Bang!—crash! followed by loud howls of “Wilhelmina, my wife! Ah, the cruel man has killed my Wilhelmina!” “Heavens, it is that lunatic German! Here, orderly, run up to the Defence Committee and the Government offices, and tell them that it is nothing; they will think the Zulus are here. Tell two men to bring the man in here, and to stop his howls.” Presently Ernest’s old friend of the High Veldt, looking very wild and uncouth in the lamplight, with his long beard and matted hair, from which the rain was dripping, was bundled rather unceremoniously into the room. “Ah, there you are, dear sir; it is two—three years since we meet. I look for you everywhere, and they tell me you are here, and I come on quick all through the dark and the rain; and then before I know if I am on my head or my heel, the cruel man he ups a rifle, and do shoot my Wilhelmina, and make a great hole through her poor stomach. O sir, wat shall I do?” and the great child began to shed tears; “you, too, will weep: you, too, love my Wilhelmina, and sleep with her one night—bo-hoo!” “For goodness’ sake, stop that nonsense! This is no time or place for such fooling.” He spoke sharply, and the monomaniac pulled up, only giving vent to an occasional sob. “Now, what is your business with me?” The German’s face changed from its expression of idiotic grief to one of refined intelligence. He glanced towards Jeremy, who was exploding in the corner. “You can speak before this gentleman, Hans,” said Ernest. “Sir, I am going to say a strange thing to you this night.” He was speaking quite quietly and composedly now, and might have been mistaken for a sane man. “Sir, I hear that you go down to Zululand to help to fight the fierce Zulus. When I hear it, I was far away, but something come into my head to travel as quick as Wilhelmina can, and come and tell you not to go.” “What do you mean?” “How can I say what I do mean? This I know—many shall go down to Zululand who rest in this house to-night, few shall come back.” “You mean that I shall be killed?” “I know not. There are things as bad as death, and yet not death.” He covered his eyes with his hand, and continued: “I cannot _see_ you dead, but do not go; I pray you do not go.” “My good Hans, what is the good of coming to me with such an old wives’ tale? Even if it were true, and I knew that I must be killed twenty times, I should go. I cannot run away from my duty.” “That is spoken as a brave man should,” answered his visitor, in his native tongue. “I have done _my_ duty, and told you what Wilhelmina said. Now go, and when the black men are leaping up at you like the sea-waves round a rock, may the God of Rest guide your hand, and bring you safe from the slaughter!” Ernest gazed at the old man’s pale face; it wore a curious rapt expression, and the eyes were looking upwards.