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The crowding faces of B.S.A. men and Town Guardsmen were grinning now. The patrol-officer was rocking in his saddle. "When I revived, sir, from the swoon or trance ..." "Very good, Private Brooker; we'll hear the rest of that in the morning. Sergeant, relieve these sentries, and bring Private Keyse and the hypnotic subject before me in the morning.
"Well, you'll know her again when you meet her or she will you," said the patrol-officer, about to move on, when a deplorable figure came staggering into the circle, and the rider reined up his horse. "What's this? Hey, Johnny, where's your gun?" It was W. Keyse's fellow-sentry from the opposite flank of the Convent. "And time you turned up, I don't think," commented W. Keyse.
Superintendent Strong was in a pleasant mood, and the reason was not far to seek. The distracting period of inaction, of doubt, of hesitation was past, and now at last something would be done. His term of service along the line of the Canadian Pacific Railway construction had been far from congenial to him. There had been too much of the work of the ordinary patrol-officer about it.
"A tall man in civilian clothes, with a dark wideawake and short pointed beard! H'm!" "Coming from the veld, apparently, and not from town," said the picket Commander. "Must have known the countersign, or the sentries out there would have stopped him. I see!" He looked at the patrol-officer, who coughed again. The moonlight was quite bright enough for the exchange of a wink.
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