"Ethel," he added; "I am going home, next week. I may
never see South Africa again. Before I go--"
Quietly she withdrew her hand. "Before you go, you will come to say
good by to my mother, I hope," she said, with a steadiness which
gave no hint of the tears behind her lowered lids.
Impatiently he brushed her words aside.
"That is for you to say. First of all, I must know one thing."
Her nerve was failing fast; but she still held to her resolve that
he should gain no hint of her weakness. She drew back a step, as if
his vehemence terrified her, yet she dared not raise her eyes to
his. It was all she could do to hold her voice in subjection.
"And what is that?" she asked.
He waited for an instant, before he answered her question. Her next
words might contain all, or nothing. His lips shut to a narrow line;
then he straightened his shoulders.
"Ethel," he said rapidly; "I have been in a good many fights; I've
found that it hurts more to be mangled than it does to be killed.
Speak out, then, and end this thing once for all. Was it final, what
you said to the Captain, that day?"
She bit her lip; but her voice would not come, and she could only
give a little, dreary nod.
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