"No, it was not the arming of the natives. Their forces were more scattered, for they were chiefly employed in guarding the railway lines, in protecting stock and guarding block-houses. Though their addition to the British ranks undoubtedly weakened our strength to some extent, their inborn respect for the Boer would have prevented them from ever rendering valuable services to the English. How we laughed, my sister and I, when, on the railway journey from Pretoria to Cape Town, we saw the line patrolled by hundreds of these natives, with gun in hand, stark naked except for a loin-cloth and a bandolier! So much waste of ammunition! No, the arming of the natives would have been the last thing to induce the Boers to surrender." "Then it seems to me incomprehensible! surely death were preferable to defeat!" "Yes, a thousand times; but you forget the National Scouts--the Judas-Boers. _They_ broke our strength. Not by their skill in the use of arms, not by their knowledge of our country and our methods--no!" "They broke our strength by breaking our ideals, by crushing our enthusiasm, by robbing us of our inspiration, our faith, our hope----" With averted eyes, and seemingly groping for one last ray of light, the man continued: "But where were your heroes--your heroes of Magersfontein, Spion Kop, and Colenso?" "Where were our heroes?" the girl echoed bitterly. "In their graves--in our hospitals--in captivity! Ever foremost in the field--one--by one--they fell---- 'But the remnant that is escaped of the house of Israel shall again take root downward and bear fruit upward.' "Although, under the shadow of this great national calamity, we cannot see it now, there is hope for our sad South Africa. It is too soon to speak of a united race, but the time will surely come when, in the inter-marriage of our children and our children's children, will be formed a nation great and strong and purified." Through all those weeks our heroine never slept. It seems incredible that the frail form of a girl should be endowed with so great a power of endurance, and that the human mind can stand the strain of smiling self-control by day, abandonment of grief by night. Those nearest to her, divining something of what she was passing through, lavished countless proofs of tender sympathy on her, innumerable acts of loving care for her personal comfort, and well-thought-out plans for drawing her away from herself into the charmed circle of the B---- Labouchere house. And when her marriage-day drew near she turned away with a superficial glance at the array of costly presents, to devour once again the cables from South Africa, the telegrams from her Generals, the letter and the photograph of her beloved President, inscribed in his illegible hand, "For services rendered during the late war."