She saw me and stood still, then opened her arms and clasped me to her breast, uttering no word.  A while later she spoke almost in a whisper, saying: 

“Allan, I must not stay long, for I think that if my father found us together, he would shoot you in his madness.”

Now as always it was of me she thought, not of herself.

“And you, my sweet?” I asked.

“Oh!” she answered, “that matters nothing.  Except for the sin of it I wish he would shoot me, for then I should have done with all this pain.  I told you, Allan, when the Kaffirs were on us yonder, that it might be better to die; and see, my heart spoke truly.”

“Is there no hope?” I gasped.  “Will he really separate us and take you away into the wilderness?”

“Certainly, nothing can turn him.  Yet, Allan, there is this hope.  In two years, if I live, I shall be of full age, and can marry whom I will; and this I swear, that I will marry none but you, no, not even if you were to die to-morrow.”

“I bless you for those words,” I said.

“Why?” she asked simply.  “What others could I speak?  Would you have me do outrage to my own heart and go through life faithless and ashamed?”

“And I, I swear also,” I broke in.

“Nay, swear nothing.  While I live I know that you will love me, and if I should be taken, it is my wish that you should marry some other good woman, since it is not well or right that man should live alone.  With us maids it is different.  Listen, Allan, for the cocks are beginning to crow, and soon there will be light.  You must bide here with your father.  If possible, I will write to you from time to time, telling you where we are and how we fare.  But if I do not write, know that it is because I cannot, or because I can find no messenger, or because the letters have miscarried, for we go into wild countries, amongst savages.”

“Whither do you go?” I asked.

“I believe up towards the great harbour called Delagoa Bay, where the Portuguese rule.  My cousin Hernan, who accompanies us”—­and she shivered a little in my arms—­“is half Portuguese.  He tells the Boers that he has relations there who have written him many fine promises, saying they will give us good country to dwell in where we cannot be followed by the English, whom he and my father hate so much.”

“I have heard that is all fever veld, and that the country between is full of fierce Kaffirs,” I said with a groan.

“Perhaps.  I do not know, and I do not care.  At least, that is the notion in my father’s head, though, of course, circumstances may change it.  I will try to let you know, Allan, or if I do not, perhaps you will be able to find out for yourself.  Then, then, if we both live and you still care for me, who will always care for you, when I am of age, you will join us and, say and do what they may, I will marry no other man.  And if I die, as may well happen, oh! then my spirit shall watch over you and wait for you till you join me beneath the wings of God.  Look, it grows light.  I must go.  Farewell, my love, my first and only love, till in life or death we meet again, as meet we shall.”