"I believe I've behaved like a cur, Denham. If you really did what we--
what I suspected, I'm certain that you were justified. Since I've been
lying here I've been thinking things over."
"Well, in that case you may take it from me that it was justified,"
answered Denham gravely.
"I'll swear it was. Well, it's awfully good of you to find time to look
in upon me this morning of all days, and I appreciate it."
Denham was moved.
"Look here," he said, dropping his hand upon that of the other, "I must
go now, time presses. But, Stride, old chap, I want you to promise me
something, and that is that if ever you are in want of a friend you will
remember you have the best of that article here. For instance,
prospecting is precarious work, and, I'm told, often very hand-to-mouth.
Now, I happen to be one of those fortunate people who is frequently in
a position to be of use to his fellow-creatures, and if ever you find
yourself in any strait you must apply to me. There are often fairly
comfortable bunks I can slide people into. Now, will you?"
"Yes, I will. You are awfully good, Denham."
"That's settled. So now good-bye, and don't get well until it's too
late to go and get yourself half killed over again."
A hearty handshake, a pleasant nod and a smile, and Denham was gone.
But Stride called him back.
"You'll give--her--my every good wish?"
"Certainly, old chap, certainly."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The arrival of the missing man had been a source of boundless surprise.
How on earth had he, a stranger, been able to make his way across that
long distance of hostile country? Why, it would have taxed to the
uttermost the experience and resources of any one among themselves, was
the consensus of opinion. The thing was a mystery, and at such Denham
left it. He supposed he was born lucky and with a bump of topography,
was how he accounted for it in his easy-going way. But never by word or
hint did he let drop anything as to the real agency which had got him
through, not even to Verna.
And she? Well, to-day was her wedding day.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The pretty little church at Ezulwini was crammed. Sub-Inspector Dering,
incidentally due to leave for the seat of war that evening, acted best
man, and subsequently, at the big spread at the Nodwengu Hotel, in the
course of his speech pointed out that having helped to "kill" one good
man that morning he was due to go off and get another good man killed,
himself to wit, that evening, but that he deserved for coming in too
late to pick the combination of rose and lily of the whole country for
himself; which hit evoked vast laughter and applause, and the
festivities flowed on.
"Father," said Verna, in the interval before leaving. "Father, dear old
father, what will you do without me? Shall you go back home or what?"
Her tears were falling as she held him round the neck, gazing wistfully
into the strong, weather-beaten face, which in spite of her present
great happiness it wrung her heart to realise she should see no more, at
any rate, for some time to come.
"No, not yet, anyhow. I shall go and take part in this scuffle," he
answered. "Perhaps, later on, I'll come and help knock over some of
Denham's pheasants in the old country, if he's agreeable."
"If he's agreeable? What's that, Halse?" repeated Denham, who had just
then come in. "Why, the sooner you like, the sooner the better for us.
Come now. We'll have a jolly voyage all together."
"No; I'll see this scrap through first," was the trader's reply, given
with characteristic terseness. "Later on, perhaps."
Then there was a tremendous "send off," and thereafter the bulk of
Ezulwini--male--spent the rest of the day and evening proposing the
healths of the departed bride and bridegroom.