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Rudyard also, on the veranda, paced weakly, almost stumblingly, up and down, his face also turning towards the Stay Awhile Hospital. At length, with a heavy sigh, he entered the house and sat down in a great arm-chair, from which old Brinkwort the Boer had laid down the law for his people. Where was Jasmine? Why did she not hasten to Brinkwort's Farm?
The face of the half-caste had grown more furtive than it was in the London days, and as he looked at Stafford now, it had a malignant expression which showed through the mask of his outward self-control. "I am prisoner," Krool answered thickly. "When where?" Stafford inquired, his eye holding the other's. "At Hetmeyer's Kopje." "But what are you a prisoner doing here at Brinkwort's Farm?"
She saw that a surgeon could do nothing, that the hurt was internal and mortal; but she wished him not to die until she had spoken with him once again and told him all there was to tell all that had happened after he left Brinkwort's Farm yesterday. She looked at the drawn and blanched face and asked herself if that look of pain and mortal trouble was the precursor of happiness and peace.
He didn't want to go to the hospital, and the house at the Farm is good enough for anybody. Anyhow, you get away from the smell of disinfectants and the business of the hospital. It's a snigger little place is Brinkwort's Farm.
"I see by the latest papers from England, that Balfour says we'll muddle through this war somehow," he said. "He must have known you, Rigby. With the courage of the damned you carry a fearsome lot of impedimenta, and you muddle quite adequately. The lady you have traduced has herself been seriously ill, and that is why she is not at Brinkwort's Farm. What a malicious mind you've got!
There's an orchard of peaches and oranges, and there are pomegranate hedges, and plenty of nice flowers in the garden, and a stoep made for candidates for Stellenbosch as comfortable as the room of a Rand director." "Mrs. Byng is with him?" asked Stafford, his eyes turned towards Brinkwort's Farm miles away.
She found the attendant who had given her the letter, and asked if the messenger was waiting, and was only then informed that he had been gone three hours or more. Three hours or more! It might be that Rudyard was gone forever without hearing what she had to say, or knowing whether she desired reconciliation and peace. She at once gave orders for a cape-cart to take her over to Brinkwort's Farm.
The look he cast on the bent figure before him in the threadbare frock-coat which had been taken from the back of some dead Boer, with the corded breeches stuck in boots too large for him, and the khaki hat which some vanished Tommy would never wear again, was resolute and vengeful. Krool must not stay at Brinkwort's Farm. He must be removed.
As Al'mah stood looking into the quivering light upon the veld, her fingers thrust among the blossoms of a tree which bent over her, she heard horses' hoofs, and presently there came round the corner of the house two mounted soldiers who had brought Krool to Brinkwort's Farm. Their prisoner was secured to a stirrup-leather, and the neckcloth was still binding his mouth.
"Her husband under repair at Brinkwort's Farm, in the care of the blue-ribbon nurse of the army, who makes a fellow well if he looks at her, and she studying organization at the Stay Awhile with a staff-officer." The reply of the Staff Officer was quick and cutting enough for any officers' mess.
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