They did not go again to Ritzen, but to a town of greater importance further down the line, a ride of nearly forty miles across the veldt.  It was a busy town in the neighbourhood of some mines, and its teeming life brought back again to her that sense of aloneness in a land of strangers that had so oppressed her in the beginning.  It drove her to seek Burke’s society whenever possible.  He was the shield between her and desolation, and in his presence her misgivings always faded into the background.  He knew some of the English people at Brennerstadt, but she dreaded meeting them, and entreated him not to introduce anyone to her until they were married.

“People are all so curious.  I can’t face it,” she said.  “Mine is rather a curious story, too.  It will only set them talking, and I do so hate gossip.”

He smiled a little and conceded the point.  And so she was still a stranger to everyone on the day she laid her hand in Burke’s and swore to be faithful to him.  The marriage was a civil one.  That also robbed it of all sense of reality for her.  The ceremony left her cold.  It did not touch so much as the outer tissues of her most vital sensibilities.  She even felt somewhat impatient of the formalities observed, and very decidedly glad when they were over.

“Now let’s go for a ride and forget it all!” she said.  “We’ll have a picnic on the veldt.”

They had their picnic, but the heat was so great as to rob it of much enjoyment.  Sylvia was charmed by a distant view of a herd of springbok, and her eyes shone momentarily when Burke said that they would have to do some shooting together.  But almost immediately she shook her head.

“No, they are too pretty to kill.  I love the hunt, but I hate the kill.  Besides, I shall be too busy.  If I am going to be your partner, one of us will have to do some work.”

He laughed at that.  “When do you want to begin?”

“Very soon,” she said energetically.  “Tomorrow if you like.  I don’t think much of Brennerstadt, do you?  It’s such a barren sort of place.”  He looked at her.  “I believe you’ll hate the winter on the farm.”

“No, I shan’t.  I shan’t hate anything.  I’m not so silly as to expect paradise all the time.”

“Is this paradise?” said Burke.

She glanced at him quickly.  “No, I didn’t say that.  But I am enjoying it.  And,” she flushed slightly, “I am very grateful to you for making that possible.”

“You’ve nothing to be grateful to me for,” he said.

“Only I can’t help it,” said Sylvia.

Burke’s eyes were scanning the far stretch of veldt towards the sinking sun, with a piercing intentness.  She wondered what he was looking for.

There fell a silence between them, and a vague feeling of uneasiness began to grow up within her.  His brown face was granite-like in its immobility, but it was exceedingly grim.