The leopard tried to escape, but, being hotly pressed and wounded almost to death, he turned upon Morrison with that frantic ferocity peculiar to his species under such emergencies, and, throwing all his remaining strength into one supreme effort, sprang upon him and dashed him to the ground.

With a shout Peter drew his knife and rushed to the rescue, followed by Barry and Eckersley. The leopard crouched over his prostrate foe, roaring furiously, whilst Peter, utterly regardless of the fact that he had one arm disabled, literally threw himself upon the savage beast and drove his knife up to the very hilt between his shoulders.

With a mighty convulsive spring, that sent Peter flying head over heels into the bushes, the tiger leapt up in the air and fell dead beside Morrison.

'By George!' shouted Mackinlay, wild with excitement, 'that's the pluckiest thing I ever saw!'

'I told you Piet Van Breda was up to a thing or two,' said Van Ryn; 'but I don't believe there's a dozen men in the country would have attacked a leopard like that, with one arm useless.'

Peter was not hurt by his fall, and, picking himself up, went to Morrison, whom Eckersley and Barry were already attending to.

The youngster had paid dear for his foolhardiness, and was terribly mauled.

We got him back to the halting-place, where his wounds were properly dressed by Dunbar, who did not seem very

well pleased at having another patient thrown on his hands.

Morrison's face and scalp were badly lacerated, and it was a mercy the leopard had not fractured his skull; his rashness very nearly cost him his life.

I was rather surprised to see that the Basutos, after skinning the leopard, appropriated the greater part of his carcase and carried it away.

'What'll they do with it?' I inquired of Peter, who was superintending the operation.

Eat it, to be sure,' replied he, laughing.

I've never

tried it myself, but Kolben, who ought to be an authority, pronounces leopard flesh as very little inferior to veal, and tasty and tender.'

'Especially after a meal off a Hottentot baby,' laughed Jack. . . .

Towards four o'clock we resumed our march, and arrived at Durban next evening.

After two days' sojourn at Durban, Mackinlay, Peter, and I embarked on board the Aquila, and sailed for Cape Town.

On arriving in Table Bay, we heard to our intense disgust that the Aquila would be detained in dock for some little time, the mails being transferred to the R.M.S. Asiatic of the Union Line.

We endeavoured to procure berths on board the Asiatic, but she was crammed with passengers, and we had not a chance. There was nothing to be done but to wait

patiently, and write home to explain the reason our return was delayed.

Peter insisted on our accompanying him to his father's country house at Rondebosch,-a pretty village four miles from Cape Town, on the Wynberg and Simon's Town road.

We gladly accepted the invitation, for the little we had seen of the South African metropolis did not favourably impress us. It happened to blow a strong 'south-easter' when we landed, and the peculiar red dust from the flat summit of Table Mountain swept down in clouds into the streets; and Cape Town does not show to advantage during these gales.

Peter's friends gave us a most hospitable reception, and did all in their power to make our visit a pleasant one, and the time passed quickly enough.

On the 26th July we received notice that the Aquila would sail next day at 4 P.M., and, bidding adieu to our kind hosts, we returned to Cape Town.

Peter came down to the docks to see us off, and we parted from him with feelings of regret, after extracting a promise that he would come to Croppleton should he ever visit England.

T

HE Aquila was a fine barque-rigged steamer of 1200 tons; she did not belong to either of the regular lines of mail steamers running between England and the Cape, but had been chartered to carry Her Majesty's mails between Cape Town and Zanzibar, calling at the intermediate ports, during the war. Her engagement had expired, and she was now returning to Southampton.

We had very few passengers on board, though we were told that more had joined at Cape Town.

It was blowing a stiffish breeze when we steamed out of Table Bay, and before nightfall the wind had increased to a regular gale, which continued all the next day.

Jack and I occupied a comfortable cabin opening into the saloon, and as we were pretty well used to rough

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weather, and had got 'our sea-legs,' there was nothing much to complain of; though, it must be confessed that to find yourself struggling beneath the weight of a heavy portmanteau, or to receive a violent blow in the face from your own boots, is rather calculated to make you lose both sleep and temper.

At breakfast we were the only passengers who put in an appearance; and the dismal groans and horrible sounds proceeding from the adjacent cabins told of our fellow-voyagers' agony, and went very far to drive away our appetites.

'Not very pleasant this, eh, gentleman?' said the 'skipper,' a blunt old sailor, Jowett by name, as the ship gave a lurch that sent the breakfast things flying over the edge of the 'fiddles.' 'There'll be a nice bill for crockery this turn.'

'It must be precious miserable for the passengers when you have it rough the first three or four days,' observed Mackinlay.

'There's a little gentleman lying under the lee of the deck-house,' said the second officer. The quartermaster thinks he's been there all night, and says he can't move him.'

'He must be pretty wet by this time,' laughed Jack. 'Better ask the doctor to see him, Nevinson,' said the captain.

'Poor Perkins is three or four degrees worse than the passenger,' answered Nevinson, and couldn't mix a dose. to save his life.'