“But that is not his fault, sir. Why, if a dog had saved my brother's life, I'd take it home, and keep it all its days; and this is a man, and a worthy man. Oh, sir, when I saw him brought down so, and his beautiful eyes clouded like, my very bosom yearned over the poor soul; a kind act done in dear old England, who can see the man in trouble here, and not repay it--ay, if it cost one's blood. But indeed he is strong and healthy, and hands are always scarce our way, and the odds are he will earn his meat one way or t'other; and if he doesn't, why, all the better for me; I shall have the pleasure of serving him for nought that once served me for neither money nor reward.” “You are a good woman,” said the doctor warmly. “There's better, and there's worse,” said Phoebe quietly, and even a little coldly. “More of the latter,” said the doctor dryly. “Well, Mrs.--?” “Falcon, sir.” “We shall hand him over to your care: but first--just for form--if you are a married woman, we should like to see Dick here: he is your husband, I presume.” Ploebe laughed merrily. “Dick is my brother; and he can't be spared to come here. Dick! he'd say black was white if I told him to.” “Then let us see your husband about it--just for form.” “My husband is at the farm. I could not venture so far away, and not leave him in charge.” If she had said, “I will not bring him into temptation,” that would have been nearer the truth. “Let that fly stick on the wall, sir. What I do, my husband will approve.” “I see how it is. You rule the roost.” Phoebe did not reply point-blank to that; she merely said, “All my chickens are happy, great and small,” and an expression of lofty, womanly, innocent pride illuminated her face and made it superb for a moment. In short, it was settled that Staines should accompany her next morning to Dale's Kloof Farm, if he chose. On inquiry, it appeared that he had just returned to the hospital with his patient. He was sent for, and Phoebe asked him sweetly if he would go with her to her house, one hundred and eighty miles away, and she would be kind to him. “On the water?” “Nay, by land; but 'tis a fine country, and you will see beautiful deer and things running across the plains, and”-- “Shall I find the past again, the past again?” “Ay, poor soul, that we shall, God willing. You and I, we will hunt it together.” He looked at her, and gave her his hand. “I will go with you. Your face belongs to the past, so does your voice.” He then inquired, rather abruptly, had she any children. She smiled. “Ay, that I have, the loveliest little boy you ever saw. When you are as you used to be, you will be his doctor, won't you?” “Yes, I will nurse him, and you will help me find the past.” Phoebe then begged Staines to be ready to start at six in the morning. She and Dick would take him up on their way.