"
"I am going," said Gregory.
Em looked up.
"But the sloots are as full as rivers; you cannot go. We can wait for the
post," she said.
"I am not going for the post," said Gregory, impressively.
Em looked for explanation; none came.
"When will you be back?"
"I am not coming back."
"Are you going to your friends?"
Gregory waited, then caught her by the wrist.
"Look here, Em," he said between his teeth, "I can't stand it any more. I
am going to her."
Since that day, when he had come home and found Lyndall gone, he had never
talked of her; but Em knew who it was who needed to be spoken of by no
name.
She said, when he had released her hand:
"But you do not know where she is?"
"Yes, I do. She was in Bloemfontein when I heard last. I will go there,
and I will find out where she went then, and then, and then! I will have
her."
Em turned the wheel quickly, and the ill-adjusted needle sprung into twenty
fragments.
"Gregory," she said, "she does not want us; she told us so clearly in the
letter she wrote." A flush rose on her face as she spoke. "It will only
be pain to you, Gregory: Will she like to have you near her?"
There was an answer he might have made, but it was his secret, and he did
not choose to share it. He said only:
"I am going."
"Will you be gone long, Gregory?"
"I do not know; perhaps I shall never come back.
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