"Well, of course, it's all according to the point of view," he conceded. "But Botha is a brave man--and Herman Nel. They too have right on their side. It's a sad business when there is division in the household." "Yes," she admitted, and glanced involuntarily at the bandages upon the table, and sighed. "Each war that befalls lays a foundation for the next. Men don't consider the ties of blood when the question of fighting arises." "And women cease to consider the claims of love in like circumstance," he returned grimly. She had no difficulty in following his meaning. Her face clouded momentarily. "That depends largely on the woman's outlook on life," she answered. "With some women love is all-satisfying; but the woman with the highest conception of love does not allow her ideals of life to be dominated by passion. It is not always the woman who loves least who puts love outside her life. But--you've talked enough." She got up abruptly and returned to the table and her former occupation. "If I allow you to discuss these matters, your temperature will run up, and I shall be blamed." "Blamed by whom?" he asked. She bent her head lower over her work and answered quietly: "Both my daughters have been through a course of hospital training." "In preparation for this rebellion?" he suggested with a touch of irritation in his tones. "In preparation for the rising of their people," she replied with a gentle dignity of manner that rebuked his anger. He made no answer, but lay still in a thoughtful silence and watched her while she worked. CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. The day wore slowly away. No one visited the rondavel. Although he knew the wish to be preposterous, Matheson nevertheless felt a strong desire to see Honor. He did not want to talk to her; he merely wished to see her. He would have been satisfied had she entered to confer with her mother, and left again without paying any heed to him--had she even passed the open door so that he might, unseen, have watched her go by. But Honor did not come. Butter Tom appeared at regular intervals, moving with unnecessary caution on tip-toe, his bare feet, always noiseless, making no sound on the smooth floor. He brought food for Mrs Krige, and soup for the sick baas, and laid and cleared the table with surprising swiftness and care. Butter Tom's mind was troubled with regard to the baas' accident. He felt himself blameworthy in having failed to keep guard. But the young missis with the face that was like a lily in the moonlight had sent him with a message to the farm. He had not liked to refuse to do her bidding: now he wished that he had refused. His own baas when he returned would be displeased with him, and the sick baas would reproach him; there would be no tobacco and no more good English money for him.