Forging the Blades A Tale of the Zulu Rebellion

Excerpt: ...naturalist soul, in the bushes or grass, he was still thinking-well, he had better not think. Yet, why should he not? The question pressed itself practically home to him. He was his own master, and in every way in a position to please himself. Why should he not do so? What a rare "find" this was! he told himself, his thoughts running on Verna. And if he missed her presence because she had been obliged to withdraw for an hour or so, what did it mean? A phrase ran uneasily through his mind, "Can't bear her out of his sight." And this was the first day of his arrival. No, assuredly it was time to pull himself together. And then, her brightly uttered words of parting, "We'll have such a jolly time of it this afternoon." Well, it should be no fault of his if they did not. Chapter Sixteen. Drawing in. "Mr Denham, I think we'll change the programme, shall we?" said Verna, as she came out, got up for the ride. "Instead of going down we'll go up, if you don't mind. Do you?" "Why, of course not. I am in your hands entirely." The horses were waiting, saddled, the boy walking them up and down. Verna was in a sort of khaki-coloured riding habit, with a hat to match. In it was a subtle combination of the fashionable and civilised build with the congruous costume of the locality and surroundings that sat her altogether charmingly. "All right, then. I'll take you where you will get a beautiful view; and the road is delightful. If you feel like getting off to look for a specimen, do so at any time. Now, will you put me into that saddle?" The smile she beamed at him recalled him to himself. The naked truth of it was that Denham had about shed himself, as a snake sheds its skin. He was a hard-headed man of the world-a keen, successful financier, yet by now he was dimly realising that he scarcely knew himself. Experiences came back to...