“Have you been up all night?” was Nan’s first query.

Mona hesitated.

“Well, not exactly.  I lay down part of the time.”

“Why in the world didn’t you go to bed?” questioned Nan.

“I couldn’t, dear.  Piet was here.”

“Who?” said Nan sharply; then, colouring vividly, “All night, Mona?  How could you let him?”

“I couldn’t help it!” said Mona.  “He wouldn’t go.”

“What nonsense!  He’s gone now, I suppose?” Nan spoke irritably.  The tightness of the doctor’s bandages was causing her considerable pain.

“Oh, yes, he went some time ago,” Mona assured her.  “But he is sure to come back presently, and say good-bye.”

“Say good-bye!” Nan echoed the words slowly, a dawning brightness in her eyes.  “Is he—­is he really going, then?” she whispered.

“He says he must go—­whatever happens.  It was a solemn promise, and he can’t break it.  I don’t understand, of course, but he is wanted at Kimberley to avert some crisis connected with the mines.”

“Then—­he will have to start soon?” said Nan.

“Yes.  But he won’t leave till the last minute.  He has chartered a special to take him to Plymouth.”

“He knows I can’t go?” said Nan quickly.

“Oh, yes; the doctor told him that last night.”

“What did he say?  Was he angry?”

“He looked furious.  But he didn’t say anything, even in Dutch.  I think his feelings were beyond words,” said Mona, with a little smile.

Nan asked no more, but when the doctor saw her a little later, he was dissatisfied with her appearance, and scolded her for working herself into a fever.

“There’s no sense in fretting about it,” he said.  “The thing is done, and can’t be altered.  I have no doubt your husband will be back again in a few weeks to fetch you, and we will have you quite well again by then.”

But Nan only shivered in response, as though she found this assurance the reverse of comforting.  The shock of the accident, succeeding the incessant strain of the past few weeks, had completely broken down her nerve, and no amount of reasoning could calm her.

When a message came from her husband an hour later, asking if she would see him, she answered in the affirmative, but the bare prospect of the interview threw her into a ferment of agitation.

She lay panting on her pillows like a frightened child when at length he entered.

He came in very softly, but every pulse in her body leapt at his approach.  She could not utter a word in greeting.

He stood a moment in silence, looking down at her, then, stooping, he took her free hand into his own.

“Are you better?” he asked, his deep voice hushed as if he were in church.

She could not answer him for the fast beating of her heart.  He waited a little, then sat down by the bed, his great hand still holding her little trembling one in a steady grasp.