“That’ll come,” said Kelly, with confidence.  “You wait till the spring!  That gets into your veins like wine.  Ye’ll feel the magic of it then.  It’s life itself.”

Sylvia turned her face up to the brazen sky.  “I must wait for the spring then,” she said, half to herself.  And then very suddenly she became aware of the kindly curiosity of her companion’s survey and met it with a slight heightening of colour.

There was a brief silence before, in a low voice, she said, “We can’t—­all of us—­afford to wait.”

“You can,” said Kelly promptly.

She shook her head.  “I don’t think by the time the spring comes that there will be much left worth having.”

“Ah, but ye don’t know,” said Kelly.  “You say that because you can’t see all the flowers that are hiding down below.  But you might as well believe in ’em all the same, for they’re there all right, and they’ll come up quick enough when God gives the word.”

Sylvia looked around her over the barren land.  “Are there flowers here?” she said.

“Millions,” said Kelly.  “Millions and millions.  Why, if you were to come along here in a few weeks’ time ye’d be trampling them underfoot they’d be so thick, such flowers as only grow here, on the top of the world.”

“The top of the world!” She looked at him as if startled.  “Is that what you call—­this place?”

He laughed.  “Ye don’t believe me!  Well, wait—­wait and see!”

She turned her horse’s head, and began to walk round the kopje.  Kelly kept pace beside her.  He was not quite so talkative as usual, but it was with obvious effort that he restrained himself, for several times words sprang to his eager lips which he swallowed unuttered.  He seemed determined that the next choice of a subject should be hers.

And after a few moments he was rewarded.  Sylvia spoke.

“Mr. Kelly!”

“Sure, at your service—­now and always!” he responded with a warmth that no amount of self-restraint could conceal.

She turned towards him.  “You have been very kind to me, and I want—­I should like—­to tell you something.  But it’s something very, very private.  Will you—­will you promise me——­”

“Sure and I will!” vowed the Irishman instantly.  “I’ll swear the solemn oath if it’ll make ye any happier.”

“No, you needn’t do that.”  She held out her hand to him with a gesture that was girlishly impulsive.  “I know I can trust you.  And I feel you will understand.  It’s about—­Guy.”

“Ah, there now!  Didn’t I know it?” said Kelly.  He held her hand tight for a moment, looking into her eyes, his own brimful of sympathy.

“Yes.  You know—­all about him.”  She spoke with some hesitation notwithstanding.  “You know—–­just as I do—­that he isn’t—­isn’t really bad; only—­only so hopelessly weak.”

There was a little quiver in her voice as she said the words.  She looked at him with appeal in her eyes.