Into the fun and frolic of the occasion Eanswyth entered with zest. She had laughed until she nearly cried over the hundred-and-one comic little incidents inseparable from this scene of universal jollity. Even the boldest flights of wit attempted during the multifold and promiscuous good-byes interchanged had moved her mirth. But it was the light, effervescing, uncontrollable laughter of the heart. The genial, careless jests of the light-hearted crowd, the good humour on every face, found its echo in her. In the unclouded blue of the heavens, the golden sunlit air, there seemed a vibrating chord of joyous melody, a poetry in the sweeping plains, even in the red lines of ochre-smeared savages filing along the narrow tracks leading to or from their respective locations. Her heart sang within her as once more the horses' heads were turned homeward. Any hour now might bring _him_. Why, by the time they reached home _he_ might have arrived, or at any rate an express hurried on in advance to announce the arrival of the corps by nightfall. "Rangers arrived?" repeated in reply to Mrs Hoste's eager question, one of two acquaintances whom they met upon the road when within a mile of the village. "N-no, not yet. They can't be far off, though. Three or four of their men have come in--Shelton among them." "Oh, thanks, so much!" cried both the ladies, apparently equally eager. "We had better get on as soon as we can. Good-day." In the fullness of her joy, the clouded expression and hesitating speech accompanying the information had quite escaped Eanswyth--nor had it struck her friend either. Then laughing and chatting in the highest of spirits, they had driven past the conversing groups upon the _stoep_ of the hotel, as we have seen. The trap had been outspanned, and the horses turned loose into the _veldt_. The household were about to sit down to dinner. Suddenly the doorway was darkened and a head was thrust in--a black and dusty head, surmounted by the remnant of a ragged hat. "Morrow, missis!" said the owner of this get-up, holding out a scrap of paper folded into a note. Mrs Hoste opened it carelessly--then a sort of gasp escaped her, and her face grew white. "Where--where is your _Baas_!" she stammered. "_La pa_," replied the native boy, pointing down the street. Flurried, and hardly knowing what she was about, Mrs Hoste started to follow the messenger. Eanswyth had gone to her room to remove her hat, fortunately. "Oh, Mr Shelton--is it true?" she cried breathlessly, coming right upon the sender of the missive, who was waiting at no great distance from the house. "Is it really true? Can it be? What awful news! Oh, it will kill her! What shall we do?"