It was a bright autumn day in Kafirland. Eleanor was borne out into the garden. They laid her on a couch on the sunny side of the cottage; the lime-trees and acacias met over her head. May had shaped them into a bower; they were the remains of a grove planted on the spot by some poor colonist, who had been long since driven by the savage from his homestead. The cheek of the invalid had resumed its marble hue, the eyes shone less brightly, the fever had abated. The morning was delicious,--it reminded one of June in England; the canaries were singing their last summer melodies, and the swallows trilled their farewell lays to Kafirland. Below the willow bank, the stream murmured with a sound that pleased the ear and refreshed the senses. Eleanor had been told by her father that her husband had again eluded justice. By a tacit agreement, the convict's name was never referred to. All hoped alike that he would never more occupy a prominent position in the world, and the patient wife, daily praying for strength to support her in her trials, daily grew more resigned. She longed to get away to some quiet nook, and be at rest. She leaned on her mother's bosom--Mrs Daveney was devoted to this sad daughter now. A faint colour tinged the sufferer's wan cheek, the soft air lifted the dark braids from the temples: how tense they were! What a picture of desolation she presented--that young, intelligent, graceful, desolate being! Mr Trail was reading, His wife working, the little Trails were watching the antics of May, who was dancing for their amusement, after making herds of clay oxen for them. Marion and Ormsby were walking up and down, talking earnestly, for both had grown more serious of late; and Mr Daveney was superintending the irrigation of his garden, when the quietude of the party was disturbed by a message summoning Mr Trail to his cottage, which, it will be remembered, was only separated by a lane from the Daveneys' home. Presently there was a clatter of arms, and the steady tread of soldiers; then the guard passed by--it soon re-appeared, bringing with them the young prisoner Gray. Mr Trail walked by his side. The party passed close to the garden fence--Gray, though handcuffed, contrived to salute the compassionate people, who had in many ways softened the miseries of his confinement.