“She was about just now. We watched you from beyond the third gate. There she is.”
Following his gaze they descried a white-clad feminine form in front of the house, which they were now very near.
[a/]
Chapter Four.
Lyn.
“Well, Mr Blachland, what luck have you had?”
The speaker was standing on the stoep, whither she had come out to meet them. She was rather a tall girl, with a great deal of golden hair, arranged in some wonderful way of her own which somehow enhanced its volume without appearing loose or untidy. She had blue eyes which looked forth straight and frank, and an exquisite skin, which even the fierce glare of the summer sun, and a great deal of open-air life had not in the least roughened, and of which a few tiny freckles, rather adding piquancy to a sweetly pretty face, oval, refined and full of character, were the only trace. If there was a fault to be found in the said face, it was that its owner showed her gums slightly when she laughed—but the laugh was so bright, so whole-hearted, and lighted up the whole expression so entrancingly that all but the superlatively hypercritical lost sight of the defect altogether.
“He’s bowled over that thundering big bushbuck ram we’ve been trying for so often in Siever’s Kloof, Lyn,” answered her father for his guest.
“Well done!” cried the girl. “You know, Mr Blachland, some of the people around here were becoming quite superstitious about that buck. They were beginning to declare he couldn’t be killed. I suggested a silver bullet such as they had to make for those supernatural stags in the old German legends.”