"What do you want, then?" demanded Christian.
"Oh, nothing that you can give," was the retort.
"Well--but you must have something," urged Christian. "You--you have saved my wife."
"And you haven't even said 'thank you,'" replied the Kafir.
"I threw you the money," protested Christian. "It is a hundred pounds. But--well--you have been good and I thank you."
The Kafir laughed. He knew the mere words created an epoch, for Boers do not thank Kafirs. They pay them, but no more. Strange how a matter of darkness abrogates a difference of color. It would never have happened in the daytime.
"Me?" The Boer was puzzled. "You will take the money now?"
"No, thanks. I 'm too--oh, much too tired and hungry to carry it. You see, I brought your wife a long way."
"Yes," said Christian. "She said so--a very long way. I will wake the boys [the Kafirs of the household]. They will find you a place to sleep and I will make them bring you some food."
"No, thanks," said the Kafir again. "I don't speak their language. You--you haven't a man who speaks English, I suppose?"
"No," said Christian. "You want--yes, I see. But--you 'd better take the money."
"But take it," urged the Boer. "A hundred pounds--it is much. Perhaps it is more; I have not counted it. If it is less, I will give the rest, to make a hundred pounds. You will take it--not?"
"No." The answer was definite. "No--I won't take it, I tell you."
"Then--" Christian half-turned towards the house, with a heaviness in his movements which had not been noticeable before. "Come in and eat," he bade gloomily. "_Gott verdam_--come and eat."
The Kafir checked another laugh. "With pleasure," he said, and followed at the Boer's back.
The Boer stooped to pick up the bundle of money where it lay on the earth and led the way without looking round to the kitchen where he had left his wife. The Kafir paused in the kitchen door, looking in, acutely alive to the delicacy of a situation in which he figured, under the Boer's eye, as part of the company which included the Boer's wife. He waited to see how Christian would adjust matters.
The table was spread with the materials of supper. Mrs. du Preez had a chair by it, and now leaned over it, with her head resting on her arms, to make room for which plates and cups were disordered. Her flowery hat was still on her head; she had not commanded the energy necessary to withdraw the long pins that held it and take it off. In her dust-caked best clothes, she sprawled among the food and slept, and the paraffin lamp on the wall shed its uncharitable glare on her unconscious back.