who came here in disguise, with a false story and false hair----"

Lady Hannah jumped in her bedroom slippers, and crimsoned to her natural
coiffure, as the missing transformation, appallingly out of wave, was
plucked from the baggy pocket of the old green overcoat, and brandished
before her astonished eyes. Struggling to restrain the dual impulse to
shriek and clutch, no wonder she appeared a conscience-stricken creature
in that great man's watchful eyes. His big voice shook her and shook the
room as he thundered:

"Woman, you are no widow of a Duitscher drummer, but the vrouw of a
field-cornet of the Army of Groot Brittanje. He holds a graafschap in
Engeland"--a mistake on the part of the General's informant--"and is
hand-in-glove with the Colonel Commandant at Gueldersdorp." Not so far
from the truth! thought Lady Hannah. "Would he spy out the land, let him
come himself next time. Boers hide not behind their wives' petticoats when
there is such business to be done!"

In defence of blameless Bingo the hysterical little woman found voice to
say:

"He--didn't know I was coming."

"What says she?"

Before Van Busch could bestir himself to interpret, Lady Hannah had
repeated her words in faulty Dutch.

"So! Engelsch mevrouws disobey their husbands, it seems?" Were the fierce,
bloodshot grey eyes really capable of a twinkle? "We Boers have a cure for
that. Green reim, well laid on, after the third caution, teaches our wives
to fib and deceive no more."

"You're wrong, sir."

"Wrong, do you say? Hoe?"

"What the green reim does teach them," explained Lady Hannah, secretly
aghast at her own temerity, "is, not to be found out next time."

He gave a wooden chuckle, but his regard was as menacing and his voice as
gruff as ever.

"I make no mouth-play with words. I talk in men and guns, and there are
half a dozen among the Engelsch, niet mier, that know how to talk back.
There are one or two others that are duyvels, and not men. And the worst
duyvel of all"--he waved the big hand westward--"is he over there at
Gueldersdorp."

She mentally registered the compliment.

"You are a woman who writes for the Engelsch newspapers that are full of
shameless tales about the Boers." He spat copiously upon the floor, and
the big voice became a bellow. "Lies, lies! I have had them read to me,
and the people who make them should be shot. Hear you now. You shall write
to them and say: 'Selig Brounckers is a merciful man and a