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 'She is content to be a mere province now.'

'The more shame for her—a province that contributes all her millions to
the Imperial Exchequer and gets nothing in return.'

'A sure sign she doesn't want anything,' replied the peer, with one of his
silent laughs. 'I wish you would not worry me with this patriotic "rot,"
Kippilaw—excuse the vulgarity of the phrase; but so long as I can get my
rents out of Craigengowan and Finella, I don't care a jot if all the rest,
Scotland with all its rights and wrongs, history, poetry and music, was ten
leagues under the sea!'

So thus, for two reasons, political and personal, the 'Fettercairns' just
then did not go to 'town.'

On the terrace this very afternoon Lady Fettercairn was watching Finella
and Dulcie, linked arm in arm conversing apart from all, and her smooth
brow clouded; for she knew well that the fact of Hammersley owing his life
to Florian MacIan would make—as it did—a new tie between the two girls.

'You see, Shafto,' said she, 'how more than ever does Finella put that girl
out of her place. Though most useful as she is to me, always pleasant and
irreproachably lady-like, I think I must get rid of her.'

'Not yet—not yet, grandmother,' said Shafto, who did not just then wish
this climax; 'do give her another chance.'

'To please you, I will, my dear boy; but I fear I am rash.'

'I wish Finella were not so beastly rich!' he exclaimed.

'Do not use such shocking terms, Shafto! But why?'

'It makes me look like a fortune-hunter, being after her.'

'"After her"? Another vulgarism—impossible—you—you—the heir of

Fettercairn!'
 'Well, it gives one no credit for disinterested affection,' said this plausible
young gentleman.

We have said that Lady Fettercairn was irrepressible in seeking to

control Finella.

'How quiet and abstracted you seem! Why don't you entertain our
friends?' said she, as the girl drew near her in an angle of the terrace, where
they were alone.

'I am thinking, grandmamma,' said Finella wearily.

'You seem to be for ever thinking, child; and I wonder what it can all be
about.'

'I don't believe, grandmamma, it would interest you,' said Finella, a little
defiantly.

'There you are wrong, Finella; what interests you, must of necessity
interest me,' said Lady Fettercairn, haughtily yet languidly, as she fanned
herself.

'Not always.'

'Is it something new, then? I suspect your thoughts,' she continued with
some asperity. 'Finella, listen to me again. You and Shafto are the only two
left of the Melfort family; we wish the two branches united, for their future
good—the good of the name and the title; and if Shafto goes into
Parliament, I do not see why he should not perhaps become Viscount or
Earl of Fettercairn.'

'The old story! I have no ambition, grandmamma,' shrugging her

shoulders, 'and certainly none to be the wife of Shafto, even were he made a
duke. So please to let me alone,' she added desperately, 'or I may tell you
that of—of—Shafto you may not like to hear.'

And in sooth now, Lady Fettercairn, like her lord, had heard so much
evil of Shafto lately that she abruptly dropped the subject for the time.
 And now Shafto began once more to persecute poor Dulcie—a
persecution which might have a perilous effect upon her future.

CHAPTER XV.

PERSECUTION.

Shafto felt, with no small satisfaction, that he could, to a certain extent,

control the actions of both these girls. Finella could not reveal the secret of
her quarrel with him without admitting the terms on which she had been
with Hammersley; and Dulcie, he thought, dared not resent his conduct, lest
—through his influence with Lady Fettercairn—she might be cast into the
world, without even a certificate that would enable her to procure another
situation of any kind. Thus, to a certain extent, he revelled in security so far
as both were concerned.

And deeming now that all must be at an end between Finella and
Hammersley, he thought to pique the former perhaps by attentions to Dulcie
—attentions by which he might ultimately gain some little favours for
himself.

In both instances vain thoughts!

He was aware that he had an ample field of old and mutual interest or
associations to go back upon with Dulcie; thus he thought if he could
entangle her into an apparent flirtation for the purpose of mortifying
Finella, and catching her heart on the rebound, sore as it must be with the
seeming indifference of Hammersley, he would gain his end; and this
mutual intimacy eventually annoyed and surprised Lady Fettercairn, and
was likely to prove fatal to the interests and position of Dulcie, whom he
felt he must either win for himself in some fashion, and, if not, in revenge
have her expelled from Craigengowan.
 One day the girl was alone. She was feeding the swans in the artificial
lakelet that lay below the terrace. It was a serene and sunny forenoon; the
water was smooth as crystal, and reflected the old house with all its turrets,
crow-stepped gables, and dormer-gablets line for line. It mirrored also the
swans swimming double, bird and shadow, like beautiful drifting boats, and
the great white water-lilies that seemed to sleep rather than float on its
surface.

It was indeed a drowsy, golden afternoon, and Dulcie Carlyon, an artist

at heart, was fully impressed by the loveliness of her surroundings, when
Shafto stood before her.

Shafto!—she quite shivered.

'Oh!' she exclaimed, as if a toad had crossed her path.

'A penny for your thoughts, Dulcie.' said that personage smilingly,
seeing that she had been pondering so deeply that his approach had been
unnoticed by her.

'They might startle you more than you think,' replied Dulcie, with
undisguised annoyance.

'Indeed; are you weaving out a romance?'

'Perhaps.'

'With yourself for the heroine, or Finella; and that fellow Florian for the
hero? Then there must be the requisite villain.'

'Oh, he is ready to hand,' said she daringly, with a flash in her blue eyes.

Shafto's brow grew black as midnight, and what coarse thing he might
have said we know not, but policy made him ignore her reply.

'Please not to remain speaking to me,' said she, glancing nervously at the
windows of the house; 'your doing so may displease the friends of Finella.'
 'It is of her I wish to speak. Listen, Dulcie. I have not the influence over
her I had hoped to have before you came among us. If that interloper
Hammersley had not absorbed her interest, no doubt, as matters once
looked, she might have pleased her relations and bound herself to me,
provided she had never found out that I had loved a dear one, far away in
Devonshire, and had but a half-concealed fancy for herself.'

Dulcie listened to this special pleading in contemptuous silence.

'I don't want to marry her now, any more than she wants to marry me,' he
resumed unblushingly; 'but I may tell you it is rather hard to be ordered to
play the lover to a girl who will scarcely throw me a civil word.'

'After the cruel trick you played her, is it to be expected?'

'So—you are in her confidence, then?'

But Dulcie only thought, 'What paradox is this? He dared again to make
love to herself, after all that had passed with reference to Florian, and yet to
be jealous of Finella's profound disdain of him.'

'Won't you try and love me a little, Dulcie?' said he, attempting his most
persuasive tone.

'What do you mean, Shafto?' demanded the girl in great anger and
perplexity; 'even if I would take you, which I would rather die than do, with
all your wealth and prospective title, you could not marry me and Finella
too!'

'Who speaks of marriage?' growled Shafto, under his breath, while a

malicious smile glittered in his cold eyes, as he added aloud, 'You know
which I wish to marry.'

'Then it cannot be me, nor shall it be Finella either, for the matter of that.'

'Does she act under your influence?'

'Do not think of it—she is under a more potent influence than I possess,'
replied Dulcie, who, bewildered by his manner and remarks, was turning
away, when he again confronted her, and the girl glanced uneasily at the
windows, where, although she knew it not, the eyes of those she dreaded
most were observing them both.

To marry Dulcie, even if she would have him, certainly did not suit 'the
book' of Shafto; but, as he admired her attractive person, and hated Florian
with unreasoning rancour, as some men do who have wronged others, he
would gladly have lured her into a liaison with himself. He knew, however,
her pride and purity too well, but he was not without the hope of blunting
them, and eventually bending her to his will, under the threat or pressure of
getting her expelled from Craigengowan, and thrown penniless, friendless,
and with, perhaps, a tainted name, upon a cold, bitter, and censorious world.

'I know you better than to believe that you love me any more than I do
you,' said Dulcie, with ill-concealed scorn; 'love is not in your nature, even
for the brilliant Finella. You love her money—not herself.'

Dissembling his rage, he said in a suppliant tone:

'Why are you so cold and repellant to me, Dulcie?'

'I do not know that I am markedly so.'

'But I do: beyond the affair of the locket, born of my very regard for you,
what is my offence?'

'What you are doing now, following me about—forcing your society on

me, and tormenting as you do. I shall be compromised with Lady
Fettercairn if you do not take care.'

'I think you treat me with cruel coldness, considering the love I have
borne you so long. Why should not we be even the friends we once were at
Revelstoke, and like each other always?'

'After all you have done to Florian!'

'What have I done to Florian?' he demanded, changing colour under the

influence of his own secret thoughts.
 'Cast him forth into the world penniless.'

'Oh, is that all?' said he, greatly relieved.

'Yes, that is all, so far as I know as yet.'

Again his brow darkened at this chance shot; but, still dissembling, he
said:

'My dear little Dulcie, what is the use of all this foolish regard for
Florian and revengeful mood at me? We shall never see him again.'

'Oh, Shafto, how can you talk thus coldly of Florian, with whom you
went to school and college together, played together as boys, and read
together as men—were deemed almost brothers rather than cousins! Shame
on you!' and she stamped her little foot on the ground as she spoke.

'How pretty you look when angry! You do not care for me just now,
perhaps; but in time you will, Dulcie.'

'Never, Shafto.'

'Surely you don't mean to carry on this game ever and always?'

'Ever and always, while I am a dependant here.'

'But I will take you away from here, and you need be a dependant no
longer,' said he, while his countenance brightened and his manner warmed,
as he utterly mistook her meaning. 'My allowance is most handsome, thanks
to Lord—Lord—to my grandfather, and he can't last for ever. The old
fellow is sixty-eight if he is a day. Forget all past unpleasantness; think only
of the future, and all I can make it for you. I will give you any length of
time if you will only give me your love.'

'Never, I tell you. Oh, this is intolerable!' exclaimed the girl passionately,
finding that he still barred her way.

'Beware, Dulcie,' said he, as his shifty eyes flashed. 'The world and
success in it are for him who knows how to wait; meantime, let us be
friends. Friendship is said to be more enduring than love.'

'Well—we shall never be even friends again, Shafto.'

'Why?'

'Well do you know why. And let me remind you that all sin brings its
own punishment in this world.'

'If found out,' he interrupted.

'And in the next, whether found out here or not.'

'Why the deuce do you preach thus to me?' he asked savagely, his fears
again awakened, so true is it that

'Many a shaft at random sent

Finds mark the archer never meant.'

'And what do you take me for that you treat me thus, and talk to me in
this manner?'

'What do I take you for? By your treatment of me I take you to be an

insolent, cruel, and heartless fellow, who can be worse at times.'

'Take care! the pedestal you stand on may give way. It lies with me to
smash it, and some fine day you may be sorry for the way in which you
have dared to treat me, Shafto——'

'Gyle,' interrupted Dulcie almost spitefully.

'Melfort, d—n you!' he retorted coarsely, and losing all command over
himself.

Tears now sprang to her eyes, and then, as he half feared to carry the
matter so far with her, he apologized.
 'Let me pass, sir,' said she.

'Won't you give me one little kiss first, Dulcie?'

She made no reply, but fixed her lovely dark blue eyes upon him with an
expression of such loathing and contempt that even he was stung to the
heart by it.

'Let me pass, sir!' she exclaimed again.

He stood aside to let her do so, and she swept by, holding her golden
head haughtily erect; but Dulcie feared him now more than ever, and
certainly she had roused revenge in his heart, with certain vague emotions
of alarm.

Of all the thousands of homes in Scotland and England how miserable

and unlucky was the chance that cast her under the same roof with the evil-
minded Shafto! thought the girl in the solitude of her own room. But then,
otherwise, she would never have known and shared the sweet and flattering
friendship of Finella Melfort; and, as she never knew what wicked game
Shafto might play, he would perhaps succeed in depriving her even of that
solace as the end of his persecution.

The whole tenor of the conversation or interview forced upon her by

Shafto impressed her with a keen and deep sense of humiliation that made
her weep bitterly; how much more keen would the sense of that have been
had she known what in the purity of her nature she never suspected, that,
amid all his grotesque love-making, marriage was no way comprehended in
his scheme!

Much as she disliked Shafto, an emotion of delicacy, with a timid doubt

of the future with regard to Captain Hammersley, and what was behind that
future with regard to 'the cousins,' as she of course deemed them to be,
induced Dulcie to remain silent with Finella on the subject of his persistent
and secret attentions to herself, though she would have deplored to see
Finella the wife of Shafto.
 The interview we have described had not passed without observers, we
have said.

'Fettercairn, look how Miss Carlyon and Shafto are flirting near the
Swan's Pool!' said the Lady of that Ilk, drawing her husband's attention to
the pair from a window of the drawing-room.

'What makes you think they are doing so?' he asked, but nevertheless
with knitted brows.

'Cannot you see it?'

'No; it is so long since I did anything in that way myself that really I—
aw——'

'See with what empressement he bends down to address her, and she
keeps her head down, too, though she seems to crest it up at times.'

'But she edges away from him palpably, as if she disliked what he is
saying, and, by Jove, she looks indignant, too!'

'That may be all acting, in suspicion that she is observed, or it may be to

lure him on; one never knows what may be passing in a girl's mind—if she
thinks herself attractive especially.'

'Well—to me they seem quarrelling,' said Lord Fettercairn.

'Quarrelling—and with my companion! How could Shafto condescend to

do so?'

'That is more than I can tell you—he is rather a riddle to me; but the girl
is decidedly more than pretty, and very good style, too.'

'And hence the more dangerous. I must speak with Shafto on this subject
seriously, or——'

'What then?'

'Get rid of her.'

 'If we fail in marrying Shafto to Finella, who can say whom he may
marry, as his instincts seem somewhat low, and after we are gone there may
be a whole clan of low and sordid prodigals here in Craigengowan.'

'And Radicals!' suggested Lady Fettercairn.

'Desecrating the spots rendered almost sacred by association with a great

and famous past,' said Lord Fettercairn loftily.

What this great and famous 'past' was, he could scarcely have told. It
was not connected with his own mushroom line, whatever it might have
been with the former lords of Craigengowan, whose guests had at times
been Kings of Scotland and Princes of France and Spain.

'Finella is young, and does not know her own heart,' he resumed;
'besides, I believe it is enough generally to recommend a girl to marry a
certain man, for her to set her face against him unreasoningly. But I think—
and hope—that our Finella is different from the common run of girls.'

'Not in contriving, perhaps, to fall in love with the wrong man.'

'You mean that young fellow Hammersley?'

'Yes; I must own to having most grave suspicions,' replied Lady

Fettercairn.

'She is a Melfort, and as such has no notion of being coerced.'

Lady Fettercairn thought of Lennard and Flora MacIan and remained

silent, remembering that he too, the disowned and the outcast, was a
genuine Melfort in the same sense.
 CHAPTER XVI.

A THREAT.

To Finella, so pure in mind and proud in spirit, it was fast becoming

utterly intolerable to find herself in the false and degraded position the craft
of Shafto had placed her in with regard to so honourable a man as Vivian
Hammersley; and the more she brooded over it, the deeper became her
loathing of the daring trickster—a sentiment which she was, by the force of
circumstances, compelled to veil and conceal from her guardians: hence,
the more bitter her thoughts, the more passionate her longing for an
explanation, and more definite her wishes.

Hammersley, though still a fact, seemed somehow to have passed out of

her life, and thus she often said in a kind of wailing way to Dulcie:

'Oh, that he had never come here, or that I had never known or met him,
in London or anywhere else! Then I should not have felt what it is to love
and to lose him!'

'Pardon me, darling, but take courage,' replied Dulcie, caressing her. 'I
have written to Florian at last, and his reply will tell us all about Captain
Hammersley, and how he is looking, and so forth; though Florian, in a
position so subordinate, cannot be in his confidence, of course.'

She did not add that she had in her letter told the whole story of the false
position in which Finella had been placed, lest the latter's pride might revolt
at such interference in her affairs, however well and kindly meant; and lest
the letter—if it proved disappointing, by her lover remaining jealous,
suspicious, obdurate, or contemptuous, if Florian ventured to speak on the
subject, which she scarcely hoped—should prove a useless humiliation to
Finella, who longed eagerly as herself for the reply.

But Dulcie prayed in her simple heart that good might come of it before
the evil which she so nervously dreaded fell upon herself; for Shafto had
made such humble apologies for his conduct to her on the day he
interrupted her when feeding the swans, that, though she gave him her hand
in token, not of forgiveness but of truce, she feared he was concocting fresh
mischief; for soon after, encouraged thereby, he began his old persecution,
but carefully and in secret again.

Finding that his chances with Finella were now apparently nil, even
though all seemed at an end between her and Vivian Hammersley, Shafto,
by force of old habit, perhaps, turned his attention to Dulcie, who, in her
humble and dependent capacity, had a difficult card to play, while feeling
exasperated and degraded by the passion he expressed for her on every
available opportunity. Not that he would, she suspected, have married a
poor girl like her, as one with money, no matter who, was the wisest match
for him, lest the discovery of who he was came to pass, though that he
deemed impossible now.

Shafto had learned and imitated much among the new and aristocratic
folks in whose circle he found himself cast; and thus it was that he dared to
make secret love, and to torment the helpless Dulcie with words that spoke
of—

'Riches and love and pleasure,

And all but the name of wife.'

Had he done that, she would have treated him quite as coldly and
scornfully; but she could do no more than she did. Yet he was fast making
her life at Craigengowan a torture, and she feared him almost more than his
so-called grandmother, who was only a proud and selfish patrician, while he
—ah, she knew too well what he was capable of; but Dulcie had something
more to learn yet.

One day, after having imbibed more wine, or eau-de-vie, than was good
for him in Mr. Grapeston's pantry, as he sometimes did, he addressed the
girl in a way there was no misunderstanding. She trembled and grew pale.
 'Well, one thing I promise you if you try to please me,' said he—'to
please me, do you understand?—while you remain under this roof, which I
hope, darling, will not be long now—I shall trouble you no more.'

'To please you, Shafto!' stammered the girl; 'what do you mean?'

'I'll tell you that by-and-by, my pretty Dulcie, when the time comes.'

She drew back with a pallid face and a hauteur that would have become
Lady Fettercairn herself, while he in turn made her a low mock bow, and
stalked tipsily off with what he thought a dignity of bearing, leaving her
sick with terror of a future of insult and apprehension.

Somehow she felt at his mercy, and began to contemplate flight, but to
where?

Watching closely, Lady Fettercairn observed the extreme caution and

coldness of Dulcie's bearing to Shafto; but, not believing in it, or that a
person in her dependent state could resist advances of any kind from one in
his lofty position, supposed she had only to wait long enough and observe
with care to find out if aught was wrong.

'But why wait?' said Lady Drumshoddy; 'why not dismiss the creature at
once?' she added with asperity.

'How comes it that you are so intimate with this girl Carlyon?' said Lady
Fettercairn one day.

'Your companion?' said Shafto.

'Yes.'

'How often have I told you that we are old friends—knew each other in
Devonshire since we were a foot high.'

'But this intimacy now is—to say the least of it, Shafto—undignified.'

'I am sorry you think so.'

 'Besides, she has a lover, I believe, whose likeness she wears in a locket;
and though she may be content to throw him over for rank and wealth with
you, surely you would not care to receive a second-hand affection.'

'How your tongue goes on, grandmother!' said Shafto, greatly irritated;
'you are like Finella's pad Fern when it gets the bit between its teeth.'

'Thank you! But this lover or cousin, or whatever he is, of whom Miss
Carlyon actually once spoke to me—who is he, and where is he?'

'How the deuce should I know!' exclaimed Shafto, growing pale; 'gone to
the dogs, I suppose, as I always thought he would.'

'It was of him that madwoman spoke?'

'Yes, Madelon Galbraith. He was named Florian after his aunt.'

'Miss MacIan.'

That was enough for Lady Fettercairn, who, dropping that subject,
returned with true feminine persistence to the other.

'I don't like this sort of thing, I repeat, Shafto.'

'What sort of thing?'

'This secret flirting with my companion, Miss Carlyon.'

'I don't flirt with her; and, by Jove, he'd be a pretty clever fellow who
could do so.'

'Why?'

'She is so devilish stand-off, grandmother.'

'I am truly glad to hear it.'

'But can't I talk with her? We are old acquaintances, and have naturally
much to say to each other.'
 'Too much, I fear. You may talk, as you say, but not hover about her.'

'Anything more?' asked Shafto rudely.

'Yes, I wish you to settle down——'

'Oh! and marry Finella?'

'Yes, that you know well, dear Shafto,' said the lady coaxingly.

'Oh, by Jove! that is easier said than done. You don't know all the outs
and ins of Finella; and one can't walk the course, so far as I can see.'

Shafto withdrew, but not before he saw the lace-edged handkerchief

come into use, to hide the tears she did not shed at the brusque manner of
her 'grandson,' who had failed to convince her, for she said to herself
bitterly:

'There is a curse upon Craigengowan! Our youngest son threw himself

and his life away upon a beggarly governess; and now our only grandson
seems likely to play the same game with my upstart companion! I do like
the girl, but, however, I must get rid of her.'

CHAPTER XVII.

WITH THE SECOND DIVISION.

Meanwhile the events of the war were treading thick on each other in
Zululand. A fresh disaster had ensued at the Intombe river, where a
detachment of the 80th Regiment was cut to pieces, and again old soldiers
spoke with sorrow and disgust of the blunders and incapacity of those at
head-quarters, who by their newfangled systems had reduced our once
grand army to chaos.
 Such alarms and surprises, like too many of the disasters and disgraces
which befell our arms in these latter wars, were entirely due to the new
formation of our battalions. 'That the destruction of the regimental system
by Lord Cardwell has been the original cause of all our reverses, surprises,
and humiliation, there can be little hesitation in saying,' to quote Major
Ashe. 'The men at Isandhlwana were not well handled, it must be admitted,
but it has since leaked out that many of them would not rally round their
officers, but attempted safety in flight. Dozens of the men, sergeants, and
other non-commissioned officers, have since disclosed that they did not
know the names of their company officers, or those of their right or left
hand men.'

Hence, by the newfangled system, there could be neither confidence nor

cohesion. Elsewhere he tells us that the once-splendid 91st Highlanders, 'the
envy of all recruiting sergeants, could only muster 200 men when ordered
to Zululand,' but was made up by volunteers from other regiments—men all
strangers to each other and to their officers, and whose facings were all the
colours of the rainbow. Then, after the Intombe, followed the storming of
the Inhlobane Mountain, where fell the gallant Colonel Weatherley, and the
no less gallant old frontier farmer Pict Nys, who was last seen fighting to
his final gasp against a horde of Zulus, across the dead body of his favourite
horse, an empty revolver in his left hand, a blood-dripping sabre in his
right, and more than one assegai, launched from a distance, quivering in his
body.

The cry went to Britain now for more troops; and fresh reinforcements
came, while the army in Zululand was reconstituted by Lord Chelmsford at
Durban.

There, amid a brilliant staff in their new uniforms fresh from home, was
one central figure, the ill-starred Prince Imperial of France, who had landed
two days after the battle of Kambula, and had been appointed an extra aide-
de-camp to the general commanding.

The army was now formed into two divisions: one under Major-General
Crealock, C.B., and another under Major-General Newdigate, while a flying
column under Sir Evelyn Wood was to act independently. Hammersley's
squadron of Mounted Infantry was attached to the Second Division, with
the movements of which our story has necessarily alone to do.

The 16th of April saw it marching northward of Natal, and on the 4th of
May Lord Chelmsford, who had joined it after church parade—for the day
was Sunday—suggested that a reconnaissance should be made towards the
Valley of the Umvolosi River to select ground for an entrenched camp, and
for this purpose Hammersley's squadron and Buller's Horse were ordered to
the front.

The local troopers under that brilliant officer were now clad in a uniform
manner—in brown cord breeches, mimosa-coloured jackets, long gaiters
laced to the knee, and broad cavalier hats, with long scarlet or blue
puggarees. The open collars of their flannel shirts displayed their bronzed
necks; and picturesque-looking fellows they were, all armed with sabres
and rifles of various patterns, slung across the back by a broad leather sling.
Their horses were rough but serviceable, and active as mountain deer.

After riding some miles over grassy plateaux and rugged hilly ground,
tufted with cabbage-tree wood, on a bright and pleasant morning, the local
Horse were signalled to retire, as it was discovered that a great body of
Zulus were watching their movements.

Unaware of this, Hammersley, with his Mounted Infantry, rode on for

three miles, till they reached a great plateau near a place called Zungen
Nek, where the pathway, if such it could be styled, was bordered by mimosa
thorns, and where two bullets mysteriously fired—no one could tell from
where, for no enemy was to be seen—whistled through the little squadron
harmlessly, though both were as close to Florian as they could pass without
hitting him, and one made Tattoo toss his head and lay his quivering little
ears angrily back on his neck.

At this time some officers who had cantered to the front from where the
division was halted, saw the dark figures of many of the enemy creeping
along in the jungle, and watching them so intently that they were all
unaware of their retreat being cut off by twenty of the Mounted Infantry
under a sergeant—Florian.
 'Forward, and at them!' cried the latter, as his men slung their rifles and
galloped in loose formation, sabre in hand, to attack the savages, but
suddenly found themselves on the edge of some precipitous cliffs, some
three hundred feet in height, which compelled them for a moment or two to
rein up till a narrow track was found, down which they descended in single
file in a scrambling way, the hoofs of the rear horses throwing sand, gravel,
and stones over those in front.

When the sounds made by the descent ceased, and the soldiers gained a
turfy plateau, nothing could be seen of the foe, and all was silence—a
silence that could be felt, like the darkness that rested on the land of Egypt.
Then there burst forth a united yell that seemed to rend the welkin, and a
vast horde of black-skinned Zulus, led by Methagazulu (the son of Sirayo),
who had recovered from the wound he received at Ginghilovo, came
rushing on, brandishing their assegais and rifles.

This ambuscade was more than Florian anticipated, and believing that all
was lost, and that he and his party would be utterly cut off to a man, he gave
the order to retire on the spur, and they splashed, girdle deep, through a ford
of the Umvolosi, on which, as if by the guidance of Heaven, they chanced
to hit.

With yells of baffled rage the savages followed them so closely that
Florian and another trooper named Tom Tyrrell, who covered the rear, had
to face about and fire by turns, till the open ground on the other side was
reached.

'A close shave that business,' said Tom breathlessly. 'I thought that in
three minutes' time every man Jack of us would have been assegaied.'

Galloping out of range, Florian's party now rejoined that of Hammersley,

who congratulated them on their escape, and they all rode together back to
head-quarters. But these movements had alarmed the whole valley of the
White Umvolosi.

On every hand, in quick succession, signal fires, formed of vast heaps of

dried grass, blazed on the hill-tops; vast columns of black smoke shot
upwards to the bright blue sky, and were repeated from summit to summit,
showing that the whole country was actively alive with armed warriors,
who in many places could be seen driving and goading their herds of cattle
into rocky kloofs and all kinds of places inaccessible to horse and foot
alike.

From the summit of the Zungen Nek a full view of the beautiful valley
through which the Umvolosi rolls could be obtained, and near a place there,
called Conference Hill, were seen, like a field of snow, the white tents of
the Second Division shining in the bright, sunny light.

Twenty-three days it remained encamped there, and during that time a

vast amount of useful information regarding the topography of the country
in which the coming campaign would be, was furnished by the reports and
sketches made by Colonel Buller, the Prince Imperial, by Hammersley, and
even by Florian, who was a very clever draughtsman, and on many
occasions was complimented by the staff in such terms as made his young
heart swell in his breast.

But the sketches of none surpassed those of the handsome and

unfortunate Prince, whose passion for information was boundless, and the
questions he was wont to ask of all were searching in the extreme.

One day, when out on a reconnaisance, the Mounted Infantry were

suddenly fired upon from a kraal, and in the conflict that ensued many were
killed and wounded, especially of the enemy, who were completely routed.

The great and unfathomable mystery of death was close indeed to

Florian on that day, and around him lay hundreds who had discovered it
within an hour or less. He had narrowly escaped it by skilfully dodging a
ponderous knobkerie flung at his head as the last dying effort of a warrior
whose black and naked breast had been pierced by a bullet from Tom
Tyrrell's rifle, and from which the crimson blood was welling as if from a
squirt; and so close was the weapon to doing Florian a mortal mischief that
it took the gilt spike close off the top of his helmet.

And now, on the very evening before the division broke up its camp and
marched, occurred an event which proved to Florian, and to his favourite
captain too, the chief one of the campaign.