"I did not take all the epistles I received for gospel, but I did reckon on a rescue. The miserable mob, however, terrified at the sight of the soldiers, quailed before an unloaded gun; but at last they began to show fight with brickbats. There was barely time to read the Riot Act--ha, ha! how the old mayor's hand trembled that held it, when a charge of cavalry came down the street and drove the poor devils right and left. We were the victims of treachery. Some of our pretended friends had been bribed, turned informers, and went over to the enemy. These were the traitors and deserters; they have pocketed the price of blood, and are at work again, no doubt, like spiders in their dark, gloomy offices, making false promises, deluding the people into the assemblies they convoke, only to bring the troops upon them, and then reap their reward for betraying their victims." In this strain Lyle proceeded; Gray paid but little heed to his sophistry--his mind was intent on casting aside the thraldom under which he writhed; but fate seemed against him. And Amayeka, what was to become of her? Lyle next pointed out the advantages of the prospect before them. It was by no means certain, he said, that the Boers must necessarily fight against the English government; it was well-known that Vander Roey had gone to the Commander-in-Chief to hold a conference; it was not improbable that terms would be made, and that a territory would be given to the Dutch settlers, where they might exercise their own laws. "Here," said Lyle, "we may find a place of rest, for, unless something is to be gained by it, I am not inclined for war for fighting's sake." This was, as the reader may divine, untrue; but he adapted his expressed opinions to the tone of Gray's mind at the moment. "So, for the present, my lad, make your mind easy; you cannot get away from this if you would, and you would not if you could, for your dusky lady-love is, without doubt, yonder in the hills, and no bad refuge neither. By Jove, this is a fine country--ha! Doda told me it was a noble pasture-land for horses, and see, the mountain-sides are dotted with them; and here is a troop of jolly young Boers. Now remember, once for all, my lad," continued Lyle, clutching Gray suddenly by the arm--"let me tell you to put a good face on the matter. As to getting these people just now to listen to your history, and give you a guide or an escort to take you back--you young fool!--to fight against them, it is of no use. All your reasoning would be as useless as whistling jigs to milestones--all your wrath like the grimaces, and the sputtering, and the swearing of the bushmen at a storm of thunder and lightning. So now say `good morrow' to these young fellows with the best face you can."