“Ah!” She let her hands drop in her lap, and looked straight before her. “And what of my father?”
“Colonel de Anstrade lost his life in the attack upon the Castle, whilst gallantly leading a sortie on the Government troops. He died like a soldier.”
There was a long silence. She made a sign of the Cross, but gave way to no storm of weeping, being dulled by the force of grief. Presently a sister stole to her side, and they withdrew, going back to the little town to await the arrival of the steamer from Cape Town, which was reported due within two days.
Before that time, while they thought of returning for the last time to the convent, a cart drew up before the small hotel, and out of it stepped Miss Anstrade herself.
“You see,” she said, with a wan smile, “I have recovered, and since you have not been to call on me, I have come to you.”
“We were just about setting off, having waited for certain information of the steamer. If the good sisters had allowed it, we would have remained near you all the time.”
“Ay, kept watch and watch without the walls; and every night we strolled to the fort to see the distant light on the Convent Tower. If there was anything amiss with you, the sister agreed to show two lights, when we’d have posted off.”
“So you did not forget me, then?” she said, with one of her old radiant smiles.
“No more than the sailor could forget the lone star by which he steers in the dark night.”
“We have your luggage ready, Miss Anstrade,” said Hume, after handing her to a seat on the balcony, “and we are ready to go with you to England.”