launting in the sunshine--diversified the distance. But the road
itself, such as it was, lay all on the high plain, looking down now and
again into gorges or kloofs, wooded on their slopes with scrubby
trees, and comparatively well-watered. In the midst of all this crude,
unfinished land, the mere sight of a bicycle, bumping over the rubbly
road, was a sufficient surprise; but my astonishment reached a climax
when I saw, as it drew near, that it was ridden by a woman!

One moment later I had burst into a wild cry, and rode forward to her
hurriedly. "Hilda!" I shouted aloud, in my excitement: "Hilda!"

She stepped lightly from her pedals, as if it had been in the park: head
erect and proud; eyes liquid, lustrous. I dismounted, trembling, and
stood beside her. In the wild joy of the moment, for the first time in
my life, I kissed her fervently. Hilda took the kiss, unreproving. She
did not attempt to refuse me.

"So you have come at last!" she murmured, with a glow on her face,
half nestling towards me, half withdrawing, as if two wills tore her
in different directions. "I have been expecting you for some days; and,
somehow, to-day, I was almost certain you were coming!"

"Then you are not angry with me?" I cried. "You remember, you forbade
me!"

"Angry with you? Dear Hubert, could I ever be angry with you, especially
for thus showing me your devotion and your trust? I am never angry with
you. When one knows, one understands. I have thought of you so often;
sometimes, alone here in this raw new land, I have longed for you to
come. It is inconsistent of me, of course; but I am so solitary, so
lonely!"

"And yet you begged me not to follow you!"

She looked up at me shyly--I was not accustomed to see Hilda shy. Her
eyes gazed deep into mine beneath the long, soft lashes. "I begged you
not to follow me," she repeated, a strange gladness in her tone. "Yes,
dear Hubert, I begged you--and I meant it. Cannot you understand that
sometimes one hopes a thing may never happen--and is supremely happy
because it happens, in spite of one? I have a purpose in life for which
I live: I live for it still. For its sake I told you you must not come
to me. Yet you HAVE come, against my orders; and--" she paused, and drew
a deep sigh--"oh, Hubert, I thank you for daring to disobey me!"

I clasped her to my bosom. She allowed me, half resisting. "I am too
weak," she murmured. "Only this morning, I made up my mind that when
I saw you I