"Oh, Kerry!--come!"

She would never have known that she had cried the words aloud but for the immediate answer that came in a casual, confident voice she seemed to have known all her life.

"All serene—​don’t worry."

Something loomed large and white below the brake, but the voice seemed to be on a level with her, and almost she fancied she could catch the gleam of his eyes in the enveloping darkness. She was too shaken with joy and relief to make any response, neither was there time, for Roper raging and profane arrived upon the scene.

"What the--? Who the--" came his infuriated voice.

"I’ve had a hard time catching you up," drawled the stranger. "Why, my good fellow, what kind of transport rider are you? You’ve lost the road! I wonder what Deary and Co. would say if they knew their goods were being battered and bundled all over the veld like this, miles off the track?"

The rage of the baffled Roper came down like a river in flood, a foul torrent of abuse in Dutch and Kaffir mingled with English. Fortunately, most of it was incomprehensible to Vivienne, but she was able to gather that the man on the horse, Deary and Co., the goods, and the veld, were all being consigned en bloc to a place whose exact geographical position has never yet been officially defined.

The fire now burning brightly revealed the new-comer seated idly on a large white tailless horse, which in outline somewhat resembled a grey hound and whose lean sides were closely pitted with tiny blue spots as though it had at some past time suffered from smallpox. The rider in his shirt sleeves looked cool and careless as always, but the hair lying dank upon his forehead and the soapy foam upon his horse’s flank told a tale which whoever ran might read. He now, with the subsidence of Roper’s eloquence, contributed his favourite remark to the occasion.

"That’s all right."

"What the Billy-cock-hat," (or words to that effect) "do you want, hey?" demanded Roper.

"Just company. The pleasant time I spent with you last night gave me a taste for more. Then too I was sure you’d be glad of my assistance in finding your way back to the road to-morrow, without being obliged to lose several days in doubling on your tracks. Deary and Co. are particular friends of mine, and I know they’ll be grateful for anything I can do in the way of speeding up their goods."

Some part of this information, or the nonchalance with which it was delivered gave Roper pause, and made him swallow any further observations he might have felt inclined to offer. He turned away muttering in savage tones something about his boys having "left the road" while he slept. The lie was an obvious one, but the stranger doubtless had his own reason for accepting it blandly and without comment. He now dismounted, unsaddled and knee-haltered his horse, and turned it to graze. Without taking further notice of Roper or anyone else, he proceeded to gather fuel from the neighbouring bush, and in a short time had a great fire of his own leaping in the gloom. He had built it some twenty yards or more from the waggons, but exactly facing Vivienne’s watch tower, and by its rays she could see him foraging in his saddle-bags and preparing a meal. He made no attempt to communicate with her or amalgamate in any way with Roper’s camp. She wondered a little at this, but had already learned to rely upon the certainty of his knowing what he was about, and having a good reason for his every action. Since the moment she heard the unexpected sound of his voice, a feeling of peace and security had invaded her. Her strung nerves were at rest, and menace had gone from the night with the knowledge that this man was of those who took the fate of others in his hands and that hers was for the moment in his keeping.

A drowsy weariness had followed upon the strain of the afternoon, and her inclination was to sleep, but the sight of her knight-errant taking his supper in a very natural and everyday manner made her wonder whether she ought not to do the same, not only for the sake of keeping up appearances, but to preserve her health in case of emergencies. So when an umfan came as usual to tell her that the dinner was ready, she descended from the waggon, and strolling over to the packing-case took her place as though nothing in the world had happened.

But sitting opposite a face which wore baffled rage and spite printed on every line of it was not a pleasant experience, and she was glad to look past it sometimes to a figure lying full length, smoking peacefully by a fire. The man Kerry never once glanced their way, but Vivienne was curiously aware of his being on the alert for every sound and movement in the camp. She knew very well that he could hear her say to Roper that it would be a pleasant act of courtesy to send over a cup of coffee to the stranger who evidently had no kettle in which to make any, and Roper’s surly response to the suggestion.

"Look here! Do you take me for a damn-fool Samaritan?"

"No, indeed!" she retorted dryly. "But I thought that even you might be inclined to perform an act of common decency."

"Well, you thought wrong. I told you before that my waggon wasn’t a hotel for lost, stolen, or strays, didn’t I?"

Her only answer was to emphatically refuse the cup of coffee proffered her by an umfan. The rest of the meal was accomplished in silence.

Back in her tent once more, she composed herself for the night, revolver to hand, her face towards her friend. He had made another collection of fuel, and evidently meant to keep a big fire going all night. Something in the quiet way he had settled himself, half seated against his saddle, told her that he meant to keep watch.

Also, he had produced a book, and was leaning forward in the firelight ruffling its pages, and softly whistling to himself. A wave of pleasure tingled through the girl as she recognised the air for one she had known and loved all her life; that exquisite setting by Mendelssohn and Lizst to Heine’s poem On Wings of Song. She was strangely thrilled to hear its dear familiar cadence in this wild spot. Like the twinkle of home-lights seen suddenly from afar by a lost wayfarer, it gladdened and put fresh courage into her heart. How strange it seemed that this shirt-sleeved man who seemed part and parcel of primitive Africa, whom she had looked upon as a sort of Boer, should know anything so exquisitely civilised as the "Auf Flugeln des Gesanges!" She lay listening dreamily, her mind putting Heine’s words to the frail haunting air.

On wings of song, Belov’d One, Away I’ll waft thee, to where I know in the plains of the Ganges A secret nook most fair.

There sleeps a rich blossoming garden, Calm in the still moonlight: The lotus flowers are awaiting Their dearest Sister to-night.

The violets laugh as they prattle, And gaze on the stars in their spheres; Odorous legends the roses breathe Low in each other’s ears.

There bound, and stand shyly listening, The gentle timid gazelles; Afar, from the sacred river, The waves' deep murmur swells.

There under the palms reclining, We’ll drink by the sacred stream Of love and rest in full measure, And blissful dreams will we dream.