ty still lingers, it exists upon the edge of its own
grave. The dominance and responsibilities of our Empire are
no longer a question of party politics, and among the
Radicals of to-day we find some of the most ardent
Imperialists. So may it ever be!--H. R. H. 1896.

John resumed his perilous journey more than an hour before dawn on
the following morning. Nobody was stirring, and as it was practically
impossible to arouse the slumbering Kafirs from the various holes and
corners where they were taking their rest--for a native hates the cold
of the dawning--Mouti and he were obliged to harness the horses and
inspan them without assistance--an awkward job in the dark. At last,
however, everything was ready, and, as the bill had been paid overnight,
there was nothing to wait for, so they clambered into the cart and made
a start. But before they had proceeded forty yards, however, John heard
a voice calling to him to stop. He did so, and presently, holding a
lighted candle which burnt without a flicker in the still damp air, and
draped from head to foot in a dingy-looking blanket, appeared the male
Cassandra of the previous evening.

He advanced slowly and with dignity, as became a prophet, and at length
reached the side of the cart, where the sight of his illuminated figure
and of the dirty blanket over his head nearly made the horses run away.

"What is it?" said John testily, for he was in no mood for delay.

"I thought I'd just get up to tell you," replied the draped form, "that
I am quite sure that I was right, and that the Boers will shoot you. I
should not like you to say afterwards that I have not warned you," and
he held up the candle so that the light fell on John's face, and gazed
at it in fond farewell.

"Curse it all," said John in a fury, "if that was all you had to say you
might have kept in bed," and he brought down his lash on the wheelers
and away they went with a bound, putting out the prophet's candle and
nearly knocking the prophet himself backwards into the _sluit_.

CHAPTER XV

A ROUGH JOURNEY

The four greys were fresh horses, in good condition and with a light
load behind them, so, notwithstanding the bad state of the tracks which
they call roads in South Africa, John made good progress.

By eleven o'clock that day he had reached Standerton, a little town upon
the Vaal, not far from which, had he but known it, he was destined
to meet with a sufficiently striking expe