She tried to forget her troubles for a little while, and began to think of Richard Darrien, her boy-lover of a long-past hour, wondering what he looked like now that he was grown to be a man. “If only you would come to help me! Oh! Richard, if only you would come to help me,” the poor, worn-out girl murmured to herself, and so murmuring fell asleep. Suddenly it seemed to her that she was wide awake, and staring into a part of the pool beneath her where the bottom was of granite and the water clear. In this water she saw a picture. She saw a great laager of waggons, and outside of one of them a group of bearded, jovial-looking men smoking and talking. Presently another man of sturdy build and resolute carriage, who was followed by a weary Kaffir, walked up to them. His back was towards her so that she could not see his face, but now she was able to hear all that was said, although the voices seemed thin and far away. “What is it, Nephew?” asked the oldest of the bearded men, speaking in Dutch. “Why are you in such a hurry?” “This, Uncle,” he answered, in the same language, and in a pleasant voice that sounded familiar to Rachel’s ears. “That spy, Quabi, whom we sent out a long time ago and who was reported dead, reached Dingaan’s kraal, and has come back with a strange story.” “Almighty!” grunted the old man, “all these spies have strange stories, but let him tell it. Speak on, swartzel.”[*] [*] Black-fellow. Then the tired spy began to talk, telling a long tale. He described how he had got into Zululand, and reached Umgugundhlovo and lodged there with a relative of his, and done his best to collect information as to the attitude of the King and indunas towards the Boers. While he was there the news came that the white Spirit, who was called Inkosazana-y-Zoola, was approaching the kraal from Natal, where she dwelt with her parents, who were teachers. “Almighty!” interrupted the old man again, “What rubbish is this? How can a Spirit, white or black, have parents who are teachers?”