then
and she had not forgotten it.

"Surprises! I'd like to see them surprise a commando that Mr
Blachland's on," returned Fred, magnificent in his whole-souled contempt
that any one could even imagine any such possibility. "And these
Matabele chaps ain't a patch on the Zulus. I've heard Mr Blachland say
so again and again. _Ja_, he's a fine chap! Won't he make old Lo Ben
sit up!"

Lyn would smile at this kind of oft-repeated expression of her young
brother's honest and whole-hearted idolatry, in which, although more
reticent herself, she secretly shared. And the object of it? He was
always in her thoughts. She delighted to think about him--to talk about
him. Why not? He was her ideal, this man who had been an inmate of
their roof for so long, who had been her daily companion throughout that
time and had stored her mind with new thoughts, new ideas, which all
unconsciously to herself, had expanded and enlarged it--and not one of
which but had improved it. He represented something like perfection to
her, this man, no longer young, weather-beaten, somewhat lined, who had
come there in the capacity of her father's friend. Strange, you see,
but then, life is teeming with eccentricities.

This state of Lyn's mind was not without one interested spectator, and
that her father. Half amused, half concerned, he watched it--and put
two and two together. That outburst of grief in which he had surprised
her had never been repeated, and, watching her with loving care, he
failed to descry any symptom of it having been, even in secret. But the
girl's clear mind was as open and as honest as a mirror. There was no
shadow of hesitation or embarrassment in her manner or speech when they
talked of their late guest--even before strangers. George Bayfield was
puzzled. But through it all, as an undercurrent, there ran an idea. He
recalled the entire pleasure which Blachland had taken in Lyn's society,
the frank, open admiration he had never failed to express when she or
her doings formed the topic of conversation between them--the excellent
and complete understanding between him and the girl. What if--Too old!
Not a bit of it. He himself had married very young, and Blachland was
quite half a dozen years his junior. Why, he himself was in his prime--
and as for the other, apart from that shake of fever, he was as hard as
nails.

Now this idea, the more and more it struck root in Bayfield's mind, was
anything but dista