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Allen, Grant, 1848-1899

"Hilda Wade, a Woman with Tenacity of Purpose"


I hurried on, ill at ease. But Tant Mettie would, doubtless, have a cup
of tea ready for me as soon as I arrived, and Hilda would be waiting at
the gate to welcome me.
I reached the stone enclosure, and passed up through the flower-garden.
To my great surprise, Hilda was not there. As a rule, she came to meet
me, with her sunny smile. But perhaps she was tired, or the sun on the
road might have given her a headache. I dismounted from my mare,
and called one of the Kaffir boys to take her to the stable. Nobody
answered.... I called again. Still silence.... I tied her up to the
post, and strode over to the door, astonished at the solitude. I began
to feel there was something weird and uncanny about this home-coming.
Never before had I known Klaas's so entirely deserted.
I lifted the latch and opened the door. It gave access at once to the
single plain living-room. There, all was huddled. For a moment my eyes
hardly took in the truth. There are sights so sickening that the brain
at the first shock wholly fails to realise them.
On the stone slab floor of the low living-room Tant Mettie lay dead.
Her body was pierced through by innumerable thrusts, which I somehow
instinctively recognised as assegai wounds.


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