if the truth were known, or
if we are, it's generally for want of opportunity to become the other
thing, at any rate, that's my belief. And Lyn likes you so much,
Blachland, and her instinct's never at fault."

"God bless her!" was the fervent reply. "I don't wonder, Bayfield, that
you almost worship that child. I know if she were my child I should
rather more than entirely."

"Would you?" said the other, his whole face softening. "Well, that's
about what I do. Come along up to the house, Blachland, and let's
forget all about this rotten affair. I'll take jolly good care I keep
it away from her by hook or by crook, anyhow. It's a beastly bore
you've got to clear to-morrow, but you know your own business best, and
it never does to let business slide. You'll roll up again next time
you're down this way of course. I say though, you mustn't go getting
any more fever."

As a matter of fact, Blachland's presence was no more needed up-country,
either in his own interests or anybody else's, than was that of the Shah
of Persia. But, it would simplify matters to leave then, besides
affording Bayfield a freer hand: and for another thing, it would enable
him to make sure of getting his young kinsman out of the toils.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Something of a gloom lay upon that household of three that evening, by
reason of the impending departure of this one who had been so long an
inmate in their midst, and had identified himself so completely with
their daily life.

"Mr Blachland, but I wish I was big enough to go with you," announced
small Fred. "Man, but I'd like to see those Matabele chaps, and have a
shot at a lion."

"Some day, when you are big enough, perhaps you shall, Fred. And, look
here, when your father thinks you are big enough to begin to shoot--and
that'll be pretty soon now--I'm to give you your first gun. That's a
bargain, eh, Bayfield?"

"_Magtig_! but you're spoiling the nipper, Blachland," was the reply.
"You're a lucky chap, Fred, I can tell you."

Somehow, Lyn was not in prime voice for the old songs in the course of
the evening, in fact she shut down the concert with suspicious
abruptness. When it became time to say good night, she thrust into
Blachland's hand a small, flat, oblong packet:

"A few of my poor little drawings," she said, rather shyly. "You said
you would like to have one or two, and these will remind you perhaps a
lit