It daunted him; his intelligence shrank from the picture of that brutality unleashed under the staring skies.
"Yes, Christian," answered Mrs. du Preez submissively.
"Here—come in," he bade abruptly, and stood aside to make room for her to pass. "Come in. Come in."
It was a couple of seconds before she fully comprehended. She made a small moaning sound and began to totter. The Boer took her by the arm.
"Wait," he said curtly, over her head, to the Kafir, and led her within.
Kamis waited, leaning against the wall of the house. He had brought his task to an end and the finish had arranged itself fortunately; it had been worthy of his pains. The Boer had been startled from his balance; he had seen that nothing he could do would bear an equality with Boy Bailey's natural impulses; pardon and generosity were the only course left open to him. The work was complete and pleasing; and now he had leisure to feel how weary he was. He shut his eyes with an exhausted man's content at the relaxation of effort, and opened them again to find the Boer had returned and was standing in the doorway. He started upright, amazed to find that sleep had trapped him while he leaned and was aware that the Boer made a sudden and indistinct movement. Something heavy struck the ground at his feet.
He looked down at it where it lay, white and rounded, and recognized Mrs. du Preez's bundle, for which Boy Bailey had been ready to kick her into dumbness. Without addressing a word to him, the Boer had tossed him that double handful of money.
It took him a moment to realize what had taken place.
"What's this for?" he demanded then, possessed by a sudden anger that forgot he spoke from the mouth of a negro to ears of a white man.
"It is true you speak English, then?" said the Boer. "That is money—about a hundred pounds. It is for you. Pick it up."