“I know all, Night-prowler,” she cried aloud. “I know that my father and mother were killed by your order, and in your presence; their spirits told me so but now, and for that crime I sentence you to death!” and she pointed at him with the spear. “Heaven above and earth beneath,” she went on, “bear witness that I sentence this man to death. People of the Zulus, hear me in your kraals far away. Hear me, Dingaan, sitting in your Great Place. Hear me, every captain and induna, hear the voice of your Inkosazana: I sentence this man to death, since because of him there is blood between me and my people, the blood of my father and my mother. Now, Night-prowler, do your worst before you die, but know this, you his servants, that if I am harmed, or if this white man, the chief Dario, is harmed, then you shall die also, every one of you. What is your will, Night-prowler?” “I will tell you that at Mafooti,” answered Ishmael, trying to look bold. “I am not afraid of you like those Zulu savages, and Dingaan is a long way off. Will you come quietly? I hope so, for I don’t want to hurt you or put you to shame, but you’ve got to come, and this Dario, too. If you make any trouble, I will have him killed at once. Understand, Rachel, that if you don’t come, he shall be killed at once. My people may be afraid of you, but they won’t mind cutting his throat,” he added significantly. “Never mind about me,” said Richard in a choked voice from the ground where he was pinned down by the Kaffirs. “Do what you think best for yourself, Rachel.” Now Rachel, whose wits were made keen by doubt and anguish, looked at the faces of the natives about her, and even in that dim moonlight read them like a book, as she could always do. She saw that they were afraid of her, and that if she commanded them, they would let her go free, whatever their master might say or do. But she saw also that Ishmael spoke truth when he declared that they had no such dread of Richard, and might even believe that he was doing her some violence. If she escaped therefore it would be at the cost of Richard’s life. Instantly in her bold fashion she made up her mind. It was borne in upon her that she had declared the truth; that Ishmael was doomed, that he had no power to work her any hurt, however sore her case might seem. Since Richard’s life hung on it she would go with him. “Servants of Ibubesi,” she said, “lift the white chief Dario to his feet, and listen to my words.” They obeyed her at once, without even waiting for their master to speak, only holding Richard by the arms.