“Ah now, ye might stay one day longer and try your luck,” wheedled the Irishman.  “The Fates would be sure to favour ye.  Where’s himself?”

“I don’t know.”  She spoke very wearily.  “He left me here to rest.  But it’s so dusty—­and airless—­and noisy.”

Kelly gave her a swift, keen look.  “Come for a ride!” he said.

“A ride!” She raised her heavy eyes with a momentary eagerness, but it was gone instantly.  “He—­might not like me to go,” she said.  “Besides, I haven’t a horse.”

“That’s soon remedied,” said Kelly.  “I’ve got a lamb of a horse to carry ye.  And he wouldn’t care what ye did in my company.  He knows me.  Leave him a note and come along!  He’ll understand.  It’s a good gallop that ye’re wanting.  Come along and get it!”

Kelly could be quite irresistible when he chose, and he had evidently made up his mind to comfort the girl’s forlornness so far as in him lay.  She yielded to him with the air of being too indifferent to do otherwise.  But Kelly had seen that moment’s eagerness, and he built on that.

A quarter of an hour later they met again in the sweltering street, and he complimented her in true Irish fashion upon the rose-flush in her cheeks.  He saw that she looked about uneasily as she mounted, but with unusual tact he omitted to comment upon the fact.

The sun was slanting towards the west as they rode away.  The streets were crowded, but Kelly knew all the short cuts, and guided her unerringly till they reached the edge of the open veldt.

Then, “Come along!” he cried.  “Let’s gallop!”

The sand flew out behind them, the parched air rushed by, and the blood quickened in Sylvia’s veins.  She felt as if she had left an overwhelming burden behind her in the town.  The great open spaces drew her with their freedom and their vastness.  She went with the flight of a bird.  It was like the awakening from a dreadful dream.

They drew rein in the shadow of a tall kopje that rose abruptly from the plain like a guardian of the solitudes.  Kelly was laughing with a boy’s hearty merriment.

“Faith, but ye can ride!” he cried, with keen appreciation, “Never saw a prettier spectacle in me life.  Was it born in the saddle ye were?”

She laughed in answer, but her heart gave a quick throb of pain.  It was the first real twinge of homesickness she had known, and for a moment it was almost intolerable.  Ah, the fresh-turned earth and the shining furrows, and the sweet spring rain in her face!  And the sun of the early morning that shone through a scud of clouds!

“My father and I used to ride to hounds,” she said.  “We loved it.”

“I’ve done it meself in the old country,” said Kelly.  “But ye can ride farther here.  There’s more room before ye reach the horizon.”

Sylvia stifled a quick sigh.  “Yes, it’s a fine country.  At least it ought to be.  Yet I sometimes feel as if there is something lacking.  I don’t know quite what it is, but it’s the quality that makes one feel at home.”