"No, I don't think you must even use my name, Justin," she said, in wind-up of the programme she was laying before him as to his future rule of conduct. "You will be forgetting, and rapping it out when Hilary is here." "What then? Would he be very jealous?" returned the victim shortly, very sore with jealousy himself at this recalling of the absent one's existence. "Perhaps. There's no telling," answered Hermia, with a wholly enigmatical smile. She was thinking that here was a new and entertaining development of the situation. Hilary jealous! Heavens! that would be a feat to have accomplished. She did not believe him capable of any such foolish and youthful passion. And yet, if she misjudged him? And recognising such a possibility, a spice of fear came to season the excitement, only serving however to enhance its original zest. In the fair scene spread out before these two there was little enough to suggest the growlings and roarings of ravening beasts making terrible the dark night hours. The undulating roll of veldt, green after the recent rains, and radiant in the golden morning, sparkled with innumerable dewdrops. Birds called cheerily; bird-wings glanced through the air in gorgeous colour and flash of sheeny streak; and the great granite kopjes to the westward, rising to the cloudless blue, seemed to tower twice their height in the shimmer and warmth of the newly risen sun. Upon this lovely outlook one of the two was gazing with a moody brow and a heavy heart. Suddenly he started. "Who's this, I wonder?" he exclaimed, shading his eyes. A speck in the distance had arrested his attention--an approaching speck. It might have represented a horseman, almost certainly it did. "I believe it's Blachland," went on Spence. "I'll get the binocular, and see." The advancing object was hidden from sight as he dived into the house. But it reappeared about the same time he did. It now took shape as a horseman. "Yes, it is Blachland," he went on, the glasses at his eyes. "But he's all alone. Where's his waggon and Sybrandt? I wonder if--" And he broke off, looking somewhat anxiously at his companion as he finished the unspoken thought to himself. What if Blachland were returning thus with a purpose--making a sort of surprise return? What if he had intended returning much earlier, but had miscalculated time and distance? What if he _had_ returned much earlier? Oh, Great Heaven! And the thinker's countenance reflected the consternation of the thought. That of his companion, however, betrayed no responsive qualm. It was as serene and unruffled as though she had never beheld the man at her side until five minutes ago.