“O Rosebud, sweet and small Rosebud!” he commenced, addressing her in Zulu, of which, needless to say, she understood not one word, “why do you come and take my father’s hand out of my hand? Is not Mazimba my father blind, and am I not his dog, his old dog, to lead him in his blindness? Why do you take his bone from a dog?” “What is the man saying?” asked Dorothy. “He is offended because you come to lead me; he says that he is my dog, and that you snatch his bone from him: A pretty sort of bone indeed!” he added. “Tell him,” said Dorothy, “that here in this country I hold your hand. What does he want? Is he not always with you? Does he not sleep across your door? What more does he want?” Ernest translated her reply. “Ow!” said the Zulu, with a grunt of dissatisfaction. “He is a faithful fellow, Doll, and has stood by me for many years; you must not vex him.” But Dorothy, after the manner of loving women, was tenacious of what she considered _her_ rights. “Tell him that he can walk in front,” she said, putting on an obstinate little look—and she could look obstinate when she liked. “Besides,” she added, “he cannot be trusted to lead you. I am sure he was tipsy last night.” Ernest translated the first remark only—into the latter he did not care to inquire, for the Zulu vowed that he could never understand Dorothy’s English, and Mazooku accepted the compromise. Thus for awhile the difference was patched up. Sometimes Dorothy and Ernest would go out riding together; for, blind as he was, Ernest could not be persuaded to give up his riding. It was a pretty sight to see them; Ernest mounted on his towering black stallion, “The Devil,” which in his hands was as gentle as a lamb, but with everybody else fully justified his appellation, and Dorothy on a cream-coloured cob Mr. Cardus had given her, holding in her right hand a steel guiding-rein linked to “The Devil’s” bit. In this way they would wander all over the country-side, and sometimes, when a good piece of turf presented itself, even venture on a sharp canter. Behind them Mazooku rode as groom, mounted on a stout pony, with his feet stuck, Zulu fashion, well out at right-angles to his animal’s side. They were a strange trio. And so from week’s end to week’s end Dorothy was ever by Ernest’s side, reading to him, writing for him, walking and riding with him, weaving herself into the substance of his life. And at last there came one sunny August day, when they were sitting together in the shade of the chancel of Titheburgh Abbey. It was a favourite spot of theirs, for the gray old walls sheltered them from the glare of the sun and the breath of the winds. It was a spot, too, rich in memories of the dead past, and a pleasant place to sit. Through the gaping window-places came the murmur of the ocean and the warmth of the harvest sunshine; and gazing out by the chancel doorway, Dorothy could see the long lights of the afternoon dance and sparkle on the emerald waves.