Part 84 (1/2)

”A rumour is afloat in camp that the missing officer is alive, but a prisoner; and that a missionary, supposed to be Rev Swaysland, of Mount Ararat Station, is also in the hands of the rebels. This seems probable, as the body of the Dutchman has been found, headless and terribly mutilated, near the brow of a high krantz; but there was no sign of the others. The rumour originated with a native, who has since disappeared. He says that the missing men will be taken to Sandili.”

Hardly had Lilian left the shop when a young man, with a pen stuck behind his ear, emerged from an inner office. With three strides he gained the front door, and stood staring after her for a moment down the street. Then he turned back.

”Jones, what did that lady want?” he asked, in a tone of concern.

”S'mornin's paper, and latest telegram,” replied the boy, laconically, and somewhat defiantly, as he went on folding his papers.

”And you gave it her?”

”Yes,” still more defiantly. ”She asked for it.”

”You egregious jacka.s.s?”

”What for?” said the boy, indignantly. ”If a party asks for the paper, ain't I to sell it?” He evidently thought his superior was drunk.

”Look at that, Jones,” said the latter, tapping the telegraphic slip impressively with his pen. ”What's that about--eh?”

”I see it. It's about an officer killed at the front. Why, that's just the very thing the lady wanted to see,” replied the boy, brightening up.

”Yes. Quite so, you infernal young fool. She's his sweetheart.”

”O Lord!” And the boy, dropping the paper he was folding, stood gazing at his superior the very picture of open-mouthed horror.

”Yes, it is 'Lord,'” said the latter, with a gloomy shake of the head.

”Well, the mischief's done now, anyway;” and he retired into his den with a feeling of intense and real pity for the beautiful, sad-looking girl who had so often called at the office for telegrams from the seat of war. The boy was a new hand, and had not known who she was.

How Lilian got home was a mystery. She just remembered staggering in at the doorway, and then nothing more until she awoke to find herself upon her bed with Annie Payne bathing her forehead. No need had there been to ask what the matter was--the printed slip which she held clutched in her hand spoke for itself.

A shudder of returning consciousness, an inquiring look around, and then the dread remembrance burst upon her.

”Oh, Arthur!” she wailed forth, in a despairing, bitter moan, ”you are dead, love, and I--why do I still live?” and the tears rushed forth as her frame shook beneath its weight of sobbing woe.

”Hush, dear!” whispered Annie. ”It does not say that, you know; it says he is a prisoner, and he may have escaped by now, or been rescued.

While there is life there is hope.”

Something in the idea seemed suddenly to strike her. Starting up, she pressed her hand against her brows.

”So there is! Hope, hope! He is not dead. We must rescue him;” and with a new-born determination, Lilian rose and walked towards the door.

Her hostess stared at her with a vague misgiving. Had this shock turned her brain?

”Mr Payne,” said Lilian, quite calmly, as she entered the sitting-room, ”what can we do?”

Payne, who was busy buckling on a pair of stout riding gaiters, looked up, no less astonished than his wife had been. A cartridge-belt, well stocked, lay on a chair, and just then Sam entered with a gun which he had been wiping out.

”Do? Well, I'm going to start off at once for Brathwaite's camp and see what can be done. But cheer up, Miss Lilian. We may bring our friend out of his troubles all right enough. While there's life there's hope, you know.”