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"What news?" Madame Bulteel's face lighted. "Good news," she exclaimed eagerly. "He will see he will see again?" Fleda asked in great agitation. "The Montreal doctor said that the chances were even," answered Madame Bulteel. "This man from the States says it is a sure thing." With a murmur Fleda sank into a chair, and a faintness came over her. "That's not like a Romany," remarked old Rhodo.
"Oh," said the Boer, "they are not on my farm, thank goodness! they are on my cousin Bulteel's;" and he pointed to a large white house about four miles distant, and quite off the road. Nevertheless, Staines insisted on going to it.
"What news?" Madame Bulteel's face lighted. "Good news," she exclaimed eagerly. "He will see he will see again?" Fleda asked in great agitation. "The Montreal doctor said that the chances were even," answered Madame Bulteel. "This man from the States says it is a sure thing." With a murmur Fleda sank into a chair, and a faintness came over her. "That's not like a Romany," remarked old Rhodo.
Has she had an accident? Does she mean never to return? Are all my calculations of no sense, and has she left me forever? In despair, at ten o'clock I telephoned the Hotel de Courville. Lady Thormonde had been there in the morning, I was told, but the Duchesse had left for Hautevine at two o'clock. No one was in the house now. No, they did not know Lady Hilda Bulteel's telephone number.
They went on side by side, and halted for the night forty miles from Bulteel's farm. They slept in a Boer's out-house, and the vrow was civil, and lent Staines a jackal's skin. In the morning he bought it for a diamond, a carbuncle, and a score of garnets; for a horrible thought had occurred to him, if they stopped at any place where miners were, somebody might buy the great diamond over his head.
When Falcon went, luck seemed to desert their claim: day after day went by without a find; and the discoveries on every side made this the more mortifying. By this time the diggers at Bulteel's pan were as miscellaneous as the audience at Drury Lane Theatre, only mixed more closely; the gallery folk and the stalls worked cheek by jowl.
But long before this, events more pertinent to my story had occurred. One day, a Hottentot came into Bulteel's farm and went out among the diggers, till he found Staines. The Hottentot was one employed at Dale's Kloof, and knew him. He brought Staines a letter. Staines opened the letter, and another letter fell out; it was directed to "Reginald Falcon, Esq."
I do not feel so sure as you do that she wants to go to England; and, if not, I must write to Uncle Philip. Give me your solemn promise, old fellow, an answer in twenty days if you have to send a Kafir on horseback." "I give you my honor," said Falcon superbly. "Send it to me at Bulteel's Farm." "All right. 'Dr. Christie, Bulteel's Farm." "Well no.
There was a little cask of Bulteel's brightest tenpenny that some magician's arm had conjured up through the well-hole in the belfry floor: and Clerk Janaway, for all he was teetotaler, eyed the foaming pots wistfully as he passed them round after the work was done. "Well," he said, "there weren't no int'rupted peal this time, were there?
"Master," said poor Squat, in deprecating tones, "my little master at the farm wanted plaster. He send to Bulteel's pan; dere was large lumps. Squat say to miners, 'May we take de large lumps? Dey say, 'Yes; take de cursed lumps we no can break. We took de cursed lumps. We ride 'em in de cart to farm twenty milses. I beat 'em with my hammer. Dey is very hard.
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