“Much better,” she answered.  “I shall have forgotten all about it by to-morrow.”

“No, you won’t,” said Burke.  “You will rest it for three days at least.  You don’t want to get water on the joint.”

“Three days!” she echoed in dismay, “I can’t—­possibly—­lie up here.”

He raised his eyes from his bandaging for a moment, and a curious thrill went through her; it was as if his look pierced her.  “The impossible often happens here,” he said briefly.

She expressed a sharp tremor that caught her unawares.  “What does that mean?” she asked, striving to speak lightly.

He replied with his eyes lowered again to his task.  “It means among other things that you can’t get back to Ritzen until the floods go down.  Ritter Spruit is a foaming torrent by this time.”

“Good heavens!” she exclaimed.  “But isn’t there—­isn’t there a bridge anywhere?”

“Forty miles away,” said Burke Ranger laconically.

“Good—­heavens!” she gasped again.

He finished his bandaging and stood up.  “Now I am going to carry you to bed,” he said, “and Mary Ann shall wait on you.  You won’t be frightened?”

She smiled in answer.  “You’ve taken my breath away, but I shall get it again directly.  I don’t think I want to go to bed yet.  Mayn’t I stay here for a little?”

He looked down at her.  “You’ve got some pluck, haven’t you?” he said.

She flushed.  “I hope so—­a little.”

He touched her shoulder unexpectedly, with a hint of awkwardness. 
“I’m afraid I can only offer you—­rough hospitality.  It’s the best
I can do.  My guests have all been of the male species till now. 
But you will put up with it?  You won’t be scared anyhow?”

She reached up an impulsive hand and put it into his.  “No, I shan’t be scared at all.  You make me feel quite safe.  I’m only—­more grateful than I can say.”

His fingers closed upon hers.  “You’ve nothing to be grateful for.  Let me take you to the guestroom and Mary Ann shall bring you supper.  You’ll be more comfortable there.  Your baggage is there already.”

She clung to his hand for an instant, caught by an odd feeling of forlornness.  “I will do whatever you wish.  But—­but—­you will let me see Guy in the morning?”

He stooped to lift her.  For a moment his eyes looked straight into hers.  Then:  “Wait till the morning comes!” he said quietly.

There was finality in his tone, and she knew that it was no moment for discussion.  With a short sigh she yielded to the inevitable, and suffered him to carry her away.

CHAPTER X

THE DREAM

She had no further communication with Burke that night.  The old Kaffir woman helped her, brought her a meal on a tray, and waited upon her until dismissed.

Sylvia had no desire to detain her.  She longed for solitude.  The thought of Guy tormented her perpetually.  She ached and yearned—­even while she dreaded—­to see him.  But Burke had decreed that she must wait till the morning, and she had found already that what Burke decreed usually came to pass.  Besides, she knew that she was worn out and wholly unfit for any further strain.