It was near sundown. A soft, golden light rested upon the great slopes, and the cooing of doves floated melodiously from the mealie lands in the valley. The mountain stream roared through its rocky bed at their feet, and among the crannies and ledges of a profusion of piled up boulders forming miniature cliffs around, a whole colony of bright eyed little _dasjes_ [The "rock rabbit"--really a species of marmot] were disporting themselves, scampering in and out with a boldness which augured volumes in favour of the peaceable aspect of the two human intruders upon their sequestered haunt. "As you say, the time and place are indeed fitting," said Eustace, sitting down upon a boulder and taking the box from its place of concealment. "Now, my darling, look at this. The assegai point is broken short off, driven with such force that it has remained embedded in the lid." It was even as he said. Had the blade been driven with a powerful hammer it could not have been more firmly wedged within the metal. "That was the blow I received during the fight," he went on. "The dent at the side of it was done when I stood up to the witch-doctress. It did not penetrate much that time; not that the blow wasn't hard enough, for it nearly knocked me down, but the assegai was a rotten one and made of soft iron, and the point flattened out like a Snider bullet. Heavens! but that was an ordeal--something of a nerve-tickler!" he added, with a grave and meditative look in his eyes, as if he were mentally re-enacting that trying and critical scene. Eanswyth shuddered, but said nothing. She nestled rather closer to his side, as he continued: "Now to open the box--a thing I haven't done since, partly from superstitious motives--partly that I intended we should do so together-- if we ever were to be again together, that is." He pressed the spring, but it was out of order. It needed the wrench of a strong knife blade before the lid flew open. "Look at that. The assegai point is so firmly wedged that it would take a hammer to drive it out--but I propose to leave it in--use it as a `charm' next war perhaps. Now for the letter. It has gone through and through it--through the photograph too--and has just dinted the bottom of the box." He spread out the letter. Those last tender, loving words, direct from her overflowing heart, were pierced and lacerated by the point of the murderous weapon. "If this is not an oracle, there never was such a thing," he went on. "Look at this"--reading--"`I dare not say "God bless you." Coming from me it would entail a curse, rather than a blessing...' The point has cut clean through the words `a curse'--Mfulini's assegai has made short work of that malediction. Is not that the voice of an oracle?" She made no reply. She was watching the development of the investigation with rapt, eager attention.