it an unpardonable crime to recognise and appreciate the good
qualities possessed by them.

A love of fair-play characterised her, even as a child, and it is
certain that the cruel circumstances of the war developed this sense
of justice to an abnormal extent, often bringing upon her, in later
years, misunderstanding and distrust from those who should have been
her friends.

* * * * *

It is June 28th, a glorious, cloudless summer's morn.

Speeding swiftly, almost silently, cutting its way through the calm,
blue waters of the English Channel, a passenger-boat is fast
approaching Holland's shores.

The hour is early, and of the few figures moving on the pier, one
stands apart, watching intently, as the ship draws near.

He waves his hat, he has recognised the figure of the girl who stands
on deck and waves her handkerchief in response to his greeting.

His strong hand clasps hers; and now the discreet reader need not
avert his eyes--no need here to "draw the veil"--for Hansie had
written from London to this tall, broad-shouldered man:

"What is left of me is coming to you now, but we must meet as
_friendly acquaintances_, until we are both certain of ourselves."

How long this "friendly acquaintance" lasted it is difficult to say,
for there is a difference of opinion on the point.

_She_ says, not less than sixty minutes.

_He_ asserts, not more than thirty-five!

* * * * *

The exquisite serenity of her father's native land, especially on such
a perfect day in midsummer, had never seemed to her so sweet.

Here, indeed, she felt that peace _could_ come to her at last.

* * * * *

But not yet--not yet.

Strong emotions of a different kind awaited her, the meeting of
beloved friends and relatives, after seemingly endless years of pain,
proving no less trying than the introduction to a large circle of
_future_ relatives and friends.

Hansie had to be "lionised" as heroine of the war, and this was done
in a whole-hearted, generous way which was a constant source of wonder
to her.

She was "carried on the hands," as the Dutch saying goes, by all who
had the remotest claim on her.

Functions were arranged for her, receptions held, to which
white-haired women and stately venerable men came from far to shake
her hand, because she was a daughter of the Transvaal, nothing
more--not because of what she had done and