When Rachel awoke from the sleep into which she had fallen, sunset was near at hand. She left the tent where Noie still lay slumbering or lost in stupor, to find that only her mother and Ishmael’s after-rider remained in the camp, her father having gone out with the Kaffirs, in order to bury as many of the dead as possible before night came, and with it the jackals and hyenas. Rachel made up the fire and set to work with her mother’s help to cook their evening meal. Whilst they were thus engaged her quick ears caught the sound of horses’ hoofs, and she looked up to perceive the white man, Ishmael, still leading the spare horse on which she had ridden that morning. He had halted on the crest of ground where she had first seen him upon the previous day, and was peering at the camp, with the object apparently of ascertaining whether its occupants were still alive. “I will go and ask him in,” said Rachel, who, for reasons of her own, wished to have a word or two with the man. Presently she came up to him, and saw at once that he seemed to be very much ashamed of himself. “Well,” she said cheerfully, “you see here I am, safe enough, and I am glad that you are the same.” “You are a wonderful woman,” he replied, letting his eyes sink before her clear gaze, “as wonderful as you are beautiful.” “No compliments, please,” said Rachel, “they are out of place in this savage land.” “I beg your pardon, I could not help speaking the truth. Did they kill the girl and let you go?” “No, I managed to hide up with her; she is here now.” “That is very dangerous, Miss Dove. I know all about it; it is she whom Dingaan was after. When he hears that you have sheltered her he will send and kill you all. Take my advice and turn her out at once. I say it is most dangerous.” “Perhaps,” answered Rachel calmly, “but all the same I shall do nothing of the sort unless she wishes to go, nor do I think that my father will either. Now please listen a minute. If this story comes to the ears of the Zulus—and I do not see why it should, as the crocodiles have eaten that soldier—who will they think shot him, I or the white man who was with me? Do you understand?” “I understand and shall hold my tongue, for your sake.” “No, for your own. Well, by way of making the bargain fair, for my part I shall say as little as possible of how we separated this morning. Not that I blame you for riding off and leaving an obstinate young woman whom you did not know to take her chance. Still, other people might think differently.” “Yes,” he answered, “they might, and I admit that I am ashamed of myself. But you don’t know the Zulus as I do, and I thought that they would be all on us in a moment; also I was mad with you and lost my nerve. Really I am very sorry.”