his beloved, and David and
Christina, as was their wont, sat on the stoep. They' watched the
figure of their son out of sight, and talked a while, and then lapsed
into the silence of perfect companionship. The veldt was all about
them, as silent and friendly as they, and the distance was mellow
with a haze of heat. From the kraals came at intervals the voice of
little Paul in fluent Kafir; David smiled over his pipe and nodded to
his wife once when the boy's voice was raised in a shout. Christina
was sewing; her thoughts were on Katje, and were still vaguely
hostile.

Of a sudden she heard David's pipe clatter on the ground, and looked
sharply round at him. He was staring intently into the void sky; his
brows were knitted and his face was drawn; even as she turned he gave
a hoarse cry.

She rose quickly, but he rose too, and spoke to her in an unfamiliar
voice.

"Go in," he said. "Have all ready, for our son has met with a mishap.
He has fallen from his horse."

She gasped, and stared at him, but could not speak.

"Go and do it," he said again, looking at her with hard eyes; and
suddenly she saw, as by an inward light, that here was not madness,
but truth. It spurred her.

"I will do it," she said swiftly. "But you will go and bring him in?"

"At once," he replied, and was away to the shed for the cart. The
Kafirs came running to inspan the horses, and shrank from him as they
worked. He was white through his tan, and he breathed loud. Little
Paul saw him, and sat down on the ground and cried quietly.

Before David went his wife touched him on the arm, and he turned. She
was white to the lips.

"David," she said, and struggled with her speech. "David."

"Well?" he answered, with a pregnant calm.

"David, he is not--not dead?"

"Not yet," he answered; "but I cannot say how it will be when I get
there." A tenderness overwhelmed him, and he caught a great sob and
put his arm about her. "All must be ready, little cousin. Time enough
to grieve afterwards--all our lives, Christina, all our lives!"

She put her hand on his breast.

"All shall be ready, David," she answered. "Trust me, David."

He drove off, and she watched him lash the horses down the hill and
force them at the drift--he, the man who loved horses, and knew them
as he knew his children. His children! She fled into the house to do
her office, and to drink to the bottom of the cup the bitterness of
motherhood. A cool bed, linen, cold water and