ealises how one will act in these great emergencies until they
come upon one. Hilda, still calm with unearthly calmness, took a couple
of loaves from my hand, and began feeding the pony with them. "Go and
draw water for her," she said, simply, "while I give her the bread; that
will save time. Every minute is precious."

I did as I was bid, not knowing each moment but that the insurgents
would return. When I came back from the spring with the bucket, the mare
had demolished the whole two loaves, and was going on upon some grass
which Hilda had plucked for her.

"She hasn't had enough, poor dear," Hilda said, patting her neck. "A
couple of loaves are penny buns to her appetite. Let her drink the
water, while I go in and fetch out the rest of the baking."

I hesitated. "You CAN'T go in there again, Hilda!" I cried. "Wait, and
let me do it."

Her white face was resolute. "Yes, I CAN," she answered. "It is a work
of necessity; and in works of necessity a woman, I think, should flinch
at nothing. Have I not seen already every varied aspect of death at
Nathaniel's?" And in she went, undaunted, to that chamber of horrors,
still clasping the baby.

The pony made short work of the remaining loaves, which she devoured
with great zest. As Hilda had predicted, they seemed to hearten her. The
food and drink, with a bucket of water dashed on her hoofs, gave her
new vigour like wine. We gulped down our eggs in silence. Then I held
Hilda's bicycle. She vaulted lightly on to the seat, white and tired
as she was, with the baby in her left arm, and her right hand on the
handle-bar.

"I must take the baby," I said.

She shook her head.

"Oh, no. I will not trust her to you."

"Hilda, I insist."

"And I insist, too. It is my place to take her."

"But can you ride so?" I asked, anxiously.

She began to pedal. "Oh, dear, yes. It is quite, quite easy. I shall get
there all right--if the Matabele don't burst upon us."

Tired as I was with my long day's work, I jumped into my saddle. I saw
I should only lose time if I disputed about the baby. My little horse
seemed to understand that something grave had occurred; for, weary as
she must have been, she set out with a will once more over that great
red level. Hilda pedalled bravely by my side. The road was bumpy, but
she was well accustomed to it. I could have ridden faster than she went,
for the baby weighted her. Still, we rode for dear life. It was a grim
experience.

All round