“Looking after itself,” Nel answered with a shrug. “I’ve come away to defend it. Leentje imagines she is seeing after things while Cornelius is engaged in espousing the German cause.” His face was grave. “Come into the Gardens here, and sit down and let us talk.”
Matheson accompanied him in silence and sat down with him on a seat near the entrance. Nel looked hard at him, looked from his face to his clothes; and Matheson felt that the shrewd eyes were mutely inquiring why he also was not in uniform.
“I’ve been in Cape Town only a few days,” Nel volunteered. “I’m following Botha wherever he leads. His lead is straight always, and for the good of the country. Cornelius can’t see that—yet.”
“So he has joined the rebellion?” Matheson said.
“Yes. He’s with his commando—and Andreas Krige. They have joined Maritz. It’s a bad business. One cannot help feeling sorry for men who deliberately cut their own throats. There is a sort of predestination in it.”
“And what,” Matheson asked quickly, “are they doing at Benfontein?”
Nel shook his head.
“I’ve not been received at Benfontein since the beginning of August,” he said. “My engagement is terminated—temporarily.” He smiled in his old whimsical way. “The outlook is dark at the moment; but always I look forward to the dawn of a to-morrow. And now tell me about yourself. You are remaining outside all this?”
His voice was puzzled; there was a ring, Matheson fancied, of disapproval behind its surprise. He took up his own defence eagerly.
“No, indeed!” he answered. “Who could remain outside? ... Certainly no one with any interest beyond his own immediate affairs. I intend to volunteer for service in Europe.”