_You_ gave a printed document to Mr.Osborn who put on his glasses and began to read in a low voice which few could hear, and I noticed that his hand trembled.

Presently he grew confused, lost his place, found it, lost it again and came to a full stop.
"A nervous-natured man," remarked Mr.Anscombe.

"Perhaps he thinks that those gentlemen are going to shoot." "That wouldn't trouble him," I answered, who knew him well.

"His fears are purely mental." That was true since I know that this same Sir Melmoth Osborn as he is now, as I have told in the book I called _Child of Storm_, swam the Tugela alone to watch the battle of Indondakasuka raging round him, and on another occasion killed two Kaffirs rushing at him with a right and left shot without turning a hair.

It was reading this paper that paralyzed him, not any fear of what might happen.
There followed a very awkward pause such as occurs when a man breaks down in a speech.