"You know I was born in Africa," she said, "and lived there till I was
thirteen years old--why, I find I can still speak Zulu; I did so this
afternoon. My father was one of the early settlers in Natal. His father
was a clergyman, a younger son of the Lincolnshire Cliffords. They are
great people there still, though I don't suppose that they are aware of
my existence."

"I know them," answered Robert Seymour. "Indeed, I was shooting at their
place last November--when the smash came," and he sighed; "but go on."

"Well, my father quarrelled with his father, I don't know what about,
and emigrated. In Natal he married my mother, a Miss Ferreira, whose
name--like mine and her mother's--was Benita. She was one of two
sisters, and her father, Andreas Ferreira, who married an English lady,
was half Dutch and half Portuguese. I remember him well, a fine old man
with dark eyes and an iron-grey beard. He was wealthy as things went
in those days--that is to say, he had lots of land in Natal and the
Transvaal, and great herds of stock. So you see I am half English, some
Dutch, and more than a quarter Portuguese--quite a mixture of races. My
father and mother did not get on well together. Mr. Seymour, I may as
well tell you all the truth: he drank, and although he was passionately
fond of her, she was jealous of him. Also he gambled away most of her
patrimony, and after old Andreas Ferreira's death they grew poor. One
night there was a dreadful scene between them, and in his madness he
struck her.

"Well, she was a very proud woman, determined, too, and she turned on
him and said--for I heard her--'I will never forgive you; we have done
with each other.' Next morning, when my father was sober, he begged her
pardon, but she made no answer, although he was starting somewhere on