ifles? People at Rozenboom's believe some
black-livered traitor has been stirring up the Matabele for weeks and
weeks. An enemy of Rhodes's, of course, jealous of our advance; a
French agent, perhaps; but more likely one of these confounded Transvaal
Dutchmen. Depend upon it, it's Kruger's doing."

As the words fell from his lips, I saw the face. I gave a quick little
start, then recovered my composure.

But Hilda noted it. She looked up at me hastily. She was sitting with
her back to the window, and therefore, of course, could not see the face
itself, which indeed was withdrawn with a hurried movement, yet with a
certain strange dignity, almost before I could feel sure of having seen
it. Still, she caught my startled expression, and the gleam of surprise
and recognition in my eye. She laid one hand upon my arm. "You have seen
him?" she asked quietly, almost below her breath.

"Seen whom?"

"Sebastian."

It was useless denying it to HER. "Yes, I have seen him," I answered, in
a confidential aside.

"Just now--this moment--at the back of the house--looking in at the
window upon us?"

"You are right--as always."

She drew a deep breath. "He has played his game," she said low to me,
in an awed undertone. "I felt sure it was he. I expected him to play;
though what piece, I knew not; and when I saw those poor dead souls,
I was certain he had done it--indirectly done it. The Matabele are his
pawns. He wanted to aim a blow at ME; and THIS was the way he chose to
aim it."

"Do you think he is capable of that?" I cried. For, in spite of all,
I had still a sort of lingering respect for Sebastian. "It seems so
reckless--like the worst of anarchists--when he strikes at one head, to
involve so many irrelevant lives in one common destruction."

Hilda's face was like a drowned man's.

"To Sebastian," she answered, shuddering, "the End is all; the Means
are unessential. Who wills the End, wills the Means; that is the sum and
substance of his philosophy of life. From first to last, he has always
acted up to it. Did I not tell you once he was a snow-clad volcano?"

"Still, I am loth to believe--" I cried.

She interrupted me calmly. "I knew it," she said. "I expected it.
Beneath that cold exterior, the fires of his life burn fiercely still. I
told you we must wait for Sebastian's next move; though I confess,
even from HIM, I hardly dreamt of this one. But, from the moment when
I opened the door on poor Tant Mettie's body