But thinking of his absent friends was good for poor Tom, for it made him remember that he had One Friend who was never absent; and, reproaching himself for his rebellious and ungrateful feelings and his want of trust, he rose to his knees and offered up an earnest prayer for pardon, and for deliverance from his savage enemies. After which he stretched himself on the floor of his foul prison, and (in spite of his painful condition and wretched surroundings and the pangs of almost overwhelming thirst) he at length fell into a heavy sleep. Tom remained in a heavy drowsy slumber--half sleep, half stupor--for eight or nine hours, and when at length he opened his eyes it was broad daylight. On attempting to get up he discovered that his ankles were secured by a stout cord, though his arms were still free. "So the beggars have been paying me a visit during the night," said he, assuming a sitting posture and taking a look round the hut. "I must have slept uncommonly sound, for them to have lashed my feet together without rousing me! Halloa! what's this?" he went on as his eye lighted upon a gourd and a few green mealies placed just within his reach. "Come, they don't intend that I should die of thirst, after all!" And eagerly seizing the gourd, which contained about a pint and a half of sour milk, he drained it to the dregs. "I don't remember ever having enjoyed a drink so much!" exclaimed the poor fellow as he threw down the empty vessel with a sigh. "But oh, don't I wish there had been three times the quantity!" The day passed without a soul visiting the prison except one repulsive old woman, who brought Tom another and larger vessel of milk and some more mealies during the afternoon, and who, after regarding him with looks of fiendish malignity, deliberately spat in his face as she left the hut. "Beastly old crone!" growled Tom as he raised the milk to his lips and took a long draught. "What on earth did she want to do that for?" he added, putting down the half-emptied vessel. By this time Tom was suffering from the pangs of hunger as well as those of thirst, and so he set to work on the hitherto neglected mealies, and managed to dispose of half of them, untempting though they were. Next day our captive hero was left entirely alone, receiving neither food nor drink; driven almost to despair he had serious thoughts of freeing himself from his bonds and rushing out upon his foes, regardless of consequences, but he found he was too weak to make the attempt. Then he became quite light-headed, and jabbered and sang to himself, until at last he fell into a regular stupor; and when he once more awoke to consciousness he found that there was another prisoner in the hut, and that prisoner was--Frank Jamieson! CHAPTER TWENTY. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING--A FRIENDLY CAFFRE.