CHAPTER THIRTY NINE.
ANSON IN A HOLE--AND SOMETHING ELSE.
"Don't worry about the diamond charge!" said the Commandant; but Oliver West did, day after day, though he got better fast and was soon able to go and sit with Ingleborough, who slowly recovered, as a man does who has had nearly all the life-blood drained from his body.

West worried, and Ingle borough did too; for those were anxious days, those in Kimberley, which brought strong men low, even near to despair, while the wounded, weak, and sick were often ready to think that relief would never come.
West and Ingleborough recovered from their wounds only gradually, to suffer with the rest, returning to duty when really unfit, while the deadly work went on, the men braving the shell and shot with more spirit when they knew that the women and children were safe within the mines.
Then came the day of relief, and with it the feeling that a long night of misery and despair had ended; and that night West and Ingleborough grasped hands, the former's pale sallow face lighting up with something of his old look, as he exclaimed: "Now, if the General would only march in with his prisoners, and bring Anson before us face to face!" Everything, the proverb says, comes to the man who waits, and certainly it was so here, for the day did come when the General rode in at the head of his dashing cavalry brigade, and, what was more, with the prisoners, and with them Anson, very much reduced in weight.
There was something more than mere eagerness to be freed from an accusation which led the two young men down to the General's camp next morning to wait until they could see him in their turn.
On their way they sought out the sergeant who had had Anson under his charge, and he grinned at them in recognition.
"You were about right, gentlemen," he said, "about that prisoner." "What about him ?" said West eagerly.
"About his being an Englishman.

I've seen a lot of him along with the other prisoners, and he's as English as can be.

Piet Retif! Why, he's got James Anson written on the tails of his shirts--that is, what he's got left." "But look here, sergeant," said Ingleborough anxiously: "what about his wagon ?" "Oh, that's all right, sir! Loaded up." "Has he had the run of it ?" "Not he, sir.

He wanted to, but I only let him get some under-toggery, shirts and such.