style set in a divine landscape."

"Temple to Diana, I expect," I remarked as I joined him on the
further side of the tree.

I looked and rubbed my eyes. There, about half a mile away,
situated in a bay of the sweeping hills and overlooking the
measureless expanse of bush-veld beneath, was a remarkable house,
at least for those days and that part of Africa. To begin with
the situation was superb. It stood on a green and swelling mound
behind which was a wooded kloof where ran a stream that at last
precipitated itself in a waterfall over a great cliff. Then in
front was that glorious view of the bush-veld, at which a man
might look for a lifetime and not grow tired, stretching away to
the Oliphant's river and melting at last into the dim line of the
horizon.

The house itself also, although not large, was of a kind new to
me. It was deep, but narrow fronted, and before it were four
columns that carried the roof which projected so as to form a
wide verandah. Moreover it seemed to be built of marble which
glistened like snow in the setting sun. In short in that lonely
wilderness, at any rate from this distance, it did look like the
deserted shrine of some forgotten god.

"Well, I'm bothered!" I said.

"So am I," answered Anscombe, "to know the name of the Lydenburg
district architect whom I should like to employ; though I suspect
it is the surroundings that make the place look so beautiful.
Hullo! here comes somebody, but he doesn't look like an
architect; he looks like a wicked baronet disguised as a Boer."

True enough, round a clump of bush appeared an unusual looking
person, mounted on a very good horse. He was tall, thin and old,
at least he had a long white beard which suggested age, although
his figure, so far as it could be seen beneath his rough clothes,
seemed vigorous. His face was clean cut and handsome, with a
rather hooked nose, and his eyes were grey, but as I saw when he
came up to us, somewhat bloodshot at the corners. His general
aspect was refined and benevolent, and as soon as he opened his
mouth I perceived that he was a person of gentle breeding.

And yet there was something about him, something in his
atmosphere, so to speak, that I did not like. Before we parted
that evening I felt sure that in one way or another he was a
wrong-doer, not straight; also that he had a violent temper.

He rode up to us and asked in a pleasant voice, although the
manner of his question, which was