They ran down to the brink of the water and examined it, but here it was still too deep for them to attempt its crossing. Then, directed by the shouts and motions of the Kaffir Tom and Mr. Dove, they proceeded up stream for several hundred yards, till they came to a rapid where the lessening flood ran thinly over a ridge of rock, and after investigation, proceeded to try its passage hand in hand. It proved difficult but not dangerous, for when they came near to the further side where the current was swift and the water rather deep, Tom threw them a waggon rope, clinging on to which they were dragged—wet, but laughing—in safety to the further bank. “Ow!” exclaimed the Kaffirs, clapping their hands. “She is alive, the lightnings have turned away from her, she rules the waters, and the lightnings!” and then and there, after the native fashion, they gave Rachel a name which was destined to play a great part in her future. That name was “Lady of the Lightnings,” or, to translate it more accurately, “of the Heavens.” “I never thought to see you again,” said her father, looking at Rachel with a face that was still white and scared. “It was very wrong of me to send you so far with that storm coming on, and I have had a terrible night—yes, a terrible night; and so has your poor mother. However, she knows that you are safe by now, thank God, thank God!” and he took her in his arms and kissed her. “Well, father, you said that He would look after me, didn’t you? And so He did, for He sent Richard here. If it hadn’t been for Richard I should have been drowned,” she added inconsequently. “Yes, yes,” said Mr. Dove. “Providence manifests itself in many ways. But who is your young friend whom you call Richard? I suppose he has some other name.” “Of course,” answered that youth himself, “everybody has except Kaffirs. Mine is Darrien.” “Darrien?” said Mr. Dove. “I had a friend called Darrien at school. I never saw him after I left, but I believe that he went into the Navy.” “Then he must be my father, sir, for I have heard him say that there had been no other Darrien in the service for a hundred years.” “I think so,” answered Mr. Dove, “for now that I look at you, I can see a likeness. We slept side by side in the same dormitory once five-and-thirty years ago, so I remember. And now you have saved my daughter; it is very strange. But tell me the story.” So between them they told it, although to one scene of it—the last—neither of them thought it necessary to allude; or perhaps it was forgotten.