"No," she said again. "No use dodging it. We 'll go to the back door; I 'd rather have him shut that on me than the front."
Near the door she drew her arm away from the Kafir's and left him standing to one side, while she approached and knocked upon it with the back of her hand. She meant to eat the dreaded gruel alone.
Silence succeeded upon her knocking, and then deliberate footsteps within that came towards the door. A pair of bolts were thrust back, crashing in their sockets. Mrs. du Preez gathered her sparse energies and stood upright as the door opened and the figure of her husband appeared, tall and black against the light inside which leaked past him and spilt itself about her feet. For some moments they stood facing each other, and neither spoke.
There was drama in the atmosphere. The Kafir standing without its scope, watched absorbedly.
"Christian," said Mrs. du Preez, at length; "it's me."
"Yes." The Boer's deep voice was grave. "Where have you been?"
She lifted her shoulders in a faint hopeless shrug.
"I ran away," she said. "Like I said I would. But I wasn't up to it."
"You ran away," he repeated slowly. "With that Bailey?"
"Yes, Christian. But—"