by the sting of Marais's cruelty and insults, like the cry of a
beast beneath a blow. Little did I know how true they would prove, but
at times it is thus that truth is mysteriously drawn from some well of
secret knowledge hidden in our souls.

"When I want your help I will ask for it," raved Marais, who, knowing
himself to be in the wrong, strove to cover up that wrong with violence.

"Asked or unasked, if I live it shall be given in the future as in the
past, Mynheer Marais. God pardon you for the woe you are bringing on
Marie and on me."

Now Marie began to weep a little, and, unable to bear that sight, I
covered my eyes with my hand. Marais, who, when he was not under the
influence of his prejudices or passion, had a kind heart, was moved
also, but tried to hide his feelings in roughness. He swore at Marie,
and told her to go to bed, and she obeyed, still weeping. Then my father
rose and said:

"Henri Marais, we cannot leave here to-night because the horses are
kraaled, and it would be difficult to find them in this darkness, so we
must ask your hospitality till dawn."

"_I_ do not ask it," I exclaimed. "I go to sleep in the cart," and I
limped from the room and the house, leaving the two men together.

What passed afterwards between them I do not quite know. I gathered
that my father, who, when roused, also had a temper and was mentally
and intellectually the stronger man, told Marais his opinion of his
wickedness and folly in language that he was not likely to forget.
I believe he even drove him to confess that his acts seemed cruel,
excusing them, however, by announcing that he had sworn before God that
his daughter should never marry an Englishman. Also he said that he had
promised her solemnly to Pereira, his own nephew, whom he loved, and
could not break his word.

"No," answered my father, "because, being mad with the madness that runs
before destruction, you prefer to break Marie's heart and perhaps become
guilty of her blood."

Then he left him.

The darkness was intense. Through it I groped my way to the cart, which
stood where it had been outspanned on the veld at a little distance from
the house, wishing heartily, so miserable was I, that the Kaffirs might
choose that black night for another attack and make an end of me.

When I reached it and lit the lantern which we always carried, I was
astonished to find that, in a rough fashion, it had been made ready to
sleep in. The seats had been c