No explanation needed! It struck him that
that very thing was most urgently needed.

He applied to Andries Botma for facilities, which, being English, he
would need to prosecute his journey and to ensure his safe passage
through any of the Republican forces he might fall in with. These were
readily granted, and the Commandant bade him a kind and cordial
farewell.

"I need not remind you, Mynheer Kershaw," he said, in Dutch, for "The
Patriot" never spoke English, although perfectly able to do so, unless
positively obliged--"I need not remind you that you have pledged your
solemn word of honour to divulge nothing that you may have seen or heard
during the time you have been with us. But it is not entirely the other
side I distrust, and therefore I would impress upon you the necessity of
using the greatest caution in conversing with those who, by nationality,
are our own people. But many of them (with shame I say it) are not
really our own people--that is, they are not heart and soul with us.
They will not strike a blow for the sacred cause--at least not yet.
They are waiting to see which will prove the victorious side--as if
there could be any doubt. These are the people I would warn you
against, when you are back once more across the river. But you are one
of us now, for I hear you are to marry Stephanus De la Rey's daughter.
In that receive my most cordial wishes--and carry my compliments to
Stephanus and all our good friends in the Wildschutsberg. And if
hereafter I can be of service to you at any time--why, it will be to me
an agreeable duty. Farewell."

Colvin shook hands warmly with the kindly Dutch Commandant, and, armed
with his credentials, went forth. At the moment he little thought of
the weight of that last promise, still less what it might or might not
be destined to mean for him in the not distant future. He thought more
on the subject of the other's congratulations, for they stirred up a
very real and desolating misgiving. What if events should already have
rendered them devoid of meaning?

His journey to the border seemed to him intolerably long and depressing,
but its monotony was varied more than once by meeting with a party of
burghers patrolling the country or on their way to join Cronje's force.
These would scan his credentials narrowly and suspiciously, but the name
of Andries Botma was as a very talisman, and they allowed him to
proceed. At the passage of the Orange River, some dela