"Still I can scarcely believe it," answered Keith.
"The next few days will solve all our doubts," was Strause's answer. "But we are not out of the wood yet—by no means. For my part, I want a hand-to-hand fight. I would rather end the thing than go on as I have been doing. It is maddening. Everything has been maddening here lately," he added, with a sneer, and in a peculiar tone.
Keith looked at him. His face, which had assumed a kindly and interested expression while he and the major were watching the great trek from Ladysmith, now stiffened. It turned white.
"To what do you allude?" he said.
"I allude to the absence of the one woman who made Ladysmith bearable."
Keith made no answer. The major looked full at him.
"I did you a beastly wrong."
Keith stared.
"I am going to put it right. I cannot stand these things any longer. I dreaded for a time turning the opprobrium which has been your portion on myself, but I don't care that for a man's opinion any longer. Men live for the women they love, not for other men. I don't care what my colonel or my brother officers think. But I care all God's earth, the warmth of His sun, and the cheer of life for a woman's smile, and I mean to get it."
"Explain yourself," said Keith.