“Do you not want a light?” Em asked, venturing to look in.
“No,” he answered; then presently called to her, “Come and sit here; I want to talk to you.”
She came and sat on a footstool near him.
“Do you wish to hear anything?” he asked.
She whispered:
“Yes, if it does not hurt you.”
“What difference does it make to me?” he said. “If I talk or am silent, is there any change?”
Yet he lay quiet for a long time. The light through the open door showed him to her, where he lay, with his arm thrown across his eyes. At last he spoke. Perhaps it was a relief to him to speak.
To Bloemfontein in the Free State, to which through an agent he had traced them, Gregory had gone. At the hotel where Lyndall and her stranger had stayed he put up; he was shown the very room in which they had slept. The coloured boy who had driven them to the next town told him in which house they had boarded, and Gregory went on. In that town he found they had left the cart, and bought a spider and four greys, and Gregory’s heart rejoiced. Now indeed it would be easy to trace their course. And he turned his steps northward.
At the farmhouses where he stopped the ooms and tantes remembered clearly the spider with its four grey horses. At one place the Boer-wife told how the tall, blue-eyed Englishman had bought milk, and asked the way to the next farm. At the next farm the Englishman had bought a bunch of flowers, and given half a crown for them to the little girl. It was quite true; the Boer-mother made her get it out of the box and show it. At the next place they had slept. Here they told him that the great bulldog, who hated all strangers, had walked in in the evening and laid its head in the lady’s lap. So at every place he heard something, and traced them step by step.