“No, not death, it is your fate that makes the difference. How can I bear to die and leave you the prey of that devil? Oh my God! my God! how can I bear to die!” “Have no fear, husband,” went on Suzanne in the same clear, indifferent voice, “for you do not leave me to be his prey. Say, now; if we walk backwards swiftly before they could catch us we might fall together into the pit of the sea beneath.” “Nay, wife, let our deaths lie upon their heads and not upon ours, for self-murder is a crime.” “As you will, Ralph; but I tell you, and through you I tell Him who made me, that it is a crime which I shall dare if need be. Have no fear, Ralph, as I leave your arms, so shall I return to them, whether it be in Heaven or upon earth. That man thinks he has power over me, but I say that he has none, seeing that at the last God will protect me with His hand, or with my own.” “I cannot blame you, Suzanne, for there are some things which are not to be borne. Do therefore as your conscience teaches you, if you have the means.” “I have the means, Ralph. Hidden about me is a little knife which I have carried since I was a child; and if that fails me there are other ways.” “Time is done,” said Swart Piet, replacing the watch in his pocket. “Farewell, sweet,” whispered Ralph. “Farewell, husband,” she answered bravely, “until we meet again, whether it be here on earth or above in Heaven; farewell until we meet again,” and she flung her arms about his neck and kissed him. For a moment Ralph clung to her muttering some blessing above her bowed head; then he unloosed her clasping arms, letting her fall gently upon the ground and saying: “Lie thus, shutting your ears and hiding your eyes till all is done. Afterwards you must act as seems best to you. Escape to your father if you can, if not—tell me, do you understand?” “I understand,” she murmured, and hid her face in a tuft of thick grass, placing her hands upon her ears. Ralph bowed his head for an instant in prayer. Then he lifted it and there was no fear upon his face. “Come on, murderer,” he said, addressing Swart Piet, “and do your butcher’s work. Why do you delay? You cannot often find the joy of slaughtering a defenceless man in the presence of his new-made wife. Come on then and win the everlasting curse of God.” Now Swart Piet glanced at him out of the corners of his round eyes; then he ordered one of the Kaffirs to go up to him and shoot him.