She was near eighteen then, and so beautiful that my heart beat with pride at her loveliness, for never in my long life have I seen a girl of any nation who could compare with my daughter Suzanne in looks.

Many women are sweet to behold in this way or in that; but Suzanne was beautiful every way, yes, and at all ages of her life; as a child, as a maiden, as a matron and as a woman drawing near to eld, she was always beautiful if, like that of the different seasons, her beauty varied.

In shape she was straight and tall and rounded, light-footed as a buck, delicate in limb, wide-breasted and slender-necked.

Her face was rich in hue as a kloof lily, and her eyes--ah! no antelope ever had eyes darker, tenderer, or more appealing than were the eyes of Suzanne.
Moreover, she was sweet of nature, ready of wit and good-hearted--yes, even for the Kaffirs she had a smile.
"You are up betimes, Suzanne," I said when I had looked at her a little.
"Yes, mother; I rose to make Ralph his coffee, he does not like that the Kaffir women should boil it for him." "You mean that you do not like it," I answered, for I knew that Ralph thought little of who made the coffee that he drank, or if he did it was mine that he held to be the best, and not Suzanne's, who in those days was a careless girl, thinking less of household matters than she should have done.
"Did Swart Piet come here yesterday ?" I asked.

"I thought that I saw his horse as I walked back from the sea." "Yes, he came." "What for ?" She shrugged her shoulders.