way, poor chap. Yes, he was a fine
fellow, was Pentridge.

We had a sad and painful time of it, Beryl and I, at the trial of the
three murderers, for we had to give evidence, and that meant a
re-opening of the old wounds. But Sibuko and Maqala and the other Kafir
were sentenced to be hanged; and hanged they were, in the gaol at Fort
Lamport, a couple of weeks or so afterwards. With their richly-deserved
fate the vendetta which culminated in this last tragedy was closed; for
Kuliso, strange to say, conceived such a vast admiration and respect for
Beryl's magnificent intrepidity on that fatal night, that he made it
known among his tribesmen that all further acts of hostility or
molestation towards us, of any kind, were to cease; and as he still
emphatically disclaimed any knowledge of or complicity in the sad
tragedy, we gave him the benefit of the doubt, and dwelt side by side,
at any rate on neighbourly terms.

For after Beryl and I were married--quietly, by reason of what had gone
before--as Brian showed not the smallest intention of following our
example, we continued to make our home at Gonya's Kloof, and our
partnership in farming concerns prospered exceedingly, and in our home
circle we were as happy as the still lingering shadow of bereavement
would allow us to be. And it was a shadow. Poor little George! We
missed his merry impudence a good many times a day, and as for the wise,
kind father and friend--why, for long the recollection of him was blank
indeed; and long it was before Time even began to heal the wound which
that recollection had left.

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

Well, that is my story. I don't know that it is much of a story, but
it's a true one, and that I, Kenrick Holt, should ever have been brought
to write a story at all seems passing strange, most of all to myself;
indeed, I never should have, had it not been for a friend of mine who
used to come and stay at our place, and shoot. He was always keen on
reminiscences--if local and tragic all the better--and my own romance
appealed to him to such an extent that he was continually urging me to
turn it into a book; which was sporting of him, for he was very much in
the book-writing line himself--especially with reference to my now
adopted country--and might easily have used it himself, turning it to
account on behalf of his own pocket. However, he was too much of a
sportsman for that, so--her