dead to her. Yet the
moment she had heard that he was soon likely to be actually so, here she
was moving Heaven and earth to save him, or, at any rate, to see him
once more. Well, she would still do all she could to save him, but she
would not see him again, in any event. No, from that resolve she would
not swerve.

"But how did he get to Krantz Kop, Mynheer?" she said, in continuation
of her thoughts. "He was at Pret--Johannesburg when I saw him last."

"They say he had come from Cronje's force, and had seen a lot of the
fighting near Kimberley. I don't know this Schoeman, but Jan Grobbelaar
and the others ought to be able to do something for him between them."

"He _had_ been with Cronje's force, then?" echoed Aletta, as though a
new idea had come to her. But it was quickly dashed. He had had plenty
of time to have gone there afterwards, after that day when she with her
own eyes had seen him making love to May Wenlock. With her own eyes!
There was no getting round that fact.

And the hours wore on, bringing these two nearer and nearer to their sad
and mournful goal.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Night had fallen upon the burgher camp at Krantz Kop, and most of its
inmates, habituated to rising with the sun and retiring with the going
down of the same, or not long after it, were in the land of dreams.
They were under no fear of surprise, for besides the fact of their
sentries being well posted there was a strong commando, with artillery,
entrenched below on the outer slope of the mountains, and between them
and the far British lines. So the camp slumbered in peace and security.

In one tent, however, a light was still burning, throwing the shadows of
men--huge, distorted, grotesque, out upon the canvas. Adrian De la Rey
and his two now boon companions--Gideon Roux and Hermanus Delport--sat
within. A bottle of _dop_, the contents of which had nearly reached
vanishing point, stood on a waggon box in the centre.

"_Toen_, Adrian!" the last of these was saying. "All is going well now.
The Englishman will be out of your way to-morrow for ever--out of all
our ways, hey, Gideon? We will come to your wedding soon, _ou' maat_--
when we have shot a few more of these cursed English. Do you think Oom
Stephanus will be glad to see us?"

"Finish up, and go away and sleep," growled Adrian, pushing the bottle
towards him, "or you'll be too shaky for anything in the mo