to urge his cause again and again
with all the arguments he could find. She, for hers, was dangerously
tempted to temporise, but by some merciful instinct rejected that refuge
for the weak. She answered him to the same effect as before, but this
time more clearly, more decidedly.

Then he began to press her for reasons. Why did she persist in refusing
him? He was well off, and could make her thoroughly comfortable. He
defied anyone to say a word against his character or life. He was sure
his uncle would approve, and so on. Then, waxing bitter, he hinted that
since she had been away at Cape Town she had forgotten her own people.
Only the English were good enough now.

Adrian had better have let that side alone. It spoiled the good effect
he was already producing in that it was first of all somewhat childish--
in the second place unjust.

"That is not true, Adrian," she answered gravely, but without anger,
"and you ought not to say it. I am of my own people as much as ever. I
have seen English people, too, whom I like and admire. Those of good
blood are second to no race in the world--for good blood is good blood
all the world over. But you ought not to say some of the things you
have been saying. You wound me and--insult me."

"So? I wound you and insult you? Forgive me, Aletta. I would not do
that for all the world. But look! As you say, you have only known this
Englishman since last evening. That is good. But the man who comes
between you and me--Englishman or who ever he is--had better take care,
great care, for it will mean life or death to him or to me. The time is
coming when every man's rifle will be his law--the avenger of his own
wrongs."

The tone was quiet now. There was that in it which was so earnest, so
free from vehemence as to redeem it from mere bounce or melodramatics.
Aletta, listening, was secretly impressed, and secretly more than
respected him.

"You would not do murder, surely, Adrian?" she said, the narrative she
had heard only that morning rising luridly before her mind.

"No, not murder, only justice. The time is coming when we can call upon
those who have wronged us to face us, man to man. That is not murder."

"N-no. But does it not strike you, Adrian, that you may be doing your
best to kill all the liking and regard I have always felt for you? And
are you not taking a great deal too much upon yourself?" Then, with a
considerable flash of spirit, "Who gave