Old Marnham is dead, and doubtless cremated; Rodd is dead and, let us hope, in heaven; the Basutos have melted away, the morning is fine and warm and a whole kid is cooking for breakfast." "I wish there were two, for I am ravenous," I remarked.
"The horses are getting rested and feeding well, though some of their legs have filled, and the trap is little the worse, for I have walked to look at them, or rather hopped, leaning on the shoulder of a very sniffy Swazi boy.

Do you know, old fellow, I believe there never were any Basutos; also that the venerable Marnham and the lurid Rodd had no real existence, that they were but illusions, a prolonged nightmare--no more.

Here is your shirt.

I am sorry that I have not had time to wash it, but it has cooked well in the sun, which, being flannel, is almost as good." "At any rate Heda remains," I remarked, cutting his nonsense short, "and I suppose she is not a nightmare or a delusion." "Yes, thank God! she remains," he replied with earnestness.

"Oh! Allan, I thought she must drown in that river, and if I had lost her, I think I should have gone mad.