There followed soon a young lady--yes, a young lady in the wilderness, and the stamp of a gentlewoman was on her and on her mother. No adventitious ornaments of dress, or the absence of them, can give or take away this stamp; be it in the desert, or the court, the English gentlewoman, in humble garb or courtly robe, needs no herald to proclaim her position. Mother and daughter, in their simple costume of sober hue, were received by our two wanderers with all the courtesy they would have paid "To high-born dames in old ancestral halls." Ormsby was most agreeably surprised. Miss Daveney was of a charming height, had fine hair, a gentle voice and winning manner, with a little dash of coquetry, which in girlhood, as the result of innocence, is so bewitching. She admitted, that her alarm had been great, for the news from the colony was startling; her father, as the magistrate of the district, held a situation of difficulty and responsibility; the Kafirs had long been anxious for war, and within a few days, Mr Daveney had been informed, on good authority, that the Dutch in the upper part of the colony would not respond to the manifesto calling on them to assist in the defence of the colony: "in short," said she--clasping her pretty hands together, in an attitude of thankfulness, as she lifted her clear eyes, honest as her father's, to Ormsby--"we really have been in some perplexity, and nothing could be more opportune than your arrival. I confess, I had some dread of remaining in the wilderness--yet, what are we to do? My father must not desert his post; never were visitors more welcome." And Ormsby fancied--vain Ormsby!--that though the welcome was intended for both travellers, the smile was especially bestowed on him, and a very piquant smile it was. But, dear reader, this pretty, animated Marion Daveney is not my heroine; she is a fair, ingenuous creature, with sunny hair, and shining eyes, and fawnlike step; but methinks you will be more interested in Eleanor, who has not yet descended to meet the guests. Seated at the window of her little bed-room, she had sat looking out upon the misty night, forgetting that she was alone, and that darkness had fallen round her. It suited the mood of her stricken heart, veiled within the shadows that had been cast upon it, and doomed to remain there, as it seemed to her, for ever. Dim visions of childhood free from care, passed bird-like among flowers and sunlight, rose at times, and, like blue specks in a stormy sky, only made the clouds look heavier and nearer for the contrast. She rose, paced the chamber, re-seated herself strove to gain courage to join the family group--for she loved to please her father--but sunk down at the idea of encountering strange faces.