“Yes, I’m here, safe, waiting for the mist to lift, and the water to run down.” “God be thanked,” yelled the distant Tom. “We thought that you were surely drowned. But, then, why is your voice changed?” “Because an English heer is with me,” cried Rachel. “Go and look for his horse and bring a rope, then wait till the mist rises. Also send to tell the pastor and my mother that I am safe.” “I am here, Rachel,” shouted another voice, her father’s. “I have been looking for you all night, and we have got the Englishman’s horse. Don’t come into the water yet. Wait till we can see.” “That’s good news, any way,” said Richard, “though I shall have to ride hard to catch up the waggons.” Rachel’s face fell. “Yes,” she said; “very good news.” “Are you glad that I am going, then?” he asked in an offended tone. “It was you who said the news was good,” she replied gently. “I meant I was glad that they had caught my horse, not that I had to ride away on it. Are you sorry, then?” and he glanced at her anxiously. “Yes, I am sorry, for we have made friends, haven’t we? It won’t matter to you who will find plenty of people down there at the Cape, but you see when you are gone I shall have no friend left in this wilderness, shall I?” Again Richard looked at her, and saw that her sweet grey eyes were full of tears. Then there rose within the breast of this lad who, be it remembered, was verging upon manhood, a sensation strangely similar, had he but known it, to that which had been experienced an hour or two before by the child at his side when she watched him sleeping in the cave. He felt as though these tear-laden grey eyes were drawing his heart as a magnet draws iron. Of love he knew nothing, it was but a name to him, but this feeling was certainly very new and queer. “What have you done to me?” he asked brusquely. “I don’t want to go away from you at all, which is odd, as I never liked girls much. I tell you,” he went on with gathering vehemence, “that if it wasn’t that it would be mean to play such a trick upon my father, I wouldn’t go. I’d come with you, or follow after—all my life. Answer me—what have you done?” “Nothing, nothing at all,” said Rachel with a little sob, “except tie up your arm.” “That can’t be it,” he replied. “Anyone could tie up my arm. Oh! I know it is wrong, but I hope I shan’t be able to overtake the waggons, for if I can’t I will come back.” “You mustn’t come back; you must go away, quite away, as soon as you can. Yes, as soon as you can. Your father will be very anxious,” and she began to cry outright. “Stop it,” said Richard. “Do you hear me, stop it. I am not going to be made to snivel too, just because I shan’t see a little girl any more whom I never met—till yesterday.” These last words came out with a gulp, and what is more, two tears came with them and trickled down his nose.