He bent towards her.  “Good-bye!” he said again.

She moved swiftly, seized by an impulse she could not pause to question.  It was as if an unknown force compelled her.  She mounted the wheel, and offered him her lips in farewell.

For a moment his arms encircled her with a close and quivering tension.  He kissed her, and in that kiss for the first time she felt the call of the spirit.

Then she was free, and blindly feeling for the ground.  As she reached it, she heard Merston returning, and without a backward look she took up her suit-case and turned to enter.  There was a burning sensation as of tears in her throat, but she kept them from her eyes by sheer determination, and Merston noticed nothing.

“Go straight in!” he said to her with cheery hospitality.  “You’ll find my wife inside.  She’s cooking the supper.  She’ll be awfully pleased to see you.”

If this were indeed the case, Mrs. Merston certainly concealed any excess of pleasure very effectually.  She greeted her with a perfunctory smile, and told her it was very good of her to come but she would soon wish she hadn’t.  She was looking very worn and tired, but she assured Sylvia somewhat sardonically that she was not feeling any worse than usual.  The heat and the drought had been very trying, and her husband’s accident had given her more to do.  She had fainted the evening before, and he had been frightened for once and made a fuss—­quite unnecessarily.  She was quite herself again, and she hoped Sylvia would not feel she had been summoned on false pretences.

Sylvia assured her that she would not, and declared it would do her good to make herself useful.

“Aren’t you that at home?” said Mrs. Merston.

“Well, there are plenty of Kaffirs to do the work.  I am not absolutely necessary to Burke’s comfort,” Sylvia explained.

“I thought you were,” Matilda Merston’s pale eyes gave her a shrewd glance.  “He was keen enough to run after you to Brennerstadt,” she remarked.  “How did you get on there?”

Sylvia hesitated.  “We were only there a couple of nights,” she said vaguely.

“So I gathered.  Did you find Guy?”

“No.  I didn’t see him.  But Mr. Kelly has promised to look after him.”

“Ah, Donovan is a good sort,” said Mrs. Merston.  “He’d nursemaid anyone.  So Kieff is dead!”

She said it abruptly, too intent upon the mixing of her cake to look up.

There came the sound of wheel and hoofs outside, and Sylvia paused to listen before she replied.

“Yes.  Kieff is dead.”

The sound died away in the distance, and there fell a silence.

Then, “Killed himself, did he?” asked Mrs. Merston.

“I was told so,” said Sylvia.

“Don’t you believe it?” Mrs. Merston looked across at her suddenly.  “Did someone else have a try first?  Did he have a row with Burke?”