g, combined with astute judgment, of rare physical
vigour and striking exterior, assuredly that man was Hilary Blachland.
Yet as it was, he regarded himself with entire dissatisfaction and
disgust, and the medium through which he so regarded himself was named
Lyn Bayfield.

Her memory was ever before him; more, her presence. Asleep or awake, in
the thick of the hardest toil and privation of the campaign, even in the
midst of the discharge of his most important and responsible duties yet
never to their detriment, the sweet, pure, lovely fairness of her face
was there. He had come to worship it with a kind of superstitious
adoration as though in truth the presence of it constituted a kind of
guardian angel.

Was he, after all, in love with Lyn? He supposed that not a man or
woman alive, knowing the symptoms, but would pronounce such to be the
case, even as one woman had done. But he knew better, knew himself
better. The association of anything so gross, so earthly, here, he
recoiled from as from an outrage. It was the unalloyed adoration of a
strange, a holy and a purifying influence.

In love with her? He, Hilary Blachland, at his time of life, and with
his experience of life, in love! Why, the idea was preposterous,
grotesque. He recalled the time he had spent beneath the same roof with
her, and the daily association. It would be treasured, revered to the
utmost limit of his life, as a sacred and an elevating period, but--as
an influence, not a passion.

He had exchanged correspondence with Bayfield more than once since
leaving, and had received two or three letters from Lyn--expressing--
well, simply Lyn. He had answered them, and treasured them secretly as
the most priceless of his possessions. From Bayfield he had learned
that the disturbing element had refrained from further molestation, and
had moreover, taken her own departure from the neighbourhood almost
immediately, a piece of intelligence which afforded him indeed the
liveliest gratification.

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

As they drew near to their objective, other kraals near and around
Bulawayo itself, were seen to be on fire. But no sign of their recent
occupants. For all trace remaining of the latter, the whole Matabele
nation might have vanished into thin air.

"That's extraordinary," remarked Blachland, taking a long steady look
through his glasses. "That's Sybrandt's house down there an