“What may it be?” cried the old German in astonishment.

The room beyond the pantry was the store-room. Through the thin wooden partition there arose at that instant, idently from some creature ensconced there, a prolonged and prodigious howl, followed by a succession of violent blows against the partition wall.

The German seized the churn-stick, and was about to rush round the house, when the Boer-woman impressively laid her hand upon his arm.

“That is his head,” said Tant’ Sannie, “that is his head.”

“But what might it be?” asked the German, looking from one to the other, churn-stick in hand.

A low hollow bellow prevented reply, and the voice of Bonaparte lifted itself on high.

“Mary Ann! my angel! my wife!”

“Isn’t it dreadful?” said Tant’ Sannie, as the blows were repeated fiercely. “He has got a letter: his wife is dead. You must go and comfort him,” said Tant’ Sannie at last, “and I will go with you. It would not be the thing for me to go alone — me, who am only thirty-three and he an unmarried man now,” said Tant’ Sannie, blushing, and smoothing out her apron.

Upon this they all trudged round the house in company — the Hottentot maid carrying the light, Tant’ Sannie and the German following, and the Kaffir girl bringing up the rear.

“Oh,” said Tant’ Sannie, “I see now it wasn’t wickedness made him do without his wife so long — only necessity.”

At the door she motioned to the German to enter, and followed him closely. On the stretcher behind the sacks Bonaparte lay on his face, his head pressed into a pillow, his legs kicking gently. The Boer-woman sat down on a box at the foot of the bed. The German stood with folded hands looking on.

“We must all die,” said Tant’ Sannie at last; “it is the dear Lord’s will.”

Hearing her voice, Bonaparte turned himself on to his back.

“It’s very hard,” said Tant’ Sannie, “I know, for I’ve lost two husbands.”

Bonaparte looked up into the German’s face.

“Oh, what does she say? Speak to me words of comfort!”

The German repeated Tant’ Sannie’s remark.

“Ah, I — I also! Two dear, dear wives, whom I shall never see any more!” cried Bonaparte, flinging himself back upon the bed.

He howled, till the tarantulas, who lived between the rafters and the zinc-roof, felt the unusual vibration, and looked out with their wicked bright eyes, to see what was going on.

Tant’ Sannie sighed, the Hottentot maid sighed, the Kaffir girl who looked in at the door put her hand over her mouth and said “Mow — wah!”

“You must trust in the Lord,” said Tant’ Sannie. “He can give you more than you have lost.”

“I do, I do!” he cried; “but oh, I have no wife! I have no wife!”

Tant’ Sannie was much affected, and came and stood near the bed.

“Ask him if he won’t have a little pap — nice, fine, flour pap. There is some boiling on the kitchen fire.”