“You are a good woman,” said the doctor warmly.

“There’s better, and there’s worse,” said Phoebe quietly, and even a little coldly.

“More of the latter,” said the doctor dryly.  “Well, Mrs.—?”

“Falcon, sir.”

“We shall hand him over to your care:  but first—­just for form—­if you are a married woman, we should like to see Dick here:  he is your husband, I presume.”

Ploebe laughed merrily.  “Dick is my brother; and he can’t be spared to come here.  Dick! he’d say black was white if I told him to.”

“Then let us see your husband about it—­just for form.”

“My husband is at the farm.  I could not venture so far away, and not leave him in charge.”  If she had said, “I will not bring him into temptation,” that would have been nearer the truth.  “Let that fly stick on the wall, sir.  What I do, my husband will approve.”

“I see how it is.  You rule the roost.”

Phoebe did not reply point-blank to that; she merely said, “All my chickens are happy, great and small,” and an expression of lofty, womanly, innocent pride illuminated her face and made it superb for a moment.

In short, it was settled that Staines should accompany her next morning to Dale’s Kloof Farm, if he chose.  On inquiry, it appeared that he had just returned to the hospital with his patient.  He was sent for, and Phoebe asked him sweetly if he would go with her to her house, one hundred and eighty miles away, and she would be kind to him.

“On the water?”

“Nay, by land; but ’tis a fine country, and you will see beautiful deer and things running across the plains, and”—­

“Shall I find the past again, the past again?”

“Ay, poor soul, that we shall, God willing.  You and I, we will hunt it together.”

He looked at her, and gave her his hand.  “I will go with you.  Your face belongs to the past, so does your voice.”

He then inquired, rather abruptly, had she any children.  She smiled.

“Ay, that I have, the loveliest little boy you ever saw.  When you are as you used to be, you will be his doctor, won’t you?”

“Yes, I will nurse him, and you will help me find the past.”

Phoebe then begged Staines to be ready to start at six in the morning.  She and Dick would take him up on their way.

While she was talking to him the doctor slipped out, and to tell the truth he went to consult with another authority, whether he should take this opportunity of telling Staines that he had money and jewels at the bank:  he himself was half inclined to do so; but the other, who had not seen Phoebe’s face, advised him to do nothing of the kind.  “They are always short of money, these colonial farmers,” said he; “she would get every shilling out of him.”

“Most would; but this is such an honest face.”

“Well, but she is a mother, you say.”

“Yes.”