"You are up betimes, Suzanne," I said when I had looked at her a little.

"Yes, mother; I rose to make Ralph his coffee, he does not like that the
Kaffir women should boil it for him."

"You mean that you do not like it," I answered, for I knew that Ralph
thought little of who made the coffee that he drank, or if he did it was
mine that he held to be the best, and not Suzanne's, who in those days
was a careless girl, thinking less of household matters than she should
have done.

"Did Swart Piet come here yesterday?" I asked. "I thought that I saw his
horse as I walked back from the sea."

"Yes, he came."

"What for?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Oh! mother, why do you ask me? You know
well that he is always troubling me, bringing me presents of flowers,
and asking me to _opsit_ with him and what not."

"Then you don't want to _opsit_ with him?"

"The candle would be short that I should burn with Swart Piet," answered
Suzanne, stamping her foot; "he is an evil man, full of dark words and
ways, and I fear him, for I think that since his father's death he has
become worse, and the most of the company he keeps is with those Kaffir
witch-doctors."