were brought one
by one into the presence of a British officer, who pompously read
their sentence to them.

How the other men passed through their interview with him I do not
know, but Mr. Hattingh's story, told in his own words, runs thus:

After a few questions had been put, the British officer said to him:

"You have been found guilty of high treason, but Lord Kitchener has
been kind enough to commute your sentence to banishment as prisoner of
war."

"But how could you find me guilty?" Mr. Hattingh asked. "I have never
been tried."

"Be silent," the officer commanded sternly. "You have nothing to say."

Mr. Hattingh says he was only too glad to "be silent," and betook
himself to the Rest Camp with alacrity.

During the weeks of their imprisonment in the jail those at Harmony
were not living in a bed of roses.

Of Willie Botha's loyalty they never had a doubt, but the other men
were unknown to them, and they knew that all were aware of the part
played by them in the Secret Service. And even if they were not
betrayed by one of the prisoners, it was a mystery that they had not
been betrayed _with_ them.

Many of their friends, the families of the men in jail, had been sent
to Camps or across the border, and no one was more surprised at
finding themselves still in Pretoria than Mrs. van Warmelo and her
daughter.

They felt the strain, the uncertainty of their position keenly, and
throughout those weeks they were obliged to conceal from their good
friends, the Consuls and their families, the danger to which they were
exposed and the intense anxiety with which they were filled, not only
on their own account, but for those brave men in the Pretoria jail.

Towards the end of September, when the prisoners had been removed to
the Rest Camp, a baby-girl was born in Willie Botha's house.

The mother had been left undisturbed in her home, a consideration for
which she and all who were concerned for her were devoutly grateful,
and now she had passed through the portals of Gethsemane and the wide
gates of Eden, in the bitter-sweet experiences of motherhood.

The news of the birth of a daughter was duly conveyed to Willie Botha
in the Rest Camp, with a request to the authorities to allow him to
visit his wife and see his child before leaving South Africa's shores
for Bermuda.

Permission was granted for a two-hours' visit.

An armed soldier escorted him to his home and sat outside, under the
verandah, drinking co