She was of English parentage, married in early girlhood to a Boer farmer, and become mother of one daughter and six sons. Her husband had fallen with the handful at Jameson's Raid; two sons had with their life-blood helped on the British reverse at Modder River, one lay buried on the field at Elandslaagte, one at Magersfontein, one had been flung in the river at Jacobsdal, here was the sixth come home to her.
She turned from the bed a moment to her niece, the English-speaking girl, who had been a teacher in Johannesburg, but had come to her aunt for refuge at the beginning of the war, and remained as mainstay of the farm.
'Take those shrieking girls out of my hearing, Linda!' she said. 'Let no one come in to me.' She closed the door of the bedroom in their faces.
Linda turned away.
'I must get some hot drinks,' she said. 'Grandfather and the girls will take cold. Where are you going?'
'Oh, I'll get along now,' said Mortimer.
'Nonsense!' said the girl; 'you must dry yourself and eat and drink.' She moved towards the kitchen.
'Oh,' said Mortimer, 'I'd better go. Just think, I might have been one of the lot who knocked that poor chap over.'
'We cannot stay to think of that,' the girl answered. 'You helped us; you must stay till the storm is over.'
'But,' urged Mortimer again, 'how will she feel?' and he glanced at the closed bedroom door.