matter of course, and only to be expected.

Day after day, he would watch the muster of burghers or the entraining
of the guns, great and small, of the Staats Artillerie, and here again
the sober, almost phlegmatic demeanour of the combatants was remarkable.
Rough, weather-beaten, somewhat melancholy-looking men were these
mounted burghers--many of them large and powerful of stature. They
bestrode wiry, undersized nags--which bore besides their riders the
frugal ration of biltong and biscuit, with which the Boer can get along
for days. Slung round with well-filled bandolier, rifle on thigh, and
mostly wearing weather-worn broad-brimmed hats--though some of the older
ones were crowned with the white chimney-pot--they would muster in front
of the Dutch Reformed church, and pace forth, singing perhaps a Dutch
hymn or a snatch of the "Volkslied"--most of them smoking their pipes,
tranquil, phlegmatic, as though they were all going home again. The
hooraying and handshaking and handkerchief-waving and flag-wagging which
would have accompanied a British combatant force under like
circumstances, would be conspicuous by its absence.

While watching such a muster, a man, who was standing among the
spectators, turned at her voice and, lifting his hat, shook hands with
Aletta. He was a tall gentlemanly-looking man, with a fair beard and
moustache worn after the Vandyke cut, and was a Hollander with a
Portuguese name. He, too, had been a high Government official.

"I haven't seen you for a long time, Dr Da Costa," said Aletta. "I
thought you had gone to the front."

"No. I am going very soon, though." Then, following the direction of
his glance, she introduced him to Colvin.

"What do you think of our main line of defence?" he went on, speaking
English with hardly an accent. "Those men have the most perfect faith
in themselves and their cause."

"Yes, they look business-like," replied Colvin, critically scanning the
long string of mounted burghers as they filed past, most of them smoking
their pipes, and chatting to each other in a placid undertone. "We had
some of their kind in Matabeleland during the rising in '96, and they
were right good men."

"Ah! So you were out in the Matabele rebellion?" said Da Costa, looking
at the other with newly-awakened interest.

"Yes, had to be."

"I see. And are you, may I ask, likely to be out in this campaign?"

"Not in the least, unless as a spectator. Here I am not nee