The next day it rained: merciless, savage, hammering rain. Sometimes she wandered in it, fancying herself wandering in a forest of trees, all with stems as thick as a rain-drop; sometimes it was so strong she could lean against it; sometimes she thought she was a moth beating against glass, trying, trying to get out.
Another night came.
Through most of that she lay prone on her face, thinking—believing—hoping that she was dead and part of the earth she lay on.
And, indeed, the greater part of her was mud.
She had long ago lost the road. She supposed she must be in the Transvaal somewhere; but at this time, half-delirious from pain, hunger, and terror, she believed herself back near Bloemfontein—seemed to recognise the hills outside the town. Terrified, she took another direction, falling sometimes and unable to rise again until she had slept where she lay. Whenever she saw bushes with berries or fruits on them she gathered and ate.
Sometimes from her hiding-places she could see Kaffirs pass singly, or in small parties; but after searching their faces, she let them pass. Even in her delirium something warned her not to make herself known.
One night, it seemed to her weeks after she had left the wagons, she was suddenly dazzled by the sight of a red light shining quite near her. She gathered up her last remnants of strength and walked towards it; she believed she urged and ran—in reality she merely drifted by the help of a friendly wind that happened to be blowing that way. At last she saw that it was not one—but many lamps and candles shining through the windows of a house. But the windows themselves could be only dimly seen through the leaves of a tree, which overhung the house and threw long claw-like shadows everywhere. Next, her broken feet knew gravel under them: white walls were before her, too—and green doors and green window-shutters, all laced and latticed with the shadows of one great tree that stood like a monster in the path by the big door. The lights that shone out and dazzled showed her that the tree was very, very green, with a myriad strange scarlet eyes glowing in it; eyes that glowed with an alert brightness that was not friendly. Poppy had always loved trees and believed them to be her friends, but this tree frightened her. Nevertheless she crept closer to the biggest, brightest window of the house, and peered in through the glass panes, a little dulled and dimmed by the ever-beating, everlasting rain. She saw a man sitting at a table spread with beautiful shining vases of flowers, dishes of food, plates and glasses that glittered, fruit—two black boys waited on him, dressed in white uniforms, and through an open doorway a tan-skinned old woman with a white dook could be seen speaking to one of the boys—handing him a dish that flamed with little blue flames. The man at the table leaned back in his chair and faced the window. If it had not been that she believed herself dying, or perhaps already dead, Poppy would rather have gone back to the veldt than into the house where that face was master, for it terrified her even as the faces of the Kaffirs on the veldt had done. The man was not ugly; but his mouth was cruel and bitter, and his eyes were of the same hard, cold blue as the stripe on old Sara's coffee-basin. And across his face, from the left eye to the corner of his mouth, was a long, raw, newly-healed scar.
It seemed to Poppy that while she stood watching this man, something inside her shrivelled up and blew away from her like a leaf in the wind. It came into her head then that, after all, she would not stay here at this house; it would be better to go back to the veldt. Wearifully she stepped down from the high steps she had climbed, reached the green door, and then her hobbling feet would go no further.
She sank on the steps and her head knocked against the door. At once dogs barked inside, voices came near, the door opened, letting strong light fall across the face of Poppy, now lying on the floor. She saw black faces around her and heard native voices crying, "Wha!" in astonishment. Then someone lifted her up very strongly and held her under a hanging lamp and looked at her. She saw through failing eyes that it was the man with the scar.
"Who are you, child?" he asked, and his voice was quite kind and friendly.