He departed in a cloud of dust, for still the rain did not fall,
and immediately, like the casting of a spell, the peace of a great
somnolence descended upon the bungalow. The Kaffirs strolled back
to their huts to resume their interrupted slumbers.
The dust slowly settled upon all things, and all was quiet.
Down the rough track Burke jolted. The horses were fresh, and he
did not seek to check them. All night long he had been picturing
that swift journey and the goal that awaited him, and he was in a
fever to accomplish it. Their highest speed was not swift enough
for him.
Through the heavy clouds behind him there came the first break of
the sunshine transforming the _veldt_. It acted like a goad upon
him. He wanted to start back before the sun rose high. The track
that led to Bill Merston's farm was even rougher than his own, but
it did not daunt him. He suffered the horses to take their own
pace, and they travelled superbly. They had scarcely slackened
during the whole ten-mile journey.
He smiled faintly to himself as he sighted the hideous iron
building that was Bill Merston's dwelling-place. He wondered how
Sylvia appreciated this form of life in the wilderness. He slowed
down the animals to a walk as he neared it, peering about for some
sign of its inhabitants. The clouds had scattered, and the son was
shining brilliantly behind him.
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