“No, they’re not!” cried Mrs Selwood, to whom that voice was well known. “Come—wake up, Chris. Here is Renshaw himself!”
“Eh—what! I believe I’ve been asleep!” cried Selwood, starting up—“Renshaw—is it! Hallo, old chap. This is first-rate,” he added, rushing out. And the two men’s hands wore locked in a close grip. “Allamaghtag! But you are looking pulled down—isn’t he, Hilda?—though not quite so much as I should have expected. How are you, sir? We are delighted to see you,” he went on as Renshaw duly introduced his friend.
(“Allamaghtag!” “Almighty!” A common ejaculation among the Boers. It and similar colloquialisms are almost equally frequent among their colonial brethren.)
Then Marian appeared—her sweet face lighting up with a glow of glad welcome for which many a man might have given his right hand—and then the children, who had been amusing themselves diversely after the manner of their kind, anywhere outside and around the house, came crowding noisily and gleefully around “Uncle Renshaw,” as they had always been in the habit of calling him. To the lonely man, fresh from his rough and comfortless sick-bed, this was indeed a home-coming—a welcome to stir the heart. Yet that organ was susceptible of a dire sinking as its owner missed one face from the group,—realised in one quick, eager glance that the presence he sought was not there.
Violet’s room was at the back of the house, consequently she had heard but faintly the sounds attendant on the arrival of the visitors. She instinctively guessed at the identity of the latter, but it was clean contrary to Violet Avory’s creed to hurry herself on account of any man. So having sacrificed a few moments of curiosity to this principle, and, needless to say, taken the indispensable look at herself in the glass, she issued leisurely forth.
Now, as she did so, Selwood was ushering in his stranger guest—was, in fact, at that moment standing back to allow the latter to enter before him. Thus they met face to face.
Then was her self-possession tried in such wise as no member of that household had yet witnessed. She halted suddenly, her face deadly white. A quick ejaculation escaped the stranger’s lips.
It died as quickly, and his half-outstretched hand dropped to his side in obedience to her warning glance; for her confusion was but a momentary flash. It entirely escaped Selwood, who was walking behind his guest, the broad shoulders and fine stature of the latter acting as an opportune screen, and all the others were still outside.
“Miss Avory,” introduced honest Chris, becoming aware of her presence. “Mr—er—I really beg your pardon, but I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch your name just now—and Renshaw didn’t happen to mention it in his letter?”
“Sellon,” supplied the other.