It was evident that the owner had taken every
precaution against intrusion.
And yet--though he lived in this wretched place at which even a
Kaffir might have looked askance--he had sent her that message
telling her to come to him. This fact more than any other that she
had yet encountered brought home to her the bitter, bitter truth of
his failure. Out of the heart of the wilderness, out of desolation
unspeakable, he had sent that message. And she had answered it--to
find him gone.
The slow hot tears welled up and ran down her face. She was not
even aware of them. Only at last she faced the desolation, in its
entirety, she drank the cup to its dregs. It was here that he had
taken the downward road. It was here that he had buried his
manhood. When she turned away at length, she felt as if she had
been standing by his grave.
Burke waited for her and helped her to mount again in utter
silence. Only as she lifted the bridle again he laid his hand for
a moment on her knee. It was a dumb act of sympathy which she
could not acknowledge lest she should break down utterly. But it
sent a glow of comfort to her hurt and aching heart. He had given
her a comrade's sympathy just when she needed it most.
CHAPTER II
THE VISITORS
It was after that ride to Guy's hut that Sylvia began at last to
regard him as connected only with that which was past.
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