That Saturday night poor Mrs. van Warmelo never closed her eyes. She feared, and she had good reason to fear, that her son would pass through Johannesburg, and be transported to some foreign isle, before a word of greeting and farewell could be made by her. The thought of the morrow's Sabbath rest and inactivity intensified her fears.
The first thing she said to Hansie next morning was:
"You must go to General Maxwell and ask whether there is no news for us."
"But, mother, this is Sunday!"
"I know that. You will have to go to his house."
"Oh, I could not possibly do that. What does he care about our anxieties? Besides, I think it would be most indiscreet."
"I don't care," shortly.
In the end Hansie had to go, and when once she had made up her mind she looked forward with some pleasure to her little adventure, for there was no one of the officials known to her for whom she had a more sincere regard than General Maxwell. His house was but a few minutes' walk from Harmony, and Hansie, looking up at the gathering clouds, hoped that she could be home again before the approaching storm broke loose.
Our "brave" heroine trembled when she rang the bell, for all her distaste of the task had returned with redoubled force, but her self-confidence was soon restored under the genial warmth of the General's greetings.
He did not seem to be the least annoyed or displeased at this intrusion on his Sabbath privacy. And he was quite alone—not, as Hansie had feared to find him, surrounded by a crowd of officers.