Two years have passed away since the incidents recorded in this little book happened.
Under the silken folds of the Union Jack, Dutch and British alike enjoy the same liberties and privileges; but it is not of the land under the brilliant Southern Cross that we now write.
The purple heather is blooming on the moors and hillsides of bonnie Scotland, and in the glens shots are heard. Grouse-shooting has commenced in the Highlands, and a party of four are stalking through the heather, on sport intent.
One is a young lady, just blossoming into glorious womanhood. She is a keen sportswoman, and can handle a gun as well as the best of them. Her name is Miss Lovat, and she is the sister of the Laird of Airdtullish. Her face is darker than those of the majority of her fair countrywomen, but veldt breezes and scorching sunshine have the knack of tanning faces belonging to those of European birth.
Her companion is a gentleman of soldierly appearance, with a decided limp in his gait. The hair shading his temples is tinged with gray, although he is not yet forty. The quiet, soldierly man is our friend Major Salkeld, whose gallant defence against big odds in the donga over against Diamond Valley is recorded in the annals of the Auckland Rangers.
Since the grouse-shooting began, he has been Miss Lovat's devoted companion.
Let us glance at the remaining couple. Both are men, broad-shouldered and clean-flanked. We have met them before; for the younger man is our old friend Jack Lovat, and his companion Charlie Morton, head partner in the big diamond-broking firm of Morton & Company, Hatton Garden.
Jack's father is dead, and lies in the little cemetery at Orangefontein. The blow received from the clubbed rifle at Jagger's Farm inflicted a more severe wound than was at first imagined, and he gradually sickened and died.
Mrs. Lovat is still in the land of the living, but remains in delicate health. She is lovingly watched over by Mary and Jack, who are doing their best to smooth the dark passage leading to the life beyond.
There is another character who acts the rôle of butler at Airdtullish Castle whom we must present to our readers. He is our honest friend Pat O'Neill, formerly the faithful henchman of Mr. Lovat, and now of his son. His tongue is as voluble as ever, and nothing delights him more than to recount the deeds of the young laird of Airdtullish to the servants at the Castle.