She stood obediently in the turmoil of Britons, Boers, and Kaffirs,
that surged around. She felt bewildered, strung up, unlike
herself. It was a land of strangers, indeed, and she felt forlorn
and rather frightened. Why had Guy looked at her so oddly? Why
had his welcome been so cold? Could it be--could it be--that he
was not pleased to see her, that--that--possibly he did not want
her? The dreadful chill went through her again like a sword
thrusting at her heart, and with it went old Jeffcott's warning
words: "Do you ever ask yourself what sort of man he may be after
five years? I'll warrant he's lived every minute of it. He's the
sort that would."

She had felt no doubt then, nor ever since, until this moment. And
now--now it came upon her and overwhelmed her. She glanced about
her, almost as one seeking escape.

"I've fixed everything up. Come along to the railway hotel! You
must be pretty tired." He had returned to her, and he stood looking
at her with those strangely keen eyes, almost as if he had never
seen her before, she thought to herself desolately.

She looked bade at him with unconscious appeal in her own. "I am
tired," she said, and was aware of a sudden difficulty in speaking.
"Is it far?"

"No," he said; "only a step."

He gathered up her hand-baggage and led the way, making a path for
her through the throng.