cloud settles I would speak to you. Why, I know not, save that I loved you when first I saw your eyes open there upon the cold veld. Presently I must go, and we shall meet no more, for I draw near to the snowclad tree that marks the gate of the City of Rest. I can look into your heart now and see the trouble in it, and the sad, beautiful face that is printed on your mind. Ah, she is not happy; she, too, must work out her rest. But the time is short, the cloud settles, and I would tell you what is in my mind. Even though trouble, great trouble, close you in, do not be cast down, for trouble is the key of heaven. Be good; turn to the God you have neglected; struggle against the snares of the senses. Oh, I can see now! For you and for all you love there is joy and there is peace!"
Suddenly he broke off; the look of inspiration faded from his face, which grew stupid and wild-looking.
"Ah, the cruel man; he made a great hole in the stomach of my Wilhelmina!"
Ernest had been bending forwards, listening with parted lips to the old man's talk. When he saw that the inspiration had left him, he raised his head and said:
"Gather yourself together, I beg you, for a moment. I wish to ask one question. Shall I ever----"
"How shall I stop de bleeding from the witals of my dear wife?--who will plug up the hole in her?"
Ernest gazed at the man. Was he putting all this on?--or was he really mad? For the life of him he could not tell.
Taking out a sovereign, he gave it to him.
"There is money to doctor Wilhelmina with," he said. "Would you like to sleep here?--I can give you a blanket."
The old man took the money without hesitation, and thanked Ernest for it, but said he must go on at once.
"Where are you going to?" asked Jeremy, who had been watching him with great curiosity, but had not understood that part of the conversation which had been carried on in German.
Hans turned upon him with a quick look of suspicion.
"Rustenburg" (/Anglica/, the town of rest), he answered.
"Indeed! the road is bad, and it is far to travel."
"Yes," he replied, "the road is rough and long. Farewell!" And he was gone.
"Well, he is a curious old buster, and no mistake, with his cheerful anticipations and his Wilhelmina," reflected Jeremy aloud. "Just fancy starting for Rustenburg at this hour of the night, too! Why, it is a hundred miles off!"
Ernest only smiled. He knew that it was no earthly Rustenburg that the old man sought.
Some while afterwards he heard that Hans had attained the rest which he desired. Wilhelmina got fixed in a snowdrift in a pass of the Drakensberg. He was unable to drag her out.
So he crept underneath, and fell asleep, and the snow came down and covered them.
CHAPTER XVIII
MR. ALSTON'S VIEWS
The Zulu attack on Pretoria ultimately turned out only to have existed in the minds of two mad Kafirs, who dressed themselves up after the fashion of chiefs and personating two Zulu nobles of repute, who were known to be in the command of regiments, rode from house to house, telling the Dutch inhabitants that they had an Impi of thirty thousand men lying in the bush, and bidding them stand aside while they destroyed the Englishmen. Hence the scare.
The next month was a busy one for Alston's Horse. It was drill, drill, drill, morning, noon, and night. But the results soon became apparent. In three weeks from the day they got their horses, there was not a smarter, quicker corps in South Africa, and Mr. Alston and Ernest were highly complimented on the soldier-like appearance of the men, and the rapidity and exactitude with which they executed all the ordinary cavalry manoeuvres.
They were to march from Pretoria on the 10th of January, and expected to overtake Colonel Glynn's column, with which was the General, about the 18th, by which time Mr. Alston calculated the real advance upon Zululand would begin.
On the 8th, the good people of Pretoria gave the corps a farewell banquet, for most of its members were Pretoria men; and colonists are never behindhand when there is an excuse for conviviality and good-fellowship.
Of course, after the banquet, Mr.--or, as he was now called, Captain--Alston's health was drunk. But Alston was a man of few words, and had a horror of speech-making. He contented himself with a few brief sentences of acknowledgment and sat down. Then somebody proposed the health of the other commissioned and non-commissioned officers, and to this Ernest rose to respond, making a very good speech in reply. He rapidly sketched the state of political affairs, of which the Zulu war was the outcome, and, without any opinion on the justice or wisdom of that war, of which, to speak the truth, he had grave doubts, he went on to show, in a few well-chosen, weighty words, how vital were the interests involved in its successful conclusion, now that it once had been undertaken. Finally he concluded thus:
"I am well aware, gentlemen, that with many of those who are your guests here to-night, and my own comrades, this state of affairs, and the conviction of the extreme urgency of the occasion, has been the cause of their enlistment. It is impossible for me to look down these tables, and see so many in our rough-and-ready uniform, whom I have known in other walks of life, as farmers, store-keepers, Government clerks, and what not, without realising most clearly the extreme necessity that can have brought these peaceable citizens together on such an errand as we are bent on. Certainly it is not the ten shillings a day, or the mere excitement of savage warfare, that has done this" (cries of "No, no!"); "because most of them can well afford to despise the money, and many more have seen enough of native war, and know well that few rewards and plenty of hard work fall to the lot of colonial volunteers. Then what is it? I will venture to reply. It is that sense of patriotism which is a part and parcel of the English mind" (cheers), "and which from generation to generation has been the root of England's greatness, and, so long as the British blood remains untainted, will from unborn generation to generation be the mainspring of the greatness that is yet to be of those wider Englands, of which I hope this continent will become not the least." (Loud cheers).
"That, gentlemen, and men of Alston's Horse, is the bond which unites us together; it is the sense of a common duty to perform, of a common danger to combat, of a common patriotism to vindicate. And for that reason, because of the patriotism and the duty, I feel sure that when the end of this campaign comes, whatever that end may be, no one, be he imperial officer or newspaper correspondent, or Zulu foe, will be able to say that Alston's Horse shirked its work, or was mutinous, or proved a broken reed, piercing the side of those who leaned on it." (Cheers.) "I feel sure, too, that, though there may be a record of brave deeds such as become brave men, there will be none of a comrade deserted in the time of need, or of a failure in the moment of emergency, my brethren in arms," and here Ernest's eyes flashed and his strong clear voice went ringing down the great hall, "whom England has called, and who have not failed to answer the call, I repeat, however terrible may be that emergency, even if it should involve the certainty of death--I speak thus because I feel I am addressing brave men, who do not fear to die, when death means duty, and life means dishonour--I know well that you will rise to it, and, falling shoulder to shoulder, will pass as heroes should on to the land of shades--on to that Valhalla of which no true heart should fear to set foot upon the threshold."
Ernest sat down amid ringing cheers. Nor did these noble words, coming as they did straight from the loyal heart
