n we get back to Natal, whither I shall take
you with me, and that meanwhile an eye is kept on you and what you do.
Also I warn you that I have evidence for all that I say. Now be so good
as to go, and to keep out of my sight as much as possible, for I do not
like a man whom these Kaffirs name 'Two-faces.' As for you, friend Henri
Marais, I tell you that you would do well to associate yourself less
with one whose name is under so dark a cloud, although he may be your
own nephew, whom all know you love blindly."

So far as I recollect neither of them made any answer to this direct
speech. They simply turned and went away. But on the next morning, that
of the fatal 6th of February, when I chanced to meet the Commandant
Retief as he was riding through the camp making arrangements for our
departure to Natal, he pulled up his horse and said:

"Allan, Hernan Pereira has gone, and Henri Marais with him, and for my
part I am not sorry, for doubtless we shall meet again, in this world or
the next, and find out all the truth. Here, read this, and give it back
to me afterwards"; and he threw me a paper and rode on.

I opened the folded sheet and read as follows:

"To the Commandant Retief, Governor of the Emigrant Boers,

"Mynheer Commandant,

"I will not stay here, where such foul accusations are laid on me by
black Kaffirs and the Englishman, Allan Quatermain, who, like all his
race, is an enemy of us Boers, and, although you do not know it, a
traitor who is plotting great harm against you with the Zulus. Therefore
I leave you, but am ready to meet every charge at the right time before
a proper Court. My uncle, Henri Marais, comes with me, as he feels that
his honour is also touched. Moreover, he has heard that his daughter,
Marie, is in danger from the Zulus, and returns to protect her, which
he who is called her husband neglects to do. Allan Quatermain, the
Englishman, who is the friend of Dingaan, can explain what I mean,
for he knows more about the Zulu plans than I do, as you will find out
before the end."

Then followed the signatures of Hernan Pereira and Henri Marais.

I put the letter in my pocket, wondering what might be its precise
meaning, and in particular that of the absurd and undefined charge
of treachery against myself. It seemed to me that Pereira had left us
because he was afraid of something--either that he might be placed upon
his trial or of some ultimate catastrophe in which he would be involved.