Quietly he left his rock and came to her.

She shrank at his coming.  The pulse in her throat was throbbing as if it would choke her.  She wanted to spring up and flee down the hill.  But he was too near.  She sat very still, her fingers gripping each other about her knees, saying no word.

He reached her and stood looking down at her.  “I followed you,” he said, “because I knew you would never get to the top alone.”

She lifted her face, striving against her strange agitation.  “I wasn’t thinking of going any further,” she said, struggling to speak indifferently.  “It—­is steeper than I thought.”

“It aways is,” said Burke.

He sat down beside her, close to her.  She made a small, instinctive movement away from him, but he did not seem to notice.  He took off his hat and laid it down.

“I’m sorry Mrs. Merston had to be inflicted on you for so long,” he said.  “I’m afraid she is not exactly cheery company.”

“I didn’t mind,” said Sylvia.

He gave her a faintly whimsical look.  “Not utterly fed up with Africa and all her beastly ways?” he questioned.

She shook her head.  “I don’t think I am so easily swayed as all that.”

“You would rather stay here with me than go back home to England?” he said.

Her eyes went down to the lonely hut on the sand.  “Why do you ask me that?” she said, in a low voice.

“Because I want to know,” said Burke.

Sylvia was silent.

He went on after a moment.  “I’ve a sort of notion that Mrs. Merston is not a person to spread contentment around her under any circumstances.  If she lived in a palace at the top of the world she wouldn’t be any happier.”

Sylvia smiled faintly at the allusion.  “I don’t think she has very much to make her happy,” she said.  It’s a little hard to judge her under present conditions.”

“She’s got one of the best for a husband anyway,” he maintained.

“Do you think that’s everything?” said Sylvia.

“No, I don’t,” said Burke unexpectedly.  “I think he spoils her, which is bad for any woman.  It turns her head in the beginning and sours her afterwards.”

Sylvia turned at that and regarded him, a faint light of mockery in her eyes.  “What a lot you know about women!” she remarked.

He laughed in a way she did not understand.  “If I had a wife,” he said, “I’d make her happy, but not on those lines.”

“I thought you had one,” said Sylvia.

He met her eyes with a sudden mastery which made her flinch in spite of herself.  “No,” he said, “I’ve only a make-believe at present.  Not very satisfying of course; but better than nothing.  There is always the hope that she may some day turn into the real thing to comfort me.”

His words went into silence.  Sylvia’s head was bent.

After a moment he leaned a little towards her, and spoke almost in a whisper.  “I feel as if I have caught a very rare, shy bird,” he said.  “I’m trying to teach it to trust me, but it takes a mighty lot of time and patience.  Do you think I shall ever succeed, Sylvia?  Do you think it will ever come and nestle against my heart?”