scores with his hated and despised foes,
he had himself walked blindfold into the trap, and was to be sacrificed
in some frightful manner to their vengeance.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

"I WALK IN SHADOW."

Eanswyth was back again in her old home--living her old life, as in the
times that were past--but alone.

When she had announced her intention of returning to Anta's Kloof, her
friends had received the proposition with incredulity--when they saw
that she was determined, with dismay.

It was stark lunacy, they declared. She to go to live on an
out-of-the-way farm, alone! There was not even a neighbour for pretty
near a score of miles, all the surrounding stock-farmers having trekked
into _laager_. The Gaikas were reported more restless than ever, nor
were symptoms wanting that they were on the eve of an outbreak. The
Gcaleka campaign had fired their warlike spirits, but had failed to
convey its accompanying warning, and those "in the know" asserted that
the savages might rise any minute and make common cause with their
countrymen across the Kei. And in the face of all this, here was
Eanswyth proposing to establish herself on a lonely farm bordering on
the very location of the plotting and disaffected tribesmen. Why, it
was lunacy--rank suicide!

The worst of it was that nobody on earth had the power to prevent her
from doing as she chose. Her own family were Western Province people
and lived far up in the Karroo. Had they been ever so willing, it would
take them nearly three weeks to arrive--by which time it might be too
late. But Eanswyth did not choose to send for any one. She wanted to
be alone.

"You need not be in the least alarmed on my account," she had said to
the Hostes in answer to their reiterated expostulations. "Even if the
Gaikas should rise, I don't believe they would do me the slightest harm.
The people on Nteya's location know me well, and the old chief and I
used to be great friends. I feel as if I must go to my old home again--
and--don't think me ungracious, but it will do me good to be entirely
alone."

"That was how poor Milne used to argue," said Hoste gravely. "But they
killed him all the same."

"Yes," she replied, mastering the quick sharp spasm which the allusion
evoked. "But they were Gcalekas--not our people, who knew him."

Hoste shook his head.

"You are committing suicide," he said. "And the worst of it is we have
no power on earth to prevent you."

"No,