As he spoke he turned into a gate that was held open by a young Kaffir boy, and walked his horse up an avenue of blue gums, that looked inky, with their pendulous leaves, in the light of the late moon. The bush spiders were yet busy spinning their silky traps for the unwary, early morning fly, and the dew lay heavily upon those gleaming meshes. They were entering by the back road to the spacious Salisbury abode of the ex-premier of South Africa.
On each side of them as they rode slowly along were the numerous outhouses and stables, all substantially built of limestone, and slated. The gum trees, which had been planted within the past three years, were already thirty and forty feet in height, and gave out a pleasant aroma.
In front of them they could see a wide-spreading building, surrounded by three tiers of verandahs, and terminated with picturesque pinnacles. It was like a large hydropathic rather than a private residence.
A solemn stillness lay over this building, plunged as it was in darkness, and rising out of the shrubbery and fruit trees which had been planted and forced up regardless of expense. Solemnly and darkly this combined mass of building and foliage, with the delicate filigree tracings of palm trees and other exotics, rose against the declining moon. There was not a light to be seen in any of the windows.
But in a corner of the garden was a small single-storeyed building, like a summer-house, and here in the two windows facing them gleamed a ruddy glow of lamplight.
“The master is still up, Pete?” observed Dr Jim, as they dismounted and gave their horses to the Kaffir boy.
“Yes, Baas. He is waiting for you.”
“Then, we must not keep him waiting. Come, lads, and report yourselves.”
He opened a little side gate, and strode through the shrubbery towards the lighted windows, with our heroes at his heels.
For the second time they were about to behold this colossus of Africa—the man who never turned upon a friend, or took refuge behind an excuse; the man who considered his vast possessions as only trust-money for the good of his country; the most powerful and striking personality of the nineteenth century. Our heroes did not tremble as they had done when entering the abode of the ignoble enemy at Pretoria. There were no policemen here to guard this potent life. He was hedged round by admiration and affection. Nor had he any dread of the assassin’s bullet, for he was a man absolutely fearless. Yet they approached with timid expectation for all that.