“Look here!” he said.  “This is the most damnable thing I’ve ever had to do.  Let’s get it over!  He’s a rotter and a blackguard.  Can you grasp that?  He hasn’t lived a clean life all these years he’s been away from you.  He went wrong almost at the outset.  He’s the sort that always does go wrong.  I’ve done my best for him.  Anyhow, I’ve kept him going.  But I can’t make a decent man of him.  No one can.  He has lucid intervals, but they get shorter and shorter.  Just at present—­” he paused momentarily, then plunged on—­“I told you last night he wasn’t ill.  That was a lie.  He is down with delirium tremens, and it isn’t the first time.”

“Ah!” Sylvia said.  He had made her understand at last.  She stood for a space staring at him, then with a groping movement she found and grasped the back of a chair.  “Why—­why did you lie to me?” she said.

“I did it for your sake,” he answered briefly.  “You couldn’t have faced it then.”

“I see,” she said, and paused to collect herself.  “And does he—­does he realize that I am here?” she asked painfully.  “Doesn’t he—­want to see me?”

“Just now,” said Ranger grimly, “he is too busy thinking about his own troubles to worry about anyone else’s.  He does know you are coming.  He was raving about it two nights ago.  Then came your wire from Cape Town.  That was what brought me here to meet you.”

“I see,” she said again.  “You—­you have been very good.  It would have been dreadful if—­if I had been stranded here alone.”

“I’d have stopped you at Cape Town if I could,” he said.

“No, you wouldn’t have stopped me,” she answered, with a drear little smile.  “I should have had to come on and see Guy in any case.  I shall have to see him now.  Where is he?”

Ranger stood close to her.  He bent slightly, looking into her eyes.  “You have understood me?” he questioned.

She looked straight back at him; it was no moment for shrinking avoidance.  “Yes,” she said,

“And you believe me?” he proceeded.

Her red-brown eyes widened a little.  “But of course I believe you.”

“And, still you want to see him?” said Burke Ranger.

“I must see him,” she answered quietly.  “You must realize that.  You would do the same in my place.”

“If I did,” said Ranger, dropping his voice, “it would be to tell him to go to hell!” Then, as involuntarily she drew back:  “No, I shouldn’t put it like that to you, I know.  But what’s the point of your seeing him?  It will only make things worse for you.”

“I must see him,” she said firmly.  “Please tell me where he is!”

He looked at her for a moment or two in silence.  “He is in his own shanty on my farm,” he said then.  “Blue Hill Farm it is called.  You can’t go to him there.  It’s a twenty-mile ride from here.”

“Can’t I get a horse to take me?” she asked.

“I could take you in my cart,” said Burke slowly.