Matheson knew while his eyes lingered upon it all that he would in very truth love the land.
And then he turned his head suddenly and met Honor’s eyes. She was smiling softly, but she did not speak.
Chapter Twelve.
Freidja Krige went many times to the window to look for the riders’ return. She had prepared the breakfast; the sarsates were cooked and ready to be served, and Andreas had come in from the land and was waiting with extraordinary patience for the meal, which usually made its appearance with his own. He glanced up from an agricultural journal he was reading when for about the fourth time his sister came through from the kitchen and took her stand by the window and looked out across the veld.
“They must have ridden far,” he observed.
“They are coming now,” she said—“walking the horses. I expect they find it hot. I’ll make the coffee, Andreas, and bring in your porridge.”
He shook his head.
“I will wait,” he said.