es wide and interested. He had
deliberately come to the conclusion that it would be a difficult and
dreary thing to go on living without her, and yet how would she look at
it? He knew that she liked him, but he wanted her to do a great deal
more than that. In all probability however, she in the brightness of
her youth looked upon him as quite an old fogey. Well, he must make
some opportunity of putting it to the test. Why not do so this evening,
on the way home? Yes, he would; yet it was with some sinking of the
heart that he realised that the test would probably break down.

"What can you be thinking about? You look quite worried."

Edala had turned to him as he joined her, with wonder in her eyes. Here
was his chance had they been alone together.

"I am, rather," he answered in an undertone. For a moment her glance
rested full upon him, then turned away.

"They are beginning down there," she said.

The impi beneath was on the march, and they could trace its course,
pouring upward through grass and bushes towards the doomed kraal. Then
suddenly its stealthy advance changed into a swift charge, the while its
lines extended, throwing out the terrible outflanking `horns,' and with
a mighty roar it hurled itself upon its objective.

The kraal was in a state of indescribable confusion; men, women and
children pouring forth helter-skelter from the only side left open. In
vain. Here, too, those terrible horns closed up, and there ensued a
scene of discriminate massacre, to the accompaniment of the most
diabolical shouts and hisses. The spectators could scarcely believe it
was not real. Evelyn Carden's face had gone quite white, and even that
of Edala looked disturbed.

"What awful creatures!" said the former. "Mr Elvesdon, are you sure it
isn't real? I can hardly believe it."

"No--no. It's not real. But it's marvellously well counterfeited."

"It's too dreadful. I don't think I care to look at it any more."

"Well, look at this. They are retiring now."

The impi had formed up, and, raising a mighty song of victory was moving
away from the scene of the mock massacre. Down through the valley it
poured, with a movement that was partly a march and partly a dance, and
the deep-toned thunder-notes of the triumph song rose to a pitch of fell
ferocity that was rather terrifying, so realistic had the whole thing
been.

Elvesdon suddenly remembered the letter which had been given him; and
now that th