"Marry an Englishman?" she cried violently. "Never. It would break my father’s heart—​and mine too." With a quick movement she wrenched her hands away and fled from him. He turned very pale and stood staring after her, his mouth set in a grim line.

Returned to the stoep, Chrissie found Carol Uys seated there talking to her father. It transpired that they had already arranged a deal by which Carol was to take back the pair of bays (with a mule thrown in) at the same price as he had sold. The old man said he no longer needed them to take him to kerk. He would never enter a kerk again he avowed.

Carol and Chrissie shook hands and she went indoors where he presently followed her, for old Retief had fallen once more into absorbed reverie.

"Chrissie," said the young Dutchman, "the war will soon be on now. Old Oom Paul Kruger has defied the rooi-neks, and we are to fight."

"Yes, Carol," said she, listlessly arranging the coffee cups.

"I shall be off on commands, at the first call."

"You think there will be fighting in this district too?"

"If there isn’t, I shall make for the Transvaal."

The girl fell into a moment’s brooding silence.

"War is horrible!" she said slowly.

"Horrible, yes, maar afterwards we shall be the baases, and call our country our own."

"I am not sure, Carol; they say these English are good fighters."

"Mastag! and what about the Boers? We will show them, you wait a little."

After another silence, he spoke again in a different voice.

"Chrissie--"

Looking up she saw his bashful purpose in his eyes, and strove to avoid the issue.

"Do you see how sick my Poppa is, Carol?"

"Yes, I am sorry, Chrissie, he is very sick. This trouble with the railway has turned his blood, I’m afraid."

"God knows what will happen if he does not shake it off! my poor old Poppa, it will kill him." Tears sprang to her eyes and her hands trembled amidst the crockery. Carol seized one and held it fast.

"Do not fret, Chrissie, I will take care of you, if you will let me. You know I love you and want to marry you. I have already asked Oom Nick and he has given his consent. Will you marry me, Chrissie?"

A bitter little smile twisted her lips. It seemed she had grown suddenly very desirable, since two men, within an hour, should ask her in marriage!

"I do not love you, Carol," she said quietly. His face fell.

"I used to think, Chrissie—​but lately you are so changed."

"Yes, I am changed," she answered staring out through the open door, to the tents away by the river. "I am changed, Carol. I wish I were not a Boer maisie."

He did not understand this, but it sounded like treason, and he rebuked it.