ith averted eyes, and seemingly groping for one last ray of light,
the man continued:

"But where were your heroes--your heroes of Magersfontein, Spion Kop,
and Colenso?"

"Where were our heroes?" the girl echoed bitterly. "In their
graves--in our hospitals--in captivity! Ever foremost in the
field--one--by one--they fell---- 'But the remnant that is escaped of
the house of Israel shall again take root downward and bear fruit
upward.'

"Although, under the shadow of this great national calamity, we cannot
see it now, there is hope for our sad South Africa. It is too soon to
speak of a united race, but the time will surely come when, in the
inter-marriage of our children and our children's children, will be
formed a nation great and strong and purified."

Through all those weeks our heroine never slept. It seems incredible
that the frail form of a girl should be endowed with so great a power
of endurance, and that the human mind can stand the strain of smiling
self-control by day, abandonment of grief by night.

Those nearest to her, divining something of what she was passing
through, lavished countless proofs of tender sympathy on her,
innumerable acts of loving care for her personal comfort, and
well-thought-out plans for drawing her away from herself into the
charmed circle of the B---- Labouchere house.

And when her marriage-day drew near she turned away with a superficial
glance at the array of costly presents, to devour once again the
cables from South Africa, the telegrams from her Generals, the letter
and the photograph of her beloved President, inscribed in his
illegible hand, "For services rendered during the late war."

Last, but not least, there came to her official-looking documents
from Het Loo, the personal congratulations of the Queen, the Prince
Consort, and the Queen-mother--and the ancient blood of Holland
coursed more swiftly through her veins as she thought of Wilhelmina,
the dauntless young Queen of the Netherlands, now _her_ Queen.

In all the ranks of the "Petticoat Commando" there was not one woman
who had dared more, risked more, than the brave Queen of Holland when
she dispatched her good man-of-war to bear away from the shores of
Africa the hunted President of the South African Republic, to the
refuge of her hospitable land.

* * * * *

Flowers, flowers everywhere, first in baskets, then in cartloads, then
in waggon-loads, they were deposited at the