sorrow had
she only known; but what Stanesby was thinking of was the awkwardness of
the situation. He did not mind the black boy, he counted him as so much
dirt--but Turner! Already this girl had made an exhibition of him, and
now it was worse than ever. Every moment he dreaded he would turn
round, and even though he did not it was equally bad, he kept his face
purposely averted.

The girl broke out into passionate prayer to him not to leave her, then,
seeing he was still unmoved, she began to call him every tender name her
limited vocabulary contained, though there was little enough need to do
that, her eyes said enough.

"Kitty, go back to the hut this moment! For God's sake, don't be such a
fool! One would think I was going to murder you."

"The myalls will," she said. Then she paused, and added solemnly,
"to-morrow."

"What confounded rot!"

He let go her hands suddenly, and she fell to her knees and tried to
put her arms round him again; but with a quick movement he stepped
backwards, and she fell forward on to her face. He pushed her aside
roughly, angrily, with an anger that was not all against her, and
mounted hurriedly, snatched the packhorse's rein from the black boy, and
was off at full gallop after his friend before she could regain her feet
But she did not try to, once she realised that all hope was gone. He had
left her, it was all over with her, she might just as well lie there.

At the sound of the galloping horses behind him Turner looked round.
Through the haze of the early morning, the haze that promised fierce
heat later on, he saw the horses coming towards him, and beyond,
half-veiled by the dust they made as they passed, a dusky red bundle
flung carelessly out on the plain, of use to no one. The black boy
walked away, it was no business of his. There was the lonely hut and
the far-reaching plain, nothing in sight but the bluffs far away to
the east, nothing at all, only that red bundle lying there alone and
neglected.

He had no words for his comrade when he did come up. That dusky red
heap seemed to fill all his thoughts, and about that silence was best.
Stanesby checked his horses, and they rode on slowly as men who have a
long journey before them. The sun climbed up and up to the zenith, but
there was no shelter, no place for the noonday rest. Then away in the
distance arose a line of trees raised up above the horizon, and Stanesby
pointed it out to his companion.

"We can spell ther