It may be remembered that, on the night when they first met at the crest of Leopard’s Kloof, Jacob had called her a “thought-sender,” and some knowledge of their mental intimacy had come home to Benita. From that day forward her chief desire had been to shut a door between their natures, to isolate herself from him and him from her. Yet the attempt was never entirely successful. Fear and disgust took hold of her, bending there above the fire, all the while aware of the Jew’s dark eyes that searched her through and through. Benita formed a sudden determination. She would implore her father to come away with her. Of course, such an attempt would be terribly dangerous. Of the Matabele nothing had been seen; but they might be about, and even if enough cattle could be collected to draw the waggon, it belonged to Meyer as much as to her father, and must therefore be left for him. Still, there remained the two horses, which the Molimo had told her were well and getting fat. At this moment Meyer rose and began to speak to her. “What are you thinking of, Miss Clifford?” he asked in his soft foreign voice. She started, but answered readily enough: “Of the wood which is green, and the kid cutlets which are getting smoked. Are you not tired of kid, Mr. Meyer?” she went on. He waved the question aside. “You are so good--oh! I mean it--so really good that you should not tell stories even about small things. The wood is not green; I cut it myself from a dead tree; and the meat is not smoked; nor were you thinking of either. You were thinking of me, as I was thinking of you; but what exactly was in your mind, this time I do not know, and that is why I ask you to tell me.” “Really, Mr. Meyer,” she answered flushing; “my mind is my own property.” “Ah! do you say so? Now I hold otherwise--that it is my property, as mine is yours, a gift that Nature has given to each of us.” “I seek no such gift,” she answered; but even then, much as she would have wished to do so, she could not utter a falsehood, and deny this horrible and secret intimacy. “I am sorry for that, as I think it very precious; more precious even than the gold which we cannot find; for Miss Clifford, it brings me nearer you.” She turned upon him, but he held up his hand, and went on: