The sun had already set an hour when Ronald Mervyn reached the hospital, but the moon had just risen, and the stars were shining brilliantly.
Mary Armstrong met him at the door.
"I saw you coming," she said, "and father advised me to come out for a little turn, it is such a beautiful evening."
"I am glad you have come out, Mary; I wanted to speak to you."
Mary Armstrong's colour heightened a little. It was the first time he had called her by her Christian name since that ride through the Kaffirs. She thought she knew what he wanted to speak to her about, and she well knew what she should say.
"Mary," Ronald went on, "you know the story of the poor wretch who was devoured by thirst, and yet could not reach the cup of water that was just beyond his grasp?"
"I know," Mary said.
"Well, I am just in that position. I am so placed by an inscrutable Fate, that I cannot stretch out my hand to grasp the cup of water."
The girl was silent for a time.
"I will not pretend that I do not understand you, Ronald. Why cannot you grasp the cup of water?"