already become--my rival for the hand of the sweet and beautiful Marie
Marais.

One night when my father and I were alone in the little room where he
slept with me, and he had finished reading his evening portion of
Scripture aloud, I plucked up my courage to tell him that I loved Marie
and wished to marry her, and that we had plighted our troth during the
attack of the Kaffirs on the stead.

"Love and war indeed!" he said, looking at me gravely, but showing no
sign of surprise, for it appeared that he was already acquainted with
our secret. This was not wonderful, for he informed me afterwards that
during my delirium I had done nothing except rave of Marie in the most
endearing terms. Also Marie herself, when I was at my worst, had burst
into tears before him and told him straight out that she loved me.

"Love and war indeed!" he repeated, adding kindly, "My poor boy, I fear
that you have fallen into great trouble."

"Why, father?" I asked. "Is it wrong that we should love each other?"

"Not wrong, but, in the circumstances, quite natural--I should have
foreseen that it was sure to happen. No, not wrong, but most
unfortunate. To begin with, I do not wish to see you marry a foreigner
and become mixed up with these disloyal Boers. I hoped that one day, a
good many years hence, for you are only a boy, Allan, you would find an
English wife, and I still hope it."

"Never!" I ejaculated.