As I have before written, the convent in Mafeking was from the commencement of the bombardment picked out by the enemy as a target, and during the first week it was hit by certainly ten or twelve projectiles, and reduced more or less to a ruined state.  At no time can the building have laid claims to the picturesque or the beautiful, but it had one peculiarity—­namely, that of being the only two-storied building in Mafeking, and of standing out, a gaunt red structure, in front of the hospital, and absolutely the last building on the north-east side of the town.  It was certainly a landmark for miles, and, but for its sacred origin and the charitable calling of its occupants, would have been a fair mark for the enemy’s cannon.  Very melancholy was the appearance it presented, with large gaping apertures in its walls, with its shattered doors and broken windows; whilst surrounding it was what had been a promising garden, but had then become a mere jungle of weeds and thorns.  The back of the edifice comprised below several large living-rooms, over them a row of tiny cubicles, and was practically undamaged.  The eighteen convalescent patients had been comfortably installed on the ground-floor, and we had two tiny rooms above.  This accommodation was considered to be practically safe from shells, in spite of the big gun having been shifted a few days previously, and it being almost in a line with the convent.  On the upper floor of the eastern side a large room, absolutely riddled with shot and shell, was formerly occupied as a dormitory by the children of the convent school.  It was now put to a novel use as a temporary barracks, a watch being always on duty there, and a telescope installed at the window.  Since the nuns left to take up their abode in a bomb-proof shelter, a Maxim had been placed at one of the windows, which commanded all the surrounding country; but it was discreetly covered over, and the window-blind kept closely drawn to avert suspicion, as it was only to be used in case of real emergency.  To reach our cubicles there was but a single staircase, which led past this room allotted to the soldiers—­a fact which left an unsatisfactory impression on my mind, for it was apparent that, were the convent aimed at, to reach terra-firma we should have to go straight in the direction of shells or bullets.  However, the authorities opined it was all right; so, feeling very ill, I was only too glad to crawl to bed.  Just as the sun was setting, the soldiers on watch came tearing down the wooden passage, making an awful clatter, and calling out:  “The gun is pointed on the convent!” As they spoke, the shell went off, clean over our heads, burying itself in a cloud of dust close to a herd of cattle half a mile distant.  This did not reassure me, but we hoped it was a chance shot, which might not occur again, and that it had been provoked by the cattle grazing so temptingly within range.  I must say there was something very weird and eerie in those long nights spent at