They reached the crest of the last rise, and there, facing them on the slope of the opposite wave of land, stood the waggon, surrounded by the thorn fence, within which the cattle and horses were still enclosed, doubtless for fear of the Zulus. Nothing could be more peaceful than the aspect of that camp. To look at it no one would have believed that within a few hundred yards a hideous massacre had just taken place. Presently, however, voices began to shout, and heads to bob up over the fence. Then it occurred to Rachel that they must think she was a prisoner in the charge of a Zulu, and she told Noie to lower the shield which she still held in front of her. The next instant some thorns were torn out, and her father, a gun in his hand, appeared striding towards them. “Thank God that you are safe,” he said as they met. “I have suffered great anxiety, although I hoped that the white man Israel—no, Ishmael—had rescued you. He came here to warn us,” he added in explanation, “very early this morning, then galloped off to find you. Indeed his after-rider, whose horse he took, is still here. Where on earth have you been, Rachel, and”—suddenly becoming aware of Noie, who, arrayed only in a towel, a shield, and a stabbing spear, presented a curious if an impressive spectacle—“who is this young person?” “She is a native girl I saved from the massacre,” replied Rachel, answering the last question first. “It is a long story, but I shot the man who was going to kill her, and we hid in a pool. Are you all safe, and where is mother?” “Shot the man! Shed human blood! Hid in a pool!” ejaculated Mr. Dove, overcome. “Really, Rachel, you are a most trying daughter. Why should you go out before daybreak and do such things?” “I don’t know, I am sure, father; predestination, I suppose—to save her life, you know.” Again he contemplated the beautiful Noie, then, murmuring something about a blanket, ran back to the camp. By this time Mrs. Dove had climbed out of the waggon, and arrived with the Kaffirs. “I knew you would be safe, Rachel,” she said in her gentle voice, “because nothing can hurt you. Still you do upset your poor father dreadfully, and—what are you going to do with that naked young woman?” “Give her something to eat, dear,” answered Rachel. “Don’t ask me any more questions now. We have been sitting up to our necks in water for hours, and are starved and frozen, to say nothing of worse things.”