they didn't budge. Actually squared up to me."

"I hope you didn't shoot their dogs," said Eanswyth anxiously.

"Didn't I! one of 'em, that is. Do you think I'm the man to be bounced by Jack Kafir? Not much I'm not. I was bound to let daylight through the brute, and I did."

"Through the Kafir?" cried Eanswyth, in horror, turning pale.

"Through both," answered Carhayes, with a roar of laughter. "Through both, by Jove! Ask Eustace. He came up just in time to be in at the death. But, don't get scared, old girl. I only `barked' the n.i.g.g.e.r, and sent the dog to hunt bucks in some other world. I had to do it.

Those chaps were four to one, you see, and shied Icerries at me. They had a.s.segais, too."

"Oh, I don't know what will happen to us one of these days!" she cried, in real distress. "As it is, I am uneasy every time you are out in the _veldt_."

"You needn't be--no fear. Those chaps know me better than to attempt any tricks. They're all bark--but when it comes to biting they funk off. That _schelm_ I plugged to-day threatened no end of things; said I'd better have cut off my right hand first, because it was better to lose one's hand than one's mind--or some such bosh. But do you think I attach any importance to that? I laughed in the fellow's face and told him the next time he fell foul of me he'd likely enough lose his life-- and that would be worse still for him."

Eustace, listening to these remarks, frowned slightly. The selfish coa.r.s.eness of his cousin in thus revealing the whole unfortunate episode, with the sure result of doubling this delicate woman's anxiety whenever she should be left--as she so often was--alone, revolted him.

Had he been Carhayes he would have kept his own counsel in the matter.

"By the way, Tom," said Eanswyth, "Goniwe hasn't brought in his sheep yet, and it's nearly dark."

"Not, eh?" was the almost shouted reply, accompanied by a vehement and undisguised expletive at the expense of the defaulter. "He's playing Harry--not a doubt about it. I'll make an example of him this time.

Rather! Hold on. Where's my thickest _sjambok_?"

[Sjambok: A whip, made out of a single piece of rhinoceros, or sea-cow hide, tapering at the point. It is generally in the shape of a riding-whip.]

He dived into the house, and, deaf to his wife's entreaties and expostulations, armed himself with the formidable rawhide whip in addition to his gun, and flinging the bridle once more across the horse's neck, sprang into the saddle.

"Coming, Eustace?" he cried.

"No. I think not. The sheep can't be far off, and you can easily bring them in, even if, as is not unlikely, Goniwe has sloped. Besides, I don't think we ought to leave Eanswyth all alone."

With a spluttered exclamation of impatience, Carhayes clapped spurs to his horse and cantered away down the kloof to recover his sheep and execute summary vengeance upon their defective herd.

"Do go after him, Eustace. Don't think about me. I don't in the least mind being left alone. Do go. You are the only one who can act as a check upon him, and I fear he will get himself--all of us--into some terrible sc.r.a.pe. I almost hope Goniwe has run away, for if Tom comes across him in his present humour he will half kill the boy."

"He won't come across him. On that point you may set your mind quite at ease. He will have no opportunity of getting into hot water, and I certainly shan't think of leaving you alone here to-night for the sake of salvaging a few sheep more or less. We must make up our minds to lose some, I'm afraid, but the bulk of them will be all right."

"Still, I wish you'd go," she pursued anxiously. "What if Tom should meet with any Kafirs in the _veldt_ and quarrel with them, as he is sure to do?"

"He won't meet any. There isn't a chance of it. Look here, Eanswyth; Tom must take care of himself for once. I'm not going to leave you alone here now for the sake of fifty Toms."

"Why! Have you heard anything fresh?" she queried anxiously, detecting a veiled significance in his words.

"Certainly not. Nothing at all. Haven't been near Komgha for ten days, and haven't seen anyone since. Now, I'll just take my horse round to the stable and give him a feed--and be with you in a minute."

As a matter of fact, there was an _arriere-pensee_ underlying his words.

For Eustace had been pondering over Hlangani's strangely worded threat.

And it was a strangely worded one. "_You had better have cut off your right hand... for it is better to lose a hand than one's mind_."

Carhayes had dismissed it contemptuously from his thoughts, but Eustace Milne, keen-witted, imaginative, had set to work to puzzle it out. Did the Gcaleka chief meditate some more subtle and h.e.l.lish form of vengeance than the ordinary and commonplace one of mere blood for blood, and, if so, how did he purpose to carry it out? By striking at Carhayes through the one who was dearest to him? Surely. The words seemed to bear just this interpretation--and at the bare contemplation of a frightful danger hanging over Eanswyth, cool, even-minded Eustace Milne, felt the blood flow back to his heart. For he loved her.

Yes, he loved her. This keen-witted, philosophical man of the world was madly in love with the beautiful wife of his middle-aged cousin. He loved her with all the raging abandonment of a strong nature that does nothing by halves; yet during nearly a year spent beneath the same roof--nearly a year of easy, pleasant, social intercourse--never by word or sign had he betrayed his secret--at least, so he imagined.

But that no such blow should fall while he was alive, he resolved at all hazards. Why had he come there at all, was a question he had been asking himself for some time past? Why had he stayed, why did he stay?

For the latter he hated and despised himself on account of his miserable weakness. But now it seemed that both were answered--that he had been brought there for a purpose--to protect _her_ from the fearful consequences entailed by the blundering ferocity of him who should have been her first protector--to save her from some impending and terrible fate. Surely this was sufficient answer.

Then a wild thrill set his pulses tingling--a thrill of joy, of fierce expectation set on foot by a single thought, the intense expectation of the gambler who sees fortune brought within his reach by the potential turn of chances already strong in his favour. They were on the eve of war. What might the chances of war not entail? Blind, blundering Tom Carhayes running his head, like a bull, at every stone wall--were not the chances of war increased tenfold _against_ such a man as this? And then--and then--?

No man could be more unfitted to hold possession of such a priceless treasure as this--argued the man who did not hold it.

"Confess, Eanswyth, that you are very glad I didn't take you at your word and go after Tom," said Eustace, as they were sitting cosily at table.

"Perhaps I am. I have been getting so dreadfully nervous and low spirited of late--so different to the strong-minded creature I used to be," she said with a rueful smile. "I am becoming quite frightened to be left alone."

"Are you? Well, I think I can undertake to promise that you shall not be left alone again. One of us must always make a point of being around the house while the other is away. But look here, Eanswyth; I really think you oughtn't to go on staying here at present. Why don't you go down to the Colony and stay in one or other of the towns, or even at that other farm of Tom's, until things are settled again?"

"I won't do that. And I'm really not in the least afraid for myself. I don't believe the Kafirs would harm me."

"Then why are you nervous at being left alone?" was the very pertinent rejoinder.

"Not on my own account. It is only that solitude gives me time to think. I am always imagining Tom coming to frightful grief in some form or other."

The other did not at once reply. He was balancing a knife meditatively on the edge of his plate, his fine features a perfect mask of impa.s.sibility. But in reality his thoughts ran black and bitter. It was all "Tom" and "Tom." What the deuce had Tom done to deserve all this solicitude--and how was it appreciated by its fortunate object?

Not a hair's-breadth. Then, as she rose from the table and went out on the _stoep_ to look out for any sign of the absent one's return, Eustace was conscious of another turn of the spear in the wound. Why had he arrived on the scene of the fray that morning just in time to intervene?

suggested his evil angel. The delay of a few minutes, and...

"Would it do anything towards persuading you to adopt the more prudent course and leave here for a while, if I were to tell you that Josane was urging that very thing this morning?" said Eustace when she returned.

The said Josane was a grizzled old Kafir who held the post of cattle-herd under the two cousins. He was a Gcaleka, and had fled from Kreli's country some years previously, thereby narrowly escaping one of the varied and horrible forms of death by torture habitually meted out to those accused of his hypothetical offence--for he had been "smelt out" by a witch-doctor. He was therefore not likely to throw in his lot with his own countrymen against his white protectors, by whom he was looked upon as an intelligent and thoroughly trustworthy man, which indeed he was.

"I don't think it would," she answered with a deprecatory smile. "I should be ten times more nervous if I were right away, and, as I said before, I don't believe the Kafirs would do me the slightest harm."

Eustace, though he had every reason to suppose the contrary, said nothing as he rose from the table and began to fill his pipe. He was conscious of a wild thrill of delight at her steadfast refusal. What would life be worth here without that presence? Well, come what might, no harm should fall upon her, of that he made mental oath.

Eanswyth, having superintended the clearing of the table by the two little Kafir girls who filled the _role_ rather indifferent handmaidens, joined him on the _stoep_. It was a lovely night; warm and balmy. The dark vault above was so crowded with stars that they seemed to hang in golden patches.

"Shall we walk a little way down the kloof and see if we can meet Tom,"

she suggested.

"A good idea. Just half a minute though. I want to get another pipe."

He went into his room, slipped a "bull-dog" revolver of heavy calibre into his pocket, and quickly rejoined her.

Then as they walked side by side--they two, alone together in the darkness, alone in the sweet, soft beauty of the Southern night; alone, as it were, outside the very world; in a world apart where none might intrude; the rich shroud of darkness around them--Eustace began to wonder if he were really made of flesh and blood after all. The pent-up force of his self-contained and concentrated nature was in sore danger of breaking its barriers, of pouring forth the fires and molten lava raging within--and to do so would be ruin--utter, endless, irretrievable ruin to any hopes which he might have ventured to form.

He could see every feature of that sweet, patrician face in the starlight. The even, musical tones of that exquisitely modulated voice, within a yard of his ears, fairly maddened him. The rich, balmy zephyrs of the African night breathed around; the chirrup of the cricket, and now and again the deep-throated booming croak of a bull-frog from an adjacent _vlei_ emphasising its stillness. Again those wild, raging fires surged up to the surface. "Eanswyth, I love you--love you-- worship you--adore you! Apart from you, life is worse than a blank!

Who, what, is the dull, sodden, senseless lout who now stands between us? Forget him, darling, and be all heaven and earth to me!" The words blazed through his brain in letters of flame. He could hardly feel sure he had not actually uttered them.

"What is the matter, Eustace? I have asked you a question three times, and you haven't answered me."

"I really beg your pardon. I--I--suppose I was thinking of something else. Do you mind asking it again?"