t up and the wheels greased. Where
is the castor-oil, Bessie? There is nothing like castor-oil for these
patent axles. You ought to be off in an hour. You had better sleep at
Luck's to-night; you might get farther, but Luck's is a good place to
stop, and they will look after you well there, and you an be off by
three in the morning, reaching Heidelberg by ten o'clock to-morrow
night, and Pretoria by the next afternoon," and he bustled away to make
the necessary preparations.

"Oh, John," said Bessie, beginning to cry, "I don't like your going at
all among all those wild Boers. You are an English officer, and if they
find you out they will shoot you. You don't know what brutes some of
them are when they think it safe to be so. Oh, John, John, I can't
endure your going."

"Cheer up, my dear," said John, "and for Heaven's sake stop crying, for
I cannot bear it. I must go. Your uncle would never forgive me if I did
not, and, what is more, I should never forgive myself. There is
nobody else to send, and we can't leave Jess to be shut up there in
Pretoria--for months perhaps. As for the risk, of course there is a
little risk, but I must take it. I am not afraid of risks--at least I
used not to be, but you have made a bit of a coward of me, Bessie dear.
There, give me a kiss, old girl, and come and help me to pack my things.
Please God I shall get back all right, and Jess with me, in a week from
now."

Whereon Bessie, being a sensible and eminently practical young woman,
dried her tears, and with a cheerful face, albeit her heart was heavy
enough, set to work with a will to make every possible preparation.

The few clothes John was to take with him were packed in a Gladstone
bag, the box fitted underneath the movable seat in the Cape cart was
filled with the tinned provisions which are so much used in South
Africa, and all the other little arrangements, small in themselves, but
of such infinite importance to the traveller in a wild country, were
duly attended to by her careful hands. Then came a hurried meal, and
before it was swallowed the cart was at the door, with Jantje hanging as
usual on to the heads of the two front horses, and the stalwart Zulu,
or rather Swazi boy, Mouti, whose sole luggage appeared to consist of a
bundle of assegais and sticks wrapped up in a grass mat, and who, hot as
it was, was enveloped in a vast military great-coat, lounging placidly
alongside.

"Good-bye, John, dear John," said Bessie, ki