Now it was as she gazed at these jars of pigments and the brushes of goat’s hair that the wisdom which she sought came to Sihamba; yes, in a moment it came to her, in a moment her plan was made, and she knew that it would not fail. To-morrow at the dawn the Umpondwana, to the number of several thousands, would pour through the pass on to the plain beyond. Well, Suzanne should go with them, she should go _as a black woman!_ Already her hair and eyes were dark, and with those pigments her snow-white flesh could be darkened also, and then in the crowd who would know her from a Kaffir girl, she who could talk the language as though she had been born a Kaffir. Stay! Bull-Head was artful and clever, and perhaps he might be ready for such a trick. How could she deceive him? Again she looked at the jars, and again wisdom came to her. It was the habit of Suzanne to sit in her dizzy chair of rock and watch the sunrise, hoping ever that in the light of it she might see white men riding to rescue her, and this Van Vooren knew, for she could be seen from the mouth of the pass below, where from hour to hour he would stand gazing at her five hundred feet above his head. Well, to-morrow at the dawn another white woman should be seated yonder to satisfy his eyes, or at least a woman who seemed to be white. On the cliff edge, not far from this very rock lay the body of a poor girl who that day had died of thirst. If its face and arms and feet were painted white, and Suzanne’s cloak of white goat’s hair were set upon its shoulders, and the corpse itself placed upright in the chair, who, looking at it from hundreds of feet beneath, could guess that it was not Suzanne, and who, seeing it set aloft, would seek for Suzanne among the crowd of escaping Kaffirs? The plan was good; it could scarcely fail, only time pressed. “Sister, awake,” whispered Sihamba. Suzanne sat up at once, for the sleep of the doomed is light. “Listen, sister,” went on Sihamba, “that wisdom for which you prayed has come to me,” and she told her all the plan. “It is very clever, and it may serve,” answered Suzanne, “for I understand these paints and can stain myself so that if my hair is cut none would know me from a Kaffir. But, Sihamba, there is one thing which I do not understand. What will you do? For if you attempt to escape your stature will betray you.” “I?” hesitated the little woman, “nay, I do not know, I have never thought of it. Doubtless I shall win through in this way or in that.” “You are deceiving me, Sihamba. Well, there is an end, I will not go without you.” “Can you think of death and say that you will not go without me?” “I can Sihamba.” “Can you think of your father and your mother and say that you will not go without me?” “I can, Sihamba.” “Can you think of your husband and say that you will not go without me?” “I can,” faltered Suzanne.