urely they have not burnt the place?"

"Yes, uncle," sobbed Bessie, "they have."

Silas groaned aloud. "It took me ten years to build, bit by bit, almost
stone by stone, and now they have destroyed it. Well, why not? God's
will be done. Give me your arm, love; I want to get to the water. I feel
faint and sick."

She did as he bade her, sobbing bitterly. Within fifteen yards, on the
edge of the plantation, was a little _spruit_ or runnel of water, and of
this he drank copiously, and bathed his wounded head and face.

"There, love," he said, "don't fret; I feel quite myself again. I fear I
made a fool of myself. I haven't learnt to bear misfortune and dishonour
as I should yet, and, like Job, I felt as though God had forsaken us.
But, as I said, His will be done. What is the next move, I wonder? Ah!
we shall soon know, for here comes our friend Frank Muller."

"I am glad to see that you have recovered, uncle," said Muller politely,
"and I am sorry to have to tell you that the house is beyond help.
Believe me, if I knew who fired it I would shoot him. It was not my wish
or intention that the property should be destroyed."

The old man merely bowed his head and made no answer. His fiery spirit
seemed to be crushed out of him.

"What is it your pleasure that we should do, sir?" said Bessie at last.
"Perhaps, now that we are ruined, you will allow us to go to Natal,
which, I suppose, is still an English country?"

"Yes, Miss Bessie, Natal is still English--for the present; soon it will
be Dutch; but I am sorry that I cannot let you go there now. My orders
are to keep you both prisoners and to try your uncle by court-martial.
The waggon-house," he went on quickly, "with the two little rooms on
each side of it, have not been touched by the fire. They shall be made
ready for you, and as soon as the heat is less you can go there;" and,
turning to his men who had followed him, he gave some rapid orders,
which two of them departed to carry out.

Still the old man made no comment; he did not even seem indignant or
surprised; but poor Bessie was utterly prostrated, and stood helpless,
not knowing what to say to this terrible, remorseless man, who stood so
calm and unmoved before them.

Frank Muller paused awhile to think, stroking his golden beard, then he
turned again and addressed the two other men who stood behind him.

"You will keep guard over the prisoner," indicating Silas Croft, "and
suffer none to communicate wit