“Allan, my dear” (for she was really fond of me, and called me thus at times), “you didn’t take the advice I gave you, namely, to look for Pereira and not to find him.  Well, I will give you some more, which you will take if you are wise.”

“What is it?” I asked doubtfully; for, although she was upright enough in her own way, the Vrouw Prinsloo could bring herself to look at things in strange lights.  Like many other women, she judged of moral codes by the impulses of her heart, and was quite prepared to stretch them to suit circumstances or to gain an end which she considered good in itself.

“Just this, lad.  Do you make a two days’ march with Marie into the bush.  I want a little change, so I will come, too, and marry you there; for I have got a prayer-book, and can spell out the service if we go through it once or twice first.”

Now, the vision of Marie and myself being married by the Vrouw Prinsloo in the vast and untrodden veld, although attractive, was so absurd that I laughed.

“Why do you laugh, Allan?  Anyone can marry people if there is no one else there; indeed, I believe that they can marry themselves.”

“I dare say,” I answered, not wishing to enter into a legal argument with the vrouw.  “But you see, Tante, I solemnly promised her father that I would not marry her until she was of age, and if I broke my word I should not be an honest man.”

“An honest man!” she exclaimed with the utmost contempt; “an honest man!  Well, are Marais and Hernan Pereira honest men?  Why do you not cut your stick the same length as theirs, Allan Quatermain?  I tell you that your verdomde honesty will be your ruin.  You remember my words later on,” and she marched off in high dudgeon.

When she had gone I went to my wagons, where Hans was waiting for me with a detailed and interminable report of everything that had happened in my absence.  Glad was I to find that, except for the death of one sickly ox, nothing had gone wrong.  When at length he had ended his long story, I ate some food which Marie sent over for me ready cooked, for I was too tired to join any of the Boers that night.  Just as I had finished my meal and was thinking of turning in, Marie herself appeared within the circle of the camp-fire’s light.  I sprang up and ran to her, saying that I had not expected to see her that evening, and did not like to come to the house.

“No,” she answered, drawing me back into the shadows, “I understand.  My father seems very much upset, almost mad, indeed.  If the Vrouw Prinsloo’s tongue had been a snake’s fang, it could not have stung him worse.”

“And where is Pereira?” I asked.

“Oh! my cousin sleeps in the other room.  He is weak and worn out.  All the same, Allan, he wanted to kiss me.  So I told him at once how matters stood between you and me, and that we were to be married in six months.”

“What did he say to that?” I asked.