He ground it out between his teeth, and she felt his hot breath on her
cheek.

"Waldo, you are mad," she said, drawing herself from him, instinctively.

He loosened his grasp and turned away from her also.

In truth, is it not life's way? We fight our little battles alone; you
yours, I mine. We must not help or find help.

When your life is most real, to me you are mad; when your agony is
blackest, I look at you and wonder. Friendship is good, a strong stick;
but when the hour comes to lean hard, it gives. In the day of their
bitterest need all souls are alone.

Lyndall stood by him in the dark, pityingly, wonderingly. As he walked
to the door, she came after him.

"Eat your supper; it will do you good," she said.

She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder and then ran away.

In the front room the little woolly Kaffer girl was washing Tant
Sannie's feet in a small tub, and Bonaparte, who sat on the wooden
sofa, was pulling off his shoes and stockings that his own feet might
be washed also. There were three candles burning in the room, and he and
Tant Sannie sat close together, with the lean Hottentot not far off; for
when ghosts are about much light is needed, there is great strength
in numbers. Bonaparte had completely recovered from the effects of his
fright in the afternoon, and the numerous doses of brandy that it had
been necessary to administer to him to effect his restoration had put
him into a singularly pleasant and amiable mood.

"That boy Waldo," said Bonaparte, rubbing his toes, "took himself off
coolly this morning as soon as the wagon came, and has not done a stiver
of work all day. I'll not have that kind of thing now I'm master of this
farm."

The Hottentot maid translated.

"Ah, I expect he's sorry that his father's dead," said Tant Sannie.
"It's nature, you know. I cried the whole morning when my father died.
One can always get another husband, but one can't get another father,"
said Tant Sannie, casting a sidelong glance at Bonaparte.

Bonaparte expressed a wish to give Waldo his orders for the next day's
work, and accordingly the little woolly-headed Kaffer was sent to
call him. After a considerable time the boy appeared, and stood in the
doorway.

If they had dressed him in one of the swallow-tailed coats, and oiled
his hair till the drops fell from it, and it lay as smooth as an elder's
on sacrament Sunday, there would still have been something unanointed in
the aspect of the fe