“Well, it was rather curious. I suppose you heard of the great disaster at that place with an awful name. Well, I was at a beastly hole called Helpmakaar, when a fellow came riding like anything from Rorke’s Drift, telling us what had happened, and that the Zulus were coming. So we all set to and worked like mad, and just as we had got the place a little fit for them, somebody shouted that he saw them coming. That was just as it was getting dark. I ran to the wall to look, and saw, not the Zulus, but a great big fellow carrying a dead fellow in his arms, followed by a Kafir leading three horses. At least, I thought the fellow was dead, but he wasn’t—he had been struck by lightning. We let him in; and such a sight as they were you never saw, all soaked with blood from top to toe!” “Ah! And how did they come like that?” “They were the only survivors of a volunteer corps called Alston’s Horse. They killed all the Zulus that were attacking them, when the Zulus had killed everybody except them. Then they came away, and the blind fellow—that is, Sir Ernest—got struck in a storm; fellows often do out there.” Eva put further questions, and listened with breathless interest to the story of Ernest’s and Jeremy’s wonderful escape, so far as the details were known to Mr. Jasper, quite regardless of the pitiless fire that young gentleman was keeping on herself through his eyeglass. At last, reluctantly enough, he rose to go. “I must be off now, Mrs. Plowden; I want to go and call on Sir Ernest at the hotel. He lent me a Derringer pistol to practise at a bottle with, and I forgot to give it back.” Eva turned the full battery of her beautiful eyes upon him. She saw that the young gentleman was struck, and determined to make use of him. Women are unscrupulous when they have an end in view. “I am so sorry you must go; but I hope you will come and see me again, and tell me some more about the war and the battles.” “You are very kind,” he stammered. “I shall be delighted.” He did not think it necessary to add that he had not had the luck to see a shot fired himself. Why should he? “By the way, if you are going to see Sir Ernest, do you think you could give him a private message from me? I have a reason for not wishing it to be overheard.” “O yes, I daresay I can. Nothing would give me greater pleasure.” “You are very good.” Another glance. “Will you tell him that I wish he would take a fly and come to see me? I shall be in all this afternoon.” A pang of jealousy shot through the cherubic bosom, but he comforted himself with the reflection that a fine woman like that could not care for a “blind fellow.” “O, certainly, I will try.” “Thank you;” and she extended her hand.