the pale
twilight, Mr. Hammond standing with the men about him. They lifted
their glasses to him, and their hearty cheers shook me through.

The travellers were despatched, and, according to our plan, I followed
with the maid. My dear husband was well enough to meet us in Cape Town
at the depot, and Jacky was in high feather--he had a tin steamboat;
he was inclined to swagger; and showed a personal complacency not
warranted by his appearance, for some of his clothes were put on with
great care, _hind-part before_.

We found lodgment at Muizenburg, near Cape Town--sun, wind, and
primitive discomfort, this last mitigated by the never-failing
kindness of the proprietor. His little children fell over one another
in eager service to my invalid; they were always sure of appreciative
recognition from him, and every child is sensitive to kindness.

Mr. Joseph Story Curtis, the Reformer, joined us, brought down from
the Rand by his physician and sick nurse; he was suffering from
partial paralysis, induced by the excitement of the revolution and
preliminary trial.

Young Shumacher had come to the coast for building up, also Mr. Van
Goenert, who had carried a gun on duty when Johannesburg was under
arms. We were a saddened little circle at Muizenburg, and we used to
watch the great ships sail out for 'home' with a lump in our throats.

The strong salt breeze buoyed us up to fresh hope. A new friend came
to me: a woman with all a woman's tenderness, and the simple
necessities of life had a fresh meaning when supplied by you, dear
Jessie Rose Innes!

Dr. Murray was obliged to leave us.

An untimely sea-bath brought back most serious symptoms to my
patient, and I was the prey every afternoon to a low fever which
sapped my strength. Although at first this fever bore a horrible
menace, it proved a disguised blessing. For two or three hours each
day I was absolutely free of care, and would lie with quick pulse and
mildly intoxicated brain dreaming I was with my elder boy on the
border of England. I saw him in his little Eton jacket and broad
turned-down collar, his sweet young face fresh as the morning. Or I
would dream of the pretty home under the hill, in far-off California.
The fragrance of thick beds of violets would seem to float to me over
the long waste of sea, and I could see the tall roses nodding in the
white summer fog. My temples beat like the winter rain on the roof,
and the light before my eyes was the library fi