But the hand of Death had wiped out every distinguishing mark.  Was it Guy?  Was it Burke?  She knew not.  She turned from the sight with dread unspeakable.  She went from the accursed spot with the anguish of utter bewilderment in her soul.  She was bereft of all.  She walked alone in a land of strangers.

CHAPTER XI

THE CROSS-ROADS

When Sylvia started awake from that terrible dream it was to hear the tread of horses’ feet outside the house and the sound of men’s voices talking to each other.  As she listened, these drew nearer, and soon she heard footsteps on the stoep outside.  It was drawing towards sunset, and she realized that she had slept for a long time.

She felt refreshed in spite of her dream and very thankful to regain possession of her waking senses.  Her knee too was decidedly better.  She found with relief that with care she could use it.

The smell of tobacco wafted in, and she realized that the two men were sitting smoking together on the stoep.  One of them, she felt sure, was Burke Ranger, though it very soon dawned upon her that they were conversing in Dutch.  She lay for awhile watching the orange light of evening gleaming through the creeper that entwined the comer of the stoep outside her window.  Then, growing weary of inaction, she slipped from her bed and began to dress.

Her cabin-trunk had been placed in a corner of the bare room.  She found her key and opened it.

Guy’s photograph—­the photograph she had cherished for five years—­lay on the top.  She saw it with a sudden, sharp pang, remembering how she had put it in at the last moment and smiled to think how soon she would behold him in the flesh.  The handsome, boyish face looked straight into hers.  Ah, how she had loved him.  A swift tremor went through her.  She closed her eyes upon the smiling face.  And suddenly great tears welled up from her heart.  She laid her face down upon the portrait and wept.

The voices on the stoep recalled her.  She remembered that she had a reputation for courage to maintain.  She commanded herself with an effort and finished her dressing.  She did not dare to look at the portrait again, but hid it deep in her trunk.

Mary Ann seemed to have forsaken her, and she was in some uncertainty as to how to proceed when she was at length ready to leave her room.  She did not want to intrude upon Burke and his visitor, but a great longing to breathe the air of the veldt was upon her.  She wondered if she could possibly escape unseen.

Finally, she ventured out into the passage, and followed it to an open door that seemed to lead whither she desired to go.  She fancied that it was out of sight of the two men on the stoep, but as she reached it, she realized her mistake.  For there fell a sudden step close to her, and as she paused irresolute, Burke’s figure blocked the opening.  He stood looking at her, pipe in hand.