"Eustace--dearest--must we really part now?" she murmured in a broken sob, clinging to him more closely. "First of all, take this," slipping a small, flat, oblong packet into his hand. "Open it--read it--when you are on your way. I got it ready, thinking we should have no opportunity of being alone together again. And now, love--dear, dear love-- good-bye. Heaven bless you--no, I must not say that, I am too wicked. It would be of no avail coming from me--" "I say, Milne! Are you coming along with us or are you not?" roared Hoste again from his front door. "Because if not, just kindly say so." "You are under no precise necessity to cause the dead to rise, are you, Hoste?" said Eustace tranquilly, a couple of minutes later, as they stepped within the light of the windows. "Because, if you had whispered I should have heard you just as well. As it is, you have about woke up the whole of British Kaffraria, and we shall have the sentries opening fire upon the _veldt_ at large in a minute. There--there goes the Police bugle already." "Don't care a hang. We are waiting to start. Here come the horses. Now--Good-bye, everyone, and hurrah for old Kreli!" A couple of native stable-hands appeared, leading three horses, saddled and bridled. Then there was a good deal of tumultuous leave-taking between Hoste and his family circle, mingled with sniffling and handkerchiefs, and of quieter farewells as concerned the rest of the party. But the torn heart of one in that group suffered in silence. Eanswyth's sweet, proud face was marvellously self-possessed. "Extraordinary creatures, women," said Payne, as the three men rode out of the settlement. "I believe they positively enjoy the fun of a good snivel. It's just the same with my own crowd. When I left home I was obliged to send a note by a boy to say `ta-ta' to escape it all, don't you know." Hoste guffawed. It was just the sort of thing that George Payne, philosopher and cynic, would do. "Some few of them are sensible, though," went on the latter, flaring up a vesuvian to light his pipe. "Mrs Carhayes, for instance. She don't make any fuss, or turn on the hose. Takes things as they come--as a rational person should." Hoste guffawed again. "Now, George, who the very deuce should she make a fuss over or turn on the hose for?" he said. "You or me, for instance. Eh?" "N-no, I suppose not. Milne, perhaps. He's a sort of brother or cousin or something, isn't he?" If Eustace had felt disposed to resent this kind of free-and-easiness he forebore, and that for two reasons. He liked the speaker, who, withal, was something of an original, and therefore a privileged person, and again the very carelessness of the remark of either man showed that no suspicion as to his secret had found place in their minds--a matter as to which he had not been without a misgiving a few minutes back.