To Maitland station. Then into a train. Beyond that, I do not
know."

"I am sorry," she repeated; "but very glad. It is time you were
doing something. I know you didn't take all this journey out here
for the sake of being drilled in Maitland Camp until the end of
time. We shall miss you; but you will come back to us, some day, and
tell us all the story of your deeds. Success to you, Trooper
Weldon!"

She gave him her hand; then stood looking after him, as he went down
the steps. Once in the saddle, he turned back to wave a farewell to
the tall girl framed in the arching greenery that sheltered the
broad veranda. Then, urging on his horse, he went galloping away,
his boyish face turned resolutely towards the front.

Careless of the oldtime superstition, the girl watched him out of
sight. Then slowly she moved back to their deserted corner where she
sat long, her elbows on the arms of her chair and her chin resting
on her hands. Her eyes were held steadily on Table Bay; but her
thoughts followed along the road to Maitland Camp--and beyond.

CHAPTER FIVE

That January had brought the second irruption of Boers into Cape
Colony. In reality, they were near Calvinia; but, by the middle of
the month, rumor had so far out-stripped fact that certain refugee
Uitlanders were ready to affirm that Table Mountain was held by an
invading army who patrolled the summit, coffee pot in one hand and
Bible in the other. Under these conditions, the little Dutch church
at Piquetberg Road had become, in all truth, the abiding-place of
the Church Militant.

In deference to tradition, the altar had been promptly pulled down
and its ornaments stowed away to be safe from possible desecration.
The altar rail was left, however, and Weldon sat leaning against it,
his eyes vaguely turned upwards to the organ in the farther end of
the church. From the open floor between, the buzz of many voices and
the smoke of many pipes rose to the roof; from the vestry room
behind him, he heard the cleaner-cut accent of the officers.
Outside, above the light spatter of rain on the windows, he could
hear the horses stamping contentedly in the leafy avenue without the
churchyard wall, and the brawl of the stream beyond. The twilight
lay heavy over the church, heaviest of all over the distant organ
gallery, where Weldon could barely make out a single figure moving
towards the bench. There was a rattle of stops, a tentative chord or
two and then a few no