“Whoever it is had better answer sharp,” said Ernest; “I gave the sentry orders to be quick with his rifle to-night.”
Bang!—crash! followed by loud howls of “Wilhelmina, my wife! Ah, the cruel man has killed my Wilhelmina!”
“Heavens, it is that lunatic German! Here, orderly, run up to the Defence Committee and the Government offices, and tell them that it is nothing; they will think the Zulus are here. Tell two men to bring the man in here, and to stop his howls.”
Presently Ernest’s old friend of the High Veldt, looking very wild and uncouth in the lamplight, with his long beard and matted hair, from which the rain was dripping, was bundled rather unceremoniously into the room.
“Ah, there you are, dear sir; it is two—three years since we meet. I look for you everywhere, and they tell me you are here, and I come on quick all through the dark and the rain; and then before I know if I am on my head or my heel, the cruel man he ups a rifle, and do shoot my Wilhelmina, and make a great hole through her poor stomach. O sir, wat shall I do?” and the great child began to shed tears; “you, too, will weep: you, too, love my Wilhelmina, and sleep with her one night—bo-hoo!”
“For goodness’ sake, stop that nonsense! This is no time or place for such fooling.”
He spoke sharply, and the monomaniac pulled up, only giving vent to an occasional sob.
“Now, what is your business with me?”
The German’s face changed from its expression of idiotic grief to one of refined intelligence. He glanced towards Jeremy, who was exploding in the corner.
“You can speak before this gentleman, Hans,” said Ernest.