She put out her hand to him.
"Good night, Mr. Kamis," she said.
The Kafir bared his head before he took her hand. He seemed to have some difficulty in speaking.
"Good night," he said. "Good night! I'll never forget your goodness."
He let her go and she turned back to the path that should take her past the farmhouse and the kraals to the Sanatorium and dinner. At the turn of the wall, its lights met her with their dazed, unwinking stare, shining from the dining-room which had no part in the spacious night of the Karoo and those whose place is in the darkness. She had gone a hundred yards before she looked back.
Behind her the western sky treasured still the last luminous dregs of day, that leaked from it like water one holds in cupped hands. In the middle of it, high upon the dam wall, a single human figure, swart and motionless, stood to watch her out of sight.
CHAPTER VII
"Looks pooty bad for the huntin'," remarked Mr. Samson suddenly, glancing up from the crinkly sheets of the letter he was reading. "Here 's a feller writin' to me that the ground 's like iron already. You hunt, Miss Harding?"
"Oh, dear, yes," replied Margaret cheerfully. "Lions and elephants and—er—eagles. Such sport, you know!"
"Hah!" Mr. Samson shook his head at her indulgently. "Your grandmother wouldn't have said that, young lady. But you youngsters, you don't know what 's good for you—by gad! Eagles, eh?"