you're sending, father?"

"Never you mind," throwing it on the blotting pad, face downwards.
"It's a secret--another secret," he could not refrain from adding,
maliciously.

"But I will see," she returned, making a playful, but tolerably
determined snatch at the envelope. "Is it to Hyland? Is it?" as a
brown and iron hand effectually baffled her attempt. "You are telling
him to come--are you? Are you?"

"Ah-ah! Curiosity, thy name is woman!"

She had got him by the shoulders, and was shaking him, quite child-like
and boisterous. He loved this mood.

"There are more people in the world than Hyland," he said. "Why should
I bother about an impudent neglectful rascal who hardly ever takes the
trouble to communicate with the author of his being, let alone to come
in person and ascertain whether that worthy is dead or not?"

"It _is_ to Hyland. I know it is. And you are telling him to come.
You are, father? Say you are. Do you hear? Say you are."

"Oh, keep cool," ironically, for she was still shaking him by the
shoulders. "Learn to trust in--the fulness of time."

It may be that the double meaning was not lost on her. But at that
moment there befel an interruption. The dogs at the back of the house
had sprung up and were barking furiously.

"Post, I suppose?" said Thornhill going to the window.

"There! I thought it was to Hyland!" cried Edala, who took the
opportunity of snatching up the letter, which lay face downward on the
table, and reading the address. "You are telling him to come, aren't
you?"

"Time will show," he answered teasingly. "But telling him's one thing,
whether he'll do as he's told is another. A lifelong experience of him,
and, incidentally, of his sister, would move me to bet on the latter
contingency."

A trampling of hoofs and then the postboy appeared, mounted on an
undersized pony and clad in a long military surtout of ancient date.
The rain was dripping from the ragged brim of his battered hat, but this
affected him not at all, for his black shining face split into a
dazzling white grin as he raised his hand in salute. The dogs, who knew
him, had retreated, muttering, as though resenting being done out of
hostilities; though even now they were sniffing around his utterly
indifferent legs, not altogether reassuringly, as having dismounted he
came to the door.

"Well Gomfu--what is the news?" said Thornhill, taking the leather bag.

"News? _Au! Nkose_ will find a