and plastered walls, thick building paper formed the interior covering, leaving a space between the iron outside and the paper within.

The interior of the cottage was in marked contrast with its outer appearance. A wide hall extended through the entire depth, with a door at each end. The walls were artistically hung with shields, assagais, spears, and knob-kerries, and in either corner stood a large elephant’s tusk, mounted on a pedestal of ebony.

A small horned head of the beautiful blesse-bok hung over a door leading into an apartment, the floor of which was covered with India matting, over which was strewn karosses of rarest fur; a piano stood in one corner, while costly furniture, rich lace, and satin hangings were arranged with an artistic sense befitting the mistress of it all.

On a divan, the upholstering of which was hidden by a karosse of leopard skins, reclined Dainty Laure, a woman on whom the South African suns had shone for not more than twenty years. The light, softened by amber curtains, revealed an oval face, with features of that sensuous type seen only in those born in the climes of the sun. This clear, olive-tinted face showed a love of ease and luxury, unless the blood which seemed to sleep beneath its crystal veil should rouse to a purpose, and make this being a dangerous and implacable enemy.

Her eyes were closed; one would have thought she slept, but for the occasional motion of a fan of three ostrich feathers. The reverie into which she had fallen was broken by the striking of the clock. The pencilled eyebrows gave a little electric move, and the lids slowly unveiled those dark languorous eyes, which seemed like hidden founts of love.

So expressive was the play of those delicate eyelids that one forgot the face in watching them, as they would droop and droop, and then slowly open until the great, luminous orbs appeared, and seemed to dilate with an infinite wonder, a sort of childlike fear combined with the look of a caged wild animal. This expression extended to the mouth, with its budding lips over small, white teeth. Should occasion come, she could smile with her eyes, while her mouth looked cruel.

A white robe of fleecy lace clung round her form, and from the hem of her garment peeped a ravishing little foot, encased in silken hose and satin slipper of the same bronze hue.

Bracelets of dewdrop diamonds encircled her wrists, and with the rubies and diamonds at throat and ear, completed a toilet which might have vied with that of some semi-barbaric Eastern princess.

Such was the woman in whose veins ran the blood of European and African races.

In one of the numerous wars between the native tribes and English soldiers in Africa, Captain Montgomery, pierced by an assegai, fell wounded on the battle-field, and was left for dead. For hours he lay unconscious. Toward night he awoke to a realisation of his perilous situation, in the midst of a dense underbrush infested with reptiles and wild beasts, to which he at any moment might fall a victim. He attempted to rise, but his stiffened limbs refused their office; thirst, that ever-present demon of the wounded, parched his throat.

After many fruitless efforts he succeeded in rising to a sitting posture, but the effort caused his brain to reel, and all again became a blank. For a short time he remained in this condition, when perfect consciousness, like that which with vivid force precedes dissolution, returned, and revealed standing before him an aged Zulu chief, accompanied by an attendant. The supreme moment of his life seemed to have arrived, and with a final effort he summoned all his strength and made a sign—the sign known to the elect of all nations. The sign was recognised—understood—by that savage in the wilderness. There, in that natural temple of the Father of all good, stood one to whom had descended from the ages the mystic token of brotherhood.

At a signal the attendant Zulu bounded away, leaving the chief, who gently placed the soldier’s body in a less painful position. The native soon returned with three others, bringing a litter made of ox-hides, on which, with slow and measured steps, they bore him to their kraal, situated on a hillside, at the foot of which was a running stream.

He was taken to a hut and placed on a bed of soft, sweet-smelling grasses covered with skins. Tenderly the rude Africans moistened his lips, removed his clothing, and bathed his wounds. For hours he lay unconscious; then a sigh welled from his breast, another and another. Gently the attendants raised his head, and administered a cooling drink.

Soon a profuse perspiration covered his body, and the strained look of pain gradually left his face.

The following day the chief, with his principal attendants, visited the Englishman. Forming a circle round his couch, they stood for several moments gazing at the sufferer in profound silence; then, passing before his pallet, they slowly filed out of the hut.