at the other end of the room
were pretending to work. They precipitately fled, and, in a moment,
splutters and squeals, muffled by a closed door, became faintly audible
to those who remained. Aletta had made herself scarce long before.

"Nearly old enough to be her father, and an Englishman!" repeated Tant'
Plessis, wagging her head. "An Englishman! _Oh, goeije_! Was not one
of her father's people good enough for her? There, Gertruida. See what
comes of sending her among the English to learn their ways. She comes
home, and wants to marry an Englishman."

The air, half of horror, half of resignation, wherewith the old woman
uttered these words was irresistibly comic.

"Well, Tanta, he isn't a bad sort of an Englishman, as Englishmen go,"
cut in Stephanus, winking the while at his wife. "Besides, remember
whom he is descended from, and shake hands and congratulate him,"
shoving Colvin forward as he spoke.

"_Ja_, that is true," replied Tant' Plessis, somewhat mollified. "After
all, his grandfather was the great and good Calvinus. Well, nephew,
follow in his footsteps, and you will be happy. But--Aletta! _Oh, mijn
lieve Heer_! who would have thought it--Aletta!"

CHAPTER ONE.

BOOK II--THE REFUGEE TRAIN.

The last refugee train was drawn up at the down-country departure
platform at Park Station, Johannesburg.

The scene upon the platform was one of indescribable hubbub and
confusion. Passengers, representing all ages and sexes, vociferated in
various tongues, and tumbled over piles of luggage, and swore, or
snapped or whimpered according to sex or age. Some, belated, thanks to
a final call at the refreshment bar, charged furiously through the
clamourous crowd by main force, panic-stricken lest they should lose
their seats. Seats? They were lucky to get any accommodation at all.
Carriages and compartments, cattle vans and open trucks alike, were
literally crammed. The enforced republicanism of the hour and the
situation crowded all classes together indiscriminately; and the man of
wealth and luxurious living was jostled and shouldered by the roughest
mine hand, who in habits and ideas rose little, if at all, above the
level of the savage. The densely packed compartments afforded scenes
and sounds of wild weird Babel, being resonant with the squalling of
children and the altercations of hustled and excited women, and in the
open trucks men elbowed and cursed and fought for mere standing room.