py,
was going to turn in, Wyvern would sit, or pace up and down, hour upon
hour, while the Southern Cross turned in the heavens, and give his
powers of imagination and recollection play. He pictured her as he saw
her last--heart-wrung; as he used to see her every day, sweet, strong,
smiling, in the full glow of her splendid youth and health; his, for she
had given herself to him; and the thought thrilled him until he could
conjure up her presence here, here in this savage solitude, could hear
her voice in his ear, as the tiger wolves slunk and howled dismally in
the surrounding brake, even as he had heard it again and again on the
moonlit stoep at Seven Kloofs. He had received letters from her since
he left, until he had been beyond the reach of receiving letters at
all--brave, true, loving letters--sweet beyond all conception of
sweetness; treasured beyond all earthly possessions, and in his midnight
pacings, when all around was still as death except the weird voices of
the wild, he would bring out one or other of these and re-read it by the
light of the great overhanging moon. Ah, yes! This love was worth a
lifetime of toil and pain, and it had come to him, all so suddenly, so
naturally. Did he appreciate it the less on that account? Not one
whit. He would achieve the object of his quest, and then--and then--

And then came as a refrain certain words he had heard uttered long ago
by a very valued friend of his--incidentally, a highly-placed dignitary
of the Catholic Church--when he had been remarking upon the position and
circumstances of somebody which should leave nothing to be desired, and
which for all that, covered "a thorn in the flesh"--"It is not intended
that anyone should be perfectly happy in this world." Wyvern had
realised the truth of this then, as indeed none but a fool could have
failed to realise it, since it was a truth borne out by all experience.
Now it came back to him with force, and alone with the solitude of the
wild, he looked reverently up to the moonlit heavens with an aspiration
that here might be the exception which should prove the rule.

The young Zulu whom they had rescued had shown no desire to leave them.
He had tacitly and naturally fallen in with their party as though one of
it, and Fleetwood was not at all unwilling that he should; for he was a
fine, active, warrior-like specimen of his race and came of a splendid
fighting stock. There was no telling when such advantages m