It is a poor Kaffir that does not love fighting, especially when he has a gun and a white man or two to lead him.
Now that we had made such little preparations as we could, which, by the way, I supplemented by causing some furniture to be piled up against the front and back doors, there came a pause, which, speaking for my own part--being, after all, only a lad at the time--I found very trying to the nerves.

There I stood at my window with the two guns, one a double-barrel and one a single "roer", or elephant gun, that took a tremendous charge, but both, be it remembered, flint locks; for, although percussion caps had been introduced, we were a little behind the times in Cradock.

There, too, crouched on the ground beside me, holding the ammunition ready for re-loading, her long, black hair flowing about her shoulders, was Marie Marais, now a well-grown young woman.

In the intense silence she whispered to me: "Why did you come here, Allan?
You were safe yonder, and now you will probably be killed." "To try to save you," I answered simply.

"What would you have had me do ?" "To try to save me?
Oh! that is good of you, but you should have thought of yourself." "Then I should still have thought of you, Marie." "Why, Allan ?" "Because you are myself and more than myself.