beautiful face--ah! and the anguish of that moment
renders him a hundredfold more desperate.

"My Clare! Do you want to live after capture?" and he hardly knows his
own voice.

"No."

"Quite sure?"

"Need you ask?"

"Then--when I say, `Now!' say the `_Commendo spiritum meum_' and turn
your back to me. Understand?"

"I understand."

There is no time for words. In the shadow of this grim, sudden, violent
death, the same thought is in both their minds. Would the next few
moments, the fleeting agony of one swift pang over, unite them together
for evermore, or--

Three sharp detonating explosions, one after another, staggered them,
with their vibrating shock upon the air. With howls of dismay the
swarming savages had scattered, rushing helter-skelter in all
directions. Not all, though--no not all. Many would never rush
anywhere again. The first glimmer of explanation came in the shape of
Grunberger, who stood, chuckling and choking and shaking with laughter.
The sight sobered those who beheld it, all inured as they were to
ghastly sights. Had the man's brain suddenly given way?

"_Ach, so_!" he chuckled. "_Ach, so_! De tam niggers haf got one
leetle shock this time. Here goes for another."

And with the words, he raised his arm, and seemed to hurl something he
held in his hand far out beyond the stockade. In an instant the same
vibrating roar seemed to stun the air. Then the explanation stood
revealed. The ingenious German had been turning time to account by
doing a little stroke of business on his own. He had got out some
dynamite cartridges, and, having set them with a cleverly contrived
fuse, had hurled them into the thick of the enemy where he judged they
would do most execution. His calculation was rewarded, for now,
imagining that they were being attacked in the rear, and utterly
demoralised by the havoc and concussion, the Matabele warriors stampeded
in a wild frenzy of terror, leaving the whole of that side open.
"You've saved us, Grunberger," cried Lamont. "By God! you've saved us,
man."

"_Ach, so_! Well, I think I made de tam niggers feel sick."

What is this? There is a rumbling noise, then the sharp cracking of
shots away there in the mist. It becomes a regular roll--and with it
the sound of yells and the scurry of flying feet. The frenzied
bellowing and moaning of the cattle in the kraal, rushing hither and
thither, and struck down by the assegais of the savages, blends,