inaction. He foundhimself lying on the same bed and in the same room, but this time he wasnot alone. There was an old man sitting by his bedside and watching himapparently with some curiosity. He was a Dutchman,--that was plain fromhis physiognomy alike and his dress,--and probably a man of somesubstance. His clothes were of the usual material, but of a goodquality, and had not been much worn. His features were rather harsh,but not repulsive, and his demeanour quiet and self-possessed. Henoticed the change in George's appearance, and proceeded to express hissatisfaction in English, which was not quite idiomatic, but neverthelesswas intelligible.
"The Englishman is better; is he able to talk?"
"Thank you, I feel much better," said George. "Will you please to tellme where I am, and how I came here?"
"I heard your gun, and found you in a swoon. This is my house; it iscalled Malopo's Kloof."
"I am very thankful," said George. "How long have I been ill?"
"It is more than five weeks since I found you--five weeks last Monday."
"Five weeks!" repeated George, becoming dimly conscious of strange, wildscenes, among which he seemed to have passed an immeasurable period oftime,--gallops over interminable plains, struggles with armed assassins,writhings of wounded snakes, and the like phantasmagoria of a sickfancy, succeeding and intermingling with one another. "Five weeks!Have I had a fever?"
"A marsh fever, and a very bad one. I thought several times theEnglishman would die," said the old man.
"And who has been my doctor?" inquired Rivers, only able to recall twofigures that were not quite shadowy and unreal,--the figure of the manbefore him, and another younger than he. "Who have been my doctor andmy nurse?"
"You have had no doctor: there is none in these parts. Rudolf and Inursed you," was the answer. "We put on cool bandages and gave you cooldrinks--nothing else."
"And I have to thank you for my life then!" exclaimed George, feeblystretching out his hand, and becoming aware for the first time how thinand wasted it had become.
"We could not let the Englishman die," said the old man simply. "Butyou must be quiet--you are not strong enough to talk." Putting a glasscontaining some mixture which tasted deliciously cool and refreshing tohis lips, the Dutchman now withdrew, and Rivers was soon once moreburied in slumber.
He woke again after a long interval, feeling stronger, and so went onfor a week or two more, gaining strength continually, until at last hewas permitted to get up and sit for an hour in the garden, which was nowin the prime of its beauty and luxuriance. Mynheer Kransberg--that hepresently discovered to be his host's name--had been one of the earliestsettlers in the Transvaal, long before the country bore that name, andwhen it was only inhabited by the native tribes. He had been quite ayoung man, though possessed of good means, when the Dutch first brokeout into resistance to the English rule. Aware of the hopelessness ofrebellion, and unwilling to take part against his countrymen, he hadwithdrawn with a considerable following of his own dependants into thethen unknown regions lying to the north of the Orange river. Here hehad purchased land of one of the native chiefs, built his house, andenclosed his farm, and here he had lived ever since, through all thenumerous changes which the country had undergone, paying as little heedto them as if he had belonged to another planet. He had never married,or felt any inclination to do so. He had ridden about his fields, andreared his cattle and sent them to market, and brewed his Dutch beer,year after year, with a placid contentment which is rarely witnessed,even in a Dutchman. If he was indolent he was at all events extremelygood-tempered, and his oldest servants scarcely ever remembered to haveseen him ruffled.
He had lived alone until within the last few years, never seeming toexperience the want of a companion. But about two years since hissolitude had been broken in upon by the arrival of his nephew, RudolfKransberg, a tall, gawky youth of two-and-twenty, who came to claim hishelp and protection. His father, a merchant in Graham's Town, had diedinsolvent, and his son, calling to mind for the first for a great manyyears his uncle in the Transvaal, had made a journey hither, in the hopeof gaining a kind reception. In that he had not been disappointed. Theold man heard of his arrival, and of the misfortunes which had befallenhis brother, without exhibiting the smallest emotion, but at the sametime he gave the young man shelter and maintenance, allowed him, infact, to live in his house, treating him in all respects as though hehad been his own son. Rudolf, who in many respects resembled hisrelative, accepted the situation with equal complaisance, and they hadnow lived together two years in perfect contentment, not a word havingbeen exchanged between them as to the older man's disposal of hisproperty or the younger one's prospects in life, till within the lastfew weeks, when Rudolf had consulted his uncle on the subject of amarriage which he was anxious to contract.
The two were sitting in the garden in a Dutch summer-house which oldKransberg had run up with his own hands some forty years before. It wasgenerally thought that the old man liked the society of his nephew, andespecially during the smoking of the evening pipe, though he neverexpressed any feeling to that effect, or, indeed, to any effectwhatsoever, unless compelled by absolute necessity. He was thereforesomewhat surprised when one evening Rudolf took his pipe from his lips,and after rolling out a long puff of smoke, addressed his uncle.
"My uncle, there is something I would ask you. May I speak?"
The old man similarly removed his pipe, emitting a corresponding puff,and then answered briefly, "Ya."
"My uncle, I am four-and-twenty."
He paused, but his uncle not considering this to require a verbalacknowledgment, only nodded.
"My uncle, it is time I was married."
This apparently was regarded as calling for a reply. The pipeaccordingly was again removed, and Mynheer inquired "Whom?"
"Thyrza Rivers."
Another long silence followed this communication, after which the oldman remarked, "Englishwoman."
"True," assented the nephew, roused by his feelings to unusual prolixityof speech; "but she has always been bred up in our ways. And herfather-in-law is a good man."
Old Kransberg again gave an affirmative nod. "Go over and ask her," hesaid.
Rudolf nodded in his turn, and so the conversation ended.
It was on the day following this that Mynheer Kransberg, as he wasproceeding after supper to smoke his usual pipe in the summer-house, wasstartled by the discharge of a gun at a short distance. As the readerhas heard, the country had been for some time infested by bands ofruffians, who committed great depredations in the neighbourhood. Theold man's first idea was to summon his servants and send them out to seeafter the marauder, but, casting his eyes along the road, he saw thefigure of a man lying prostrate, having apparently been shot.Straightway he summoned two of his Hottentots and desired them to bringthe wounded man or his body, as the case might be, into the house. Itwas soon discovered that there was no wound, but the stranger had adangerous attack of fever of some kind, and was in imminent danger ofhis life. Without more words he had him consigned to the bed in hisguest-chamber, where he and his nephew nursed him with all possiblekindness, until he had recovered his consciousness, as the reader hasheard, and appeared to be in a fair way of recovery. George soon madeacquaintance with both uncle and nephew. No great effort, indeed, wasnecessary to form such an acquaintance. All that was required was tosit still and smoke, exchanging, it might be, two words in the course ofevery hour. During all this time Rudolf's courtship had been held inabeyance. As it was necessary for him to stop at home and assist hisuncle in nursing, it was not possible he could be spared to ride overtwenty miles to Umtongo. If the swain had been a Frenchman or anItalian, or even an Englishman, it might have been argued that hisattachment to the lady was not a very ardent one. But that would havebeen to mistake the case. Rudolf was very sincere in his devotion, andwas anxious that his visit should not be delayed any longer, and he hadordained in his own mind that he would set forth on his errand thefollowing day, when he was greatly star
tled by a question which hisguest put to him.
George had been sitting, as the reader has heard, in his host's garden,enjoying the scent of the delicious flowers, when he saw RudolfKransberg advancing towards him. The young Dutchman bestowed a nod uponhim, his usual greeting, and then, sitting down on the bench beside him,lighted his pipe and began to smoke. Presently George inquired whetherRudolf could tell him of a farmhouse in that neighbourhood calledUmtongo, the residence of a farmer named Ludwig Mansen.
Rudolf was so startled that he actually dropped his pipe. He stooped,however, to pick it up again, before he repeated the words, "Umtongo!Ludwig Mansen!"
"Yes," said George, supposing that his companion did not understand him."I was on my way to his house when