did not after that
evening suffer her thoughts voluntarily to turn in his direction.
Soberly she took up the burden of life. She gathered up the reins
of government, and assumed the ordering of Burke Ranger's
household. She did not again refer to Guy in his presence, though
there were times when his step, his voice, above all, his whistle,
stabbed her to poignant remembrance.

He also avoided the subject of Guy, treating her with a careless
kindliness that set her wholly at ease with him. She learned more
and more of the working of the farm, and her interest in the young
creatures grew daily. She loved to accompany him on his rides of
inspection in the early mornings showing herself so apt a pupil
that he presently dubbed her his overseer, and even at last
entrusted her occasionally with such errands as only a confidential
overseer could execute.

It was when returning from one of these somewhat late one blazing
morning that she first encountered their nearest British neighbours
from a farm nearly twelve miles distant. It was a considerable
shock to her to find them in possession of the _stoep_ when she
rode up, but the sight of the red-faced Englishman who strode out
to meet her reassured her in a moment.

"How do you do, Mrs. Ranger? We've just come over to pay our
respects," he announced in a big, hearty voice. "You'll hardly
believe it, but we've only recently heard of Burke's marriage.
It's been a nine days' wonder with us, but now I've seen you I
cease to marvel at anything but Burke's amazing luck."

There was something so engagingly naive in this compliment that
Sylvia found it impossible to be formal. She smiled and slipped to
the ground.

"You are Mr. Merston," she said. "How kind of you to come over! I
am afraid I am alone at present, but Burke is sure to be in soon.
I hope you have had some refreshment."

She gave her horse to a Kaffir boy, and went with her new friend up
the steps of the _stoep_.

"My wife!" said Merston in his jolly voice.

Sylvia went forward with an eagerness that wilted in spite of her
before she reached its object. Mrs. Merston did not rise to meet
her. She sat prim and upright and waited for her greeting, and
Sylvia knew in a moment before their hands touched each other that
here was no kindred spirit.

"How do you do?" said Mrs. Merston formally.

She was a little woman, possibly ten years Sylvia's senior, with a
face that had once been pink and white and