"My home is here. My country is here. I am a Rhodesian."
Still with her face averted, she looked to the far kopjes lost in thought. She seemed to be realising slowly all that his words meant; feeling throughout her consciousness the utter exclusion of herself from any plan of life he might formulate. It was as she had seen before. His work, the country were everything to him—would continue to be everything. Any unusual softness he had shown to her, any unexpected pleasure in her company, was just for the sake of a certain memory he held very precious, for the sake of what the book contained, upon which he had written "Finis."
Of course, she might have known. What should such a man as he be drawn to except in friendly intercourse in a girl as young and simple and undeveloped as herself? What a madness it had been, what a foolishness! and yet how it hurt, how it hurt!
With a sudden blind sense of ineradicable pain, she breathed over to herself one verse of the "Immortal Persian" that is not contained in many editions:
"Better, oh better, cancel from the scroll Of universe one luckless human soul, Than drop by drop enlarge the flood that rolls Hoarser with anguish as the ages roll."
What pain there had evidently been for him! What pain for her now—and to what end....
"Tis all a chequer-board of nights and days Where Destiny with men for pieces plays; Hither and thither moves, and mates and slays, And one by one back and closet lays."
She stood up suddenly and brushed her hands across her eyes. This was a weakness, and she knew it. He must not know, he must not guess.
But he saw enough to cause him to say suddenly, with quick concern, "You are not well. Something is troubling you."
"O no," and she gave a little laugh that he could not but know was forced. "I've been rather bothered with a headache to-day. Shall we go back?" She had been carrying the large grey hat slung over her arm, but now she tied it on, pulling it down over her face, so that he could see nothing but the small, firm chin and sensitive mobile mouth. And neither could she see that, under or through the rigidity, his face wore now a troubled aspect, and his eyes looked to the horizon seeing nothing. Why had he come back? he was asking. Why was he hovering in the grip of it again, that strong need of the human, however resolute, for sympathy, for companionship, for understanding? For now, as they stood together alone on the kopje, all the ache of the last sixteen years seemed to be merged into one great longing for her. And then in his heart he laughed harshly. He, the British South African policeman, not even a regular soldier; and she, the only child, and sole heiress, of a millionaire father who adored her. He, with his tragedy in the background, that he could not speak of, in his forty-third year. She young, beautiful, fresh, with all the world at her feet. Ah, of course, he had been a fool to run any risk of another encounter; and he was sore with the fate that had led him thither in ignorance.