“Look here! Have you any idea of the date you got lost on, hey?” She made a rapid calculation.
“But of course, it was the twenty-first of November—yesterday.”
“That’s all right,” he said grimly. “This is the thirtieth.” She sat staring at him, lips apart.
“You were lost in the bush nine days, and this is the tenth. I thought as much when I saw you.”
“Nine days!” she muttered. “Is it possible!”
Nine days,—alone on the veld—forever unaccounted for!—gone out of her life.
“Yes, nine days,” he repeated grimly. “I suppose you got rid of most of your outfit—that’s the usual game. I wonder you have on anything at all.”
She wondered too, remembering the tales she had heard of lost people and thanked God for the unconscious feminine modesty that had remained to her even in madness and panic—restraining her from that last horror! A warmth crept into her face, but fortunately through the darkness of her skin the man could see nothing though he was studying her keenly.
“I had a camera—and a hat and coat,” she muttered, trying to remember. “Ach! Shut thinking about it or you’ll go off your top again.” She bit her lip at his rude tone, but it at least had the effect of bracing her.
“Where were you bound for, hey?”