fter her
regretfully. Well, she would write to him, since it must be so, and bid
him one word of farewell. She could not go without that, though how her
letter was to reach John she knew not, unless indeed Jantje could find
him and deliver it. She had a pencil, and in the breast of her dress was
the Boer pass, the back of which, stained as it was with water, would
serve the purpose of paper. She found it, and, bending forward towards
the light, placed it on her knees.

"Good-bye," she wrote, "good-bye! We can never meet again, and it is
better that we never should in this world. I believe that there is
another. If there is I shall wait for you there if I have to wait ten
thousand years. If not, then good-bye for ever. Think of me sometimes,
for I have loved you very dearly, and as nobody will ever love you
again; and while I live in this or any other existence and am myself,
I shall always love you and you only. Don't forget me. I never shall be
really dead to you until I am forgotten.--J."

She lifted the paper from her knee, and without even re-reading what
she had written thrust the pass back into her bosom and was soon lost in
thought.

Ten minutes later Jantje, like a great snake in human form, came
creeping in to where she sat, his yellow face shining with the
raindrops.

"Well," whispered Jess, looking up with a start, "have you done it?"

"No, missie, no. Baas Frank has but now gone to his tent. He has been
talking to the clergyman, something about Missie Bessie, I don't know
what. I was near, but he talked low, and I could only hear the name."

"Are all the Boers asleep?"

"All, missie, except the sentries."

"Is there a sentry before Baas Frank's tent?"

"No, missie, there is nobody near."

"What is the time, Jantje?"

"About three hours and a half after sundown" (half-past ten).

"Let us wait half an hour, and then you must go."

Accordingly they sat in silence. In silence they sat facing each other
and their own thoughts. Presently Jantje broke it by drawing the big
white-handled knife and commencing to sharpen it on a piece of leather.

The sight made Jess feel sick. "Put the knife up," she said quickly, "it
is sharp enough."

Jantje obeyed with a feeble grin, and the minutes passed on heavily.

"Now, Jantje," she said at last, speaking huskily in her struggle to
overcome the spasmodic contractions of her throat, "it is time for you
to go."

The Hottentot fidgeted about, and at last sp