the English foundling at your place; but I can overlook that, although you may tell the lad that if he is impertinent to me again as he was the other day, he will not for the second time get off with a whipping only.  Be so good as to give your answer to the bearer, who will pass it on to those that can find me, for I am travelling about on business, and do not know where I shall be from day to day.  Give also my love to Suzanne, your daughter, and tell her that I think often of the time when she shall be my wife.

“I am, well-beloved Heer, your friend,

“Piet van Vooren.”

Now, when Ralph had finished reading this letter aloud, for it had been given to him as the best scholar among us, you might have thought there were four crazy people in the room, so great was our rage.  Jan and Ralph said little indeed, although they looked white and strange with anger, and Suzanne not over much, for it was I who talked for all of them.

“What is your answer, girl?” asked her father presently with an angry laugh.

“Tell the Heer Piet van Vooren,” she replied, smiling faintly, “that if ever his lips should touch my face again it will be only when that face is cold in death.  Oh!  Ralph,” she cried, turning to him suddenly and laying her hand upon his breast, “it may be that this man will bring trouble and separation on us; indeed, my heart warns me of it, but, whatever chances, remember my words, dead I may be, but faithful I shall be—­yes, to death and through death.”

“Son, take pen and write,” said Jan before Ralph could answer.  So Ralph wrote down these words as Jan told them to him: 

“Piet van Vooren,

“Sooner would I lay my only child out for burial in the grave than lead her to the house of a coloured man, a consorter with witch-doctors and black women and a would-be murderer.  That is my answer, and I add this to it.  Set no foot within a mile of my house, for here we shoot straighter than you do, and if we find you on this place, by the help of God we will put a bullet through your carcase.”

At the foot of this writing, which he would not suffer to be altered, Jan printed his name in big letters; then he went out to seek the messenger, whom he found talking to Sihamba, and having given him the paper bade him begone swiftly to wherever it was he came from.  The man, who was a strong red-coloured savage, marked with a white scar across the left cheek, and naked except for his moocha and the kaross rolled up upon his shoulders, took the letter, hid it in his bundle, and went.

Jan also turned to go, but I who had followed him and was watching him, although he did not know it, saw him hesitate and stop.

“Sihamba,” he said, “why were you talking to that man?”

“Because it is my business to know of things, Father of Swallow, and I wished to learn whence he came.”

“Did you tell you then?”

“Not altogether, for someone whom he fears has laid a weight upon his tongue, but I learned that he lives at a kraal far away in the mountains, and that this kraal is owned by a white man who keeps wives and cattle at it, although he is not there himself just now.  The rest I hope to hear when Swart Piet sends him back again, for I have given the man a medicine to cure his child, who is sick, and he will be grateful to me.”