They were still at breakfast when Kelly came dashing in full of the news of the death of Kieff.  No one knew whether it had been accidental or intentional, but he spoke-as the girl in the office had spoken-as if a curse had been lifted from the town.  And Sylvia sat at the table and listened, feeling as if her heart had been turned to ice.  The man had died by his own hand, but she could not shake from her the feeling that she and Burke had been the cause of his death.

She saw Kelly for a few minutes alone when the meal was over, and whispered her thanks to him for what he had done with regard to Guy.  He would scarcely listen to her, declaring it had been a pleasure to serve her, that it had been the easiest thing in the world, and that now it was done she must not worry any more.

“But was it really easy?” she questioned.

“Yes-yes!  He was glad enough of the chance to give it back.  He only acted on impulse, ye see, and Kieff was pushing behind.  He’d never have done it but for Kieff.  Very likely he’ll pull round now and lead a respectable life,” said Kelly cheerily.  “He’s got the stuff in him, ye know, if he’d only let it grow.”

She smiled wanly at his optimism.  “Oh, do beg him to try!” she said.

“I’ll do me best,” promised Kelly.  “Anyway, don’t you worry!  It’s a sheer waste of time and never helped anybody yet.”

His cheerful attitude helped her, small as was her hope for Guy’s reformation.  Moreover, she knew that Kelly would keep his word.  He would certainly do his best for Guy.

He took his leave of her almost immediately, declaring it was the busiest day of his life, but assuring her that he would ride over to Blue Hill Farm to see her on the earliest opportunity with the greatest pleasure in the world.

She asked him somewhat nervously at parting if the death of Kieff were likely to hinder their return, but he laughed at the notion.  Why, of course not!  Burke hadn’t killed the man.  Such affairs as the one she had witnessed the night before were by no means unusual in Brennerstadt.  Besides, it was a clear case of opium poisoning, and everyone had known that he would die of it sooner or later.  It was the greatest mercy he had, gone, and so she wasn’t to worry about that!  No one would have any regrets for Kieff except the people he had ruined.

And so with wholesome words of reassurance he left her, and she went to prepare for her journey.

When Burke joined her again, they spoke only of casual things, avoiding all mention of Guy or Kieff by tacit consent.  He was very considerate for her, making every possible provision for her comfort, but his manner was aloof, almost forbidding.  There was no intimacy between them, no confidence, no comradeship.

They reached Ritzen in the late afternoon.  Burke suggested spending the night there, but she urged him to continue the journey.  The heat of the day was over; there was no reason for lingering.  So they found their horses, and started on the long ride home.

They rode side by side along the dusty track through a barren waste that made the eyes ache.  A heavy stillness hung over the land, making the loneliness seem more immense.  They scarcely spoke at all, and it came to Sylvia that they were stranger to each other now than they had been on that day at the very beginning of their acquaintance when he had first brought her to Blue Hill Farm.  She felt herself to be even more of an alien in this land of cruel desolation than when first she had set foot in it.  It was like a vast prison, she thought drearily, while the grim, unfriendly kopjes were the sentinels that guarded her, and the far blue mountains were a granite wall that none might pass.

The sun was low in the sky when they reached the watercourse.  It was quite dry with white stones that looked like the skeletons of the ages scattered along its bed.

“Shall we rest for a few minutes?” said Burke.  But she shook her head.  “No-no!  Not here.  It is getting late.”

So they crossed the spruit and went on.

The sun went down in an opalescent glow of mauve and pink and pearl that spread far over the veldt, and she felt that the beauty of it was almost more than she could bear.  It hid so much that was terrible and cruel.

They came at length, when the light was nearly gone, to a branching track that led to the Merstons’ farm.

Burke broke his silence again.  “I must go over and see Merston in the morning.”

She felt the warm colour flood her face.  How much had the Merstons heard?  She murmured something in response, but she did not offer to accompany him.

A deep orange moon came up over the eastern hills and lighted the last few miles of their journey, casting a strange amber radiance around them, flinging mysterious shadows about the kopjes, shedding an unearthly splendour upon the endless veldt.  It spread like an illimitable ocean in soundless billows out of which weird rocks stood up-a dream-world of fantastic possibilities, but petrified into stillness by the spell of its solitudes-a world that once surely had thrilled with magic and now was dead.

As they rode past the last kopje-her kopje that she had never yet climbed, they seemed to her to enter the innermost loneliness of all, to reach the very heart of the desert.

They arrived at Blue Hill Farm, and the sound of their horses’ feet brought the Kaffirs buzzing from their huts, but the clatter that they made did not penetrate that great and desolate silence.  The spell remained untouched.

Burke went with Joe to superintend the rubbing down and feeding of their animals, and Sylvia entered the place alone.  Though it was exactly the same as when she had left it, she felt as if she were entering a ruin.

She went to her own room and washed away the dust of the journey.  The packet that Kelly had given her she locked away in her own box.  Burke might enter at any moment, and she did not dare to attempt to open the strong-box then.  She knew the money must be returned and speedily; she would not rest until she had returned it.  But she could not risk detection at that moment.  Her courage was worn down with physical fatigue.  She lacked the nerve.

When Burke came in, he found her bringing in a hastily prepared supper.  He took the tray from her and made her sit down while he waited upon her.  Her weariness was too great to hide, and she yielded without demur, lacking the strength to do otherwise.

He made her eat and drink though she was almost too tired even for that, and when the meal was done he would not suffer her to rest in a chair but led her with a certain grim kindliness to the door of her room.

“Go to bed, child!” he said.  “And stay there till you feel better!”

She obeyed him, feeling that she had no choice, yet still too anxious to sleep.  He brought her a glass of hot milk when she was in bed, remarking that her supper had been a poor one, and she drank in feverish haste, yearning to be left alone.  Then, when he had gone, she tormented herself by wondering if he had noticed anything strange in her manner, if he thought that she were going to be ill and so would perhaps mount guard over her.

A chafing sense of impotence came upon her.  It would be terrible to fail now after all she had undergone.  She lay listening, straining every nerve.  He would be sure to smoke his pipe on the stoep before turning in.  That was the opportunity that she must seize.  She dared not leave it till the morrow.  He might ask for the key of the strong-box at any time.  But still she did not hear him moving beyond the closed door, and she wondered if he could have fallen asleep in the sitting-room.  A heavy drowsiness was beginning to creep over her notwithstanding her uneasiness.  She fought against it with all her strength, but it gained ground in spite of her.  Her brain felt clogged with weariness.

She began to doze, waking with violent starts and listening, drifting back to slumber ever more deeply, till at last actual sleep possessed her, and for a space she lay in complete oblivion.

It must have been a full hour later that she became suddenly conscious again, with every faculty on the alert, and remembered the task still unfulfilled.  It was almost as if a voice-Guy’s voice-had called her, urging her to action.

The room was full of moonlight, and she could see every object in it as clearly as if it had been day.  The precious packet was under her pillow with the key of the strong-box.  She felt for and grasped them both almost instinctively before she looked round, and then, on the verge of raising herself, her newly awakened eyes lighted upon something which sent all the blood in a wild rush to her heart.  A man’s figure was kneeling motionless at the foot of the bed.

She lay and gazed and gazed, hardly believing her senses, wondering if the moonlight could have tricked her.  He was so still, he might have been a figure wrought in marble.  His face was hidden on his arms, but there was that in his attitude that sent a stab of wonder through her.  Was it-was it Guy kneeling there in an abandonment of despair?  Had he followed her like a wandering outcast now that his master Kieff was gone?  If so, but no-but no!  Surely it was a dream.  Guy was far away.  This was but the fantasy of her own brain.  Guy could never have come to her thus.  And yet, was it not Guy’s voice that had called her from her sleep?

A great quiver went through her.  What if Guy had died in the night far away in Brennerstadt?  What if this were his spirit come to hold commune with hers.  Was she not dearer to him than anyone else in the world?  Would he not surely seek her before he passed on?

Trembling, she raised herself at last and spoke his name.  “Guy, is that you?  Dear Guy, speak to me!”

She saw an answering tremor pass through the kneeling figure, but the face remained hidden.  The moonlight lay upon the dark head, and she thought she saw streaks of white upon it.  It was Guy in the flesh then.  It could be none other.  A yearning tenderness thrilled through her.  He had come back-in spite of all his sinning he had come back.  And again through the years there came to her the picture of the boy she had known and loved-ah, how dearly! in the days of his innocence.  It was so vivid that for the moment it swept all else aside.  Oh, if he would but move and show her once more the sparkling eager face of his youth!  She longed with a passionate intensity for one glimpse, however fleeting, of that which once had filled her heart with rapture.  And in her longing she herself was swept back for a few blind seconds into the happy realms of girlhood.  She forgot all the bitterness and the sorrow of this land of strangers.  She Stretched out her arms to the golden-winged Romance that had taught her the ecstasy of first love.

“Oh, Guy-my own Guy-come to me!” she said.

It moved then, moved suddenly, even convulsively, as a wounded man might move.  He lifted his head, and looked at her.

Her dream passed like the rending of a veil.  His eyes pierced her, but she had to meet them, lacking power to do otherwise.

So for a space they looked at one another in the moonlight, saying no word, scarcely so much as breathing.

Then, at last he got to his feet with the heavy movements of a tired man, stood a while longer looking down at her, finally turned in utter silence and left her.

When Sylvia slept, many hours later, there came again to her for the third and last time the awful dream of two horsemen who galloped towards each other upon the same rocky path.  She saw again the shock of collision and the awful hurtling fall.  She went again down into the stony valley and searched for the man who she knew was dead.  She found him in a deep place that no other living being had ever entered.  He lay with his face upturned to the moonlight, and his eyes wide and glassy gazing upwards.  She drew near, and stooped to close those eyes; but she could not.  For they gazed straight into her own.  They pierced her soul with the mute reproach of a silence that could never be broken again.

She turned and went away through a devastating loneliness.  She knew now which of the two had galloped free and which had fallen, and she went as one without hope or comfort, wandering through the waste places of the earth.

Late in the morning she awoke and looked out upon a world of dreadful sunshine,-a parched and barren world that panted in vain for the healing of rain.

“It is a land of blasted hopes,” she told herself drearily.  “Everything in it is doomed.”