rs skinned the lioness.
Shortly afterwards they all returned to camp.

Passing that way an hour or so later, Hans Marais and Charlie Considine
came upon the spoor of the lioness.

"I say, Charlie," called out Hans, "there must be a lion in the vley
there. I've got the spoor. Come here."

"It's not in the vley now," replied Charlie; "come here yourself; I've
found blood, and, hallo! here's a newspaper! Why, it must be a literary
lion! Look, Hans, can you make out the name?--Howker, Dowker, or
something o' that sort. Do lions ever go by that name?"

"Bowker," exclaimed Hans, with a laugh. "Ah! my boy, there's no lion in
the vley if the Bowkers have been here; and see, it's all plain as a
pikestaff. They shot it here and skinned it there, and have dragged the
carcass towards that bush; yes, here it is--a lioness. They're back to
camp by this time. Come, let's follow them."

As they rode along, Hans, who had been glancing at the newspaper, turned
suddenly to his companion.

"I say, Charlie, here's a strange coincidence. It's not every day that
a man finds a _Times_ newspaper in the wilds of Southern Africa with a
message in it to himself."

"What do you mean, Hans?"

"Tell me, Charlie, about that uncle of whom you once spoke to me--long
ago--in rather disrespectful tones, if not terms. Was he rich?"

"I believe so, but was never quite certain as to that."

"Did he like you?"

"I rather think not."

"Had you a male cousin or relative of the same name with yourself whom
he _did_ like?"

"Then allow me to congratulate you on your good fortune, and read that,"
said Hans, giving him the newspaper.

Charlie read.

"If this should meet the eye of Charles Considine, formerly of Golden
Square, Hotchester, he is requested to return without delay to England,
or to communicate with Aggard, Ale, and Ixley, Solicitors, 23a
Fitzbustaway Square, London."

"Most amazing!" exclaimed Considine, after a pause, "and there can be no
doubt it refers to me, for these were my uncle's solicitors--most
agreeable men--who gave me the needful to fit me out, and it was their
chief clerk--a Roman-nosed jovial sort of fellow, named Rundle something
or other--who accompanied me to the ship when I left, and wished me a
pleasant voyage, with a tear, or a drop of rain, I'm not sure which,
rolling down his Roman nose. Well, but, as I said before, isn't it an
astonishing coincidence?"

"It wasn't you who said that before, it w