pportunity of seeing a big Matabele regiment on the march every day,
and in full war-paint too."

"A splendid sight! Ugh, the horrible wretches! I never want to set
eyes on them again."

And the speaker shuddered, and stopped her ears as though to shut out
the receding thunder of the marching song.

"But, Mrs Fullerton, there's nothing to be frightened of," urged the
storekeeper's wife. "They're going right away."

An idea struck Clare. Going outside, the first person she ran against
was Lamont.

"Piers," she said in a low tone, "where are they going?"

"I suspect they are making straight for Gandela."

"Will they--take it?"

"No reason why they should, if only Orwell and Isard have condescended
to act on my repeated warning, and put the place into a state of
defence."

"And if not--?"

He looked at her for a moment without answering. Then he said--

"In that case these will have things all their own way."

"How awful!"

"Well, we must hope for the best."

"What if we had started to return there to-day?" she said suddenly, "We
should have had to reckon with these. The mules are in no condition to
travel out properly, and they could soon have overhauled us."

"Ah!"

Then she subsided into silence. Even her courageous spirit had fallen
upon a kind of reaction. The morning had been so bright and happy, and
now a shadow of horror and gloom seemed to have darkened upon the land.
Bloodshed, massacre everywhere, would it never pass? The other seemed
to read her thoughts.

"Do not give way to depression, my Clare," he said. "Keep up your own
brave heart. We are quite safe here, with ordinary precaution, and you
may be sure that nothing of that will be wanting. This cloud will pass,
and all will be brighter than ever."

"I seem to have a presentiment. Oh, it is horrible! And there is
bloodshed on my hands too."

"There is none," he replied emphatically. "No, none. What you were
forced to do to defend the life of your helpless sister does not count
for one single moment. Darling, did we not settle all that last
evening?"

"Yes, we did. You are a born comforter, dearest. But I believe it is
my love for you that is making a coward of me. What if--if I lost you
before this horrible war is over?"

"Now--now--now!" adopting a rallying tone, although thrilled to the
heart by her words. "You must not indulge in these fancies or my bright
and winsome Clare will be quite somebody else. I