Eleanor Daveney would have made a charming foreground for such a picture as men like these have loved to draw.
Mrs Daveney issued orders in conjunction with her husband, apportioned to each man his store of ammunition, loosed to the priming of the muskets in the hands of the herd-boys, who were more accustomed to the assegai and the knob-kierrie than to our firearms; but Eleanor, while she soothed her more excitable sister’s fears, had a word of encouragement for every one; and, rousing Marion, bid her accompany her to the stoep, and comfort the women, who were there huddled together in mute terror.
Poor May, who, in the extremity of danger to the household, could not obtain a hearing, now rushed past the sisters like a madman, and, springing over the gateway, sped out into the wilderness. They could hear the terrier yelping at his heels ever so far, and Frankfort, thoroughly dismayed at the idea, at once gave his faithful bushman up for lost.
Eleanor had some comfort for him.
“These defiances from the hills,” said she, “are so decided, that there is no doubt the assegai hangs over our heads by a single hair; still the object of these creatures is plunder. When they attack the settlement, it will be in a quiet guise. If May keeps his wits about him as he used—as he used to do—he will find his way uninterrupted.”
“Ah!” said Frankfort, “you have seen my friend May before?”
Eleanor hesitated, but only for a moment, and replied—
“Yes, we remember him when quite a boy.”
Candour evidently prevailed over a seeming reluctance to refer to the past; and yet there was nothing singular in Eleanor Daveney’s remembrance of May, who had been employed from childhood about the English quarters and locations. It was simply her sudden pause, hesitation, and hurried tone in admitting the truth, which had attracted Frankfort’s notice.
Ormsby, on hearing the bushman had sped into the wilderness, grew furious with Piet, and wished Frankfort had taken his advice in forbidding Fitje’s accompanying her husband. Frankfort reproached himself for not riding in the rear of the cavalcade, and keeping the party together, but time was too precious for unavailing regret; it was deemed prudent to close and secure the front of the dwelling, Eleanor consoling Marion by reminding her that, for the present, the war-cry of Kafirland was their best personal security, since “you know,” said she, “that unlike the honest faces of civilised lands, the Kafir comes not with beating drum and flying standard; and the settler of South Africa is safest when face to face with his wicked neighbour. Yet,” added Eleanor, “why should I call the Kafir wicked?—it is not for me to judge.”