d off
his horse and into the house.

"It serves me right," said the old man. "To think of it now, just to
think of it! Well, Bessie, my love, thank God that you escaped--ay, and
you too, Captain Niel. Here, you boys, take the Scotch cart and a
couple of oxen and go and fetch the brute home. We may as well have the
feathers off him, at any rate, before the _aasvogels_ (vultures) tear
him to bits."

After he had washed himself and tended his injuries with arnica and
water, John managed to limp into the principal sitting-room, where
supper was waiting. It was a very pleasant room, furnished in European
style, and carpeted with mats made of springbuck skins. In the corner
stood a piano, and by it a bookcase, filled with the works of standard
authors, the property, as John rightly guessed, of Bessie's sister Jess.

Supper went off pleasantly enough, and after it was over the two girls
sang and played whilst the men smoked. And here a fresh surprise awaited
him, for after Bessie, who apparently had now almost recovered from her
mauling, had played a piece or two creditably enough, Jess, who so
far had been nearly silent, sat down at the piano. She did not do
this willingly, indeed, for it was not until her patriarchal uncle had
insisted in his ringing, cheery voice that she should let Captain Niel
hear how she could sing that she consented. But at last she did consent,
and then, after letting her fingers stray somewhat aimlessly along the
chords, she suddenly broke out into such song as John Niel had never
heard before. Her voice, beautiful as it was, was not what is known as
a cultivated voice, and it was a German song, therefore he did not
understand it, but there was no need of words to translate its burden.
Passion, despairing yet hoping through despair, echoed in its every
line, and love, unending love, hovered over the glorious notes--nay,
possessed them like a spirit, and made them his. Up! up! rang her wild
sweet voice, thrilling his nerves till they answered to the music as an
Aeolian harp answers to the winds. On went the song with a divine sweep,
like the sweep of rushing pinions; higher, yet higher it soared, lifting
up the listener's heart far above the world on the trembling wings
of sound--ay, even higher, till the music hung at heaven's gate, and
falling thence, swiftly as an eagle falls, quivered, and was dead.

John sighed, and so strongly was he moved, sank back in his chair,
feeling almost faint with t