Towards the end of September, when the prisoners had been removed to the Rest Camp, a baby-girl was born in Willie Botha's house.
The mother had been left undisturbed in her home, a consideration for which she and all who were concerned for her were devoutly grateful, and now she had passed through the portals of Gethsemane and the wide gates of Eden, in the bitter-sweet experiences of motherhood.
The news of the birth of a daughter was duly conveyed to Willie Botha in the Rest Camp, with a request to the authorities to allow him to visit his wife and see his child before leaving South Africa's shores for Bermuda.
Permission was granted for a two-hours' visit.
An armed soldier escorted him to his home and sat outside, under the verandah, drinking coffee and enjoying the good things with which he had been provided, while, inside, his prisoner, speechless with emotion, knelt beside the mother's bed, showering kisses on the tiny feet of his infant daughter.
When the first greetings were over Mr. Botha said:
"Wife, what became of that old hymn-book which was standing on the shelf in the dining-room?"
"I don't know," she answered; "I suppose it was taken away by Elliot with all the other books and papers."
"Elliot!" he muttered between his teeth.
"Elliot, betrayer of friends, and Judas-Boer!"