genuine one; a terribly natural one. Thus
poor humanity, from--and before--the days of Augustine of Hippo until
now--until the consummation of the world.

As the days grew into weeks, the strain upon such a nature as Eanswyth's
began to tell--as it was bound to do. She began to look pale and worn,
and in such close companionship the change could not escape the eyes of
her friends.

"Don't you let yourself be anxious, my dear," said a motherly settler's
wife one day, bursting with a desire to administer comfort. "The
Rangers will soon be back now. And they're all right so far--have had
some rough work and haven't lost a man. Your husband knows how to take
care of himself; never fear. Yes, they'll soon be back now."

This was the sort of consolation she had to acquiesce in--to receive
with a glad smile at the time, and for hours after to torture herself
with the miserable guilty consciousness that the fate of the Kaffrarian
Rangers was to her a matter of infinitesimal account. There was one,
however, whom appearances were beginning no longer to deceive, who, in
pursuance of the strange and subtle woman's instinct, which had moved
her to make that remark to her husband _in camera_, as recorded in a
former chapter, began to feel certain that the real object of Eanswyth's
solicitude was to be found west, not east--back in the peaceful Colony
instead of in the Transkei braving peril at the hands of the savage
enemy. That one was Mrs Hoste. She was not a clever woman by any
means--not even a sharp woman, yet her mind had leaped straight to the
root of the matter. And the discovery made her feel exceedingly
uncomfortable.

That farewell, made in outwardly easy social fashion, under several
pairs of eyes, had been a final one. Eustace had not ridden over on
another visit, not even a flying one, as Eanswyth had hoped he would.
Still, bitterly disappointed as she was, she had appreciated the wisdom
of his motives--at first. If there was one quality more than another
she had admired in him in times past, it was his thorough and resolute
way of doing a thing. If anything had to be done, he did it thoroughly.
The undertaking upon which he was then engaged certainly demanded all
his time and attention, and he had given both, as was his wont. Still
she had hoped he would have found or made some opportunity for seeing
her once more.

She had heard from him two or three times, but they were letters that
all the world