But the expression on the face was even stranger than the sudden apparition.

It was an expression of keen and poignant disappointment--as of a man whom fate has baulked of some well-planned end, his due by right, which mere chance has evaded.
"They say there's a white man at the bottom of all this trouble," our host had been remarking, one second earlier.

"The niggers know too much; and where did they get their rifles?
People at Rozenboom's believe some black-livered traitor has been stirring up the Matabele for weeks and weeks.

An enemy of Rhodes's, of course, jealous of our advance; a French agent, perhaps; but more likely one of these confounded Transvaal Dutchmen.

Depend upon it, it's Kruger's doing." As the words fell from his lips, I saw the face.