of sport, than
this moving over a fine rolling expanse of bontebosch veldt, beneath the
cloudless blue of the heavens, through the clear exhilarating air of an
early African winter day; when game is plentiful, and anything may jump
out, or rise at any moment; blekbuck or duiker, guinea-fowl or koorhaan,
or partridge, with the possibility of a too confiding pauw, and other
unconsidered trifles. All these conditions held good here, yet one, at
any rate, of those privileged to enjoy them, keen sportsman as he was,
felt that day that something was wanting--that a cloud was dimming the
sun-lit beauty of the rolling plains, and an invisible weight crushing
the exhilaration of each successful shot.

Blachland, pursuing his sport mechanically, was striving to shake off an
unpleasant impression, and striving in vain. Something seemed to have
happened between yesterday and to-day. Or was it the thought that Lyn
Bayfield would be more or less in Hermia's society throughout the whole
of that day? Yet, even if such were the case, what on earth did it
matter to him?

The day came to an end at last, but there had been nothing to complain
of in the way of the sport. They had lunched in the veldt, in ordinary
hunter fashion--and in the afternoon had got in among the guinea-fowl;
and being lucky enough to break up the troop, had about an hour of
pretty sport--for scattered birds lie well and rise well--and by the
time they turned their faces homeward, were loaded up with about as much
game--buck and birds--as the horses could conveniently carry.

A flutter of feminine dresses was visible on the stoep, as they drew
near the house, seeing which, an eager look came into Percival West's
face. It was not lost upon his kinsman, who smiled to himself
sardonically, as he recalled how just such a light had been kindled in
his own at one time, and by the same cause. What a long while ago that
seemed--and to think, too, that it should ever have been possible.

A chorus of congratulation arose as the magnitude of the bag became
apparent.

"Those two Britishers knocked spots out of us to-day!" cried Earle.
"Bayfield and I can clean take a back seat."

"You wouldn't call Mr Blachland a Britisher, surely, Mr Earle?" struck
in Hermia. "Why, he's shot lions up-country."

"Eh, has he? How d'you know?" asked Earle eagerly--while he who was
most concerned mentally started.

"Didn't he tell us so this morning?" she said, and her glance of