positively the last of the missiles ended its blaze with a groan at eleven o’clock!  That the bombardment would be resumed when the gun had “cooled” nobody thought of doubting for an instant; and when three hours had sped, when the gun had had time to become a veritable cucumber, the rumour-monger, positive, superior, laconic to the last, attributed its silence to a “loose screw!” But, for us, the screw was never tightened; Kimberley had indeed heard the last of Long Tom.  Our scepticism, however, remained robust, and would not permit us to treat with aught but ridicule the vaunted wonders with which the day was to be fraught.

The Colonel and his staff still comported themselves with Patrician dignity (as befitted their station), only condescending occasionally to utter unofficial words of cheer.  But these utterances were taken for what they were worth, and the experience of four months had taught us to estimate their value at rather less than nothing.  When, therefore, towards two o’clock in the afternoon the unfolding of a tale descriptive of an approaching body of eight thousand cavalry had begun, we derisively snapped our fingers at the story.  With amazing persistence the narrative was shouted aloud, and with a positiveness which such angry retorts as “Am I a fool!” “Don’t come it on me!” “You’re a liar!” etc., could not subdue.  Undaunted the heralds of the oncoming Column carried their message to every ear, to be accepted or rejected.  The bulk of the people stipulated to “see” the Column, and then they “might” believe; and it was hard even to induce them to get on to the roof for a view.  The ladies in the mines, who, uncomfortable as they were, had a horror of being fooled any more, also perversely refused to stir until they saw the Column; it was not easy to persuade them that an adjournment to the surface of dull earth was an indispensable preliminary to the testimony of their eyes.  Courier after courier arrived with the grand and glorious news; and when men on the conning tower were observed to cheer frantically, wave hand-kerchiefs, and gesticulate insanely, our flinty nature humbly condescended to soften.  When all in turn beheld the huge body of cavalry drawing nearer and nearer to Kimberley, the tears began to roll and the pent-up emotion of four weary months was freely given way to!  From verandahs, from windows, redoubts, and debris heaps the roars of welcome were sent across the veld.  Advance-stragglers, exhausted and travel-stained, presently arrived, to have their buttons cut off their coats, the feathers plucked from their hats, their arms wrenched from their sockets, and to be hugged with merciless and enervating tenderness in the wild paroxysm of an ultra-Irish cead mile failte! The Siege was raised!  The suspense and sorrow were over!  The lowering, ever-darkening cloud had broken—­turned inside out to dazzle with the sheen of its lining our unaccustomed eyes.  We were free again; to revel