"Were you all the time at the Cape before coming up here, Miss Commerell?" began Moseley, as they found seats beneath the shade of a large fig-tree. "Yes. We remained on at Cogill's. It was rather fun. I think there was hardly a corner of the whole neighbourhood we didn't explore." "--With John Ames." The tone, slightly bantering, was thoroughly good-natured. Even one more touchy than Nidia Commerell could hardly have taken offence. But nothing was further from her thoughts. "You know him, then?" And the expressive face lighted up with genuine pleasure. "Not personally; only by name." "Then, how did you know--" "--About the explorations? The Cape Peninsula is a very gossipy place." "I suppose so. Most places are," said Nidia, tranquilly; "but that sort of thing never troubles me one little bit. Mr Ames lives somewhere up here, doesn't he? I wonder where he is now?" Cool and at ease they sat there chatting. Had she been a clairvoyante a vision might have been vouchsafed to Nidia--the vision of a man, crouching in a thicket of "wacht-een-bietje" thorns, his face and hands lacerated, his clothes torn--a hunted man, with the look of some recent horror stamped upon his pale, set face; the last degree of desperation, of despair, yet of resolution, shining from his eyes; his hand grasping a sword-bayonet, already foul with the dried stains of human blood; and flitting through the brake, their dark forms decked with cowhair and other fantastic adornments, glistening in the sun, a band of armed savages bent on the shedding of blood. But not being blessed--or the reverse--with the faculty of clairvoyance, all she did see was the eminently peaceful scene around her--the two men lazily smoking their pipes beneath the shade of the great tree, while the third moved about attending to some of the hundred and one details of his farm business; the figure of her hostess, her head protected by an ample white "kapje," coming forth to see that four of her young, disporting themselves in the open in front of the house, were not getting into more mischief than usual, and retiring precipitately within to assuage the yells of the fifth, and haply to attend to some household duty, "Where he is now?" repeated Moseley. "Why, he can't be far from here. He's Native Commissioner of Sikumbutana. I don't suppose his place can be more than twenty or twenty-two miles off. Eh, Dibs?" "About that," assented Tarrant, laconically. "I should so like to see him again," pursued Nidia. "Nothing easier, Miss Commerell. Get Hollingworth to send over a boy with a note, or a message to that effect, and I predict Ames will be here like a shot." "I'm sure he would," assented Nidia, in such a genuinely and naturally pleased tone as to set Tarrant the cynic, Tarrant the laconic, Tarrant the incipient admirer of herself, staring. "We were great friends down at the Cape, and made no end of expeditions together. Yes; I would like to see him again."