“You shall not be left alone if I can help it,” she replied, looking at the old man with her dark and tender eyes.  “We have only each other in the world now, have we?  The rest have gone, never to return.”

He threw his arms about her, and, drawing her to him, kissed her passionately.

“If only you could learn to love me!” he said.

“I do love you,” she answered, “who now shall never love any other man upon the earth.”

This was the beginning of a deep affection which sprang up between Mr. Clifford and his daughter, and continued to the end.

“Is there any news?” she asked a little later.

“None—­none about him.  The tide took his body away, no doubt, after the Kaffir had gone.  I remember him well now.  He was a fine young man, and it comes into my mind that when I said good-bye to him above those old ruins, I wished that I had a son like that.  And to think that he went so near to becoming a son to me!  Well, the grass must bend when the wind blows, as the natives say.”

“I am glad that you knew him,” she answered simply.

Then they began talking about other matters.  He told her that all the story had become known, and that people spoke of Robert Seymour as “the hero”; also that there was a great deal of curiosity about her.

“Then let us get away as soon as we can,” she said nervously.  “But, Father, where are we going?”

“That will be for you to decide, love.  Listen, now; this is my position.  I have been quite steady for years, and worked hard, with the result that I and my partner have a fine farm in the Transvaal, on the high land near Lake Chrissie, out Wakkerstroom way.  We breed horses there, and have done very well with them.  I have L1,500 saved, and the farm brings us in quite L600 a year beyond the expenses.  But it is a lonely place, with only a few Boers about, although they are good fellows enough.  You might not care to live there with no company.”

“I don’t think that I should mind,” she answered, smiling.

“Not now, but by-and-by you would when you know what it is like.  Now I might sell my share in the farm to my partner, who, I think, would buy it, or I might trust to him to send me a part of the profits, which perhaps he would not.  Then, if you wish it, we could live in or near one of the towns, or even, as you have an income of your own, go home to England, if that is your will.”

“Is it your will?” she asked.

He shook his head.  “No; all my life is here.  Also, I have something to find before I die—­for your sake, dear.”

“Do you mean up among those ruins?” she asked, looking at him curiously.

“Yes.  So you know about it?” he answered, with a flash of his blue eyes.  “Oh! of course, Seymour told you.  Yes, I mean among the ruins—­but I will tell you that story another time—­not here, not here.  What do you wish to do, Benita?  Remember, I am in your hands; I will obey you in all things.”