Blachland had long ceased to wonder--even if he had done so at first--at the extraordinary tenderness existing between Bayfield and this child of his. Cudgel his experience as he would, he could find in it no instance of a girl anything like this one. Sunny beauty, grace, and the most perfect refinement, a disposition of rare sweetness, yet withal plenty of character--why, it would require a combination of the best points of any half-dozen girls within that experience to make up one Lyn Bayfield, and then the result would be a failure. To his host he said as much when they were alone together. The latter warmed up at once. "Ah, you've noticed that, have you, Blachland? Well, I suppose you could hardly have been in the house the short time you have without noticing it. Make allowances for an old fool, but there never was such a girl as my Lyn--no, never. And--I may lose her any day." "Great Heavens, Bayfield, surely not! What's wrong? Heart?" "No--no. Not that way, thank God--by the by, I'm sorry I startled you. I mean she's bound to marry some day." "Ah, yes, I see," returned Blachland, reassured, yet furtively hoping that the smile wherewith he accepted the reassurance was not a very sickly one. But the other did not notice it, and now fairly on the subject, launched out into a narrative of Lyn's sayings and doings, as it seemed, from the time of her birth right up till now, and it was late before he pulled up, with profuse apologies for having bored the very soul out of his guest, and that on a subject in which the latter could take but small interest. But Blachland reassured him by declaring that he had not been bored in the very least, and so far from feeling small interest in the matter, he had been very intensely interested. And the strangest thing of all was that he meant it--every word. CHAPTER FIVE. AN EPISODE IN SIEVER'S KLOOF. The days sped by and still Hilary Blachland remained as a guest at George Bayfield's farm. He had talked about moving on, but the suggestion had been met by a frank stare of astonishment on the part of his host. "Where's your hurry, man?" had replied the latter. "Why, you've only just come." "Only just come! You don't seem to be aware, Bayfield, that I've been here nearly four weeks." "No, I'm not. But what then? What if it's four or fourteen or forty? You don't want to go up-country again just yet. By the way, though, it must be mighty slow here." "Now, Bayfield, I don't want to hurt anybody's feelings, but you're talking bosh, rank bosh. I don't believe you know it, though. Slow indeed!" "Perhaps Mr Blachland's tired of us, father," said Lyn demurely, but with a spice of mischief. "Well, you know, you yourselves can have too much of a not very good thing," protested Hilary, rather lamely. "Ha-ha! Now we'll turn the tables. Who's talking bosh this time?" said Bayfield triumphantly.