Nel smiled swiftly.
“Yes; you and I are drawn in. And if we have to pay the full price we shall consider the end worth the sacrifice. I recognise sincerity, Mr Matheson, when I meet it. From that first morning when you visited my rondavel I knew that we should be friends. I don’t know how deeply you are interested in South Africa, but if you live here long enough the land will grip you.”
“It grips me already,” Matheson said. “I am ready to help purchase the peace of this country without counting the cost.”
Nel’s eyes brightened with a sudden fire; his voice, quiet and controlled though it was, vibrated with a ring of triumph.
“Boer and Briton!” he said, and laughed quietly... “Boer and Briton! I would merge such distinctions in the comprehensive title of South African. To us—to you and to me—this land belongs by virtue of the reason that we live by it, and are willing to defend it with our lives. The land is our inheritance. Imperial claims concern me very little. A man who has a life’s lease of his homestead doesn’t take much account of the landlord. You haven’t come yet to feel that way?”
“No. I don’t suppose an Englishman ever does.” Matheson glanced at his watch. “I’ll have to be going,” he said, and laughed a little consciously. “I’ve an engagement for three, and am overdue now.”
He stood up. Nel rose with him. For a second or so they remained still in the path steadily regarding one another.
“I’m going to be married,” Matheson said abruptly—“in three weeks’ time.”
“Yes!” Nel’s gaze was searching. “I’m glad to hear it, Mr Matheson,” he said. “You are more fortunate than I. Is she English?”
“Yes... born out here. I hope some day you’ll meet her. But to-morrow I leave, as you know.”