fter all, that the story
was an invention? They knew that Frank Muller was not a man to hesitate
at a lie if he had a purpose to gain, and they could guess in this case
what that purpose was. His furious passion for Bessie was no secret from
either of them, and it occurred to them as possible that the tale of
John's death might have been invented to forward it. This was scarcely
probable, it is true, but it might be so, and however cruel suspense
may be, it is at least less absolutely crushing than the dead weight of
certainty.

One Sunday--it was just a week since the letter came--Bessie was sitting
after dinner on the verandah, when her quick ears caught what she took
to be the booming of heavy guns far away on the Drakensberg. She rose,
and leaving the house, climbed the hill behind it. On reaching its top
she stood and looked at the great solemn stretch of mountains. Away, a
little to her right, was a square precipitous peak called Majuba, which
was generally clothed in clouds. To-day, however, there was no mist, and
it seemed to her that it was from the direction of this peak that the
faint rolling sounds came floating on the breeze. But she could see
nothing; the mountain seemed as tenantless and devoid of life as on the
day when it first towered up upon the face of things created. Presently
the sounds died away, and she returned, thinking that she must have been
deceived by the echoes of some distant thunderstorm.

Next day they learnt from the natives that what she had heard was the
roar of the big guns covering the flight of the British troops down
the precipitous sides of Majuba Mountain. After these tidings old
Silas Croft began to lose heart a little. The run of disaster was
so unrelieved that even his robust faith in the invincibility of the
English arms was shaken.

"It is very strange, Bessie," he said, "very strange; but, never mind,
it is bound to come right at last. Our Government is not going to knock
under because it has suffered a few reverses."

Then followed a long four weeks of uncertainty. The air was thick with
rumours, most of them brought by natives, and one or two by passing
Boers, to which Silas Croft declined to pay any attention. Soon,
however, it became abundantly clear that an armistice was concluded
between the English and the Boers, but what were its terms or its object
they were quite unable to decide. Silas Croft thought that the Boers,
overawed by the advance of an overwhelming