir had entered.  And Burke had been there all night long.  He had slept in the long chair, giving up his bed to the guest.  And he had slept late, tired out after the violent exertions of the previous day.

He had slept late!  Suddenly, there on her knees in the litter of sand, another thought flashed through her brain, the thought of her own sleeplessness, the thought of the early morning, the thought of Guy.