weighing down the sturdy old vines.

"I wish Captain Naude would come," Hansie sighed. "Harmony is at its
very best."

"He won't come again, I am convinced of that," her mother answered
mournfully. "No more news from the field for us. The dangers are too
great, and nothing could be gained by coming into town now that our
friends have nearly all been sent away."

"We shall see," Hansie said cheerfully. "I have a strong presentiment
that the men are coming in this very night. I am going to put
everything in readiness for them, and we must go to bed early, dear
mother. Perhaps we shall have very little rest to-night."

This was Sunday night, February 9th.

Hansie packed away various little articles lying about the bedrooms
and bathroom, and generally prepared herself for the midnight
adventure which she felt more than ever convinced would take place
within a few hours, while Mrs. van Warmelo went about with a feather
and an oil-can, oiling the hinges and locks.

She was soon sound asleep in her mother's bedroom, for the two women
were not as brave as they had been during the first part of the war
and had got into the habit of sleeping together "for company."

Suddenly at about 2 a.m. they both started up violently, at the sound
of Carlo's furious barking near their window, where he usually kept
guard.

Mrs. van Warmelo sat up and panted "Here they are," but Hansie's heart
was beating so loudly in her throat that she was unable to reply.

Mrs. van Warmelo went quickly to the window, and on cautiously raising
the blind saw the forms of two men close to the window,
undistinguishable in the darkness but quite evidently the cause of
Carlo's startled and furious barkings. She ran through the bathroom
and, opening the door leading to the garden, asked softly, "Who is
there?"

"Appelkoos," the welcome answer came clearly and cautiously, and Mrs.
van Warmelo drew the men unceremoniously into the room, noiselessly
locking the door.

"Not a word, not a sound," she commanded, "remove your boots--you have
never been in greater peril."

"Hush! What was that? A man's voice outside! The sergeant-major? The
police? My God! then we are lost indeed!"

But no! Only one moment of agonising suspense and the familiar voice
of "Gentleman Jim" could be heard, reprimanding the growling watchdog.

"What for you make so much noise, Carlo? Go to sleep, bad dog--you
frighten everybody when you kick up so much row."

Muttering disco