could free them, the blade
of the savage would transfix his heart. He heaved a sigh that was
partly a snore--and made a movement as though in his sleep, which if
continued would still more invitingly present his breast to the deadly
stroke. The murderer saw this too and paused.

But not for long. He spun round wildly, his weapon flying from his
outstretched hand, then fell, heavily, on his face--and this
simultaneously with the muffled roar of an explosion beneath the
blanket. The supposed sleeper had stealthily drawn his hip-pocket
revolver, and, firing through the covering, had shot Hlangulu dead.
Then the sleep which was overpowering him came upon him, and with a
profound sense of security he dropped off, slumbering peacefully, where,
but a few yards off lay the corpse of his victim and would-be murderer.

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

There is often a sort of an instinct which tells that a place is empty,
whether house or room--empty, untenanted by its ordinary occupant. Just
such a feeling was upon Blachland as he drew near his home. The gate of
the stockade was shut and no smoke arose--nor was there any sign of life
about the place. It had a deserted look.

The fact depressed him. He was feeling fatigued and ill; in short,
thoroughly knocked up. He had even realised that there were times when
it is pleasant to have a home to return to, and this was one of them,
and now as he rode up to his own gate there was no sign of a welcoming
presence.

He raised his voice in a stentorian hail. The two little Mashuna boys
shot out of the back kitchen as scared as a couple of rabbits when the
ferret is threading the winding passages to their burrow. Scared,
anxious-looking, they opened the gate.

"Where is your mistress?" he asked in Sindabele.

"Gone, _Nkose_," was the reply.

"Gone!" he echoed mentally.

So Hermia had taken him at his word, and had decided to retreat to Fort
Salisbury. Perhaps though, some disquieting news had arrived since his
departure, causing her to take that step. His feeling of depression
deepened as he entered the empty house. Ah! What was this?

A letter stared at him from a conspicuous place, a sealed enclosure--and
it was directed in Hermia's handwriting. That would explain, he
thought. And it did with a vengeance.

"You will not be astonished, Hilary," it began, "because even you must
have seen that this life was getting