He had set forth that morning to behold the beauty and the charm of the veld; and, insensibly, while he gazed upon this sun-scorched sameness, the mystery and the beauty of it were revealed to him. The translucent air, quivering in the sunlight like some glad and living thing, was wondrously soft and stimulating; eye and brain cleared with its magic healing; the mind became surprisingly alert and receptive of new impressions. The sandy soil lost its aridity, and disclosed numberless unsuspected shining beauties; it glittered as with many gems, and revealed in places unexpected shades and colours, and curious, infinitesimal insect-life creeping and pushing upon its white surface. The dry sluits and water-courses, proclaiming moisture where it would appear that moisture was unknown; the cairns of yellow stones, piled high in rude and strange formation; the yellow and red of the butterbloem, crude intense colours in an intense atmosphere under the hard blue of the sky; the occasional oddly-shaped kopjes; the distant oasis of some lonely farm; each struck a separate note of beauty in this strange, uncivilised scene--a beauty that was fearful and fiercely assertive, that crushed the senses, that again attracted and held surely by the unfailing magnetism of elemental and sincere things. And over all the parched nakedness of the land the sun flung its golden radiance, a yellow flame that quivered through the hot air and pierced into the earth. Matheson knew while his eyes lingered upon it all that he would in very truth love the land. And then he turned his head suddenly and met Honor's eyes. She was smiling softly, but she did not speak. CHAPTER TWELVE. Freidja Krige went many times to the window to look for the riders' return. She had prepared the breakfast; the sarsates were cooked and ready to be served, and Andreas had come in from the land and was waiting with extraordinary patience for the meal, which usually made its appearance with his own. He glanced up from an agricultural journal he was reading when for about the fourth time his sister came through from the kitchen and took her stand by the window and looked out across the veld. "They must have ridden far," he observed. "They are coming now," she said--"walking the horses. I expect they find it hot. I'll make the coffee, Andreas, and bring in your porridge." He shook his head. "I will wait," he said. Mrs Krige entered the room, and her son rose and kissed her uneffusively but with affection. She stood at the window and watched with him the slow advance of the riders. "It's so hot," she said. "They should have got back half an hour ago. Honor ought to think of these things." "Why does Honor ride with a stranger?" he asked. "I consider it unnecessary. He can ride on the farm with me." Mrs Krige raised surprised eyes to his. "I see no reason for objecting," she returned. "I think we may trust Honor." He lifted his loose shoulders heavily.