“Hallo, Marshall! Where have you dropped from?”
“Oh, I’ve just been making a round. I’m going home now. Won’t you come round by my place, and rest a bit? ’Tisn’t far. No? Ah, well, it’s hardly worth your while, perhaps, so near home.” For honest Joe could see pretty plainly that the two would prefer his room to his company, though they had conscientiously, at least, suffered no indication of such preference to escape them. “How are the Paynes?”
“Flourishing. Any news?”
“N-no. Kreli won’t meet the Governor. Says he’s sick. But that’s all an excuse, you know.”
“Yes; we heard that. Anything fresh?”
“N-no,” said Marshall again, with a dubious glance towards Lilian. “Nothing certain, at least. Some more fellows round me gone into laager, that’s all.”
“H’m. I’m inclined to think with Payne, that the scare’s all bosh,” said Claverton. “Look at the one four years ago. That all ended in smoke. Why shouldn’t this?”
Lilian, too, remembered that time; nor was she ever likely to forget it. A soft light came into her eyes, and she wished mightily that Marshall was not with them.
“Well, I dunno,” rejoined that worthy. “It may, and it mayn’t. We shall see, and very soon. Why, who’s this?”
They looked up. The track they had been following merged into a waggon-road, and about a hundred yards in front of them stood a low thatched building. It was a native trading-store. Not this, however, but the sight of a characteristic group, drew forth the remark. Seated on the ground, with his back against the wall, was a Kafir, an old man, with a full white beard, and a face which might have been at one time pleasing and intelligent. A blanket was thrown over his shoulders, and his lower limbs were encased in a pair of ancient trousers, from whose tattered extremities projected his bare, dusty feet, one of which was deformed. He was surrounded by a group of his compatriots; some in European attire, others in blankets only, and red with ochre; some sitting, some standing, some running in and out, but all jabbering.