attempted. I can try to reach them."

"Are you mad?" he asked. "How is it possible for you, one man, to get
to Delagoa Bay, buy cattle, and rescue these folk, who probably are now
all dead?"

"The first two things are possible enough, father. Some ship will take
me to the Bay. You have Marais's money, and I have that five hundred
pounds which my old aunt in England left me last year. Thank Heaven!
owing to my absence on commando, it still lies untouched in the bank at
Port Elizabeth. That is about eight hundred pounds in all, which would
buy a great many cattle and other things. As for the third, it is not
in our hands, is it? It may be that they cannot be rescued, it may be
that they are dead. I can only go to see."

"But, Allan, Allan, you are my only son, and if you go it is probable
that I shall never see you more."

"I have been through more dangers lately, father, and am still alive and
well. Moreover, if Marie is dead"--I paused, then went on
passionately--"Do not try to stop me, for I tell you, father, I will not
be stopped. Think of the words in that letter and what a shameless
hound I should be if I sat here quiet while Marie is dying yonder.
Would you have done so if Marie had been my mother?"

"No," answered the old gentleman, "I should not. Go, and God be with
you, Allan, and me also, for I never expect to see you again." And he
turned his head aside for a while.

Then we went into matters. The smous was summoned and asked about the