nestled—­four square walls of wattle-and-daub, sheltered by its mass from the sweeping winds of the South African plateau.  A stream brought water from a spring close by:  in front of the house—­ rare sight in that thirsty land—­spread a garden of flowers.  It was an oasis in the desert.  But the desert itself stretched grimly all round.  I could never quite decide how far the oasis was caused by the water from the spring, and how far by Hilda’s presence.

“Then you live here?” I cried, gazing round—­my voice, I suppose, betraying my latent sense of the unworthiness of the position.

“For the present,” Hilda answered, smiling.  “You know, Hubert, I have no abiding city anywhere, till my Purpose is fulfilled.  I came here because Rhodesia seemed the farthest spot on earth where a white woman just now could safely penetrate—­in order to get away from you and Sebastian.”

“That is an unkind conjunction!” I exclaimed, reddening.

“But I mean it,” she answered, with a wayward little nod.  “I wanted breathing-space to form fresh plans.  I wanted to get clear away for a time from all who knew me.  And this promised best. . . .  But nowadays, really, one is never safe from intrusion anywhere.”

“You are cruel, Hilda!”

“Oh, no.  You deserve it.  I asked you not to come—­and you came in spite of me.  I have treated you very nicely under the circumstances, I think.  I have behaved like an angel.  The question is now, what ought I to do next?  You have upset my plans so.”

“Upset your plans?  How?”

“Dear Hubert,”—­she turned to me with an indulgent smile,—­“for a clever man, you are really too foolish!  Can’t you see that you have betrayed my whereabouts to Sebastian? I crept away secretly, like a thief in the night, giving no name or place; and, having the world to ransack, he might have found it hard to track me; for he had not your clue of the Basingstoke letter—­nor your reason for seeking me.  But now that you have followed me openly, with your name blazoned forth in the company’s passenger-lists, and your traces left plain in hotels and stages across the map of South Africa—­why, the spoor is easy.  If Sebastian cares to find us, he can follow the scent all through without trouble.”

“I never thought of that!” I cried, aghast.

She was forbearance itself.  “No, I knew you would never think of it.  You are a man, you see.  I counted that in.  I was afraid from the first you would wreck all by following me.”

I was mutely penitent.  “And yet, you forgive me, Hilda?”

Her eyes beamed tenderness.  “To know all, is to forgive all,” she answered.  “I have to remind you of that so often!  How can I help forgiving, when I know why you came—­what spur it was that drove you?  But it is the future we have to think of now, not the past.  And I must wait and reflect.  I have no plan just at present.”