The Vanbloems had returned to an old family farm, which they had deserted in the hopes of bettering themselves by seeking “larger pastures;” they were wiser than their rebellious brethren, for, instead of flying beyond the boundary, they retreated to their original settlement, and contented themselves with less land but surer ground. I speak of the elder Vanbloem, with whom Frankfort and Ormsby made acquaintance in their first days of travelling.
Gray—for he was the young teacher—had resolved one day on asking Mr Trail to make some inquiries of Amayeka, albeit he dreaded the issue of such inquiry.
Poor Amayeka!—Surely the younger Vanbloem’s had not deserted her; but she might have been taken from them by violence.
That day old Vanbloem came to tell Mr Trail that his son’s wagon was outspanned in a valley an hour’s ride from the station; he and some neighbours were going to meet him, would Mr Trail go too?
The party passed the mission station that evening; there were horsemen and wagons, quite a cavalcade—for some one from every family had gone out to welcome the new-comers, returning to the land of their forefathers.
It was dusk when Mr Trail returned home; Gray started on hearing his master’s voice.
“Master”—so he called the missionary—“master, are there bad tidings?—has she survived the fury of her people?”
“Come hither, Gray,” said Mr Trail; “Amayeka is here.”
Meek and trembling, poor Amayeka had seated herself on the lowest step of the stoep; her head was bent low, and her cloak drawn around her.
“Amayeka,” said Mr Trail, “rise, and come in.”