He had just got his arms in the sleeves, and was trying to hook up the back, when an increase in the patter of the rain at the window made him drag it off hastily.

When he perceived there was no one coming he tumbled the things back into the box, and, covering it carefully, went down the ladder.
Em was still at her work, trying to adjust a new needle in the machine.
Gregory drank his soup, and then sat before her, an awful and mysterious look in his eyes.
"I am going to town tomorrow," he said.
"I'm almost afraid you won't be able to go," said Em, who was intent on her needle; "I don't think it is going to leave off today." "I am going," said Gregory.
Em looked up.
"But the sloots are as full as rivers; you cannot go.

We can wait for the post," she said.
"I am not going for the post," said Gregory, impressively.
Em looked for explanation; none came.
"When will you be back ?" "I am not coming back." "Are you going to your friends ?" Gregory waited, then caught her by the wrist.
"Look here, Em," he said between his teeth, "I can't stand it any more.
I am going to her." Since that day, when he had come home and found Lyndall gone, he had never talked of her; but Em knew who it was who needed to be spoken of by no name.
She said, when he had released her hand: "But you do not know where she is ?" "Yes, I do.

She was in Bloemfontein when I heard last.

I will go there, and I will find out where she went then, and then, and then! I will have her." Em turned the wheel quickly, and the ill-adjusted needle sprung into twenty fragments.
"Gregory," she said, "she does not want us; she told us so clearly in the letter she wrote." A flush rose on her face as she spoke.