“What do you mean, Allan?” she asked doubtfully.
“Only that I think our good hours are done with for the present.”
“Perhaps,” she answered slowly; “but at least they have been very good hours, and if I should die to-day I am glad to have lived to win them.”
Then the cavalcade of Boers came up.
Hernan Pereira, his senses sharpened perhaps by the instincts of hate and jealousy, was the first to recognise me.
“Why, Mynheer Allan Quatermain,” he said, “how is it that you are here? How is it that you still live? Commandant,” he added, turning to a dark, sad-faced man of about sixty whom at that time I did not know, “here is a strange thing. This Heer Quatermain, an Englishman, was with the Governor Retief at the town of the Zulu king, as the Heer Henri Marais can testify. Now, as we know for sure Pieter Retief and all his people are dead, murdered by Dingaan, how then does it happen that this man has escaped?”
“Why do you put riddles to me, Mynheer Pereira?” asked the dark Boer. “Doubtless the Englishman will explain.”
“Certainly I will, mynheer,” I said. “Is it your pleasure that I should speak now?”
The commandant hesitated. Then, having called Henri Marais apart and talked to him for a little while, he replied:
“No, not now, I think; the matter is too serious. After we have eaten we will listen to your story, Mynheer Quatermain, and meanwhile I command you not to leave this place.”