colony of Natal, relating to the disappearance
during the Zulu war of a border outlaw under circumstances of romantic
interest. Could they have been authentic? Could this mysterious
personage be indeed the chief actor in them? But, then, what must have
been the strength and power of such a passion as had been this man's,
that he should cherish it full and strong after all these years; to the
compassing of illimitable bloodshed, prosecuting the fierce and
relentless hatred of his own countrymen to the extent of metamorphosing
the memory of its object into a very Kali, sacrificing to that memory in
blood! Of a truth it could be nothing less than a mania--a grim and
terrible monomania.

"You are already beginning to lose your horror at what I have told you,
John Ames," went on the other, his keen, darting eyes reading his
listener's face like an open page. "Yet why should you ever have
entertained it? Is not this blue-eyed girl you were taking care of for
so many days all the world to you--more than life itself?"

"She is. She is indeed, God knows," was the reply, emphatically
fervent.

"Then what revenge could you wreak that would be too full, too sweet,
upon whosoever should be instrumental in bereaving you of her for ever?
You have not yet been tried, John Ames, and yours is a character outside
the ordinary."

Was the speaker right, after all? thought John Ames. He looked at the
dark face and silvery beard, and the glitter of the keen grey eyes, and
wondered. Yet as he looked, he decided that the owner of that face must
be considerably younger than his appearance. Was he himself capable of
such a hardening--of so gigantic and ruthless and lifelong a feud? One
thing was incontestable. He certainly had lost the first feeling of
repulsion and horror; indeed, he could not swear it had not been
replaced by one of profound sympathy. The other continued.

"This is what you will do. First of all, you will give me your word to
make no attempt to seek out this place, though it would be futile even
if made. For remember I have saved your life, and the life of one who
is more to you than life, not once, but many times, though unknown to
you. Others sought escape in the same way as yourselves. Ask, when you
are safe again, how many found it? I did not spare them. I spared you,
John Ames, because your wanderings reminded me of my own. I watched you
both frequently, unknown to yourselves, and doing so the pas