Braddon who had been standing with his hat off now replaced it and turned away. It was only too clear that he was wasting time. But he threw one Parthian shot over his shoulder.

"As a matter of fact it is a Dutchman who is hurt. A decent young fellow, too, of the same name as your own." He walked away.

"How can you be so cruel, Poppa, then?" cried the girl turning fiercely on her father, her eyes bright with tears and anger.

Receiving no answer she ran into the house, emerging three minutes later with a cappie on her head and a bottle in her hand. Defiantly she stood before her father.

"I am going to take him the brandy. You can beat me if you will, but I shall take the brandy."

The old man looked at her with terrible eyes but spake no word.

"He is one of us—​a Retief—​a Boer! It would be a shame on us if we let him perhaps die of his sufferings."

For an instant longer, she paused, her foot on the step, waiting for some relenting word from him, but he spake nothing. So she ran down the steps and across the veld after Braddon. He had already reached the camp before she caught him up, and another man was saddling a horse to ride to Diepner’s, some three miles off.

"Here is the brandy," said Chrissie breathlessly, touching his arm just as he was about to enter the tent where the injured man lay. She was very white for all her running. Braddon took the bottle from her with grateful words, and would have kept her hand, but she drew back coldly.

"I cannot shake hands with my father’s enemies. It is only because the man is a Boer, like ourselves, that I have come."

The Englishman, intensely chagrined, stood staring at her a moment. Then he said abruptly:

"Wait one moment while I give Retief a dose. Do not go. I must speak to you."

While she stood hesitating, he disappeared into the tent, returning almost immediately.

"Come, I will walk back with you."

"I don’t require your escort," she said rudely. "I am on my father’s ground."

Nevertheless, he walked beside her as she moved quickly away.

"Chrissie!" he said quietly. "What has all this trouble about the land and about war to do with you and me?"

She did not answer, only walked faster.

"I am only an employee of the Government," he continued. "How is it my fault if they take your father’s land?"

"I do not say that it is your fault," she said. "But it turns you into his enemy—​and mine."

"And yours?" he repeated reproachfully, "I thought you were more just than that!"

"I am the daughter of a Boer."

"And I am an Englishman. But that does not prevent me from loving you."

He caught hold of her hands and made her stand still. They had reached a spot where the pomegranates hid them from view of the stoep.

"Do you hear, Chrissie? I love you, and I want to marry you."