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Updated: June 8, 2025
She'll be awfully pleased to see you." If this were indeed the case, Mrs. Merston certainly concealed any excess of pleasure very effectually. She greeted her with a perfunctory smile, and told her it was very good of her to come but she would soon wish she hadn't. She was looking very worn and tired, but she assured Sylvia somewhat sardonically that she was not feeling any worse than usual.
Mary Ann brought me some breakfast in bed." He nodded, dismissing the matter. "I have been over to see Merston. He is on his legs again, practically well. But she is not feeling up to the mark. She wants to know if you will go over. I told her I thought you would. But don't go if you would rather not!" "Of course I will go," Sylvia said, "if I can do any good."
That night the thunder rolled among the kopjes, and Sylvia lay in her hut wide-awake and listening. The lightning glanced and quivered about the distant hills and threw a weird and fitful radiance about her bed, extinguishing the dim light thrown by her night-lamp. Bill Merston had brought her back a written message from her husband, and she lay with it gripped in her hand.
Sylvia said a little wistfully. "To the favoured few yes," said Mrs. Merston. Sylvia gave her a quick glance. "I read somewhere I don't know if it's true that we are all given the ingredients of happiness, but the mixing is left to ourselves. Perhaps you and I haven't found the right mixture yet." "Ah!" said Mrs. Merston. "Perhaps not."
"That means," Burke spoke slowly, with deliberate insistence, "that you know she loves another man better." Matilda was silent. He bent forward a little, looking straight into her downcast face. "Mrs. Merston," he said, "you are a woman; you ought to know. Do you believe honestly that she would have been any happier married to that other man?"
Let me put a little eau-de-cologne in that water! It's so refreshing." Mrs. Merston scarcely noticed the small service. She was too intent upon her work of destruction. "You don't know him yet," she said. "But anyone you meet can tell you the same.
Burke did not come over to see them again, nor did he write. Evidently he was too busy to do either. But one evening Merston announced his intention of riding over to Blue Hill Farm, and asked Sylvia if she would like to send a note by him. "You've got ten minutes to do it in," he gaily told her. "So you'd better leave all the fond adjectives till the end and put them in if you have time."
"Really?" Sylvia opened her eyes. "That doesn't sound very nice certainly. Haven't you got a verandah even I beg its pardon, a stoep?" "We have nothing at all that makes for comfort," declared Mrs. Merston, with bitter emphasis. "We live like pigs in a sty!" "Good heavens!" said Sylvia. "I shouldn't like that." "No, you wouldn't. It takes a little getting used to.
Merston could not stay for the night. He looked at Sylvia rather questioningly at parting. She smiled in answer as she gave him her hand. "Give my love to Matilda!" she said. "Say I am coming to see her soon!" "Is that all?" he said. She nodded. "Yes, that's all. No one thing more!" She detained him a moment.
"It's Merston's house-boy," he said. "I've sent him round to the kitchen to get a feed. Something's up there, I am afraid. Let's see what he has to say!" He opened the letter while he was speaking, and there fell a short silence while he read. Sylvia took up her duster again. Her hands were trembling. In a moment Burke spoke. "Yes, it's from Merston.
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