Freidja came out and joined them, and after a long interval Honor made her appearance on the stoep, tired and rather cross and unnaturally silent. She had been making bread, and still wore her sleeves rolled above the elbow. Matheson's glance fell admiringly to the round white arms, and then lifted to the fair face which even in the fading light showed plainly its owner's discontent. "Come and sit down," he said. "No." She stood with her shoulders flattened against the wall of the house, and did not move. "I want air. How hot it is!" "You are tired, Honor," Mrs Krige said. "It has been a trying day." The ghost of a smile flickered across Honor's face. "It has," she agreed. And Matheson felt that she included him in the day's list of trying experiences. "I think you tire yourself with riding so much before breakfast," Freidja observed. In the jagged state of Honor's nerves her temper was not proof against this. She turned sharply in her sister's direction. "Some one had to ride to the Nels' farm," she retorted. "I hadn't any choice since you wouldn't go." She emitted a short, vexed laugh, and moved abruptly. "I am going into the garden to search for what I shan't find." Matheson rose promptly. "I say," he cried, "that sounds interesting. Let me go with you and help in the search... May I?" She looked at him uncertainly. "You don't know what I am wanting to find," she said. "Well, whatever it is, two people are more assured of success than one." "All right." Honor preceded him down the steps. "I am going in search of my lost temper," she announced over her shoulder. Freidja looked after the two figures disappearing in the obscurity of the shadowy garden, and her face hardened as the sound of a laugh was borne bade to their ears on the motionless air. "I think it is well that Mr Matheson leaves to-morrow," she said, and turned in sullen protest towards her mother. Mrs Krige, looking deep into the shadows, answered nothing. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. No opportunity for talking with Krige offered itself to Matheson that night; he left him still earnestly conferring with Oom Koos when he went to bed. Honor assured him that they would probably remain so until the day broke. They did. He heard Mynheer Marais going heavily to bed in the dawn; heard later Mynheer Marais' loud snoring which sounded so plainly through the thin wall that he was prevented from getting further sleep. He rose early, and dressed to the accompaniment of Oom Koos' trumpeting, and went quietly out by the window and along the stoep. The window of the living-room remained open, as it had been left overnight, in despite of which the fumes of Mynheer Marais' pipe hung about the room even as Mrs Krige had described, a coarse heavy smell of stale tobacco.