"Tell me about her... her name, and where she lives," Mrs Krige said presently, without turning round. "You know I'm interested. I always hoped that--that something of the sort would happen." She faced about and came back to the bed and sat down beside it. "I wish I knew her. Help me to know her through you... Talk to me about her. If you describe her I shall have a picture of her in my mind." The pleasant eyes bent upon him were so kind and inviting of confidence; the voice, asking for details of the girl he was so soon to marry, expressed such real sympathy and understanding, that Matheson found himself confiding in her fully the story of his engagement and the events which had led up to it. He painted the worth of his little fiancee in no mean colours, and admitted his own good fortune in having won the most priceless of all possessions, a good woman's earnest love. But he did not speak of his own love. Possibly the mother of Honor understood that for him the shadow of the past lay darkly yet across the sunlit prospect of this later love, and, lingering, obscured the brightness of the newly won happiness in the gloom of unforgettable things. But no shadow hovers eternally in life's sky: the darkest clouds must pass. He told her of Brenda's home life, and touched upon the sadness of her girlhood, and the plucky fight she was putting up when he met her. "She's such a brave, bright little soul," he finished. "I want to make up to her if I can for the things she's missed. I'm going to devote my life to that end. Only sometimes I doubt..." He broke off and moved restlessly on the pillow, and looked up to discover the kind, comprehending eyes scrutinising him attentively, and flushed beneath their gaze. "She's such a capital chum," he said. "I'm not really worthy of her." "Oh! I think she stands a fair chance of being very happy," Mrs Krige observed with conviction. "And from what you have told me, I should say you have been fortunate enough to discover the right woman. A big nature and a warm heart comprise a generous dowry. I would like to meet her." He looked pleased. "Yes," he said; "you would like her. Perhaps, some day--when all this beastly fuss is over..." He put out his unhurt arm and took her hand. "It's such a pitiful mistake," he muttered. "Why did you let him join?" She shook her head. "It was not my doing," she answered. "Andreas felt the call. Life leads us whither we must go. When a person has something taken from him which he prizes, he endeavours to recover what he has lost. That is how it is with us." "But it isn't any sort of use," he urged. "Besides, it is only a nominal loss. The country belongs to the people who live in it. Ask Herman Nel. They won't succeed, you know--Andreas, and the others." "God knows!" she answered. "General de Wet will never rest until he has hoisted the flag in Pretoria. They are brave men, and they have right on their side."