"Oh, it doesn't matter," he replied, "we caught up their report of the
engagement just after they entered the town. It seems they had a pretty
severe loss. Ours was slight, but one lyddite shell burst over a group
of horses and killed twenty."

"And what is the situation now?"

"Well, all our forces are here in the mountains now, and we can hold out
for years. There are only two passes; they are strongly held, and the
enemy will never get through them. We tried to get our prisoners to take
parole, but they refused, so we have driven them over the Drakensberg
into Natal. Last, but not least, the traitor Vilonel is here, waiting
for his appeal to be heard."

This Vilonel, a young man of prepossessing appearance, had been one of
the most promising officers, and had early been promoted to commandant.
Whether through overweening ambition on his part or not I cannot say,
but Vilonel, accused of insubordination, was thenceforth given the
distasteful and inglorious task of commandeering. He wearied of this,
and applied for active service, but in vain. Then, smarting under a
sense of injustice, he took the fatal step--deserted. Not content with
this, he wrote a letter out of the British camp to one of our
field-cornets, urging upon the latter to surrender. The letter fell into
the hands of one of our Intelligence officers, who forthwith replied in
the field-cornet's name, asking Vilonel to meet him at a certain
secluded spot. Vilonel kept the appointment, accompanied by a British
major, and both were made prisoners, the major protesting energetically
against what he was pleased to consider as a breach of the rules of
warfare, but his captors begged to differ, reminding him that all's fair