uld meet, but in their season
and hand to hand; afar off they mastered him. Christina, too, dwelt
on it at seasons; but, by some process of her woman's mind, it was
less dreadful to her than to David: she, too, could dream at times.

One day she was at work within the house, and Paul ran in and out.
She spoke to him once about introducing an evil-smelling water-
tortoise; he went forth to exploit it in the yard. From time to time
his shrill voice reached her; then the frayed edges of David's black
trousers of ceremony engaged her, to the exclusion of all else.
Between the scissors and the needle, at last, there stole on her ear
a faint tap, tap--such a sound as water dropping on to a board makes.
It left her unconscious for a while, and then grew a little louder,
with a note of vehemence. At last she looked up and listened. Tap,
tap, it went, and she sprang from her chair and went to the stoep and
looked out along the road. Far off on the hillside was a horse,
ridden furiously on the downward road, and though dwarfed by the
miles, she could see the rider flogging and his urgent crouch over
the horse's withers. It was a picture of mad speed, of terror and
violence, and struck her with a chill. Were the Kafirs risen? she
queried. Was there war abroad? Was this mad rider her husband?

The last question struck her sharply, and she glanced about. Little
Paul was sitting on a stone, plaguing the water-tortoise with a
stick, and speaking to himself and it. The sight reassured her, and
she viewed the rider again with equanimity. But now she was able to
place him: it was David, and the horse was his big roan. The pace at
which he rode was winding up the distance, and the hoofs no longer
tap-tapped, but rang insistently. There was war, then; it could be
nothing else. Her category of calamities was brief, and war and the
death of her dear ones nearly exhausted it.

David galloped the last furlongs with a tightened rein, and froth
snowed from the bit. He pulled up in the yard and slipped from the
saddle. Christina saw again on his face the white stricken look and
the furrowed frown that had stared on Frikkie's death. David stood
with the bridle in his hand and the horse's muzzle against his arm
and looked around. He saw Christina coming toward him with quick
steps, and little Paul, abandoning the skellpot, running to greet
him. He staggered and drew his hand across his forehead.

Christina had trouble to make him speak. "A drea