master, in that Aasvogel was by far the
showiest horse in the place. Gert had been putting two and two
together. For about once a week that his master had gone over to Ratels
Hoek formerly, now he went thither at least twice or three times. Of
course it could only be with one object, and with that object no Boer
would have thought of riding any other than his showiest horse.
Wherefore Gert had suggested Aasvogel.

Likewise, no Boer would have thought of riding forth on such an errand
without getting himself up with much care and all the resources at his
disposal. Colvin, needless perhaps to say, did nothing of the kind. He
got into a clean and serviceable shooting-suit, and with his favourite
shot-gun, a sufficiency of cartridges, and a few trifling necessaries in
a saddle-bag, he was ready.

Just then his housekeeper, Katrina, Gert's wife, met him in the door
with a note. It had just been brought, she said. Baas Wenlock's boy
was waiting for an answer.

He opened the note. It was in May's handwriting, wanting to know if he
would come over and spend Sunday with them. What should he reply? This
was Friday; yet, one way or the other, he was under no doubt whatever
that in forty-eight hours he would not be precisely inclined to put in
the day at Spring Holt--no--no matter how things went. Yet to refuse
would seem unfriendly, and, viewed from one aspect, somewhat brutal. So
he left the matter open, pleading hurry in his reply.

Then as he passed out of his door a chill feeling came over him. How
would he re-enter it--elate, happy, or--only to calculate how soon he
could make arrangements for leaving it altogether, for shutting down
this volume of the book of his life? And with a sense of darkling
superstition upon him the delivery of that message as he passed the
threshold seemed to sound a note of ill augury.

He was destined to meet with another such. When nearly half-way on his
ride he came in sight of another horseman cantering along the flat at
some distance off, travelling towards him. A few minutes more and he
made out Adrian De la Rey.

It was rather a nuisance, he decided. He did not want to meet Adrian
just then. Adrian was too addicted to making himself disagreeable in
these days. Formerly they had been very friendly, but now, since Adrian
had come upon them that morning in the garden, his manner had changed.
It had displayed towards Colvin, upon such occasions as they had met, a
brusque