"He won't be fit for much
else to-day. You'll see him to-night, Donovan?"
And Donovan promised that he would. He was in fact rather proud of
the confidence reposed in him. To treat him as a friend in need
was the highest compliment that anyone could pay the kind-hearted
Irishman. Cheerily he undertook to remain at Blue Hill Farm until
Burke's return, always providing that Mrs. Burke didn't get tired
of him and turn him out.
"She won't do that," said Burke. "You'll find she will be
delighted to see you to-day when you get back. She hasn't been
trained for solitude, and I fancy it gets on her nerves."
Perhaps it did. But on that occasion at least Sylvia was thankful
to be left alone. She had her house to set in order, and at that
very moment she was on her knees in the sitting-room, searching,
searching in all directions for the key which she had dropped on
the previous day during the dust-storm, before Kelly's arrival.
Burke's reference to the matter had recalled it to her mind, and
now with shamed self-reproach she sought in every cranny for the
only thing of any importance which he had ever entrusted to her
care.
She sought in vain. The sand was thick everywhere, but she
searched every inch of the floor with her hands, and found nothing.
The stifling heat of the day descended upon her as she searched.
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