A Secret of the Lebombo - Bertram Mitford

“Well, Lalanté, that is a startler,” said Wyvern, when he had concluded. “Why this is no other than that unmitigated ruffian who gave us such a lot of trouble up there. When we saw no more of him after finding the stuff, Joe and I of course took for granted the Usutus had managed to get hold of him again. Well I thoroughly agree with the Gydisdorp rag—if ever a scoundrel richly deserved hanging it was our old acquaintance Bully Rawson.”

“I should think so from what you’ve told me of him alone,” assented Lalanté. “But it is very sad about poor Mr Warren. Come dear, let’s get through the letters and go out again. The evening is going to be perfectly divine.”

There is an element of self about most phases of happiness, and notably about that called Love. They wandered forth, these two, and in the joys and glories of the radiant evening, outer misfortune soon became dimmed in the all absorbing happiness of being together again and together for all time. But they had gone through much.

The End.