luck, or rather the money in his pocket."

"What do you mean?" I asked, sitting up.

"I mean Hernando Pereira, Allan, Marais's nephew, who they say is one of
the richest men in the Colony. I know that he wishes to marry Marie."

"How do you know it, father?"

"Because Marais told me so this afternoon, probably with a purpose.
He was struck with her beauty when he first saw her after your escape,
which he had not done since she was a child, and as he stopped to guard
the house while the rest went after the Quabies--well, you can guess.
Such things go quickly with these Southern men."

I hid my face in the pillow, biting my lips to keep back the groan
that was ready to burst from them, for I felt the hopelessness of the
situation. How could I compete with this rich and fortunate man, who
naturally would be favoured of my betrothed's father? Then on the
blackness of my despair rose a star of hope. I could not, but perchance
Marie might. She was very strong-natured and very faithful. She was not
to be bought, and I doubted whether she could be frightened.

"Father," I said, "I may never marry Marie, but I don't think that
Hernando Pereira ever will either."

"Why not, my boy?"

"Because she loves me, father, and she is not one to change. I believe
that she would rather die."

"Then she must be a very unusual sort of woman. Still, it may be so; the
future will tell to those who live to see it. I can only pray and trust
that whatever happens will be for the best for both of you. She is a
sweet girl and I like her well, although she may be Boer--or French. And
now, Allan, we have talked enough, and you had better go to sleep. You
must not excite yourself, you know, or it may set up new inflammation in
the wound."

"Go to sleep. Must not excite yourself." I kept muttering those words
for hours, serving them up in my mind with a spice of bitter thought. At
last torpor, or weakness, overcame me, and I fell into a kind of net of
bad dreams which, thank Heaven! I have now forgotten. Yet when certain
events happened subsequently I always thought, and indeed still think,
that these or something like them, had been a part of those evil dreams.

On the morning following this conversation I was at length allowed to be
carried to the stoep, where they laid me down, wrapped in a very
dirty blanket, upon a rimpi-strung bench or primitive sofa. When I had
satisfied my first delight at seeing the sun and breathing the fresh
air,