The Top of the World. Ethel M. Dell

that was unlike anything she had ever heard. It was as if they had suddenly been caught by a seething torrent. Again the lightning flared, dancing a quivering, zigzag measure across the verandah in which she sat, and the thunder burst overhead, numbing the senses.

      By that awful leaping glare Sylvia saw her companion. He was stooping over her. He spoke; but she could not hear a word he uttered.

      Then again his arms were about her and he lifted her. She yielded herself to him with the confidence of a child, and he carried her into his home while the glancing lightning showed the way.

      The noise within the house was less overwhelming. He put her down on a long chair in almost total darkness, but a few moments later the lightning glimmered again and showed her vividly the room in which she lay. It was a man's room, half-office, half-lounge, extremely bare, and devoid of all ornament with the exception of a few native weapons on the walls.

      The kindling of a lamp confirmed this first impression, but the presence of the man himself diverted her attention from her surroundings. He turned from lighting the lamp to survey her. She thought he looked somewhat stern.

      "What about this knee of yours?" he said. "Is it badly damaged?"

      "Oh, not badly," she answered. "I'm sure not badly. What a lot of trouble I am giving you! I am so sorry."

      "You needn't be sorry on that account," he said. "I blame myself alone. Do you mind letting me, see it? I am used to giving first-aid."

      "Oh, I don't think that is necessary," said Sylvia. "I—can quite easily doctor myself."

      "I thought we were to be comrades," he observed bluntly.

      She coloured and faintly laughed, "You can see it if you particularly want to."

      "I do." said Burke.

      She sat up without further protest, and uncovered the injured knee for his inspection. "I really don't think anything of a tumble like that," she said, as he bent to examine it. But the next moment at his touch she flinched and caught her breath.

      "That hurts, does it?" he said. "It's swelling up. I'm going to get some hot water to bathe it."

      He stood up with the words and turned away. Sylvia leaned back again, feeling rather sick. Certainly the pain was intense.

      The rain was still battering on the roof with a sound like the violent jingling together of tin cans, She listened to it with a dull wonder. The violence of it would have made a deeper impression upon her had she been suffering less. But she felt as one immersed in an evil dream which clogged all her senses save that of pain.

      When Burke returned she was lying with closed eyes, striving hard to keep herself under control. The clatter of the rain had abated somewhat, and she heard him speak over his shoulder to someone behind him. She looked up and saw an old Kaffir woman carrying a basin.

      "This is Mary Ann," said Burke, intercepting her glance of surprise. "A useful old dog except when there is any dope about! Hope you don't mind niggers."

      "I shall get used to them," said Sylvia rather faintly.

      "There's nothing formidable about this one," he said, "She can't help being hideous. She is quite tame."

      Sylvia tried to smile. Certainly Mary Ann was hideous, but her lameness was equally obvious. She evidently stood in considerable awe of her master, obeying his slightest behest with clumsy solicitude and eyes that rolled unceasingly in his direction.

      Burke kept her in the room while he bathed the injury. He was very gentle, and Sylvia was soon conscious of relief. When at length he applied a pad soaked in ointment and proceeded to bandage with a dexterity that left nothing to be desired, she told him with a smile that he was as good as a professional.

      "One has to learn a little of this sort of thing," he said. "How does it feel now?"

      "Much better," she answered. "I shall have forgotten all about it by to-morrow."

      "No, you won't," said Burke. "You will rest it for three days at least. You don't want to get water on the joint."

      "Three days!" she echoed in dismay, "I can't—possibly—lie up here."

      He raised his eyes from his bandaging for a moment, and a curious thrill went through her; it was as if his look pierced her. "The impossible often happens here," he said briefly.

      She expressed a sharp tremor that caught her unawares. "What does that mean?" she asked, striving to speak lightly.

      He replied with his eyes lowered again to his task. "It means among other things that you can't get back to Ritzen until the floods go down. Ritter Spruit is a foaming torrent by this time."

      "Good heavens!" she exclaimed. "But isn't there—isn't there a bridge anywhere?"

      "Forty miles away," said Burke Ranger laconically.

      "Good—heavens!" she gasped again.

      He finished his bandaging and stood up. "Now I am going to carry you to bed," he said, "and Mary Ann shall wait on you. You won't be frightened?"

      She smiled in answer. "You've taken my breath away, but I shall get it again directly. I don't think I want to go to bed yet. Mayn't I stay here for a little?"

      He looked down at her. "You've got some pluck, haven't you?" he said.

      She flushed. "I hope so—a little."

      He touched her shoulder unexpectedly, with a hint of awkwardness.

       "I'm afraid I can only offer you—rough hospitality. It's the best

       I can do. My guests have all been of the male species till now.

       But you will put up with it? You won't be scared anyhow?"

      She reached up an impulsive hand and put it into his. "No, I shan't be scared at all. You make me feel quite safe. I'm only—more grateful than I can say."

      His fingers closed upon hers. "You've nothing to be grateful for. Let me take you to the guestroom and Mary Ann shall bring you supper. You'll be more comfortable there. Your baggage is there already."

      She clung to his hand for an instant, caught by an odd feeling of forlornness. "I will do whatever you wish. But—but—you will let me see Guy in the morning?"

      He stooped to lift her. For a moment his eyes looked straight into hers. Then: "Wait till the morning comes!" he said quietly.

      There was finality in his tone, and she knew that it was no moment for discussion. With a short sigh she yielded to the inevitable, and suffered him to carry her away.