The upshot of this arrangement was that they were thrown more together even than before. Meanwhile the siege dragged its slow length along. No news whatever reached the town from outside, but this did not trouble the inhabitants very much, as they were sure that Colley was advancing to their relief, and even got up sweep-stakes as to the date of his arrival. Now and then a sortie took place, but, as the results attained were very small, and were not, on the whole, creditable to our arms, perhaps the less said about them the better. John, of course, went out on these occasions, and then Jess would endure agonies that were all the worse because she was forced to conceal them. She lived in constant terror lest he should be among the killed. However, nothing happened to him, and things went on as usual till the twelfth of February, when an attack was made on a place called the Red House Kraal, which was occupied by Boers near a spot known as the Six-mile Spruit.
The force, which was a mixed one, left Pretoria before daybreak, and John went with it. He was rather surprised when, on going to the cart in which Jess slept, to get some little thing before saddling up, he found her sitting on the box in the night dews, a cup of hot coffee which she had prepared for him in her hand.
“What do you mean by this, Jess?” he asked sharply. “I will not have you getting up in the middle of the night to make coffee for me.”
“I have not got up,” she answered quietly; “I have not been to bed.”
“That makes matters worse,” he exclaimed; but, nevertheless, he drank the coffee and was glad of it, while she sat on the box and watched him.
“Put on your shawl and wrap something over your head,” he said, “the dew will soak you through. Look, your hair is all wet.”
Presently she spoke. “I wish you would do something for me, John,” for she called him John now. “Will you promise?”
“How like a woman,” he said, “to ask one to promise a thing without saying what it is.”
“I want you to promise for Bessie’s sake, John.”
“Well, what is it, Jess?”