Up to the cottage she walked again, and put on the neat blue riding-skirt her mother had lately made her. She bathed her red eyes; she drank two tumblers of cold water, to take the choking from her throat.
'Father will go with you,' the mother said, coming to the door; 'but when you get to Coolooli you can ride on ahead.'
Through the pleasant winter sunshine they rode, up hill, down dale, across bush stretches where Mortimer's horse had worn a path for them. Coolooli faced them at last, secret stern-looking, with its curtainless windows, its garden barren of sweet flowers. It was the first time the girl had been so near her lover's home.
She was among the trees now that lined the drive leading up to the house; her father had dropped behind, and was to follow on in half an hour.
Her heart seemed fluttering in her throat; a deadly sickness possessed her.
The old man was standing at a table on the verandah; he had a great map of the Transvaal spread open before him, and, with small flags stuck in it here and there, was following his son's footsteps.
He turned at the sound of the horse's hoofs. When he saw the rider he went down instantly on to the path, to help her to dismount.
'Well, little missie,' he said, 'it's not often you ride this way.' He looked at her colourless cheeks keenly. 'What is the matter—can't you jump down?'
She absolutely could not, and he had almost to lift her off her saddle. He tied the horse's reins loosely round the verandah-post, and looked at her again from beneath his shaggy eyebrows. He told himself he knew what was the matter. The family was in difficulties again, and had sent this particular member of it as an emissary to borrow money. Well, this freak of his son's was going to cost him dear. Still, the little thing was trembling dreadfully, and evidently did not like her task. He put his hand on her shoulder reassuringly.
'Out with it, lassie,' he said; 'how much do you want?'