r in which he told his tale. No
stuttering or beating about the bush. He had something to say, and he
said it in the most natural and concise manner possible. And she liked
that.

"I'm glad. That makes it easier," he returned.

"But," she went on, "are you sure you have no lingering regrets on that
score? Not even a little one deep down in your heart?"

"Not the very ghost of one. I am a vindictive animal, I suppose, but
that sort of treatment leaves no room for lingering regrets, though it
does for lingering resentment. But even of that there is none left now.
You will never turn against me, darling?"

"Never," she answered decisively and without hesitation, although
startled by the sudden directness of the question.

"No matter what I did? Even to a repetition of the incident I have been
telling you?"

"Not even then. No--nothing could ever make me turn from you," she
repeated, with a sudden burst of passion.

It was a strange contrast, these two walking there, talking, thinking of
love. Down by a stagnant water-hole in the nearly dry river-bed, the
horses and mules were grazing, under an armed guard, and yonder the
gleam of rifles where vedettes were posted. Outside and within the
stockade men lounged and chatted, all ready to fly to arms at the first
alarm.

So to these two it was as an oasis--this peace of a great happiness.
They had found it between the lurid storms of war, and good--very good--
was it for them that they had.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

THE IMPI.

The vedettes had signalled. Away over the veldt to the westward a
pillar of dust was visible; and it was moving, drawing nearer. A group,
outside the stockade, was watching it intently.

"What d'you make of it, Grunberger?" said Fullerton impatiently.

"I think dot was someone coming," answered the storekeeper, who was
looking through a pair of field-glasses. This instructive utterance
evolved a laugh.

"That's what we all think, old chap," said Jim Steele. "What we want to
_know_ is who it's likely to be. White or black, or blue or green, or
what?"

"Dot was one white man and one Matabele," said the storekeeper, still
intently scanning the approaching dust. "_Ach_! und they ride like de
devil."

"Here, let's have a look in, Grunberger," cried Fullerton. "I may know
who it is."

The other resigned the glasses, and after a long look, during which the
two mounted figures drew rapidly nearer, Fullerton exclaimed--