"Hansie!" exclaimed Mrs. van Warmelo in consternation, "you will do nothing of the kind. Their house will be watched, and you will be followed home. You can do nothing to help that poor woman now, and to be seen with her would be an unpardonable and unnecessary risk."
But Hansie had made up her mind, and nothing could persuade her that it was not her duty to stand by her friend in her hour of need. There was good reason, too, for her anxiety.
After thirteen years of happy, though childless married life, Mr. and Mrs. Botha's home was about to be blessed with an infant child, and it was the thought of the expectant mother's anguish and despair that took Hansie to her side.
"Well" (Mrs. van Warmelo was secretly pleased with her daughter's behaviour), "if you are determined to expose yourself to this danger, I think I had better begin to pack at once, for we shall certainly be sent away."
"All right, mother," Hansie laughed; "pack away, and I'll come home as soon as I can to help you."
She took tender leave of her mother, cheering her with hopeful words and whistling gaily to Carlo to come and protect her on her adventurous expedition.
No one could have been more surprised to see Hansie than Mrs. Botha. She stared as if she could not believe her eyes, and then fell sobbing on her young friend's shoulder.
"How could you risk it to come here?" she exclaimed.
"No one else has been near me, and I am deserted by all my friends since——" here she fell a-weeping again, and clung to Hansie for support.
As soon as she could speak, she gave an account of all that had taken place.