Jack blushed red with pleasure, and his chest swelled and his heart beat with pride and hope, for, young though he was, since he had met Eileen Russel his thoughts had dwelt continuously upon her. Had he been at home, perhaps it would have been ridiculous folly; but for months now he had been doing man’s work, and doing it well too,—work which required strength and pluck, and which moreover brought him at any hour of the day face to face with a sudden death. No wonder then that, sobered down from the usual impulsive rashness of a boy, our hero had thought seriously of Eileen. Many a time, as he lay in Pretoria suffering from his wound, had he wondered how she was, and whether she ever gave a thought to him. Sometimes he felt certain she did, and then at others the fear that it was some other—someone older and more of a man than he—turned his heart sick, and made the hopes which were now beginning to gain ground disappear in an instant. But they would return again, and as he had ridden towards Kimberley that day they had been surging through his heart, and he had determined to see Eileen, if she were yet alive, and ask the question for himself.
As if in a dream he sluiced his head and hands with water, and tidied his hair before a small, angular piece of cracked glass, a process which he had scarcely troubled about for many weeks. Then he followed Wilfred and Tom out of the bomb chamber and along the trench towards the Russels’ quarters, feeling every yard he went more and more like a lamb going to the slaughter.
Had he but known it, there was no reason for his fears. A minute later all three had dived down into another subterranean chamber, and before Jack had had time to notice that it was neatly carpeted, and provided with chairs, and a table upon which a clean white cloth and glasses were laid, there was a joyful shout, and Frank Russel had seized him by the hand, while Eileen, looking pale, but more beautiful than ever, had stepped towards him, hesitated, and then, with a radiant blush and a cry which was half-laugh, half-sob, had thrown herself into his arms, and had embraced him as if he were a long-lost brother.
Jack was a bashful lad, and at any other time would have been covered with confusion. But now it was different. Eileen was truly glad to see him, and he returned her kisses with an impetuosity which surprised himself. A few seconds later he was himself again, and being eagerly questioned.
“Tell us how it is you happened to come back to us,” said Frank Russel. “You said you would, but none of us believed it possible, save perhaps Eileen, who always declared that you would return before the end of the siege.”
“Yes, Father, I felt sure that Jack would fulfil his promise,” Eileen cried.
“There, my lad, you see what a reputation you have,” laughed Frank. “But get ahead with the yarn, and let us know what has happened to you since we parted.”
Jack readily complied with the request, and then asked how the besiegers had fared.
“Ah! it was all very well at first,” Tom Salter exclaimed, “but these last few weeks our trials have been awful. Water has not been too good, though there’s been plenty of it. But grub’s the thing that has been wanting. We’ve been on short rations for a long while, and if that relief-column does not turn up pretty soon there will be none of us left. We are eating horse and mule now. Vegetables are practically exhausted, and what with that, the impure water, the heat, and living here below-ground, death and disease have been very busy amongst us. The women and the children—poor little souls!—have suffered terribly, and the little ones have died like flies. But mark my words, Jack; we’re far from giving in. There’s not a man of us who would listen to surrender, and if we did, the women-folk would soon make us ashamed of ourselves. No. This town’s kept out the Boers for a goodish time. They haven’t the pluck to take us, and we haven’t the numbers or the strength to beat them off. Starvation and disease are our biggest enemies, and we’re going to face them. Seems to me that we’re like Ladysmith; we’re in a precious tight fix. But we’ll get out of it, both of us, and I don’t mind betting a pipe of baccy—which, considering we’ve scarcely an ounce left, is a biggish bet—that B.-P. will stick to Mafeking too till that town is relieved. But, to return to you, my lad. You have indeed seen as much of this terrible war as anyone, and, as your old friend, I am proud of you. Now tell us what you intend doing with yourself. If you decide to stay here, I need not say how glad we shall all be.”
“Thanks, Tom,” Jack answered, “but I leave Kimberley to-morrow for Mafeking. Perhaps by the time I return you will have been relieved, but if not, you may be sure shall join you with the relieving force.”