"Leave him alone in the house with her? Never!" she said doggedly. "You don't know what she might do. I'm not afraid of her. She daren't touch me, and she can't go up my ladder. She's roaring drunk now, but she'll be dead drunk presently, and then she's harmless. If you come round in the morning, I shall be able to talk to you; she'll take hours to sleep this off. I wish you'd go now, and take away that Bert. I've got no use for him."
CHAPTER V
A BOER BURYING
"—Within some glass, dimmed by our breath,
Our hearts discern wild images of Death,
Shadows and shoals that edge Eternity."
—DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI.
The sunrise flashed into their eyes, as the farm-house door closed upon the two men. They went together through the yard, and out at the gate where Bert had so often watched in vain for Millie. Their steps echoed with an unfamiliar ring upon the hard, caked earth at this unwonted hour of stark, raw dawn. The sight of the well gave Bert a twinge as he passed it.
"Even that 'ud be better than a drinkin' Boer," he muttered, under his breath.
Before they had gone much farther, he grappled with the new fear that was clutching at his heart.
"I say," he growled, stopping and planting himself before Mr. Mayne, who of necessity stopped also; "what did you mean by what you said up there about letters from England? She—she hasn't got friends in England, has she?"
"It is very doubtful," said Mayne hesitatingly. "Look here, Mestaer!" he added abruptly. "My hand was forced just now. You were not supposed to hear what I said. Can I trust you not to repeat it?"
"Repeat it! Who'd I repeat it to?"