owerless to warn you. I struggled to, even prayed. Then I was able.
I warned you, and the danger seemed to pass. And oh, Laurence, I woke up
crying!"

"Your dream was a true one, my Lilith. No, I will not tell you how or in
what way. And will you always be empowered to warn me--to save me, my
sweet guardian angel? I shall need it often enough during the
next--er--in the time that is coming."

His face had taken on an unwonted expression, and his tones were
suspiciously husky. Lilith looked wonderingly at him, and her own
expression was grave and earnest. The sweet eyes became dewy with unshed
tears.

"You know I will, if I may," she answered, stealing a hand into his for
a sympathetic pressure, as they walked side by side.

They had been walking at a good pace over the open, treeless veldt, and
the roofs of Booyseus were now quite dwarfed behind them.

"But, tell me," she continued, "are things any better? Oh, it is
dreadful that you should have come all this way only to be more
completely ruined than before--dreadful! I am always thinking about it.
Yet I am of a hopeful disposition, as I told you. I never despair.
Things will take a turn. They must."

"They have taken a turn, Lilith, but not in the direction you mean. I am
going away."

She started. She knew that those words must one day be spoken. Now that
they had been, they hurt.

"Back to England?"

The words came out breathlessly, and with a sort of gasp.

"No, not there. I am going up country, into the interior."

"Oh!"

There was relief in the ejaculation. For the moment she lost sight of
all that was involved by such a destination. They would still be in the
same land. That was something--or seemed so.

Now all the latent instincts, never half drawn forth, surged like molten
volcano fires through Laurence Stanninghame's soul. The dead and stormy
nature, slain within him, revivified, burst forth into warm, pulsating,
struggling, rebellious life. This striving of heart against heart, this
desperate effort still to patch up the rents in the flimsy veil, moved
him infinitely. The veldt on the Witwatersrand is as open and devoid of
cover as a billiard-table. The two were visible for miles. But for this
he knew not what he might have done--rather he knew full well what he
certainly would have done.

They took refuge in practical topics; they talked of the up-country
trip.

"You are very friendly with that Mr. Hazon, are you not, Laurence?
Nobody