The man told him that it was very important, and that I should reward the bearer well if it were delivered safely.
While the Jew talked (I think he was a Jew) I was opening the sail-cloth.

Within was a piece of linen which had been oiled to keep out water, addressed in some red pigment to myself or my father.

This, too, I opened, not without difficulty, for it was carefully sewn up, and found within it a letter-packet, also addressed to myself or my father, in the handwriting of Marie.
Great Heaven! How my heart jumped at that sight! Calling to Hans to make the smous comfortable and give him food, I went into my own room, and there read the letter, which ran thus: "MY DEAR ALLAN,--I do not know whether the other letters I have written to you have ever come to your hands, or indeed if this one will.

Still, I send it on chance by a wandering Portuguese half-breed who is going to Delagoa Bay, about fifty miles, I believe, from the place where I now write, near the Crocodile River.

My father has named it Maraisfontein, after our old home.