loins, spreading its tendrils up through his chest.
He wanted this woman so violently that in her presence his wits failed
him. Many times during the night he had attempted to join the
discussions, but each time Dirk had brushed his efforts aside with
contempt and turned avidly back to the girl. By morning he had made
the disturbing discovery that he was jealous of his own son-jealous of
the attention Dirk was getting, and for which he hungered so
strongly.
While they drank coffee after the morning meal lying on their blankets
beneath a grove of syringa trees, Sean remarked: 'You haven't told us
your name yet.' And of course it was Dirk that answered.
'She told me. Your name's Ruth-isn't it?'
-That's right, Dirk.'
With an effort Sean clamped down on the senseless anger that boiled up
through him, but when he spoke his voice carried traces of it.
'We've heard enough from you for one night, my boy. Now get your head
down, close your eyes and your mouth and keep,
'I'm not sleepy, Dad.'
'Do what I tell you. ' Sean jumped up and strode out of the camp.
He climbed the small kopJe above them. By now it was full daylight and
he searched the veld to the horizon on all sides.
There was no trace of habitation or human. He climbed down again and
fussed with the hobbles of the horses before returning to the grove of
syringas.
Despite his protestations Dirk was curled like a sleeping puppy and,
near the fire from a large bundle of blankets issued the unmistakable
snoring of Mbejane. Ruth lay a little apart from them, a blanket
thrown over her legs, her eyes closed and the front of her shirt rising
and falling in a manner that gave Sean two good reasons for not
sleeping. He lay propped on one elbow and fed Ins eyes and his
imagination on her.
These four years past he had not seen a white woman, four years without
the sound of a woman's voice or the comfort of her body. In the
beginning it had worried him-the restlessness, the undirected fits of
depression, and sudden bursts of temper.
But gradually in the long days of hunting and riding, in the endless
struggle with drought and storm, with beasts and the elements, he had
brought his body under control. Women had faded into unreality, vague
phantoms that plagued him only in the night so he twisted and sweated
and cried out in his sleep until nature gave him release and the
phantoms dispersed for a while to gather strength for their next
visitation.
But this was no phantom that lay beside him now. By stretching out a
hand he could stroke the faint down on her cheek and feel the
blood-warm silk of her skin.
She opened her eyes, they were milky grey with sleep, slowly focusing
until they levelled with his and returned his scrutiny.
Because of what she read there, she lifted her left hand from the
blanket and held it out towards him. Her riding gloves were off. For
the first time he noticed the slender gold ring that ench-cled her
