him all the mountain air he could swallow and all the sunshine he could “soak in.” I couldn’t make the man out at all. He had the monumental dignity of our policemen, but he talked to me exactly as if I were his equal, and, as he had no thought of taking a liberty, with no offensive familiarity. And yet he certainly was not a gentleman working for his living; just a plain, ordinary--well, I suppose the word American will do as well as any other. All the Americans I have met think a jolly lot of themselves, and I suppose my policeman was one of the finer flowers of the Declaration of Independence. After he had helped us into the train he shook hands with me and said he’d look forward to seeing me again on my way back. “I knew you were English the moment I set eyes on you,” he said, “and I thought by your looks you were very proud, and high-and-mighty, but the minute you spoke I seen you were just as nice as nice could be, and I’m glad to have done what I could for you.” As the train moved out of the station I bowed to him and he touched his helmet with his club like an officer saluting. Now what do _you_ make of him? There’s not a soul up here yet but ourselves; so you’ll doubtless be inflicted with another letter in a day or two. I must go and read to Bertie. He is swinging in a hammock on the front veranda in the sun and _does_ seem so much better. The mornings and nights are cold, but for several hours during the day the sun is heavenly, and one feels so close to it up here. You, too, are a lone figure, not on a mountain but on a moor, and dreadfully _ennuyée_, I fear; so relieve your loneliness after my fashion and write to me often. I know that you have some one else to write to--alas! that I have not--but heaven knows you must have time for us both. What a thousand pities Freddy could not have died a glorious death rescuing some one from the lions when they were walking the streets of Umtali, or trying to assassinate Mr. Kruger. I am not blood-thirsty, but we all have to die some time, and Freddy _is_ so wicked, and has made you so unhappy, and there _is_ such a chance of happiness for you, and I do so hate to think of you in a divorce court with all the world reading the hateful particulars. Well, it is all on the knees of the gods. Bertie sends you his love, and I send you all of mine you have not already. HELEN. Letter II _From the Lady_ HELEN POLE _to the Countess of_ EDGE _and_ ROSS. _Boulder Lake_, June 18th