Part 11 (1/2)

”You met the Patriot here not long since, did you not, Mr Kershaw?”

said Aletta, changing the subject with perfect ease.

”Which Patriot? There are so many patriots now,” he replied.

”Why, _the_ Patriot. The one from Pretoria, of course.”

”Andries Botma? Oh yes, I met him. We had some very interesting talk together. I had long wanted to see him.”

”But--but--you are not of us,” said the girl, looking up quickly from her work-basket.

”This little girl is a red-hot patriot, Colvin,” said Stepha.n.u.s, resting a large hand lightly upon the silky brown coil. ”But, to be serious, I hope this will all quiet down and find its level.”

”Of course; are we not all jolly good friends together, Stepha.n.u.s? We don't want to be at each other's throats at the bidding of other people.”

This remark brought Aletta up.

”But you said you had long wanted to meet the Patriot, Mr Kershaw. Why did you want to see him, then?”

”Because he is something unique--a really honest agitator. He means what he says and believes every word of it most thoroughly. He is full of _verve_ and fire--in a word, a strong man. His is an immensely striking personality.”

”Well done, well done,” cried Aletta, clapping her hands enthusiastically. ”I shall make a convert of you yet. Oh yes, I shall.”

It became bedtime. As she gave him his candle Colvin once more could not help being struck with the refined grace of Aletta's every movement--the soft, clear, thoroughbred tone of her voice. She seemed somehow to have been cast in a different mould from her sisters, to whom he had always pictured her as inferior both in looks and presence. It fairly puzzled him. The tones of her voice seemed to linger long after he had retired. He had had a long, tiring, exciting day--had undergone a very narrow escape for his life--which circ.u.mstance, by the way, he had not yet mentioned to his host, being desirous to sleep on it first, and having enjoined strict silence upon his retainer--yet, now that he should have dropped into a sound, recuperative slumber, he could not.

And the sole reason that he could not--as he must perforce admit to himself in the darkness and privacy of his chamber--was the recollection of this girl whom he had met but the first time that night--here, on a remote Dutch farm in the Wildschutsbergen. And she was ”only a Boer girl!”

CHAPTER TEN.

”IF--.”

”Well, child, and what do you think of 'our only Englishman'?” said Mrs De la Rey, as they were putting away the ”early coffee” things the following morning.

”I like him, mother,” replied Aletta. ”I oughtn't to because I have heard so much about him. That is sure to start one with a prejudice against anybody. Still, I think I shall. Oh, wasn't Tant' Plessis killing about 'the only Englishman' and 'the only English girl'? By the way, was there anything in it?”

”Don't ask me. _I_ don't know,” laughed her mother. ”Only he seemed a little too anxious to deny it. One can never tell. May Wenlock is a very pretty girl.”

”Is she? I never saw her. I remember Frank Wenlock--a good sort of boy, but something of a lout. Now, this one is ever so different.”

”_Oh, mijn Vaterland_!” grunted a voice from the armchair. ”There they are, jabbering English again--a tongue only fit for baboons.”

Mother and daughter looked round quickly, exchanged a meaning smile, and went on with their subject. They were accustomed to the old woman's growls, and took no more notice of them than if she had been a discontented child.

”Let's drive over and see the Wenlocks one day, mother,” said Aletta.

”I am curious to see the only English girl here. Besides, I shall be able to see in a moment whether there is really any fire beneath Tant'

Plessis' smoke. Yes--that will be great fun.”

”What sort of ideas have you brought back with you from Cape Town, child?” cried Mrs De la Rey, apparently shocked though really intensely amused.

”That's all right, old mother. I have become 'advanced'--in fact, down there everybody took me for an English girl. And I have learnt to ride a bicycle. No, really, I wish I had one here. Only imagine Tanta's face if I went skimming along the road there down to the gate and back on two wheels. Heavens, I believe it would kill her. She'd get a fit,”

And again that silvery peal rang out long and clear.