She longed to know how Burke had fared upon his quest.  She yearned, even while she dreaded, to see the face which once had been all the world to her.  That he had ceased to fill her world was a fact that she frankly admitted to herself just as she realized that she felt no bitterness towards this man who had so miserably failed her.  Her whole heart now was set upon drawing him back from the evil paths down which he had strayed.  When that was done, when Guy was saved from the awful destruction that menaced him, then there might come time for other thoughts, other interests.  Since Burke had acceded to her urgent request so obviously against his will, her feelings had changed towards him.  A warmth of gratitude had filled her, It had been so fine of him to yield to her like that.

But somehow she could not suffer her thoughts to dwell upon Burke just then.  Always something held her back, restraining her, filling her with a strange throbbing agitation that she herself must check, lest it should overwhelm her.  Instinctively, almost with a sense of self-preservation, she turned her mind away from him.  And she was too busy—­much too busy—­to sit and dream.

When the noon-day heat waxed fierce, she had to rest, though it required her utmost strength of will to keep herself quiet, lying listening with straining ears to the endless whirring of countless insects in the silence of the veldt.

It was with unspeakable relief that she arose from this enforced inactivity and, as evening drew on, resumed her work.  She was determined that Guy should be comfortable when he came.  She knew that it was more than possible that he would not come that day, but she could not leave anything unfinished.  It was so important that he should realize his welcome from the very first moment of arrival.

All was finished at last even to her satisfaction.  She stood alone in the rough hut that she had turned into as dainty a guest-chamber as her woman’s ingenuity could devise, and breathed a sigh of contentment, feeling that she had not worked in vain.  Surely he would feel at home here!  Surely, even though through his weakness they had had to readjust both their lives, by love and patience a place of healing might be found.  It was impossible to analyze her feelings towards him, but she was full of hope.  Again she fell to wondering how Burke had fared.

At sunset she went out and saddled the horse he had given her as a wedding-present, Diamond, a powerful animal, black save for a white mark on his head from which he derived his name.  She and Diamond were close friends, and in his company her acute restlessness began to subside.  She rode him out to the kopje, but she did not go round to view the lonely cabin above the stony watercourse.  She did not want to think of past troubles, only to cherish the hope for the future that was springing in her heart.

She was physically tired, but Diamond seemed to understand, and gave her no trouble.  For awhile they wandered in the sunset light, she with her face to the sky and the wonderful mauve streamers of cloud that spread towards her from the west.  Then, as the light faded, she rode across the open veldt to the rough road by which they must come.