He caught hold of her hands and made her stand still. They had reached a spot where the pomegranates hid them from view of the stoep.
“Do you hear, Chrissie? I love you, and I want to marry you.”
“Marry an Englishman?” she cried violently. “Never. It would break my father’s heart—and mine too.” With a quick movement she wrenched her hands away and fled from him. He turned very pale and stood staring after her, his mouth set in a grim line.
Returned to the stoep, Chrissie found Carol Uys seated there talking to her father. It transpired that they had already arranged a deal by which Carol was to take back the pair of bays (with a mule thrown in) at the same price as he had sold. The old man said he no longer needed them to take him to kerk. He would never enter a kerk again he avowed.
Carol and Chrissie shook hands and she went indoors where he presently followed her, for old Retief had fallen once more into absorbed reverie.
“Chrissie,” said the young Dutchman, “the war will soon be on now. Old Oom Paul Kruger has defied the rooi-neks, and we are to fight.”
“Yes, Carol,” said she, listlessly arranging the coffee cups.
“I shall be off on commands, at the first call.”
“You think there will be fighting in this district too?”
“If there isn’t, I shall make for the Transvaal.”