He had been up early.  He generally rested till late in the morning.  He too had been sleepless.  But he had a remedy for that which she knew he would not scruple to take if he felt the need.  His wild excitement of the night before rose up before her.  His eager interest in Kelly’s talk of the diamond, the strangeness of his attitude that morning.  And then, with a lightning suddenness, came the memory of Kieff.

Guy was under Kieff’s influence.  She was certain of it.  And Kieff?  She shrank at the bare thought of the man, his subtle force, his callous strength of purpose, his almost uncanny intelligence.  Yes, she was afraid of Kieff—­she had always been afraid of Kieff.

The midday heat seemed to press upon her like a burning, crushing weight.  It seemed to deprive her of the power to think, certainly of the power to reason.  For what rational connection could there be between Kieff and the loss of Burke’s key?  Kieff was several miles away at the farm of Piet Vreiboom.  And Guy—­where was Guy?  She wished he would come back.  Surely he would come back soon!  She would tell him of her loss, she yearned to tell someone; she would get him to help her in her search.  For it could not be lost.  It could not be really lost!  They would find it somehow—­somehow!

It was no actual reasoning but a blind instinct that moved her to get up at length and go to the room that Guy had occupied for so long, the room that was Burke’s.  It was just as Guy had left it that morning.  She noted mechanically the disordered bed.  The cupboard in the corner was closed as usual, but the key was in the lock.  Burke kept his clothes on the higher shelves.  The strong-box stood on the floor with some boots.

Her eyes went straight to it.  Some magnetism seemed to be at work, compelling her.  And then—­she gave a gasp of wonder, and almost fell on to the sandy floor beside the box.  The key was in the lock!

Was it all a dream then?  Had it never been lost?  Had she but imagined Burke’s action in confiding it to her?  She closed her eyes for a space, for her brain was swimming.  The terrible, parching heat seemed to have turned into a wheel—­a fiery wheel of torture that revolved behind her eyes, making her wince at every turn.  The pain was intense; when she tried to move, it was excruciating.  She sank down with her head almost on the iron box and waited in dumb endurance for relief.

A long time passed so, and she fancied later that she must have slept, for she dared not move while that awful pain lasted, and she was scarcely conscious of her surroundings.  But it became less acute at last; she found herself sitting up with wide-open eyes, trying to collect her thoughts.

They evaded her for a while, and she dared not employ any very strenuous effort to capture them, lest that unspeakable suffering should return.  But gradually—­very gradually—­the power to reason returned to her.  She found herself gazing at the key that had cost her so much; and after a little, impelled by what seemed to be almost a new sense within her, she took it between her quivering fingers and turned it.