Whilst she remained thus, suddenly she heard the sound of horses galloping towards her, two of them, she could tell that from the hoof beats, although the low-lying mist made them invisible. A few more seconds and they emerged out of the fog. The first thing that she saw were stripes which caused her to laugh, thinking that she had mistaken zebras for horses. Then the laugh died on her lips as she recognised that the stripes were those of Mr. Ishmael’s trousers. Yes, there was no doubt about it, Mr. Ishmael, wearing a rough coat instead of his lion-skin, but with the rest of his attire unchanged, was galloping down upon her furiously, leading a riderless horse. Remembering her wet and dishevelled hair, Rachel threw the towel over it, whence it hung like an old Egyptian head-dress, setting her beautiful face in a most becoming frame. Next she picked up the double-barrelled gun and cocked it, for she misdoubted her of this man’s intentions. Not many modern books came her way, but she had read stories of young women who were carried off by force. For an instant she was frightened, but as she lifted the hammer of the second barrel her constitutional courage returned. “Let him try it,” she thought to herself. “If he had come ten minutes ago it would have been awful, but now I don’t care.” By this time Mr. Ishmael had arrived, and was dragging his horse to its haunches; also she saw that evidently he was much more frightened than she had been. The man’s handsome face was quite white, and his lips were trembling. “Perhaps that rhinoceros is after him again,” thought Rachel, then added aloud quietly: “What is the matter?” “Forgive me,” he answered in a rich, and to Rachel’s astonishment, perfectly educated voice, “forgive me for disturbing you. I am ashamed, but it is necessary. The Zulus—” and he paused. “Well, sir,” asked Rachel, “what about the Zulus?” “A regiment of them are coming down here on the warpath. They are hunting fugitives. The fugitives, about fifty of them, passed my camp over an hour ago, and I saw the Impi following them. I rode to warn you all. They told me you were down by the sea. I came to bring you back to your waggon lest you should be cut off.” “Thank you very much,” said Rachel. “But I am not afraid of the Zulus. I do not think that they will hurt me.” “Not hurt you! Not hurt you! White and beautiful as you are. Why not?” “Oh! I don’t know,” she replied with a laugh, “but you see I am called Inkosazana-y-Zoola. They won’t touch one with that name.” “Inkosazana-y-Zoola,” he repeated astonished. “Why she is their Spirit, yes, and I remember—white like you, so they say. How did you get that name? But mount, mount! They will kill you first, and ask how you were called afterwards. Your father is much afraid.” “My mother would not be afraid; she knows,” muttered Rachel to herself, as she sprang to the saddle of the led-horse.