Her words obviously impressed him. Involuntarily his mind travelled bade to Benfontein, to the impressions obtained from that visit, and the memory of the bitterness of racial hate he had discovered among the Dutch whom he had met. "He cherished so many schemes--too many for one man to carry out Perhaps you are right, and he neglected the finest and wisest scheme of all, that of welding together the two white races in the Colony by the closest ties of friendship and trust. One can't determine these things now." "He was an Empire builder," she returned, and looked at him with a smile in her eyes. "The Empire builder inclines to overlook the great human essentials. The field of his operations is necessarily impersonal." For a moment or so he looked back at her steadily. She was wise, this slender slip of a girl. He already entertained a profound respect for her opinion; and it occurred to him while he gazed at her, that she would be ready also of understanding, that he had less to fear in giving her his entire confidence than in holding a part, the vitally important part, back. And then abruptly he began to talk to her about Honor. "I think I ought to tell you," he said in a slightly constrained voice, and without looking at her, "that while I was away, before I came back here, something happened to me, something of tremendous importance. I met--some one--a girl... You understand... She meant a lot to me. I fell in love. She was Dutch. She hated the British... she couldn't forget. That stood between us--her resentment struck deeper than anything else." He paused, and leaned forward slightly, peering into the distance. "That's all," he added jerkily. "I felt I would like to tell you." She was silent for a space, watching him, seeing the strained look in the eyes staring straight ahead of him, the set lines of his mouth. One strong hand was clenched on the bench beside him; the prominent knuckles showed white. She put out her hand and covered his. "Poor dear!" she said, and repeated softly after a moment: "Poor dear! ... That explains it." "Explains what?" he asked dully. "Explains everything I haven't understood in you of late... Why didn't you tell me sooner?" "I don't know," he answered. "I wasn't sure, I suppose, that I ought to tell you... I'm not sure now that I've done well." "Oh! yes," she returned quickly. "I'm glad you trusted me... I'm sorry. I hate to see you hurt." "One gets over that--in time," he said. "I'm not going to let it swamp me." And then abruptly he drew his hand from under hers and stood up. "They provide tea in the cottage up there," he said. "Come along and have some." He drew her up from the bench, and gripped her hand hard when she stood beside him, forcing a smile to his lips. "This spot stirs the emotions," he said. "I shall always think of it as the Place of Memories..." CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.