But Kelly had seen that moment's
eagerness, and he built on that.

A quarter of an hour later they met again in the sweltering street,
and he complimented her in true Irish fashion upon the rose-flush
in her cheeks. He saw that she looked about uneasily as she
mounted, but with unusual tact he omitted to comment upon the fact.

The sun was slanting towards the west as they rode away. The
streets were crowded, but Kelly knew all the short cuts, and guided
her unerringly till they reached the edge of the open _veldt_.

Then, "Come along!" he cried. "Let's gallop!"

The sand flew out behind them, the parched air rushed by, and the
blood quickened in Sylvia's veins. She felt as if she had left an
overwhelming burden behind her in the town. The great open spaces
drew her with their freedom and their vastness. She went with the
flight of a bird. It was like the awakening from a dreadful dream.

They drew rein in the shadow of a tall _kopje_ that rose abruptly
from the plain like a guardian of the solitudes. Kelly was
laughing with a boy's hearty merriment.

"Faith, but ye can ride!" he cried, with keen appreciation, "Never
saw a prettier spectacle in me life. Was it born in the saddle ye
were?"

She laughed in answer, but her heart gave a quick throb of pain.
It was the first real twinge of homesickness she had known, and for
a moment it was almost intolerable. Ah, the fresh-turned earth and
the shining furrows, and the sweet spring rain in her face! And
the sun of the early morning that shone through a scud of clouds!

"My father and I used to ride to hounds," she said. "We loved it."

"I've done it meself in the old country," said Kelly. "But ye can
ride farther here. There's more room before ye reach the horizon."

Sylvia stifled a quick sigh. "Yes, it's a fine country. At least
it ought to be. Yet I sometimes feel as if there is something
lacking. I don't know quite what it is, but it's the quality that
makes one feel at home."

"That'll come," said Kelly, with confidence. "You wait till the
spring! That gets into your veins like wine. Ye'll feel the magic
of it then. It's life itself."

Sylvia turned her face up to the brazen sky. "I must wait for the
spring then," she said, half to herself. And then very suddenly
she became aware of the kindly curiosity of her companion's survey
and met it with a slight heightening of colour.

There was a brief silence before, in a low voice, she