Now he is dead--I know that those Boers have shot him--and it is all your fault! And if he is dead I will never speak to you again." The old man retreated, somewhat dismayed at this outburst, which was not at all in Bessie's style.
"Ah, well," he said to himself, "that is the way of women; they turn into tigers about a man!" There may have been truth in this reflection, but a tiger is not a pleasant domestic pet, as poor old Silas discovered during the next two months.

The more Bessie thought about the matter the more incensed she grew because he had sent her lover away.

Indeed, in a little while she quite forgot that she had herself acquiesced in his going.

In short, her temper gave way completely under the strain, so that at last her uncle scarcely dared to mention John's name.
Meanwhile, things had been going as ill without as within.

First of all--that was the day after John's departure--two or three loyal Boers and an English store-keeper from Lake Chrissie, in New Scotland, outspanned on the place and implored Silas Croft to fly for his life into Natal while there was yet time.