had been
more than once down with rather a bad attack of old up-country fever; in
fact he was lying in camp at that moment not able to get about. But
Wyvern, leaving him in the care of Hlabulana and Mtezani, the young Zulu
to whom they had afforded asylum when the Usutus had pursued him right
into their camp--and that under strict orders not to lose sight of him
until his own return--had started forth, in his wearied impatience, to
see if he could get no nearer the difficulty of solving matters.

Bully Rawson had troubled them no further. In fact they had seen but
little of that worthy, who when they suggested trekking on had heartily
approved of the idea. Now they were about thirty miles distant from
him, allowing for the roundabout roughness of the road. It seemed as
though he intended to trouble them no longer, and their precautions,
though not exactly suspended, were very much less rigid as time went by.

Wyvern eyed the expanse of savage wilderness--forest and cliff and
height--with a sombre hatred. What if this discovery they had come up
here to make should elude them after all? What if these recesses,
practically labyrinthine in their vastness, should hold that which he
had come to seek, that upon which he had pinned his future; should hold
it there at his very feet while he walked over it unconscious? The
thought was maddening. His depression deepened.

Then arose before him more strongly than ever--for it was ever before
him--the vision of Lalante; of Lalante, wide-eyed, smiling, ever
hopeful--of Lalante, a tower of strength in her sweetness and
confidence, unique in his experience; his complement, his other half--
than whom the whole world could not contain another similar. How, in
that far wilderness, he longed and yearned for her presence, her
soothing comforting words, the love thrill in the sweetness of her
voice, his all--all his--his alone! It was so long since he had been
able to receive even the words written by her, to realise that the paper
on which they were traced had been pressed by her hand, warm and strong
with the pulses of love. When would he again? If this scheme failed,
the failure would be irretrievable, abject. And she? Could she go on
for ever hoping in him? Would not the surroundings of her life
ultimately prove too strong for her? She was young, much younger than
himself: could she continue to believe in a man who was an utter and
consistent failure all along the line