ionship of
one whom he had loved passionately when the case was hopeless and she
was beyond his reach, and whom he loved not less absorbingly now that
all barriers were broken down between them, now that they would soon
belong to each other until their life's end. This was the influence
that cast a radiant glow upon the doings and undertakings of everyday
life, encircling everything with a halo of love, even as the very peace
of Heaven.

Not less upon Eanswyth did the same influences fall. The revulsion
following upon that awful period of heart-break and despair had given
her fresh life indeed. In her grand beauty, in the full glow of health
and perfect happiness, no one would have recognised the white, stricken
mourner of that time. She realised that there was nothing on earth left
to desire. And then her conscience would faintly reproach her. Had she
a right to revel in such perfect happiness in the midst of a world of
sorrow and strife?

But the said world seemed to keep very fairly outside that idyllic
abode. Now and then they would drive or ride into Somerset East, or
visit or be visited by a neighbour--the latter not often. The bulk of
the surrounding settlers were Boers, and beyond exchanging a few
neighbourly civilities from time to time they saw but little of them.
This, however, was not an unmixed evil.

Bentley had been as good as his word. His wife was a capital
housekeeper and had effectively taken all cares of that nature off
Eanswyth's hands. Both were thoroughly good and worthy people, of
colonial birth, who, by steadiness and trustworthy intelligence, had
worked their way up from a very lowly position. Unlike too many of
their class, however, they were not consumed with a perennial anxiety to
show forth their equality in the sight of Heaven with those whom they
knew to be immeasurably their superiors in birth and culture, and to
whom, moreover, they owed in no small degree their own well-being. So
the relations existing between the two different factors which composed
the household were of the most cordial nature.

There had been some delay in settling up Tom Carhayes' affairs--in fact,
they were not settled yet. With a good sense and foresight, rather
unexpected in one of his unthinking and impulsive temperament, poor Tom
had made his will previous to embarking on the Gcaleka campaign.
Everything he possessed was bequeathed to his wife--with no restriction
upon her marrying again--and