What was this thing called love, that it should upset reason, and possess the brain to the exclusion of all other things. In the travail of his soul Warren recognised that he was standing on the brink of a pit. By just the exceptional strength of his mind and will did this obsession become the more dangerous should his new-found hopes melt into air, and, realising this, he realised also that it might soon be time to “set his house in order.” For the fate of his former friend he felt no compunction whatever, for “jealousy is cruel as the grave.”
Chapter Twenty Six.
Warren’s News.
“But when will the Baas be back, Klein Missis? Whenever will the Baas be back?”
“Oh, how I wish I knew, Old Sanna,” answered Lalanté with a sad smile. Her smile had been growing rather sad of late, since week had been following upon week, and still bringing no word from the absent one. Could it mean that he was on his way back? She dared not hope so.
“And these Zulu menschen, Klein Missis—are they more schelm than our Kafirs here? No but, that could never be. There’s Sixpence, he who slaag-ed the sheep. The Baas ought to have had him flogged or taken to the tronk, yet he does neither, but lets him go as if nothing had happened Oh goieje!”
“And Sixpence has been a very good boy ever since, Old Sanna.”
The old woman grunted, then went on: