My Ralph, he thought, was his adopted child, perhaps because of some inherited similarity of voice, for he called him "son," but my own presence puzzled him, for he said once or twice, "So Suzanne has escaped from that hell-hound, Swart Piet.

Have you killed the dog, Ralph?
Ralph, have you killed the dog ?" Thus we went to the little church where the chaplain of the regiment was to wed us, the pipers going first, playing a wild marriage march on their bagpipes.

Next came Ralph and I walking side by side, and after us the waggon with my great-grandparents, while the rear was brought up by a guard of honour formed of every available soldier in the company.
Outside the open door of the church the waggon was halted, and from it the Vrouw Botmar witnessed the ceremony, causing the register to be brought to her to sign.

This she did, resting the book upon the head of the Kaffir driver, down whose back she managed to upset the ink.
"Never mind," she said, not the least disturbed, "it cannot make the poor creature any blacker than he is." "Oh! how can I leave you, grandmother ?" I said to her afterwards.
"Child," she answered, with a stern face, "in my youth, to keep one I loved near me, I committed a great sin.

Now by way of penance I part from one I love; yes, being yet alive I say farewell for ever to the last of my race.