"You are a man of your word, Denham."

"Oh, you know my name," said the other cheerfully. Some instinct restrained him from suggesting that the advantage was all on one side.

"You have kept the condition which I placed upon you. Not even to Ben Halse's daughter did you break it."

"Now how do you know that?" And the question and the straight, frank glance accompanying it would have convinced the other, if he had needed convincing, that this was so.

"That doesn't matter. I do know it. If I did not, you would not have walked away from Sapazani's place so easily. In fact, you would never have got away from it at all."

"I am sure I owe you an endless debt of grat.i.tude," answered Denham earnestly. "The only thing is I don't believe you will ever give me a chance of showing it."

"But I will; I am going to give you just such a chance before we part.

But that will keep. Now--when are you going to marry Ben Halse's daughter?"

Denham stared, then burst into a joyous laugh.

"When? As soon as ever I can, by G.o.d!"

The stranger looked at him curiously.

"Do you know why I have helped you?" he said.

"Not in the least."

"On that account, and--on another. You were made for each other, and I could see it. _I know_."

There was that in the tone, in the expression of the man's face, that went to Denham's heart. He, then, had a sacred memory, which had remained green all these years. Some telepathic thought seemed to convey this. He put forth his band and the other took it.

"May I ask," he said, "if you devote life to befriending people in similar circ.u.mstances?"

The other laughed--the dry, mirthless laugh which was the only form of merriment in which he ever seemed to indulge.

"No, indeed. Once only, under similar circ.u.mstances. That was during the trouble in Matabeleland."

"By Jove!"

Then fell an interval of silence, which neither seemed in a hurry to break. The sun mounted higher and higher, and grew hot. At length the mysterious stranger drew a parcel from his inner pocket. It was of no size, but carefully done up in waterproof wrappings.

"You have given me your word," he said, "and you have kept it--I mean as to having met me at all. You can account for your escape, as may occur to you, but no word, no hint about me. Another condition I must impose upon you, and that is that you take no further part in the fighting here, but proceed straight to England, and deliver the contents of this packet in the quarter whither they are addressed. But the packet is not to be opened until you are on English soil. Do you agree?"

"Most certainly. Why, I owe you everything, even life."

"Even life, as you say. And not even to the girl you love must you divulge the knowledge of my existence--the secrets between man and man are just as inviolable as those between man and woman. Well, you will be taken under safe guidance--absolutely safe, have no fear--to Ezulwini, but you will have to travel by byways, and therefore slowly.

You see, I have watched every step you have taken ever since you came into the country, because I had marked you down as the one man who could carry out my purpose, and you will do it. Now, if you are rested, you can take this horse, and Mandevu will guide you to where you will find an efficient escort."

"But--I can't talk very well. And then, if we are attacked by a white force, what then? I only ask so as to know what to do."

"Neither matters, and you will not be attacked. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"Then farewell. We shall never meet again, but I know you will carry out everything."

"That I will. Good-bye."

They clasped hands, and as Denham rode away from the spot he wondered whether he had been dreaming. At the top of the rise he looked back.

The other had disappeared.

"Come, _Nkose_!" said Mandevu, his tall form striding on in front at the pace of the horse's fast walk.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

"CURTAIN."

The Nodwengu Hotel at Ezulwini was in such a state of turn-out and general excitement as had never occurred within the walls of that not very antique establishment. The big central room, ordinarily used for concerts or dances or public meetings, was crammed with laid-out tables wherever a plate and knife and fork could be crowded in, while the smaller one, the dining-room under conditions of everyday life, was entirely handed over to the bottle department. All this, however, did not herald a royal visit--only a wedding.

"See here, Mrs Shelford," said Denham, looking in for a moment upon the scene, where the pretty and popular hostess was seeing to this, that and the other with all her characteristic thoroughness. "You'll have no time to get into that exceedingly fetching frock I caught a glimpse of the other day if you don't leave all this to somebody else."

"Oh yes, I shall. But you know what I told you the day you came--you can't leave everything to Kafirs. By the way, I suppose you've had enough of the Kafirs now?"

"For a time, yes. But--I think they're interesting. Sapazani, for instance?" waggishly.

"The brute! Good thing he was shot. Well, I suppose we shall never see you out here again."

"I'm not so sure about that. Didn't I find Verna here--right here, in this very house? And isn't that why I in particular wanted her married here, among the people she knows, and who know her, rather than in Durban or some other strange place?"

"Yes, you did find her here, didn't you? Well, now, Mr Denham, you've no business here yourself this morning--until you come back in state.

So go away now till then."

"No fear," said a jovial voice in the doorway. "Mr Denham's coming round to have a gla.s.s with myself and some of his old fellow-campaigners, round the corner."

"Look here, Mr Shelford, remember the serious business sticking out,"

said Denham merrily.

"And as for the campaigners, all the campaigning I seem to have done was to slink away and hide."

"Yes, of course. But they've a different tale to tell. But if you don't want to come you'll better do the same now, because these chaps will get you there by force."

"Oh well, I can't afford to offer resistance to the police, so here goes."

The bar was crowded, mostly with police. Denham's arrival was hailed with a shout of acclamation, and he and his bride were duly toasted with a good-fellowship which, if a bit noisy, was still genuinely sincere.

These fine fellows were all due to start for the seat of hostilities again that evening, but, if some of them were a bit "wobbly" now, they would be all right, and fit, and hard as ever, when the time came, never fear.

From that lively scene to the quiet of the hospital was a strange contrast. Denham slipped away opportunely and soon, for he had a visit to make.

"How's Stride to-day, doctor?" meeting the District surgeon at the entrance.