waiting an hour outside the tent, squatting at the head of his saddled
horse.
Sara spoke to him with great fire and passion, and the man nodded
vehemently as she exhorted him and then flung himself into the saddle
and dashed away towards the darkening mouth of the gorge, where the
smoky blue shadows of evening were enfolding the harsh cliffs and
jagged peaks of the mountains.
'He will be at Sardi before midnight. I have told him not to pause
along the way. Your message will go on to the telegraph at dawn
tomorrow morning.'
'Thank you, Sara dear.' Vicky rose from the camp table and as she
covered her typewriter, Sara eyed her speculatively.
Vicky had bathed and changed into the one good dress she had brought
with her, a light Irish linen in a pale blue, cut with a fashionably
low waist and skirt that covered her knees but displayed rounded calves
and the narrow delicately shaped ankles which gleamed in their sheaths
of fine silk stockings.
'Your dress is pretty,' said Sara softly, 'and your hair is so soft and
yellow.' She sighed. 'I wish I were beautiful like you are.
I wish I had a lovely white skin like you.'
'And I wish I had a beautiful golden skin like yours,' Vicky countered
swiftly, and they laughed together.
'Are you dressed like that for Gareth? He will love you very much when
he sees you. Let us go and find him.'
'I've got a better idea,
Sara. why don't you go and find Gregorius. I am sure he is looking
for you.' Sara thought about that for a moment, torn between duty and
pleasure.
'Are you certain you'll be all right on your own, Miss
Camberwell?'
'Oh, I think so thank you, Sara. If I get into trouble
I'll call you.'
'I'll come right away,' Sara assured her.
Vicky knew exactly where she would find Jake Barton, and she came up
silently beside the tall steel hull and watched for a while as he
worked, completely absorbed and totally oblivious of her presence.
She wondered how she had been so blind as not to have seen him properly
before, not to have seen beneath the boyish freshness the strength and
quiet assurance of a full mature man. It was an ageless face, and she
knew that even when he was an old man the illusion of youth and
freshness would remain with him. Yet there was an intensity in the
eyes, a steely purpose in the heavy line of the jaw that she had never
noticed before. She remembered the dream of his that he had told her
the factory building his own engine and in a clairvoyant flash she knew
that he had the determination and the strength to make it become
reality. Suddenly she longed to share it with him, and knew that their
two dreams could be placed together, his engine and her book, they
could be created together, each gathering strength from the other,
pooling their determination and their creative reserves. it would be
