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Schreiner, Olive, 1855-1920

"The Story of an African Farm, a novel"

At last the sound was repeated. Then she
rose, lit the candle and the fire, and went to see. Only to satisfy
herself, she said, that nothing could be out on such a night.
She opened the door a little way, and held the light behind her to defend
it from the wind. The figure of a tall man stood there, and before she
could speak he had pushed his way in, and was forcing the door to close
behind him.
"Waldo!" she cried in astonishment.
He had been gone more than a year and a half.
"You did not expect to see me," he answered, as he turned toward her; "I
should have slept in the outhouse, and not troubled you tonight; but
through the shutter I saw glimmerings of a light."
"Come in to the fire," she said; "it is a terrific night for any creature
to be out. Shall we not go and fetch your things in first?" she added.
"I have nothing but this," he said, motioning to the little bundle in his
hand.
"Your horse?"
"Is dead."
He sat down on the bench before the fire.
"The cakes are almost ready," she said; "I will get you something to eat.
Where have you been wandering all this while?"
"Up and down, up and down," he answered wearily; "and now the whim has
seized me to come back here. Em," he said, putting his hand on her arm as
she passed him, "have you heard from Lyndall lately?"
"Yes," said Em, turning quickly from him.


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