"A little accident has happened," said the missionary; "one of my wagon-boxes broke in the hurry of our rough journey, and in transferring the contents through the vineyard to the house--" Frankfort drew the miniature forth, and said, "Is this your property?" "It is one of the articles I have missed," replied Mr Trail; "I am truly glad it is found." As he spoke, Eleanor approached, and seeing the miniature handed from one gentleman to the other, looked eagerly in the missionary's face, as though inquiring the meaning of what was passing. Mr Trail drew her arm through his, and led her away, leaving Frankfort mystified. He had been told this fair, melancholy creature was a widow. It was clear she had been a mother, and she was now probably mourning the recent death of her child; but why were these, apparently, secret or forbidden themes? Then he reasoned as usual,--what was it to him? He was a stranger,--and yet he could not be considered entirely such under present circumstances, and how much, too, Mr Daveney had intrusted to him! He waited for some minutes, hoping Mr Trail would return, and accompany him in his night rounds. He stepped into the verandah: the plains were bathed in moonlight. The inmates of the wagons were retiring to their rest; only here and there a light glimmered, or the feeble voice of an infant and some mother's murmured lullaby wailed through the stillness of the night; but Mr Trail and Eleanor were pacing the stoep in such earnest conversation, that they did not perceive Frankfort, who withdrew to his nightly duty. The cattle had been secured by Griqua Adam, the gates were closed, the sentinels posted, and the outworks were nearly completed. Mr Daveney was expected home on the morrow. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. Abati consists of trees with their branches shortened and sharpened at the ends, and they serve as a chevaux-de-frize on an emergency. CHAPTER TEN. MYSTERY. Noontide in Kafirland! what a glow! A bold but popular authoress was severely rated lately for the passage, "made twilight undulate." Truly, in an African noon the atmosphere flickers like water. Not a sound, save the great bee, as large as a beetle, going whooming, whooming, among the doricas and convolvuluses screening the verandah. The locusts, all emerald and scarlet and gold, lie motionless in the pomegranate hedges. The cattle stand panting in the plains, too much exhausted to feed. The Hottentots are enjoying the sun in their own way, either fast asleep, with their yellow faces turned upward to the dazzling sky, or sitting smoking in the glare; and the dogs seek shady corners, and breathe last and hard, with their pink tongues hanging out of their parched mouths.