d your way back to the river again?"

"Now, why the deuce should you ask that, Fanning?" was the testy
rejoinder.

"Oh, naturally enough. I wanted to know!" said Renshaw, astonished
somewhat. "Besides, supposing anything happened to me--and a hundred
things might happen--could you find your way out?"

"Well, it's certainly an infernal labyrinth so far, and I suppose likely
to get worse. Still, I'll take extra notice of the landmarks," growled
Sellon.

Then he rolled himself up in his blanket to turn in, characteristically
leaving his companion to do whatever watching was necessary. And there
was some of the latter to be done, for ever and anon the scream of a
leopard away among the crags, or the growling snuffle of some beast,
unseen in the darkness, slaking his thirst at the waterhole just below,
would cause the horses to snort wildly, and tug and strain at their
picket _reims_ in alarm. It needed the sound of a human voice, the
touch of a human hand, and that frequently, to allay their fears--
peradventure to prevent them from breaking loose and galloping madly off
into the night; and however his less inured companion may have been able
to revert to more congenial scenes in the blissful illusions of dreams,
there was little sleep that night for Renshaw Fanning.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

SELWOOD'S DILEMMA.

The post at Sunningdale was a weekly, not a daily event. Happy
Sunningdale!

It was conveyed from the nearest Field Cornet's, by a ragged native,
bestriding a still more ragged pony, and who was "run" by general
contribution on the part of those residents whose letters he delivered.

We have said that the postal delivery at Sunningdale was a weekly event.
After rainy weather, when the Umtirara and other rivers were down, it
was a fortnightly business; sometimes even three weeks would go by
without postal communication with the outer world. Happy, happy
Sunningdale!

To-day, however, the courier was up to time, and Christopher Selwood,
unlocking the weather-beaten leather bag, began to sort and distribute
its contents.

"Miss Avory--Miss Avory--Miss Avory--heavens! There's no end to them.
We shall have the postboy striking for double pay if Miss Avory's
correspondents don't hold their hand."

Violet--devouring with her eyes the contents of the bag as they came
forth--laughed at her host's remark, but the laugh was a hollow one.
The missive she hungered for was not there. True, she had expecte