"Upon my word, I can't tell. I sometimes think that in these days I can be sure of nothing." "Well, you shall hear what will give you something to rejoice over. The `friend' you were taking care of is safe." "Safe?" "Yes. I told you exactly what had happened. And now she will be in Bulawayo as soon as yourself." "As soon as myself?" "Yes, for you will soon be there. You see, I have a use to turn you to. I have a message for the outside world, and you shall be the means of transmitting it." "That will I do, with the greatest of pleasure. But what if I do not get through? The Matabele seem to be taking to the hills in force, and it's a long few days to get through from where we are--or were, rather, should I say, for I'm not at all sure where I am now." "Quite right, John Ames. You are not. Still you shall get through. And then, when you rejoin your `friend'--the girl with the very blue eyes, and the quick lift of the eyelids, and the animated countenance changing vividly with every expression, and the brown-gold hair--I suppose you will think life holds for you no greater good?" "I say, but you seem to have studied her rather closely," was the rejoinder, with a dry smile. "Anybody would think you knew her." "I have watched her from far more closely than you dream of, John Ames. For instance, every step of your way since leaving Shiminya tied up in his hut, has been known to me and to others too. Your life--both your lives--have been in my hand throughout, what time you have prided yourself upon your astuteness in evading pursuit and discovery. The lives of others have been in my hand in like manner, and--the hand has closed on them. You will soon learn how few have escaped." The grim relentlessness succeeding to the even, almost benevolent tone which had characterised the first part of this extraordinary statement impressed John Ames. At the same time he felt correspondingly reduced. He had prided himself, too--in advance--upon bringing Nidia safely in, alone and unaided; now he was done out of this satisfaction, and others would take to themselves the credit. Then he felt smaller still because thoroughly ashamed of himself. How could he harbour such a thought amid the great glad joy of hearing that her safety was assured? "Are you influencing these rebels, then?" he asked, all his old repulsion for the other returning, as he saw, as in a flash, the fell meaning of the words. "It seems strange that you should aid in the murder of your own countrymen." "My own countrymen!" and the expression of the speaker became absolutely fiendish. "`My own countrymen' would have doomed me to a living death-- a living hell--long years ago, for no crime; for that which injured nobody, but was a mere act of self-defence. Well, `my own countrymen' have yielded up hundreds of lives in satisfaction since then."