The hours passed wearily enough. It was true her apartments were well stocked with a miscellaneous collection of books and music, but she could not concentrate her thoughts upon these things. Her eyes wandered longingly to the English positions, where she could just discern the white tents of her country’s soldiers; and she wondered whether the city would fall, and if it did, whether she would live to see it fall. She was very lonely. She paced restlessly up and down the terrace, but when either end was reached, she was confronted with the grim sentry. She peered over the wall, and could see lying on the plain what appeared like a little mound, but which she knew was the dead body of the unfortunate Zula. As she thought of the ghastly crime her blood almost curdled, and she prayed in her heart that Heaven would bring speedy retribution on those who had been guilty of the foul murder. Perhaps the prayer was heard, for, some hours later, in the quiet hours of night, there crept down from the ridge a little body of English troops. They were on a reconnoitring expedition, and their object was to examine some of the gates of the city, with a view of reporting upon the practicability of blowing them open. As these soldiers made their way cautiously along, one of the number suddenly stumbled over something--the something was Zula’s body. The poor face was horribly distorted, and round the neck, deeply imbedded in the flesh, was a portion of a silken cord, showing how her death had been accomplished. “Comrades,” said the soldier, when he had recovered from his surprise, “here is the body of a murdered Englishwoman. The black demons have placed her outside here as if to mock us.” As the men crowded round, they gave vent to muttered threats. The officer in charge of the company stepped forward, and said-- “Soldiers, ours is a war against men, not women. But these inhuman brutes slaughter our countrywomen in cold blood, and out of pure wantonness. Such deeds as these must be revenged.” “Ay, and so they shall,” exclaimed a dozen voices. “Vows are scarcely needed,” continued the officer, “and yet let us make a vow to avenge this poor woman’s murder, stranger though she was to us.” As he spoke, he drew his sword from its scabbard, and, stooping down, proceeded to sever the beautiful hair from the head of Zula. When he had finished his task, he held a heavy bunch of hair in his hand. This he separated into equal lots, and, giving a lot to each soldier, said-- “Men, take your caps off. Hold your portion of hair over the body, and say after me--‘By all that is sacred on earth, and by all that is holy in Heaven, I swear most solemnly, that if I live I will have as many lives for this woman’s murder as I now hold hairs in my hand; and I further swear to count every hair, and to preserve the lot until I have fulfilled my vow.’”