To
that memory she still was loyal; but what weight has a memory in
the presence of a fascinating reality?
Meriem had never accompanied the men upon a hunt since the arrival
of the guests. She never had cared particularly for the sport of
killing. The tracking she enjoyed; but the mere killing for the
sake of killing she could not find pleasure in--little savage that
she had been, and still, to some measure, was. When Bwana had
gone forth to shoot for meat she had always been his enthusiastic
companion; but with the coming of the London guests the hunting
had deteriorated into mere killing. Slaughter the host would not
permit; yet the purpose of the hunts were for heads and skins and
not for food. So Meriem remained behind and spent her days either
with My Dear upon the shaded verandah, or riding her favorite pony
across the plains or to the forest edge. Here she would leave him
untethered while she took to the trees for the moment's unalloyed
pleasures of a return to the wild, free existence of her earlier
childhood.
Then would come again visions of Korak, and, tired at last of
leaping and swinging through the trees, she would stretch herself
comfortably upon a branch and dream.
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